ARRIVAL OF THE CHAMPION — MR. FERRIS GOES ON BOARD — BRINGS BACK LIEUTENANT FOLEY WOUNDED — GERALD JOINS THE CHAMPION AS MIDSHIPMAN — AN ACCOUNT OF HIS SHIPMATES — THE CHAMPION SAILS — CAPTAIN TRACY AND NORAH AT HOME — THE OUZEL GALLEY PREPARING FOR SEA — RETURN OF THE CHAMPION — SAILS AGAIN — OWEN APPOINTED TO THE COMMAND OF THE OUZEL GALLEY — MR. FERRIS AND ELLEN GO TO DUBLIN — THE OUZEL GALLEY SAILS — NORAH’S LIFE AT HOME — MR. FERRIS INTENDS TO GO TO JAMAICA — THE OUZEL GALLEY COMES BACK, AND CAPTAIN TRACY RESOLVES TO GO ROUND IN HER TO DUBLIN.

“News, Norah!  I bring you news, Miss Ellen,” cried Gerald, rushing into the drawing-room where his sister and her friend were seated.  “I have just heard that a man-of-war has brought up inside the harbour, with her main-topmast gone and her sails riddled with shot.  They say that she is the Champion, and that she has had a desperate action with a French ship, which she sent to the bottom, or which got away from her.  Which was the case, I can’t exactly make out, but she has lost I don’t know how many officers and seamen, for there hasn’t been such a bloody fight since the war began.  The wounded, I hear, are to be sent on shore, and we shall thus, I suppose, know all about the matter.”

Ellen turned pale as Gerald was speaking.  “Have you heard who the killed and wounded are?” she asked, in a trembling voice.

“No; I could only learn the name of the ship, and that there has been a sharp action there can be no doubt,” answered Gerald.

“Perhaps Gerald’s account is exaggerated,” remarked Norah, observing Ellen’s agitation.  “If the ship is the Champion, Mr Ferris is sure to go down and visit her; he will ascertain the truth of the report.”

“I must — I must go and tell him what has happened, in case he should not have heard it,” said Ellen, rising.  She found Mr Ferris in his counting-house, on the ground-floor.  He immediately ordered his boat, and telling Ellen that, should he find any wounded officers who might require to be cared for on shore, he would bring them up, he desired her to make preparations for their reception.  Gerald, who was on the look-out for him, begged that he might accompany him on board.  The boat, with six stout hands, rapidly made her way down the river.

Ellen and Norah, like good housewives, lost no time in seeing the spare rooms got ready for their expected guests.  The occupation tended to relieve Ellen’s mind.

“Perhaps, after all, there may be no wounded officers,” said Norah.  “Gerald’s account was very vague — people nearly always exaggerate disasters.”

“But I saw the beginning of the battle, and heard the dreadful guns firing — and some of those on board may have been killed,” said Ellen, scarcely able to restrain her feelings.

The young ladies had some time to wait after the rooms had been got ready.  Ellen was constantly going to the window, from which she could see the river and watch for the return of the boat.  Norah, like a faithful friend, did not quit her.

“There comes the boat,” exclaimed Ellen, at length.  “Oh, see, Norah! there is a person wrapped up in blankets lying in the stern-sheets; my heart told me that he would be wounded.”

“It is better so than had your heart told you he would be killed, and it had proved a true prophet,” said Norah, smiling and trying to cheer up her friend.  Ellen would have hurried down to the quay, but Norah persuaded her to remain at home.  “He may not be Lieutenant Foley, remember,” observed Norah, quietly; “and if he is, you are more likely to agitate him than to do him any good by rushing down to the quay.  Think how odd it would look were you to exhibit your feelings in public, or, still more so, should the wounded man prove to be a stranger.”

Norah’s sensible remarks prevailed in inducing Ellen to remain quiet till the arrival of the party in the boat.  Mr Ferris was the first person who appeared.

“You must not be alarmed, my dear child,” he said.  “There has been a fierce engagement, in which two officers and several men were killed — ”

“Oh, father, who were they?” cried Ellen.

“A master’s mate and a midshipman,” answered Mr Ferris; “but I am sorry to say that Mr Foley was among the most severely wounded, and he gladly accepted my offer to take him on shore; so I brought him up here, and you and Norah will, I am sure, do your best to look after him.”

