University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

As soon as the people of the Plantagenet, who had so far
trespassed on discipline, when they perceived a man hanging
at the end of the studding-sail-boom, as to appear in the
rigging, on the booms, and on the guns, to watch the result,
saw the stranger safely landed on the poop, they lifted their
hats and caps, and, as one voice, greeted him with three
cheers. The officers smiled at this outbreak of feeling, and
the violation of usage was forgotten; the rigid discipline of
a man-of-war even, giving way occasionally to the sudden
impulses of natural feeling.

As the Druid approached the flag-ship, Captain Blewet
had appeared in her weather mizzen-rigging, conning his
vessel in person; and the order to luff, or keep off, had been
given by his own voice, or by a gesture of his own hand.
As soon as he saw Wycherly's feet on the poop of the Plantagenet,
and his active form freed from the double-bowline,
in which it had been seated, the captain made a wide sweep
of the arm, to denote his desire to edge away; the helm of
the frigate was borne up hard, and, as the two-decker surged
ahead on the bosom of a sea, the Druid's bows were knocked
off to leeward, leaving a space of about a hundred feet,
or more, between the two ships, as it might be, in an instant.
The same causes continuing to operate, the Plantagenet
drove still farther ahead, while the frigate soon came to the
wind again, a cable's-length to leeward, and abreast of the
space between the admiral and his second, astern. Here,
Captain Blewet seemed disposed to wait for further orders.

Sir Gervaise Oakes was not accustomed to betray any
surprise he might feel at little events that occurred on duty.
He returned the bow of Wycherly, coolly, and then, without
question or play of feature, turned his eyes on the further

movements of the Druid. Satisfied that all was right
with the frigate, he directed the messenger to follow him, and
went below himself, leaving Wycherly to obey as fast as
the many inquiries he had to answer as he descended the
ladders would allow. Atwood, an interested observer of what
had passed, noted that Captain Greenly, of all present, was
the only person who seemed indifferent to the nature of the
communication the stranger might bring, though perhaps
the only one entitled by rank to put an interrogatory.

“You have come aboard of us in a novel and extraordinary
mode, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe!” observed the
vice-admiral, a little severely, as soon as he found himself
in his own cabin, alone with the lieutenant.

“It was the plan of Captain Blewet, sir, and was really
the only one that seemed likely to succeed, for a boat could
scarcely live. I trust the success of the experiment, and
the nature of the communications I may bring, will be
thought sufficient excuses for the want of ceremony.”

“It is the first time, since the days of the Conqueror, I
fancy, that an English vice-admiral's ship has been boarded
so cavalierly; but, as you say, the circumstances may justify
the innovation. What is your errand, sir?”

“This letter, I presume, Sir Gervaise, will explain itself.
I have little to say in addition, except to report that the
Druid has sprung her foremast in carrying sail to close with
you, and that we have not lost a moment since Admiral
Bluewater ordered us to part company with himself.”

“You sailed on board the Cæsar, then?” asked Sir Gervaise,
a great deal mollified by the zeal for service in a
youth, situated ashore, as he knew Wycherly to be. “You
left her, with this letter?”

“I did, Sir Gervaise, at Admiral Bluewater's command.”

“Did you go aboard the Druid boom-fashion, or was that
peculiar style reserved for the commander-in-chief?”

“I left the Cæsar in a boat, Sir Gervaise; and though we
were much nearer in with the coast, where the wind has not
the rake it has here, and the strength of the gale had not
then come, we were nearly swamped.”

“If a true Virginian, you would not have drowned,
Wychecombe,” answered the vice-admiral, in better humour.

“You Americans swim like cork. Excuse me, while I read
what Admiral Bluewater has to say.”

