IN KEDAR'S TENTS.1 BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN, AUTHOR OF "THE

SOWERS."

CHAPTER III.

LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA.

"No one can be more wise than destiny."

“What are we waiting for? why, two more passengers, grand ladies, as they tell me, and the captain has gone ashore to fetch them," the first mate of the Granville barque of London made answer to Frederick Conyngham, and he breathed on his fingers as he spoke, for the north-west wind was blowing across the plains of the Medoc, and the sun had just set behind the smoke of Bordeaux.

The Granville was lying at anchor in the middle of the Garonne River, having safely discharged her deck cargo of empty claret casks and landed a certain number of passengers. There are few colder spots on the Continent than the sunny town of Bordeaux when the west wind blows from Atlantic wastes in winter time. A fine powder of snow scudded across the flat land, which presented a bleak, brown face patched here

and there with white. There were two

more passengers on board the Granville crouching in the cabin, two French gentlemen who had taken passage from London to Algeciras, in Spain, on their way to Algiers.

Conyngham, with characteristic goodnature, had made himself so entirely at home on board the Mediterranean

trader, that his presence was equally

welcome in the forecastle and the captain's cabin. Even the first mate, his present interlocutor, a grim man given to muttered abuse of his calling, and a pious pessimism in respect to human nature, gradually thawed under the influence of so cheerful an acceptance of

heavy weather and a clumsy deck

ingly, and took an heroic pinch of snuff.

"One's as capable of carrying mischief as the other," he muttered, in the bigoted voice of a married teetotaler.

The ship was ready for sea, and this mariner's spirit was ever uneasy and restless till the anchor was on deck and

the hawser stowed.

"There's a boat leaving the quay now," he added. "Seems she's lumbered up forrard wi' women's hamper."

And, indeed, the black form of a skiff so laden could be seen approaching through the driving snow and gloom. The mate called to the steward to come on deck, and this bearded servitor of dames emerged from the gallery with up-rolled sleeves and a fine contempt for cold winds. A boy went forward with a coil of rope on his arm, for the tide was running hard, and the Garonne is no ladies' pleasure stream. It is no easy matter to board a ship in mid-current when tide and wind are at variance and the fingers so cold that a rope slips The through them like a log-line. Granville, having still on board her cargo of coal for Algeciras, lay low in the water, with both her anchors out, and the tide singing round her old-fashioned hempen hawsers.

"Now see ye throw a clear rope," shouted the mate to the boy, who had gone forward. The proximity of the land and the approach of women-a bête noire no less dreaded-seemed to

flurry the brined spirit of the Gran

ville's mate.

Perhaps the knowledge that the end of a rope, not judged clear, would inevitably be applied to his own person, shook the nerve of the boy on the forecastle; perhaps his hands were cold and

his faculties benumbed. He cast a line

which seemed to promise well at first.

Two coils of it unfolded themselves

gradually against the grey sky, and then confusion took the others for herself. A British oath from the deck of the ship went out to meet a fine French explosion of profanity from the boat, both forestalling the splash of the tangled rope into the water ten yards out

of the reach of the man who stood, boat-hook in hand, ready to catch it. There were two ladies in the stem of the boat muffled up to the eyes, and betokening by their attitude the hopeless despair and misery which seize the Southern fair the moment they embark in so much as a ferry-boat. The forepart of the heavy craft was piled up with trunks and other impedimenta of a feminine incongruity. A single boatman had rowed the boat from the shore, guiding it into mid-stream, and there describing a circle calculated to ensure a gentle approach on the lee side. This man, having laid aside his oars, now stood, boat-hook in hand, awaiting the inevitable crash. The offending boy in the bows was making frantic efforts to haul in his misguided rope, but the possibility of making a second cast was unworthy of consideration. The mate muttered such a string of foreboding expletives as augured ill for the delinquent. The boatman was preparing to hold on and fend off at the same moment. A sudden gust of wind gave the boat a sharp buffet, just as the man grappled the mizzen-chains; he overbalanced himself, fell and recovered himself, but only to be jerked backward into the water by the boat-hook, which struck him in the chest.

"A moi!" cried the man, and disappeared in the muddy water. He rose to the surface under the ship's quarter, and the mate, quick as lightning. dumped the whole coil of the slack of the main sheet on to the top of him. In a moment he was at the level of the rail, the mate and the steward hauling steadily on the rope, to which he clung with the tenacity and somewhat the attitude of a monkey. At the same instant a splash made the rescuers turn in time to see Conyngham, whose coat lay thrown on the deck behind them, rise to the surface ten yards astern of the Granville, and strike out toward the boat now almost disappearing in the gloom of the night.

