"What should I say?" she asked, looking into his face as well as the dim light would permit. "What should I say instead?"

"Why, 'on deck,' of course," he replied. "We've got no stairs on board ship. They're either 'companion-ways' or 'ladders,' up one of which we'll go now, if you like!"

So saying, he led the way on deck as he had down below, taking them all into the ward-room under the p.o.o.p, where they now saw various relics of the hero, besides letters and orders in his writing, which were framed and hung round the cabin like pictures.

Bob, whose calligraphy was none of the clearest or most legible, had the benefit of a little moral lesson here from his father, who seemed to take a mean advantage of the fact of Nelson writing so well with his left hand after he lost his right; but Master Bob evaded the issue very well by saying that "when he was similarly circ.u.mstanced," he would try and write as well, too!

"Bravo!" cried the Captain, as they left the ship, going down the "accommodation-ladder," which, as he was careful to tell Nellie, was not a staircase either, although outside the ship. Then, turning to her father he added, chuckling-- "That boy of yours, Strong, is a regular chip of the old block, and a credit to your country!"

They had a laugh at this, of course; and, then, on Mrs Gilmour suggesting their taking advantage of the high tide to visit Porchester Castle, as the harbour looked its best, the watermen in charge of their wherry were directed to row up stream towards the creek on the northern side, where the old fortress, embowered in trees, nestled under the shelter of the Portsdown hills, a monolith of past grandeur and present decay!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A STEAM TRIAL, AND A GUN-BURST.

On their way up the harbour, the Captain pointed out the long line of old hulks moored on either side of the stream that had once, when in their prime, been esteemed the pride of the Navy.

With towering masts and gallant rig they had flown the flag that has borne the battle and the breeze for many a long year.

But, within the last decade, their glory has departed, alas, like the glories of "Rotten Row," as this anchorage of broken-down ships is called; many of the old historic vessels having been sold out of the service and their places know them no more!

"Ah, these are something like 'Roman remains'!" exclaimed Captain Dresser, when their wherry ultimately glided up to the ruins of Porchester Castle, the base of whose swelling walls was laved by the rippling tide. "That 'villa' at Brading was a regular take-in, and I shall always regret that half-crown in hard cash, out of which I was swindled!"

"Sure, I don't think you'll ever forget that day," cried Mrs Gilmour, laughing as she explained the matter more lucidly to her brother and sister-in-law. "Just as Queen Mary said that Calais would be found engraved on her heart after she was dead, the Roman villa at Brading will be found graven on yours, Captain, sure!"

"I don't mind," said he resignedly, "I like something for my money; and, here, there is something to see and nothing to pay for it either!"

The boatmen rowed the boat close insh.o.r.e in order to allow them to inspect the place nearer, as they did not have sufficient time to land and examine it properly. Mrs Gilmour, while they laid off making thus a cursory inspection of the ruins, became the castle's historian-- telling how the Romans originally built the fortress on their invasion of England over eighteen hundred years ago, styling it "Portus Magnus,"

or "the great port," it being situated on a tongue of land commanding the approaches to their encampments in the interior of the country--the harbour being then more open to the sea than it now is.

"Aye," corroborated the Captain. "It has silted up considerably, even in my time, in spite of continual dredging."

"The Saxons afterwards called the place Portceaster, whence its present name 'Porchester,'" continued the narrator; "and, subsequently, the stronghold has played an important part in history, from the days of Canute up to the reign of Queen Elizabeth."

"That's something at any rate!" interposed the Captain. "More than you can say for the Brading villa!"

"You mustn't interrupt, sure," said Mrs Gilmour, tapping him with her parasol as her brother laughed, exchanging winks with the old sailor.

"After the time of good Queen Bess, however, the castle is not memorable for much in its history till we come to the early part of the present century; when it was used as a depot for the prisoners taken in the French war, some eight or ten thousand being incarcerated within its walls at one time!"

"What a lot!" cried Bob. "It must have cost a heap of money to keep them in food, auntie?"

"It did, 'a lot,' my dear," replied his aunt, adopting his favourite word. "Several men with names distinguished in the Revolution were confined here, among them being the Irish general Tate, who led that ridiculous invasion of this country planned by Buonaparte, which was routed by a body of Welsh women at Fishguard."

"Hurrah for the s.e.x!" interrupted the Captain again, Mr Strong joining in his cheer, while the boatmen grinned. "More power to their petticoats!"

Mrs Gilmour only smiled at this, not venturing to explain that the invaders mistook the red-cloaked, tall-hatted women of the Princ.i.p.ality, who were ranged along the crests of their native mountains, for British regiments on the march to annihilate them; and so, capitulated to avoid capture!