Sir Gervaise had received Wycherly in the great cabin,
standing at the table which was lashed in its centre. He
would have been puzzled himself, perhaps, to have given
the real reason why he motioned to the young man to take
a chair, while he went into what he called his “drawingroom;”
or the beautiful little apartment between the two
state-rooms, aft, which was fitted with an elegance that
might have been admired in a more permanent dwelling,
and whither he always withdrew when disposed to reflection.
It was probably connected, however, with a latent apprehension
of the rear-admiral's political bias, for, when by
himself, he paused fully a minute before he opened the letter.
Condemning this hesitation as unmanly, he broke the
seal, however, and read the contents of a letter, which was
couched in the following terms:

Sir Gervaise Oakes read this letter twice with great deliberation;
then he crushed it in his hand, as one would
strangle a deadly serpent. Not satisfied with this manifestation
of distaste, he tore the letter into pieces so small as to
render it impossible to imagine its contents, opened a cabin-window,
and threw the fragments into the ocean. When
he fancied that every sign of his friend's weakness had thus
been destroyed, he began to pace the cabin in his usual manner.
Wycherly heard his step, and wondered at the delay;
but his duty compelled him to pass an uncomfortable half-hour
in silence, ere the door opened, and Sir Gervaise appeared.
The latter had suppressed the signs of distress,
though the lieutenant could perceive he was unusually anxious.

“Did the rear-admiral send any message, Sir Wycherly?”
inquired Sir Gervaise; “in his letter he would seem
to refer me to some verbal explanations from yourself.”

“I am ashamed to say, sir, none that I can render very
intelligible. Admiral Bluewater, certainly, did make a few
communications that I was to repeat, but when we had parted,
by some extraordinary dullness of my own I fear, I find
it is out of my power to give them any very great distinctness
or connection.”

“Perhaps the fault is less your own, sir, than his. Bluewater
is addicted to fits of absence of mind, and then he has
no reason to complain that others do not understand him,
as he does not always understand himself.”

Sir Gervaise said this with a little glee, for he was greatly
delighted at finding his friend had not committed himself
to his messenger. The latter, however, was less disposed to
excuse himself by such a process, inasmuch as he felt certain
that the rear-admiral's feelings were in the matter he
communicated, let the manner have been what it might.

“I do not think we can attribute anything to Admiral
Bluewater's absence of mind, on this occasion, sir,” answered
Wycherly, with generous frankness. “His feelings
appeared to be strongly enlisted in what he said. It might
have been owing to the strength of these feelings that he was
a little obscure, but it could not have been owing to indifference.”

“I shall best understand the matter, then, by hearing
what he did say, sir.”

Wycherly paused, and endeavoured to recall what had
passed, in a way to make it intelligible.

“I was frequently told to caution you not to engage the
French, sir, until the other division had closed, and was
ready to assist. But, really, whether this was owing to
some secret information that the rear-admiral had obtained,
or to a natural desire to have a share in the battle, is more
than I can say.”

“Each may have had its influence. Was any allusion
made to secret intelligence, that you name it?”

“I never felt more cause to be ashamed of my own dullness,
than at this present moment, Sir Gervaise Oakes,”
exclaimed Wycherly, who almost writhed under the awkwardness
of his situation; for he really began to suspect
that his own personal grounds of unhappiness had induced
him to forget some material part of his message;—“recent
events ashore, had perhaps disqualified me for this duty.”

“It is natural it should be so, my young friend; and as
I am acquainted with them all, you can rest satisfied with
my indulgence.”

“All! no—Sir Gervaise, you know not half—but, I forget
myself, sir, and beg your pardon.”

“I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe, and we will drop the subject. You may say,
however, if the rear-admiral was in good spirits—as an English
seaman is apt to be, with the prospect of a great battle
before him.”

“I thought not, Sir Gervaise. Admiral Bluewater to me
seemed sad, if I may presume to mention it—almost to
tears, I thought, sir, one or twice.”

“Poor Dick!” mentally ejaculated the vice-admiral; “he
never could have made up his mind to desert me without
great anguish of soul. Was there anything said,” speaking
aloud, “about the fleet of M. de Vervillin?”

“Certainly a good deal, sir; and yet am I ashamed to
say, I scarce know what! Admiral Bluewater appeared to
think the Comte de Vervillin had no intention to strike a
blow at any of our colonies, and with this he seemed to
connect the idea that there would be less necessity for our

engaging him. At all events, I cannot be mistaken in his
wish that you would keep off, sir, until he could close.”