While Mr Ferris was speaking, the men bearing the wounded lieutenant arrived.  Ellen, restraining her feelings, received him with becoming propriety, though his pale lips and wan cheek made her heart sink.  He was forthwith conveyed to the room which, had been prepared for him.  Dr Roach, who had been an army surgeon, and knew well how to treat gunshot wounds of every description, was immediately sent for, and the young officer was placed under his charge.

“We’ll pull him through, young lady,” he observed, after he had visited his patient.  “You will naturally wish to know what I think of the case of this fine young officer, who has been bleeding for his country.  You need be under no serious apprehensions; he will be fit for duty again shortly.  You saw how quickly I doctored up Mr Massey, in whom, if I am not wrongly informed, Miss Norah here takes an interest.”

Norah looked conscious.  “Young people have hearts, and small blame to them if they fall in love now and then,” remarked the doctor; “and now, my pretty maidens, good-bye to you, for I want to hear more about the battle.  I could not let my patient tell me.  Remember, I leave him under your charge, but I must lay an embargo on your tongues; talking, or listening to talking, isn’t good for wounded men, though you may sing him to sleep with your sweet voices.”

Owen was well enough to accompany Mrs Massey when she returned Norah’s visit, and, moreover, to stroll with her into the garden.  He now first heard of O’Harrall’s conduct; his brow flushed as she told him, but he restrained his feelings, and did not let even her know that he had assisted his rival’s escape.

“Could the fellow have been aware that she was my betrothed wife, and yet, after such conduct, ventured to claim my protection?  I am thankful I did not then know of his behaviour; I might have been tempted to refuse him my aid.”  Such were the thoughts which passed through Owen’s mind.  “However, bold as he is, he is not likely again to appear in this neighbourhood.”

Owen and Norah, having each other’s society, forgot how the time went by, till Gerald came hurrying up to call them into the house.  He had just returned from his visit to the Champion; he was full of what he had heard of her engagement with the Coquille.  Two officers had been killed, and two, besides Mr Foley, wounded; three men had been killed, and several wounded.  The Frenchman, instead of being sent to the bottom, having knocked away the Champion’s main-topmast and cut up her rigging, had managed to get off and run out of sight before her damages could be repaired.  Captain Olding had chased in the direction the Coquille had last been seen, but had failed to come up with her, and was compelled to steer for Waterford.

“And, do you know, Norah,” continued Gerald, “I’ve made up my mind to go on board a man-of-war.  They all say that Captain Olding will take me, and place me on the quarter-deck, if Mr Ferris introduces me and would say a word in my favour; so if our father approves of it, I hope to go at once, instead of waiting for the Ouzel Galley.”

“If it would better promote your fortune to serve on board a man-of-war, I will not hinder you,” said Owen, as they walked towards the house.

“I would rather you should remain on board the dear old ship, to act as Owen’s mate,” observed Norah; “but if our father allows you to go on board the Champion, neither will I try to alter your determination.”

Captain Olding had come up to the house to inquire after his lieutenant.  He and Captain Tracy had been shipmates in their younger days.  He was well pleased, he said, to be able to forward the views of his friend’s son.  It was therefore settled that Gerald should join the Champion at once, and Norah was busy from morning till night in preparing his outfit.  Captain Tracy was now able to get about, and even to superintend the repairs of the Ouzel Galley.  He secretly was somewhat proud of having a son belonging to the Royal Navy.  It was the road to honour and fame; Gerald might some day become one of England’s admirals.  Still, had the captain intended to continue at sea himself, he would have wished to keep his boy with him, and he would also gladly have had him accompany Owen Massey.  Gerald himself was in high glee; he made frequent trips down to the Champion, and always came back with some fresh account of what she had done, and of what his future messmates, the midshipmen, fully expected she would do.  He described them to Norah as first-rate, jolly fellows, up to all sorts of fun.

