One-legged Butler was quite a character in his way. He had been in the service in his very young days, and had lost a limb while fighting bravely for king and country. But for this stroke of bad luck he might have been an admiral, and there is little doubt he would have been a brave one too. Appointed to the revenue service, he soon proved that, in addition to cunning, tact, and bravery, he possessed detective qualities of no mean order. His timber toe, as the sailors called his wooden leg, was no drawback to him. Timber toes in those stirring times were as common as sea-gulls in every British sea-port; and Butler's powers of disguising himself, or making up to act a part in order to gain information, were simply marvellous. On the day Tom Fairlie made his acquaintance, he had been singing "Tom Bowling" on the street in front of a public-house, and our Tom had gone up to give him a penny. Like the Ancient Mariner, he had held Tom with his glittering eye; and a very few moments' conversation was sufficient to arrange for one of the cleverest and most daring little adventures that ever supplied a man-o'-war with gallant "volunteers," as pressed men were often ironically termed in those days. They were a very merry party at dinner that day around the captain's table. Not a large one, however; only Jack Mackenzie himself, his friend Tom Fairlie, M'Hearty, one "middie," and bold Captain Butler, all good men and true; and the servant who waited at table was one to be trusted. Despite the fact that he was a Spaniard, he was most faithful, so that the conversation could take any turn without danger of a word being repeated either forward or to the servants below in the ward-room. In talking and yarning right quickly passed the evening in the captain's cabin; but everywhere fore and aft to-night both officers and crew were hearty. They had already bidden farewell to friends and home, soon their country too would fade far away from sight, and then--the glories of war. Ah! never mind about its horrors; what brave young British sailor ever thought of these? CHAPTER IX. "A SPLENDID NIGHT'S WORK, TOM!" "Ah! cruel, hard-hearted, to press him, And force the dear youth from my arms; Restore him, that I may caress him, And shield him from future alarms." DIBDIN'S _Pressgang_. It was near to the hour of sunset, on an autumn evening about a week after the cozy dinner-party in the cabin of Captain Jack Mackenzie of the _Tonneraire_. The tree-clad hills and terra-cotta cliffs around Tor Bay were all ablur with driving mist and rain, borne viciously along on the wings of a north-east gale. Far out beyond the harbour mouth, betwixt Berry Head and Hope's Nose, the steel-blue waters were flecked and streaked with foam; while high against the rocks of Corbyn's Head the waves broke in clouds of spray.