“Ay, and you see how instinctively I have answered to
his wishes!” said Sir Gervaise, smiling a little bitterly.
“Nevertheless, had the rear of the fleet been up this morning,
Sir Wycherly, it might have been a glorious day for
England!”

“It has been a glorious day, as it is, sir. We, in the
Druid, saw it all; and there was not one among us that did
not exult in the name of Englishman!”

“What, even to the Virginian, Wychecombe!” rejoined
Sir Gervaise, greatly gratified with the natural commendation
conveyed in the manner and words of the other, and
looking in a smiling, friendly manner, at the young man.
“I was afraid the hits you got in Devonshire might have
induced you to separate your nationality from that of old
England.”

“Even to the Virginian, Sir Gervaise. You have been
in the colonies, sir, and must know we do not merit all that
we sometimes receive, on this side of the Atlantic. The
king has no subjects more loyal than those of America.”

“I am fully aware of it, my noble lad, and have told the
king as much, with my own mouth. But think no more of
this. If your old uncle did give you an occasional specimen
of true John Bullism, he has left you an honourable title and
a valuable estate. I shall see that Greenly finds a berth for
you, and you will consent to mess with me, I hope. I trust
some time to see you at Bowldero. At present we will go
no deck; and if anything that Admiral Bluewater has said
should recur to your mind more distinctly, you will not
forget to let me know it.”

Wycherly now bowed and left the cabin, while Sir Gervaise
sat down and wrote a note to Greenly to request that
he would look a little after the comfort of the young man.
The latter then went on deck, in person. Although he endeavoured
to shake off the painful doubts that beset him,
and to appear as cheerful as became an officer who had just
performed a brilliant exploit, the vice-admiral found it difficult
to conceal the shock he had received from Bluewater's
communication. Certain as he felt of striking a decisive
blow at the enemy, could he be reinforced with the five

ships of the rear division, he would cheerfully forego the
triumph of such additional success, to be certain his friend
did not intend to carry his disaffection to overt acts. He
found it hard to believe that a man like Bluewater could
really contemplate carrying off with him the ships he commanded;
yet he knew the authority his friend wielded over
his captains, and the possibility of such a step would painfully
obtrude itself on his mind, at moments. “When a
man can persuade himself into all the nonsense connected
with the jus divinum,” thought Sir Gervaise, “it is doing
no great violence to common sense to persuade himself
into all its usually admitted consequences.” Then, again,
would interpose his recollections of Bluewater's integrity
and simplicity of character, to reassure him, and give him
more cheering hopes for the result. Finding himself thus
vacillating between hope and dread, the commander-in-chief
determined to drive the matter temporarily from his mind,
by bestowing his attention on the part of the fleet he had
with him. Just as this wise resolution was formed, both
Greenly and Wycherly appeared on the poop.

“I am glad to see you with a hungry look, Greenly,”
cried Sir Gervaise, cheerfully; “here has Galleygo just
been to report his breakfast, and, as I know your cabin has
not been put in order since the people left the guns, I hope
for the pleasure of your company. Sir Wycherly, my gallant
young Virginian, here, will take the third chair, I trust,
and then our party will be complete.”

The two gentlemen assenting, the vice-admiral was about
to lead the way below, when suddenly arresting his footsteps,
on the poop-ladder, he said—

“Did you not tell me, Wychecombe, that the Druid had
sprung her foremast?”

“Badly, I believe, Sir Gervaise, in the hounds. Captain
Blewet carried on his ship fearfully, all night.”

“Ay, he's a fearful fellow with spars, that Tom Blewet.
I never felt certain of finding all the sticks in their places,
on turning out of a morning, when he was with you as a
lieutenant, Greenly. How many jib-booms and top-gallant
yards did he cost us, in that cruise off the Cape of Good
Hope? By George, it must have been a dozen, at least!”

“Not quite as bad as that, Sir Gervaise, though he did

expend two jib-booms and three top-gallant yards, for me.
Captain Blewet has a fast ship, and he wishes people to
know it.”