“And you may tell Miss Ferris, if you like,” he added, “that they all say there isn’t a more gallant officer in the service than Lieutenant Foley, and they hope that he’ll soon get well and rejoin the ship.  They don’t speak quite so favourably of her first lieutenant, Jonah Tarwig, who seems as if he had swallowed the mizen-royal-mast as he was looking aloft one stormy night when the ship was taken aback and it was carried away.  He is six feet two in height — how he manages to stow himself in his berth it is hard to say, but it is supposed that he doubles his legs back, for as to coiling away his body, that would be impossible.  The master, old Billhook, is a rough diamond, but he understands navigation, and spins tough yarns by the score; I’ll tell you some of them one of these days.  The purser, Simon Cheeseparings — that isn’t his real name — was a slopseller in Wapping, but outran his creditors and had to come to sea to escape from Newgate; and the doctor’s a Scotchman whose name begins with Mac, and for brevity’s sake Mac he is always called.  Now you know all about the gun-room officers; but the best fellows, out and out, are in our berth.  We’ve got two old mates, Beater and Crowhurst — at least, they are old compared to the rest of us, and they are always complaining that they are not port-admirals.  Their characters answer to their names, for Beater is never without a cob in his hand, and he uses it pretty freely; and Crowhurst is always boasting of his own mighty deeds or those of his ancestors — and if you are to take his word for it, they (his ancestors, I mean) came over with William the Conqueror, and ought to be dukes at the least.  However, putting their peculiarities aside, they’re capital fellows, and, if they have an opportunity, will show that they have the true metal in them — so my chum, Nat Kiddle, says.  He doesn’t pretend to be anybody, though I can tell you he’s a broth of a boy, and it’s a pity he wasn’t an Irishman, for he’d do honour to the old country; but he happens to be the tenth son of an English farmer, whose brother was a lieutenant in the navy, and took him to sea, but his uncle having been killed at the end of the last war, Nat has to shift for himself.  Though he has tumbled into a good many scrapes, he has always managed to fall on his feet.  Then we’ve got a young lord, Mountstephen; he is always called Molly, but he doesn’t at all mind, and declares that he’ll some day show the Frenchmen what an English Molly can do.  In reality, he is the pet of the mess — not because he’s a lord, but because he’s a very nice little fellow, who looks as if he ought to be in the nursery instead of knocking about in a sloop of war.  But I don’t know, Norah, whether you’ll care to hear about the rest of us.”

“Oh yes,” answered Norah; “I am very much interested, especially in the little lord.  I hope you’ll help to take care of him.”

“Yes, that you may depend on it I will,” said Gerald; “if I get into scrapes, I’ll take care he doesn’t — though I don’t intend to get into any myself, notwithstanding that they say Irishmen always do.  They’ve dubbed me Paddy already, but of course I’m proud of that, and shall always stick up for old Ireland, and sing `Erin-go-bragh’ on all occasions.  Well, I’ll tell you about the rest of our mess another day, and something about the warrant officers.  We’ve three of them, the gunner, boatswain, and carpenter — and as chance will have it, the first is a Scotchman, the second an Englishman, and the third an Irishman; and though they’re mighty good friends, they are always wrangling about their respective countries, each one declaring his own to be superior to the others in every respect.  Barney O’Rourke hailed me at once as a countryman, and was mighty pleased to see one young gentleman, at least, from the Emerald Isle who would stick up for our country’s honour. `And, by my faith, that’s what I intend to do,’ I answered — and we became sworn friends.  There now, Norah, I think you know a good deal about our ship already, and when Lieutenant Foley gets about again, which I hope he’ll do in a few days, you will learn a good deal more; and when we’re away, you’ll be able to fancy me on board among my shipmates.”

Norah sighed as she thought how soon her young brother, who had never before been parted from her, would be away, with the chance of not coming back for three or four years, for the Champion had only lately been commissioned, and might before long be sent to a foreign station.  At length Captain Olding, the Champion being ready for sea, ordered Gerald on board to perform, duty as a midshipman.  He intended, however, to return in the course of two or three weeks, expecting by that time that his second lieutenant would be sufficiently recovered to resume his duties.  Norah accompanied her father and Owen down the river to wish Gerald good-bye, and to see the ship sail.  She felt rather sad as the boat shoved off, when the anchor was apeak and the white canvas let fall, and the ship began to glide majestically away through the calm waters of the harbour — for, besides that she grieved to part with her young brother, the thought occurred to her that the Ouzel Galley would be the next ship she should see taking her departure from port.  Owen, who was now able to be constantly with her, offered, not unsuccessfully, all the consolation in his power.  Captain Tracy, being now well enough to go about, removed with her to their own cottage, situated a short distance from Waterford, and within a mile of Mrs Massey’s abode.  It was a pretty spot.  The cottage, with its porch covered with clematis and eglantine, stood in a good garden in which the captain delighted to work during his leisure hours.  From the windows could be seen the broad, shining river and the shipping in the distance on one side, and from the other the mountainous regions to the westward.  Altogether, no young lady could have desired a more romantic bower.

