The Bull-Pups and the Bear-Baiters and the Bully Cockytoos, and all the rest, fifty in a line, were hauling along a Lancaster gun, with a fiddler on top fiddling away for dear life, and they all bellowing a chantie that made him draw rein to listen to it. The bands in the French camp were playing merrily as he left it, but in the British lines there was not so much as a bugle or a drum, and the men were feeling it keenly. So the rough chorus struck him pleasantly, and he stopped to hear it out. When the gun was up to their camp, the men cast loose and began to foot it merrily to the music, just to show what a trifle a Lancaster gun was to British sailormen. And Jim, as he sat laughing at their antics and enjoying them hugely, suddenly caught sight of a familiar face. Not one of the dancers, but one who stood looking on soberly--it might even he sombrely, Jim could not be sure. He jumped off his horse and led him round. "Why, Seth, old man!" he said, clapping the broad shoulder in friendly delight. "What brings you here?" And young Seth turned and faced him, and had to look twice before he knew him. "Ech--why, it's Mester Jim!" he said slowly. "Of course it is. And but for you he wouldn't be here, and he never forgets it. But how do you come to be here, Seth?" "I come with the rest to fight the Roosians, Mester Jim." "I wish they'd give us a chance, but it's going to be all long bowls, I'm afraid." But there was that to be said between them which was not for other ears. The tars had watched the meeting with much favour, for greetings so friendly between officer and man were not often seen among them in those days, though more possible between sailormen than in the army. When they saw Jim slip his arm through Seth's and draw him along with him, they started a lusty cheer. "Three cheers for young Fuzzy-cap! Hip--hip!" And Jim grinned jovially and waved his hand in reply. And Seth Rimmer, in spite of the taciturnity which they could not understand, was a man of note among them from that day. "Did you hear all about your poor old dad, Seth?" asked Jim quietly. "Yes, Mester Jim. Th' passon told me all about it." "It was a grievous thing. But I don't think I was to blame, Seth. He would go out and ramble about. I did all I could for him." "I know. I know." "And Kattie, Seth! _You_ surely never thought I had anything to do with that matter?" "No, Mester Jim. I knowed it wasn't you." "Do you know who it was, Seth? I would hold him to account if ever I got the chance. But she would not tell me." "You found her?" asked Seth, with a start that brought them both to a stand. "She came to me in the street the very last night before we left----" Seth gave out something mixed up of groan and curse. "She said she had heard we were going in the morning, and she wanted to say good-bye." "Th' poor little wench! . . . What did you say to her Mester Jim?"