“And he has sprung his foremast, and he shall see I
know it! Harkee, Bunting, make the Druid's number to lie
by the prize; and when that's answered, tell him to take
charge of the Frenchman, and to wait for further orders.
I'll send him to Plymouth to get a new foremast, and to see
the stranger in. By the way, does anybody know the name
of the Frenchman — hey! Greenly?”

“I cannot tell you, Sir Gervaise, though some of our
gentlemen think it is the ship that was the admiral's second
ahead, in our brush off Cape Finisterre. I am not of the
same opinion, however; for that vessel had a billet-head,
and this has a woman figure-head, that looks a little like a
Minerva. The French have a la Minerve, I think.”

“Not now, Greenly, if this be she, for she is ours.”
Here Sir Gervaise laughed heartily at his own humour, and
all near him joined in, as a matter of course. “But la Minerve
has been a frigate time out of mind. The Goddess
of Wisdom has never been fool enough to get into a line of
battle when she has had it in her power to prevent it.”

“We thought the figure-head of the prize a Venus, as
we passed her in the Druid,” Wycherly modestly observed.

“There is a way of knowing, and it shall be tried. When
you've done with the Druid, Bunting, make the prize's signal
to repeat her name by telegraph. You know how to
make a prize's number, I suppose, when she has none.”

“I confess I do not, Sir Gervaise,” answered Bunting,
who had shown by his manner that he was at a loss. “Having
no number in our books, one would be at a stand how to
get at her, sir.”

“How would you do it, young man?” asked Sir Gervaise,
who all this time was hanging on to the man-rope of the
poop-ladder. “Let us see how well you've been taught,
sir.”

“I believe it may be done in different modes, Sir Gervaise,”
Wycherly answered, without any appearance of
triumph at his superior readiness, “but the simplest I know
is to hoist the French flag under the English, by way of
saying for whom the signal is intended.”

“Do it, Bunting,” continued Sir Gervaise, nodding his
head as he descended the ladder, “and I warrant you, Daly
will answer. What sort of work he will make with the
Frenchman's flags, is another matter. I doubt, too, if he
had the wit to carry one of our books with him, in which
case he will be at a loss to read our signal. Try him, however,
Bunting; an Irishman always has something to say,
though it be a bull.”

This order given, Sir Gervaise descended to his cabin.
In half an hour the party was seated at table, as quietly as
if nothing unusual had occurred that day.

“The worst of these little brushes which lead to nothing,
is that they leave as strong a smell of gunpowder in your
cabin, Greenly, as if a whole fleet had been destroyed,”
observed the vice-admiral good-humouredly, as he began to
help his guests. “I hope the odour we have here will not
disturb your appetites, gentlemen.”

“You do this day's success injustice, Sir Gervaise, in
calling it only a brush,” answered the captain, who, to say
the truth, had fallen to as heartily upon the delicacies of
Galleygo, as if he had not eaten in twenty-four hours. “At
any rate, it has brushed the spars out of two of king Lewis's
ships, and one of them into our hands; ay, and in a certain
sense into our pockets.”

“Quite true, Greenly — quite true; but what would it
have been if —”

The sudden manner in which the commander-in-chief
ceased speaking induced his companions to think that he
had met with some accident in eating or drinking; both
looked earnestly at him, as if to offer assistance. He was
pale in the face, but he smiled, and otherwise appeared at
his ease.

“It is over, gentlemen,” said Sir Gervaise, gently—
“we'll think no more of it.”

“I sincerely hope you 've not been hit, sir?” said Greenly.
“I've known men hit, who did not discover that they
were hurt until some sudden weakness has betrayed it.”

“I believe the French have let me off this time, my good
friend—yes, I think Magrath will be plugging no shot-holes
in my hull for this affair. Sir Wycherly, those eggs are
from your own estate, Galleygo having laid the manor under

contribution for all sorts of good things. Try them,
Greenly, as coming from our friend's property.”

“Sir Wycherly is a lucky fellow in having an estate,”
said the captain. “Few officers of his rank can boast of
such an advantage; though, now and then, an old one is
better off.”