The captain, by his successful voyages, had been able to save a sufficient sum to live in comfort, with a handmaiden, Biddy O’Halloran, to attend on him and his daughter, and a gessoon to look after the cows and pigs and to work in the garden.  Still, notwithstanding her present happiness, it was but natural that poor Norah should reflect that in a short time Owen must sail away in command of the Ouzel Galley, and be subject to all the dangers of the sea, increased in war time by the chance of being captured by the enemy.  He and her father were now absent all day long, attending to the fitting out of the ship, which was making rapid progress.  Her owners had decided on sending her back to the West Indies, and Owen assured Norah that, as he should probably find a cargo waiting for him, he should not be long absent.  She paid frequent visits to Ellen, who could heartily sympathise with her.  Lieutenant Foley had entirely recovered from his wound, and would have to rejoin the Champion as soon as she arrived in the harbour, in which she was every day expected.  Norah thought that the lieutenant deserved all the praises bestowed on him by Gerald, though of course he was not equal, in her estimation, to Owen.  Still, she could not be surprised that her friend had given him her heart, especially as he had owned that he had given his to Ellen; and they were now regularly betrothed with the full approval of Mr Ferris, and were to marry as soon as Mr Foley had obtained the rank of commander.

The days and weeks went rapidly by.  Mr Ferris intended, as soon as Lieutenant Foley had joined his ship, to return with his daughter to Dublin.  This would be a great loss to Norah, as she was acquainted with but few other young ladies in the neighbourhood; indeed, from having been at school with Ellen, they were more like sisters than ordinary friends.  Ellen had begged that she would visit her in Dublin, but she could not leave her father, and still less did she wish to quit Waterford till the Ouzel Galley had sailed; after that, she felt that she should have no spirit to enjoy the gay society of the metropolis, even should her father insist on her accepting Ellen’s invitation.

The arrival of the Champion was announced at last by Gerald, who early one morning rushed into the house.

“We came in last night, and are to sail again this evening, so I obtained leave to run up to see you,” cried Gerald.  “I’ve got lots to tell you,” he continued, after he had exchanged greetings with his father and sister, and was seated at the breakfast-table.  “We haven’t had any actual fight, but we’ve taken several prizes, one of them, as big as the Champion, cut out in gallant style.  She was seen at anchor in Saint Martin’s Roads, and the captain determined to have her.  We stood away, and the Frenchman must have supposed we had gone; but at night, when it was very dark, we stood back again.  Three boats were then lowered, and I had the good luck to be sent in one of them.  We at once pulled away for the roads with muffled oars.  There lay the ship right ahead of us; we could just see her masts against the sky.  The Frenchmen must have been all asleep, or keeping a very bad look-out, for we were alongside and our fellows almost on her deck before we were discovered.  The Frenchmen, thus taken by surprise, made but a very feeble resistance, and though a few of them were knocked over, we didn’t lose a man.  The cable was cut and the topsails sheeted home before the fort began to fire, and as the wind was off shore, we got out of range with very little damage.  We earned our prize into Plymouth, and our captain, I believe, gained some credit for his exploit; though except that he designed it, he took no part, for old Tarwig commanded one boat, and the master, Billhook, another, and one of our mates and I went in the third.  Had half of us been killed, I suppose more would have been thought of the affair.  While at Plymouth we heard from the bumboat women, who have always the most correct intelligence, that we were to be sent to the West Indies, and we soon found that they were right; but the captain got leave to come in here first, to take Lieutenant Foley on board, and to obtain fresh provisions; so I shall be visiting the old scenes again, and, I hope, fall in with Owen.  That will be good fun; perhaps we shall have to convoy him home, or maybe, should the Ouzel Galley fall into the hands of the enemy, retake the ship.  Faith, shouldn’t I be delighted.”

“Oh, don’t talk of such a dreadful thing!” exclaimed Norah.  “I hope that you may have to convoy him home, and that we may see you both back here in five or six months.”

Gerald could stay but a very short time, as he had been ordered to return on board with Lieutenant Foley.  Norah and Captain Tracy accompanied him into Waterford.  They found the lieutenant ready to start, and Norah remained with Ellen, who had just taken farewell of her intended husband.  Owen, having joined the captain and Norah, went down to the quay to see Gerald off.

“We shall meet, I hope, soon, Owen,” said the young midshipman.  “I feel half ashamed of myself for deserting you; but if you knew the life we lead on board the Champion, you wouldn’t be surprised at my preferring her to the dear old Galley.”

