Chapter Twenty Three.
The French Frigate.
The gale lasted through the night and all next day, moderating about sun-down, however, sufficiently to allow of our setting our fore and main-lugs close-reefed, and keeping away upon our course. The wind continued to drop after that all through the night, the sea also going down rapidly; and next day we were able to shift our canvas, setting the lateens in place of the lugs; after which we bowled gaily along without further adventure, passing Ushant on the evening of the fourth day after the gale had blown itself out, and arriving at Spithead somewhat within the next forty-eight hours.
The anchor let go, Smellie and I jumped into the gig, and, taking the despatch-box with us, pulled ashore, landing at the Sally-port. From thence we proceeded, first to the admiral’s office, and afterwards to the “George” in High Street, where I ordered a post-chaise; and then the pair of us sat down to a hastily-prepared dinner while the carriage was in process of fitting-out.
In consequence of my representations to the admiral, he had ordered the “Vigilant” into harbour immediately, to refit and make good the slight damage inflicted on us during the gale in the Bay of Biscay, and, when the post-chaise was announced, Smellie only remained long enough to see me fairly under way, when he returned on board to take the little hooker into harbour, and superintend the operation of refitting.
It was not quite six p.m. when we shoved off from before the door of the “George,” and dashed away up the High Street, and soon afterwards the chaise was bowling along at a spanking pace over the dry, white, dusty road in the open country—the landscape flooded in the lovely golden haze of a fine summer evening, and the air heavy with the perfume of flowers and the sweet, health-giving smell of rich pasture-lands, long chestnut-avenues, and thick pine plantations. The mingled odours of the country—so different from the strong smell of the sea-breeze—the sight of the slanting sunbeams glancing through the boles and branches of the venerable trees dotted here and there in clumps along the roadside; of the verdant hedges with their rich clusters of delicate dog-roses and trailing honeysuckle or wild convolvulus; of the groups of sleek cattle feeding in the fields, contemplatively chewing the cud under the shade of some over-hanging tree, or browsing along the roadside; of the knots of rosy, sun-tanned children playing about the village-roads or on the green, and turning to stand open-mouthed and stare at the chaise as we dashed past; of the pretty cottages nestling in a bower of greenery, each with its tiny flower-garden in front, and a thin wreath of blue smoke curling up from its chimney into the still evening air; of the picturesque villages, with their ancient church-spires pointing heavenward; and of the stately country-seats of the gentry, surrounded by noble trees, the growth of centuries, the deer clustered beneath their umbrageous branches, with their spacious flower-terraces and long avenues of limes, arching chestnuts, or venerable oaks, reaching from the house to the distant road, and terminating in snug little ivy-covered lodges and heavy ornamental iron gates with massive stone piers, moss-grown, and surmounted by time-worn and weather-stained stone sculptures of the arms of the family; the drowsy chime of the church-clocks; the barking of dogs; the lowing of cattle; the voices of herdsmen or field-labourers singing as they wended their weary way homeward after the labour and heat of the day—the sound softened and mellowed by distance; all combined to render that journey one of the most pleasant and enjoyable I had ever undertaken, notwithstanding the pain and discomfort which I experienced from my wounded arm.
The evening passed on; the lovely, silent twilight insensibly deepened into night; the stars twinkled forth, one by one, in the pure, clear, deepening blue overhead; the road gradually widened; the houses along its sides became more and more frequent, the atmosphere thickened; the horizon ahead grew luminous; lights appeared and rapidly increased in number, soon they were glancing on both sides of us; a dull, heavy roar became audible, and finally, as the church-clocks were striking the hour of midnight, the chaise pulled up before the door of my uncle’s house in Saint James’s Square; and I had arrived in town.
As the post-boy let down the steps and threw open the carriage-door for me to alight, I could see through the fanlight over the door that there was a light in the hall, so I felt pretty certain that my uncle had not yet retired. I ran up the steps and gave the bell-handle a tug which speedily brought old Timothy to the door.