“That is true enough — hey! Greenly? The army
fetches up most of the fortunes; for your rich fellows like
good county quarters and county balls. I was a younger
brother when they sent me to sea, but I became a baronet,
and a pretty warm one too, while yet a reefer. Poor Josselin
died when I was only sixteen, and at seventeen they
made me an officer.”

“Ay, and we like you all the better, Sir Gervaise, for not
giving us up when the money came. Now Lord Morganic
was a captain when he succeeded, and we think much less
of that.”

“Morganic remains in service, to teach us how to stay
top-masts and paint figure-heads;” observed Sir Gervaise, a
little drily. “And yet the fellow handled his ship well to-day;
making much better weather of it than I feared he
would be able to do.”

“I hear we are likely to get another duke in the navy,
sir; it's not often we catch one of that high rank.”

Sir Gervaise cared much less for things of this sort than
Bluewater, but he naturally cast a glance at the speaker, as
this was said, as much as to ask whom he meant.

“They tell me, sir, that Lord Montresor, the elder brother
of the boy in the Cæsar, is in a bad way, and Lord Geoffrey
stands next to the succession. I think there is too much
stuff in him to quit us now he is almost fit to get his commission.”

“True, Bluewater has that boy of high hopes and promise
with him, too;” answered Sir Gervaise in a musing
manner, unconscious of what he said. “God send he may
not forget that, among other things!”

“I don't think rank makes any difference with Admiral
Bluewater, or Captain Stowel. The nobles are worked up
in their ship, as well as the humblest reefer of them all.
Here is Bunting, sir, to tell us something.”

Sir Gervaise started from a fit of abstraction, and, turning,
he saw his signal officer ready to report.

“The Druid has answered properly, Sir Gervaise, and
has already hauled up so close that I think she will luff
through the line, though it may be astern of the Carnatic.”

“And the prize, Bunting? Have you signalled the prize,
as I told you to do?”

“Yes, sir; and she has answered so properly that I make
no question the prize-officer took a book with him. The
telegraphic signal was answered like the other.”

“Well, what does he say? Have you found out the name
of the Frenchman?”

“That's the difficulty, sir; we are understood, but Mr.
Daly has shown something aboard the prize that the quarter-master
swears is a paddy.”

“A paddy!—What, he hasn't had himself run up at a
yard-arm, or stun'sail-boom end, has he — hey? Wychecombe?
Daly's an Irishman, and has only to show himself
to show a paddy.”

“But this is a sort of an image of some kind or other,
Sir Gervaise, and yet it isn't Mr. Daly. I rather think he
hasn't the flags necessary for our words, and has rigged out
a sort of a woman, to let us know his ship's name; for she
has a woman figure-head, you know, sir.”

“The devil he has! Well, that will form an era in signals.
Galleygo, look out at the cabin-window and let me
know if you can see the prize from them—well, sir, what's
the news?”

“I sees her, Sir Jarvy,” answered the steward, “and I
sees her where no French ship as sails in company with
British vessels has a right to be. If she's a fathom, your
honour, she's fifty to windward of our line! Quite out of
her place, as a body might say, and onreasonable.”

“That's owing to our having felled the forests of her
masts, Mr. Galleygo; every spar that is left helping to put
her where she is. That prize must be a weatherly ship,
though, hey! Greenly? She and her consort were well to
windward of their own line, or we could never have got 'em
as we did. These Frenchmen do turn off a weatherly vessel
now and then,—that we must all admit.”

“Yes, Sir Jarvy,” put in Galleygo, who never let the

conversation flag when he was invited to take a part in it;
“yes, Sir Jarvy, and when they 've turned 'em off the stocks
they turns 'em over to us, commonly, to sail 'em. Building
a craft is one piece of knowledge, and sailing her well is
another.”

“Enough of your philosophy, sirrah; look and ascertain
if there is anything unusual to be seen hanging in the rigging
of the prize. Unless you show more readiness, I 'll
send one of the Bowlderos to help you.”