“The time may come when you may think differently.  But good-bye, my lad; I hope you will enjoy yourself and come back safe,” answered Owen, as Gerald sprang on board.

The lieutenant gazed with eager eyes towards the windows of the large house overlooking the river, where he could see a white handkerchief waving to him.  Two or three more years might pass before he could again press the hand lately clasped in his, and it was a hard matter for him just then to keep up his spirits.  Soon after the boat returned on board, the anchor was hove up, and the Champion, under all sail, stood to the south-west.

In the evening Mr Ferris desired to see Owen.  “My partners and I have given you charge of the Ouzel Galley, Captain Massey, and we trust that you will be as devoted to our interests as your predecessor has been,” he said, giving Owen for the first time the title of captain.  “Having undergone a thorough refit, we hope that she will require no fresh repairs for some time to come.  We intend to insure her among our friends in Dublin, and they, knowing her good qualities and your careful character, would be ready to underwrite her at a moderate premium considering the war risk.”

“You may rely on my taking the best care I possibly can of the ship,” answered Owen, “and, as she has (I may say it without fear) a fair pair of heels, on my keeping clear of every enemy I may sight.”

“That is what we wish, Mr Massey,” said Mr Ferris.  “We don’t want men who will run their noses into danger; and true courage and seamanship will best be shown in your case by cleverly escaping from your foes.  You will get the ship ready for sea as soon as possible, and take your cargo on board, and we will then send you further directions from Dublin.”

Owen took leave of his employer and returned home.  The next day Mr Ferris, accompanied by Ellen, proceeded to Dublin.

Norah’s day of trial came at length.  She ought not to have complained, as she had enjoyed Owen’s society for some months.  The Ouzel Galley having shipped her cargo, chiefly of salt provisions, and other produce of the fertile south of Ireland, hauled out into the stream.  Her old captain, with Norah and Mrs Massey, went on board to bid farewell to Owen, and proceeded down the river till she had crossed the bar, when Captain Tracy took Owen by the hand.

“Heaven speed you, my boy!” he said.  “May He who guarded me through the many dangers of the ocean take care of you, and bring you back in safety to those who will ever give you a loving welcome!  And now, the shorter you cut the parting with those two the better.”

Mrs Massey saw that the time had come; she threw her amis round the young captain’s neck, and asked God again and again to protect him.  Then she let Norah take her place, while Captain Tracy helped her down into the boat alongside, in which Owen soon afterwards placed Norah.  They had said their last words of farewell; Norah’s had been whispered, for her heart was too full to allow her to utter them aloud.  Captain Tracy took his seat in the stern-sheets.  “Cast off!” he cried to the bowman.  The boat dropped astern; Owen was seen standing aft and looking over the taffrail; the pilot, who had still the command, ordered the courses to be let fall, and the Ouzel Galley glided onward.  As long as the boat was in sight, there stood Owen gazing at Norah and his mother, as again and again they waved.  More than once the old captain turned round to take another look at the ship whose keel he had seen laid, each timber and plank of which he had carefully watched as the shipwrights had fixed them in their destined positions — that ship on the deck of which he had stood when she glided into the water for the first time, and which he had since navigated with watchful care on every voyage she had made, amid rocks and shoals, and over many a league of ocean.

Mrs Massey had consented to spend a few days with Norah.  Though her own heart was heavy, she knew that she could console that of the young girl, so unused to the trials of life; while the old captain himself, she saw, required cheering, and thus in benefiting others she forgot her own anxieties.  The captain had out his chart:  he had marked the way the wind blew, and knew to a nicety the rate at which the ship was sailing, and could thus calculate from hour to hour the exact spot on which she floated — always provided, as he observed, if the wind holds as it did when she quitted port.

At length Mrs Massey returned home, and Norah settled down to her daily occupations.  Norah was not free from some anxiety on her own account, for she could not forget the attempt which had been made to carry her off, or divest herself altogether of the fear that she might be subjected to a similar outrage.  She therefore never ventured abroad without her father’s escort, while he at home ever kept his firearms ready for her defence.  Still, as week after week went by, her hope that O’Harrall had quitted the country, and that he would not again venture to molest her, increased.  She heard occasionally from Ellen, though letters were long in coming, and more than once the mail had been stopped on the road and plundered — a too frequent occurrence to be thought much of in those days.

