"Oi'll coom," he said. "Mate, pudden and killin--that's what Oi loike."

II

Nelson stood at the gangway.

"Good-bye, Kit. I shall hope to have the pleasure of your company aboard the _Victory_ when I sail."

Kit tried to thank him, failed, and went over the side.

"Good-bye, Harry."

The two old friends stood eye to eye, hand to hand, the great sea wide about them and the lugger bobbing beneath.

"Good-bye, Nelson," said the Parson, and added, "Good luck."

The other smiled.

"Trust Nelson," he said.

III

They cast off.

The slow and stately frigate began to draw away.

As she slid past, the boys fending her off, and the Parson already composing himself at the bottom of the boat, Nelson leaned over the side.

"Thank you," he said, and swept off his c.o.c.ked hat.

Then he turned.

The boys could see him no more. But that shrill voice, so familiar now, tw.a.n.ged above them.

_"Now, my lads! I'll ask you to give three cheers for the crew of the Kite. Hip! hip!--"

"Hooray!"_

A roaring cheer leapt from the silence. In a moment the shrouds were black with waving men. The great hurrahing vessel drew away, curtseying as she went.

Even the Parson lifted a languid head and peered.

"He's dipping his ensign to you, Kit. Take the salute."

Kit looked through swimming eyes.

The old sense of experience renewed was strong on him--the battle won, the return home in the evening, the cheers of the saved, and his heart drowned in love and glory.

Could it be true?

Yes. The Victor of the Nile had dipped his flag to a ten days'

midshipman.

"Ah," said the Parson, "there's Nelson!--G.o.d bless him!"

At the stern of the great ship, an empty sleeve pinned to his breast, stood the greatest seaman of all time, one hand to his c.o.c.ked hat.

II

KNAPP'S STORY

CHAPTER Lx.x.xI

THE RETURN

I

A mile from sh.o.r.e, under the lee of the land, the wind fell away.

The lugger, with lolling mainsail, flowed down a path of gold. The sh.o.r.e was dark and still before them, and the sun poised above the Downs, blue at the back.

As they neared the land, the calm grew. Save for the lap of waters at the bow, all was hushed in the gracious evening.

Kit, steering, peered under the swaying boom at the sh.o.r.e.

The Parson, Polly in hand, stood in the bows, viking-like.

The lugger was about to beach at the very spot where they had started twelve hours since.

The tide was much as then; but otherwise what a change!

Then in the cold sunshine men had been busy with each other's lives; now all was sunset peace and waters kissing the sh.o.r.e.

But for one grim reminder of what had been, they might have been returning from a pleasure trip.

The Grenadier Kit had stabbed lay on the slope of the shingle, ghastly to greet them. Just out of reach of the tide he sprawled as he had fallen.

No man had touched him. He lay then as now spread-eagled on his face, with wide gaitered legs, and hands flung before him. His chin dug into the shingle; and his shako had fallen askew over staring eyes. It was almost as though he was making faces at them.