These Bowlderos were the servants that Sir Gervaise
brought with him from his house, having been born on his
estate, and educated as domestics in his own, or his father's
family; and though long accustomed to a man-of-war, as
their ambition never rose above their ordinary service, the
steward held them exceedingly cheap. A severer punishment
could not be offered him, than to threaten to direct one
of these common menials to do any duty that, in the least,
pertained to the profession. The present menace had the
desired effect, Galleygo losing no time in critically examining
the prize's rigging.

“I calls nothing extr'ornary in a Frenchman's rigging,
Sir Jarvy,” answered the steward, as soon as he felt sure
of his fact; “their dock-men have idees of their own, as to
such things. Now there is sum'mat hanging at the lee
fore-yard-arm of that chap, that looks as if it might be a
top-gallant-stun'sail made up to be sent aloft and set, but
which stopped when it got as high as it is, on finding out that
there 's no hamper over-head to spread it to.”

“That 's it, sir,” put in Bunting. “Mr. Daly has run
his woman up to the fore-yard-arm, like a pirate.”

“Woman!” repeated Galleygo — “do you call that 'ere
thing-um-mee a woman, Mr. Buntin'? I calls it a bundle
of flags, made up to set, if there was anything to set 'em
to.”

“It 's nothing but an Irish woman, Master Galleygo, as
you 'll see for yourself, if you 'll level this glass at it.”

“I 'll do that office myself,” cried Sir Gervaise. “Have
you any curiosity, gentlemen, to read Mr. Daly's signal?
Galleygo, open that weather window, and clear away the
books and writing-desk, that we may have a look.”

The orders were immediately obeyed, and the vice-admiral

was soon seated examining the odd figure that was
certainly hanging at the lee fore-yard-arm of the prize; a
perfect nondescript as regarded all nautical experience.

“Hang me, if I can make anything of it, Greenly,” said
Sir Gervaise, after a long look. “Do you take this seat,
and try your hand at an observation. It resembles a sort
of a woman, sure enough.”

“Yes, sir,” observed Bunting, with the earnestness of a
man who felt his reputation involved in the issue, “I was
certain that Mr. Daly has run up the figure to let us know
the name of the prize, and that for want of a telegraph-book
to signal the letters; and so I made sure of what I was
about, before I took the liberty to come below and report.”

“And pray what do you make of it, Bunting? The
figure-head might tell us better, but that seems to be imperfect.”

“The figure-head had lost all its bust, and one arm, by
a shot,” said Greenly, turning the glass to the object named;
“and I can tell Mr. Daly that a part of the gammoning of
his bowsprit is gone, too! That ship requires looking to,
Sir Gervaise; she 'll have no foremast to-morrow morning,
if this wind stand! Another shot has raked the lower side
of her fore-top, and carried away half the frame. Yes, and
there 's been a fellow at work, too —”

“Never mind the shot — never mind the shot, Greenly,”
interrupted the vice-admiral. “A poor devil like him,
couldn't have six of us at him, at once, and expect to go
`shot free.' Tell us something of the woman.”

“Well, Sir Gervaise, no doubt Daly has hoisted her as a
symbol. Ay, no doubt the ship is the Minerva, after all, for
there 's something on the head like a helmet.”

“It never can be the Minerva,” said the vice-admiral,
positively, “for she, I feel certain, is a frigate. Hand me
the little book with a red cover, Bunting; that near your
hand; it has a list of the enemy's navy. Here it is `la Minerve, 32, le capitaine de frégate, Mondon. Built in
1733, old and dull.' That settles the Minerva, for this list
is the last sent us by the admiralty.”

“Then it must be the Pallas,” rejoined Greenly, “for
she wears a helmet, too, and I am certain there is not only
a cap to resemble a helmet, but a Guernsey frock on the

body to represent armour. Both Minerva and Pallas, if I
remember right, wore armour.”

“This is coming nearer to the point,—hey! Greenly,”
the vice-admiral innocently chimed in; “let us look and
see if the Pallas is a two-decker or not. By George, there 's
no such name on the list. That's odd, now, that the French
should have one of these goddesses and not the other!”

“They never has anything right, Sir Jarvy,” Galleygo
thrust in, by way of commentary on the vice-admiral's and
the captain's classical lore; “and it 's surprising to me that
they should have any goddess at all, seeing that they has
so little respect for religion, in general.”