The water, which had flowed through the sunniest of the sunny plains of France. was surprisingly warm, and Conyngham, soon recovering from the

shock of his dive, settled into a quick side-stroke. The boat was close in front of him, and in the semi-darkness he could see one of the women rise from her seat and make her way forward, while her companion crouched lower and gave voice to her dismay in a series of wails and groans. The more intrepid lady was engaged in lifting one of the heavy oars, when Conyngham called out in French:

"Courage, mesdames! I will be with you in a moment."

Both turned, and the pallor of their faces shone whitely through the gloom. Neither spoke, and in a few strokes Conyngham came alongside. He clutched the gunwale with his right hand and drew himself breast-high.

"If these ladies," he said, "will kindly go to the opposite side of the boat, I shall be able to climb in without danger of upsetting.”

"If mamma inclines that way, I think it will be sufficient," answered the muffled form, which had made its way forward. The voice was clear and low, remarkably self-possessed, and not without a suggestion that its possessor bore a grudge against some person present.

"Perhaps mademoiselle is right," said Conyngham with becoming gravity, and the lady in the stern obeyed her daughter's suggestion with the result anticipated. Indeed, the boat heeled over with so much good will, that Conyngham was lifted right out of the water. He clambered on board, and immediately began shivering, for the wind cut like a knife.

The younger lady made her way cautiously back to the seat which she had recently quitted, and began at once to speak very severely to her mother. This stout and emotional person was swaying backward and forward, and, in the intervals of wailing and groaning called in Spanish upon several selected saints to assist her. At times, and apparently by way of a change, she appealed to yet higher powers to receive her soul.

"My mother," said the young lady to Conyngham, who had already got

the oars out, "has the heart of a rabbit -but yes, of a very young rabbit!"

"Madame may rest assured that there is no danger," said Conyngham. "Monsieur is an Englishman?" "Yes; and a very cold one at the moment. If madame could restrain her religious enthusiasm so much as to sit still we should make better progress."

He spoke rather curtly, as if refusing to admit the advisability of manning the boat with a crew of black-letter saints. The manner in which the boat leapt forward under each stroke of the oars testified to the strength of his arms and madame presently subsided into whispers of thankfulness, haviug reason, it would seem, to be content with mere earthly aid in lieu of that heavenly intervention which ladies of her species summon at every turn of life.

"I wish I could help you," said the younger woman presently, in a voice and manner suggestive of an energy unusual to her countrywomen. She spoke in French, but with an accent somewhat round and full, like an English accent, and Conyngham divined that she was Spanish. He thought also that under their outer wraps the ladies wore the mantilla, and had that graceful carriage of the head which is only seen in the Peninsular.

"Thank you, mademoiselle, but I am making good progress now. Can you see the ship?"

She rose and stood peering into the darkness ahead, a graceful, swaying figure. A faint scent, as of some flower, was wafted on the keen wind to Conyngham, who had already decided, with characteristic haste, that this young person was as beautiful as she was intrepid.

"Yes," she answered; "it is quite clear. They are also showing lights to guide us."

She stood looking apparently over his head toward the Granville, but when she spoke, it would seem that her thoughts had not been fixed on that vessel.

"Is monsieur a sailor?" she asked. "No; but I fortunately have a little

knowledge of such matters-fortunate since I have been able to turn it to the use of these ladies."

"But you are travelling in the Granville."

"Yes, I am travelling in the Granville."

Over his oars Conyngham looked hard at his interlocutrice, but could make out nothing of her features. Her voice interested him, however, and he wondered whether there were ever calms on the coast of Spain at this time of the year.

"Our sailors," said the young lady, "in Spain are brave, but they are very cautious. I think none of them would have done such a thing as you have just done for us. We were in danger. I knew it. Was it not so?"

"The boat might have drifted against some ship at anchor and have upset; you might also have been driven out to sea. They had no boat on board the Granville ready to put out and follow you."

"Yes; and you saved us. But you English are of a great courage. And my mother, instead of thanking you, is offering her gratitude to James and John, the sons of Zebedee; as if they had done it."

"I am no relation to Zebedee," said Conyngham, with a gay laugh; "madame may rest assured of that."

"Julia!" said the elder lady severely, and in a voice that seemed to emanate from a chest as deep and hollow as an octave cask, "I shall tell Father Concha, who will assuredly reprove you. The saints upon whom I called were fishermen, and therefore the more capable of understanding our great danger. As for monsieur, he knows that he will always be in my prayers."

"Thank you, madame," said Conyngham gravely.

"And at a fitter time I hope to tender him my thanks."

At this moment a voice from the Granville hailed the boat, asking whether all were well and Mr. Conyngham on board. being reassured on this point, the mate apparently attended to another matter requiring his attention,