"But there!" with husky pride. "He won't bear me no grudge--will you, old man?" with a hoa.r.s.e burst of tenderness, flinging his arm towards the bank, where the dead horse's girths glimmered still in the dusk. "He know'd I wouldn't have asked it of him, only I had to.

That's my old orse! that's my Robin!--Never asked no questions. Just took and died and did his duty without the talkin. Maybe some of us might learn a bit from him."

Taking a great bandana from his pocket, he blew his nose like the report of a pistol.

"A'ter all," he said, with touching solemnity, "he died for his country, did my Robin--same as Abercromby at Alexandrya."

III

Behind them on the hill a clock struck eight.

The riding-officer held up his hand.

"Ark!" he cried. "It was going seven in Ditchling as I pelted down the Beacon. Gallop! gallop! gallop! There's ne'er another orse in England could ha done it, with big Jerry Ram b.u.mpin on his back all the way; danged if there be!"

He thumped his knee.

"King George ought to know on it! He died for him. Fair lay down to it, belly all along the ground. Might ha know'd he was on the King's business, and the Gentleman with two minutes' start streakin away for Birling Gap like a bullet from the bow."

"Aw, he'll be out again than?" drawled the waterman, sleepy and Suss.e.x.

"Out again!" shouted Big Jerry, and clapping the handkerchief to his ear, thrust it beneath the other's eye of mildew. "What's that?--blood, ain't it?--whose?--mine.--How?--The Gentleman."

"You'll ha met him than, I expagt?" cooed the waterman in his cautious way.

"He met me more like," replied Big Jerry with the grim humour of the whole-hearted man, who gives hard knocks and takes them all in good part.

"Not but what we was expectin him, you'll understand."

"You knaw'd he was comin than surely?" came the waterman's slow musical voice.

"Know'd it!" roared the other. "O course we know'd it. Why's the _Kite_ been layin in Cuckmere Haven since night afore last?--why was the Gap Gang strung out all the way from Furrel Beacon to Beachy Head all day yesterday?--Why was Black Diamond mouchin round in Lewes this morning?--Why?--why?--why?"

"Why?" asked the boy, breathless.

"Because the Gallopin Gent was comin down with despatches for Boney, and they were keepin the road for him. That's why," screamed the big man, b.u.mping up and down in his excitement.

"Only question was which way. Ye see it's most in general all ways at once with him. Up and down, day and night, all over Suss.e.x, these weeks past. No stoppin him; no coppin him; no nothin him. Always the same chap--gentleman, mighty gay, bit o red riband in his b.u.t.ton-hole, and blood chestnut with a white blaze between his knees. Always the same tale--gave em the go-by somehow. No sayin where or when--only just when you're least expectin him, then you can make sure of him.

And when you are ready for him, seems he's readier for you."

He mopped his forehead, the laughing puckers gathering about his eyes.

"Look at us this evenin. There we was ridin easy up the Beacon, me and the orse-patrol--_lookin for him_. Just as we tops the brow who pops over the wall like a swallow but the Gentleman himself on his chestnut?"

He threw back his head and chuckled.

"There!--I can't ardly elp laughin. The cheek o the chap!"

"Did he run?" asked the boy, all eyes.

"Run!" snorted the riding-officer. "No run about _im_.... Rode at us like a rigiment of cavalry, swinging his sword, and laughin fit to bust himself.... Half the boys bolted--and I don't know as I blame them: they swear he's old Nick. d.i.c.k Halkett, old Job, and me, we stood it.... Bang he rides at old Job and bowls him over a buster; runs young d.i.c.k through the body; slops me over the pate a good un; and steals away down the hill, waving his hand and crying--'Adoo! adoo! adoo!

remember me!'--as if we was likely to forget him!"

The big man mopped his b.l.o.o.d.y ear with a quizzical grin.

"I know'd it was no good follerin. Nothing foaled o mortal mare can collar that chestnut, once she's away. So I bangs my hat down, catches the old orse by the ead, and rams him down the hill for Newhaven."

He began to push at the oars again.

"For there's two roads to Birling Gap, my lad: one by land, and one by sea. We've missed him by land. Now we'll see what the Jack-tars can do."

IV

The boy said nothing. His eyes were on his ship, dim above him in the mist.

She was in rags and tatters: so much he could see, and little else. Yet to him she seemed to glow in the dusk. He saw her through blurred eyes in a cloud of glory, and his heart thrilled to her.

She was his ship; that ship of which he had dreamed ever since he could dream, this boy born to the sea.

And was he not proud of her?

Shivering like a lover, he brought up alongside; and as he did so he thrust out a hand to feel the wooden ribs which covered that heart of valour.

For was she not the little _Tremendous_, of whom the heroic tales were told!

CHAPTER III

THE GUNNER OF THE SLOOP

Swiftly and silently the _Tremendous_ spread her wings in the dusk.

The riding-officer was going over the side.

"Good luck, sir!" he said. "Make a cop; and Pitt'll thank you on his knees."

For all answer the block-of-granite little man by the wheel turned his back.

"Cut the cable!" he barked. "Set studdin-sails alow and aloft! Inboard side-lights! Boniface, take a party of small-arm men forrad, and keep a sharp look-out!"

Before the riding-officer had dropped into the dinghy, the _Tremendous_ began to slap the water, shaking out ragged topsails as she slid out of the harbour, a misty rain shrouding her.