Norah, notwithstanding her fears, was unmolested.  The captain had given out that if any one should venture to run off with his daughter he would not obtain a farthing of his property — a wise precaution, for it probably prevented any of the squireens in the neighbourhood from making the attempt — added to the fact, which was pretty generally known, that she was engaged to marry Owen Massey.

Month after month went by.  Ellen at first wrote her word that she was going much into society — more, indeed, than she liked — while she had an abundance of occupation at home in attending to her father’s household.  Latterly, from her letters, she appeared to be living a more quiet life than at first.  She mentioned her father, who seemed to be much out of spirits, though she could not divine the cause.  She again invited Norah to come up to Dublin and help to cheer him up.

“You are a great favourite of his, you know,” she wrote.  “He delights in hearing you sing, and your merry laugh and conversation will do him good.”

But Norah could not be induced to leave her father; besides which, she confessed to Ellen, she was looking forward in a short time to the return of the Ouzel Galley, and she would be sorry if Owen should not find her at home on his arrival.  Ellen, in reply, told her that the Ouzel Galley, after calling at Waterford, would probably have to come on to Dublin, and she continued — “And my father, finding it necessary to go out to Jamaica, intends taking a passage in her; and I have determined to obtain leave to accompany him.  I fear that he will object to my doing so, on account of the danger to which I may be exposed; but, you know, as I generally manage to have my own way, I hope to overcome his objections.  The ship also will form one of a large fleet of merchantmen under convoy of two or three men-of-war, and as the Ouzel Galley sails well, even should the convoy be attacked by the enemy, we shall have every chance of getting off.  You must not be jealous of me, my dear Norah; indeed, I heartily wish that your father could spare you to bear me company; and I dare say that the young captain would wish the same, did he know of the proposed plan.  Pray tell him of it when he comes into Waterford, and I have an idea that he will join his persuasions with mine.”

This letter made Norah’s heart beat quickly.  She was much surprised, too, at hearing of the intention of Mr Ferris to go out to the West Indies; but, much as she would have liked to accompany her friend, she felt that it would be impossible to leave her father.

“I was afraid that things were not going on straight,” observed Captain Tracy, when she told him of the news she had received.  “However, Mr Ferris is the man to set them to rights, and he’ll do it; but I wish that Miss Ellen, instead of going out with him, would come and stay here.  She expects to meet the lieutenant, but he’ll be here, there, and everywhere, and she mayn’t see him all the time she is there.”

Norah, in reply, told Ellen what Captain Tracy had said; but Miss Ferris had made up her mind to go if she could, and was not to be deterred from her purpose.  One evening Norah was seated at the open window with her work before her, while her father occupied his usual armchair, smoking his pipe, when a rapid step was heard approaching the house.  Norah uttered a cry of delight, and, hurrying to the door, the next moment was in Owen Massey’s arms.

“I am glad to see you back, my lad,” cried the old captain, grasping his hand; “you’ve made a quick voyage, and a prosperous one, I hope?”

“As prosperous as I could desire,” answered Owen.  “We have had two or three narrow escapes from the enemy’s cruisers, but the Ouzel Galley is in good trim, and never sailed better.  I heard in Waterford that I am to proceed to Dublin,” he continued; “so I paid my mother a visit, and she bade me hurry on here.  I can remain but a short time, for I must be on board again early to-morrow.”

“We’ll make the most of you, then, my lad,” said Captain Tracy, “and Norah looks as if she intended to do so.”

She was the first to tell Owen of the intention of Mr Ferris to go out in the Ouzel Galley to Jamaica, and that Ellen had made up her mind to accompany him.  “She has asked me to pay her a visit before she goes,” she added, “and I should much like to do so could I leave my father, but that I cannot do.”

“Nor shall you, my girl, for I will go with you,” said the captain, who had overheard her remark.  “We’ll go in the Ouzel Galley — to my mind there’s less danger at sea than from those land pirates, the highwaymen — and if you can pack up your traps in time, we’ll go aboard to-morrow morning.  What say you, Owen?  Will you take us as passengers?”

Owen expressed his pleasure at the proposal, and Norah had no doubt that she could pack up in time.  Owen put aside all fears of capture by the enemy; indeed, the Channel was so well guarded by British ships of war that there was little danger, he thought, on that score.  He had too much confidence in his own seamanship to think of shipwreck.  After all arrangements had been made, he went back to spend the rest of the evening with his mother, while Norah and the captain, with Biddy’s help, prepared for their departure.