“Has Sir Peregrine retired yet, Tim?” said I.
“He has not, sir,” replied the ancient, “but I much doubt if he will see any one at such a late—Why, I declare, if it ain’t Master Ralph! Come in, sir; come in. Sir Peregrine is in the libr’y. Won’t he be glad to see you, just! He’s always looking through the paper to see if there’s any news of the ‘Juno,’ or if your name is mentioned, sir. This is an unexpected visit, though, Master Ralph; I hope there’s nothing wrong, sir.”
“Oh dear, no! quite the reverse I hope, Tim, my boy. I’ve been sent home with despatches. Now, lead the way to the library, if you please.”
This short confabulation passed in the hall while Tim was relieving me of my cloak and hat. He now preceded me to the library, at the door of which he knocked, and then, flinging open the portal, he announced me.
“Master Ralph, Sir Peregrine.”
I passed into the lofty apartment, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with well-stocked book-shelves, and found the worthy knight seated in his own particular old easy-chair, with one foot—ominously swathed in flannel—reposing upon another; his specs on his nose, and the gazette in his hand.
He looked round with a start as my name was mentioned, shaded his eyes with his hand for an instant, as his eyes fell upon my advancing figure, and then—forgetting all about his gout—started to his feet with both hands outstretched.
“Why, Ralph! My dear boy, where—confound this gout! It always attacks me at exactly the wrong moment—but never mind; what cloud have you dropped from?”
“From no cloud at all, my dear sir, but just from an ordinary post-chaise, in which I have come up from Portsmouth. How are you, sir? I hope you have nothing worse than the gout to complain of. Wish you were free of that, for it must be very troublesome.”
“Troublesome enough, my boy, you may take my word for that; but the present attack is luckily very trifling—a mere fleabite, in fact. And how are you? You don’t look particularly bright, rather the reverse, indeed; and what is the matter with your arm?”
Thereupon I gave him a hasty outline of my story, so far at least as the cruise in the “Vigilant” was concerned; and then old Richards, the butler, brought in the supper; serving it, by Sir Peregrine’s orders, in the library, so that we might not be disturbed or my yarn interrupted by passing from one room to another.
We sat until close upon three o’clock a.m., my uncle forgetting all about bed in his anxiety to hear full particulars of my doings since I had last parted from him. At length, however, he glanced at the clock upon the mantelpiece, and at once pulled me up short.
“There, there! that will do for to-night, my dear boy. I’ve forgotten everything in listening to you, and have allowed you to talk all this time instead of sending you straight off to your bunk, as I ought to have done, and you with a broken arm, too. But I am delighted to have heard all that you have told me—the gazette tells one nothing—and I can afford you the satisfaction of knowing that your name has attracted attention in the right quarter; Sir James has spoken to me about you on more than one occasion; and your promotion is certain. If you go on as you have begun, Ralph, I predict that you will mount the ratlines rapidly. Now, we will breakfast at ten o’clock, if that will suit you, and then I will go with you myself to the Admiralty with the despatches. My gout? Pooh! I’ll lay a crown it will be gone by the time I turn out in the morning; and if it is not, it is not bad enough to keep me at anchor here when I can perhaps do you a good turn. I’ll introduce you to Sir James; I should like him to see for himself the sort of lad you are. Now; good-night! Tim will attend to you. God bless you, my boy.”
I trundled off, Timothy leading the way with a light in each hand for the room which I had formerly occupied, and, having undressed with the assistance of my somewhat garrulous attendant, tumbled into the luxurious bed, and immediately fell into a sound sleep.
The arrangement of the previous night was duly carried out, Sir Peregrine’s gout having, as he had predicted, been merciful enough to afford him a respite.
We drove to the Admiralty, and I sent in my despatch-box. My uncle also sent in his card.
