e 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 sex!" 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 Principality,
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, pricking 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 co