"One of the most comical characters imprisoned in the castle," she went on, "was a seaman named Francois Dufresne, who was a regular Jack Sheppard in the way of breaking out of confinement."

"Oh!" exclaimed Bob, p.r.i.c.king up his ears at the mention of the noted celebrity of the Newgate Calendar. "That's jolly! What did he do, auntie?"

"Why, he would, for a mere frolic or for a trifling wager, seals the walls of the castle under the very eye; of the sentries, making his way into the woodlands on the north of Portsdown Hill, where he would ramble at large, stealing all the eggs and fowls he could lay his hands on. He had, as he explained, a great weakness for poultry."

"By Jove, I can quite excuse him," said the Captain in his funny way.

"I'm partial to a chicken, myself!"

"So am I, too," remarked Mrs Strong. "It was only what might be called 'an amiable weakness' on his part, considering that probably the poor prisoners were not too well fed."

"They were not, my dear Edith," replied her sister-in-law, "if all accounts be true; for the French Government complained of their being half-starved! However, be that as it may, Dufresne used to plunder away amongst the cottagers, until their anger at losing their stock led to his recapture and remission to durance vile. Once he actually made his way to London; when, calling at the house of the 'French Commissioner'

there, who was the agent for all the prisoners of the war, he procured a decent dress and a pa.s.sport, with which he presented himself again at Porchester and made a triumphant return to his prison!"

"The governor must have been surprised," said Bob. "Wasn't he, auntie?"

"He was," a.s.sented his aunt. "Very much surprised, my dear."

"Did they punish him for escaping?" asked Nell. "I don't think they ought to have, as he came back."

"No, I don't think they did," replied Mrs Gilmour. "But, my dear, I think I've told you enough now of the castle and all belonging to it, and must really stop, for it's time for us to be going back."

"Indeed we must, ma'am," said the Captain, "that is, if we're going over the Victualling Yard."

"What, more sight-seeing!" exclaimed Mrs Strong in a voice of despair.

"Can't you let us off doing any more to-day?"

"Well, ma'am," pleaded the Captain apologetically, "only just one place more and you will then have 'killed all the lions'; that is, all save the Dockyard, which Master Bob will have to tell you about."

"Do let us go, mamma! I do so want to see them making the biscuits.

They do it all by machinery, just fancy!" said Nellie coaxingly. "Do, let us go, please, won't you?"

"Do, please," also pleaded Bob, "it will be so very jolly!"

"I suppose I must give in," sighed his mother. "Oh, Captain Dresser, Captain Dresser, you have a good deal to answer for!"

The old sailor only chuckled in response; and, giving the necessary orders to the boatmen, the wherry, which had come down rapidly from Porchester, the tide having turned and being now on the ebb, was pulled in to the Gosport sh.o.r.e, its pa.s.sengers landing at Clarence Yard, the great food depot of the Navy.

Here they saw all that was to be seen, gazing with wonder at the vast stores of things eatable acc.u.mulated for the service of the fleet--Bob and Miss Nell being particularly interested in the bread-factory and bakery, where the attendant who showed them over the place completed their satisfaction by filling their respective pockets with the curious hexagonal-shaped biscuits there made, "thus provisioning them," as the Captain said, "for the remainder of their stay."

They crossed back from Gosport to Portsmouth by the floating bridge, which, of course, Bob wanted to know all about, the Captain explaining to him how it was fixed on two chains pa.s.sing through the vessel and moored on either sh.o.r.e, so as to prevent the "bridge" from being swayed by the action of the tide, which runs very strongly in and out of the harbour at the point of its pa.s.sage.

"But how does the bridge move?" asked the inquiring Bob, full of questions as usual. "I can't see how it can, if it be chained up like Rover!"

"There is a steam-engine in the centre of the vessel, as you can see for yourself, there," replied the Captain, pointing to the funnels that bore out his statement. "This engine works a pair of vertical wheels inside that casing between the two divisions of the boat; and these wheels, which are each some eight feet in diameter and cogged, wind in the chains at one end, paying them out at the other."

"I see," said Bob; and the floating bridge having by this time reached its terminus at the Portsmouth side of the water, they all stepped ash.o.r.e and made their way home, Mrs Strong declaring that she had had "enough of going about, for one day at least!"

In spite of her exertions, however, she was none the worse for them after dinner; being able, indeed, to accompany the others down to the beach, Rover now forming one of the party, and magnanimously forgiving his young master for leaving him behind all day in the house while he went gallivanting about sight-seeing, albeit d.i.c.k's company and Sarah's kindness in the way of t.i.t-bits somewhat made amends to the poor dog for the neglect of the truant Bob.