Wycherly fidgeted, but respect for his superiors kept
him silent. As for Bunting, 't was all the same to him, his
father having been a purser in the navy, and he himself
educated altogether on board ship, and this, too, a century
since.

“It might not be amiss, Sir Gervaise,” observed the captain,
“to work this rule backwards, and just look over the
list until we find a two-decked ship that ought to have a
woman figure-head, which will greatly simplify the matter.
I 've known difficult problems solved in that mode.”

The idea struck Sir Gervaise as a good one, and he set
about the execution of the project in good earnest. Just as
he came to l'Hecate 64, an exclamation from Greenly
caught his attention, and he inquired its cause.

“Look for yourself, Sir Gervaise; unless my eyes are
good for nothing, Daly is running a kedge up alongside of
his woman.”

“What, a kedge?—Ay, that is intended for an anchor,
and it means Hope. Everybody knows that Hope carries
an anchor,—hey! Wychecombe? Upon my word, Daly
shows ingenuity. Look for the Hope, in that list, Bunting,
— you will find the English names printed first, in the end
of the book.”

“`The Hope, or l'Esperance,”' read the signal-officer;
“`36, lee capitang dee frigate dee Courtraii.”'

“A single-decked ship, after all! This affair is as bad
as the d—d nullus, ashore, there. I 'll not be beaten in
learning, however, by any Frenchman who ever floated.
Go below, Locker, and desire Doctor Magrath to step up

here, if he is not occupied with the wounded. He knows
more Latin than any man in the ship.”

“Yes, Sir Jarvy, but this is French, you knows, your
honour, and isn't as Latin, at all. I expects she 'll turn out
to have some name as no modest person wishes to use, and
we shall have to halter it.”

“Ay, he 's catted his anchor, sure enough; if the figure
be not Hope, it must be Faith, or Charity.”

“No fear of them, Sir Jarvy; the French has no faith,
nor no charity, no, nor no bowels, as any poor fellow knows
as has ever been wrecked on their coast, as once happened
to me, when a b'y. I looks upon 'em as no better than so
many heatheners, and perhaps that 's the name of the ship.
I 've seed heatheners, a hundred times, Sir Jarvy, in that
sort of toggery.”

“What, man, did you ever see a heathen with an anchor?
— one that will weigh three hundred, if it will weigh a
pound?”

“Perhaps not, your honour, with a downright hanchor,
but with sum'mat like a killog. But, that 's no hanchor,
a'ter all, but only a kedge, catted hanchor-fashion, sir.”

“Here comes Magrath, to help us out of the difficulty;
and we 'll propound the matter to him.”

The vice-admiral now explained the whole affair to the
surgeon, frankly admitting that the classics of the cabin
were at fault, and throwing himself on the gun-room for
assistance. Magrath was not a little amused, as he listened,
for this was one of his triumphs, and he chuckled not a
little at the dilemma of his superiors.

“Well, Sir Jairvis,” he answered, “ye might do warse
than call a council o' war on the matter; but if it 's the
name ye 'll be wanting, I can help ye to that, without the
aids of symbols, and signs, and hyeroglyphics of any sort.
As we crossed the vessel's wake, a couple of hours since, I
read it on her stern, in letters of gold. It 's la Victoire, or
the Victory; a most unfortunate cognomen for an unlucky
ship. She 's a French victory, however, ye 'll remember,
gentlemen!”

“That must be a mistake, Magrath; for Daly has shown
an anchor, yonder; and Victory carries no anchor.”

“It 's hard to say, veece-admiral, one man's victory being

another man's defeat. As for Mr. Daly's image, it 's just
an Irish goddess; and allowances must be made for the
country.”

Sir Gervaise laughed, invited the gentlemen to help demolish
the breakfast, and sent orders on deck to hoist the
answering flag. At a later day, Daly, when called on for
an explanation, asserted that the armour and helmet belonged
to Victory, as a matter of course; though he admitted
that he had at first forgotten the anchor; “but, when I did
run it up, they read it aboard the ould Planter, as if it had
been just so much primmer.”