Half an hour elapsed, Sir James happening to be engaged when we arrived, and then Sir Peregrine was admitted to the august presence. Another half-hour passed, at the expiration of which time I also was invited into the sanctum. My uncle introduced me; Sir James uttered a few complimentary phrases upon my past conduct, informed me that “he had his eye upon me,” presented two fingers for me to shake, gave his entire hand to my uncle, and we were dismissed. As we passed through the outer office it was intimated to me that my presence would be required there at noon next day.
“That’s a good job well over,” ejaculated my uncle, as we once more seated ourselves in the carriage and drove off. “You are in high favour, let me tell you, my boy,” he continued. “Lord Hood has referred to you in very flattering terms in his despatches, in connexion with that hare-brained escapade of yours at Bastia; and Sir James has assured me of the very great satisfaction with which he views your conduct, and has promised moreover that he will take the earliest possible opportunity to show his appreciation of it. Now, where shall we go? I suppose you do not feel very much in cue for sight-seeing, with your wounded arm, eh? Very well; then we’ll drive to my tailor’s—you want a new gang of rigging put over your mast-head badly, my boy, and then we’ll go home and you shall rest a bit. I have a few friends coming to dinner this evening; but you need not join us if you do not feel equal to it, you know.”
The “new gang of rigging” was duly ordered, and faithfully promised for next day at noon—Sir Peregrine insisting upon its being charged to his account—and then we returned to Saint James’s Square.
With the dinner-hour my uncle’s guests arrived, some twenty in number; and, as I rather fancied the dear old gentleman would be glad if I were present, I put in an appearance. My suspicions were no doubt well founded, as it turned out that one of the guests was no less a personage than my new acquaintance of the morning—the great Sir James himself. The old boy was a good deal less taut in the backstays than he had been in the morning, giving me his whole hand to shake on this occasion. During dinner he addressed himself to me several times, putting questions to me with reference to our recent operations in Corsica—that happening to be one of the topics of conversation; and after the meal was over he invited me to haul alongside, and chatted with me quite half an hour upon the same subject. Later on in the evening I happened to overhear him remark to my uncle,—
“Like your nephew, Portfire—am much pleased with him—promising young officer—very—smart and intelligent—seems steady too—shall keep my eye on him.”
Which, of course, was very gratifying.
I drove to the office next day at noon, Sir Peregrine accompanying me, but this time he remained in his carriage while I went inside. My despatch-box was handed back to me, together with written orders—which were read over to me—to proceed without delay to Malta, there to hand over the contents of the said box to Lord Hood. In the event of his lordship not being there, I was to search for and find him.
“Well, Ralph, what news?” asked my uncle, as I rejoined him.
“I must leave you at once, dear sir,” I replied. “I have orders to sail forthwith for Malta, with these despatches. I had hoped they would have given me time to run down home, if only for a few hours; but all that is quite knocked on the head. As it is, I shall not be able to enjoy above another hour of your society, uncle, for I must start for Portsmouth without a moment’s delay.”
“Ah!” remarked Sir Peregrine, “I anticipated this, from a remark which Sir James let fall last night, and I have so far provided for it that we can start in an hour’s time. I feel so much better that I shall run down with you. We will post down in my own carriage, and after I have seen you fairly off, I will look in upon your father and spend a day or two with them on my way back to town. I shall then be able to tell them all about you.”
I tried to dissuade the old gentleman from undertaking so fatiguing a journey, but, having once made up his mind, there was no moving him from his purpose; and accordingly, having partaken of a good substantial luncheon, we started away about two p.m., and, after a pleasant, uneventful journey, reached Portsmouth a few minutes before eight o’clock in the evening.
We put up at the “George;” and, after ordering dinner, walked down to the harbour, and soon made out the “Vigilant,” anchored about a quarter of a mile away. The tide was still flowing a little; so, jumping into a wherry, we were soon alongside.
I found Smellie on board, and all hands, including a strong gang of dockyard workmen, still busy, late as it was, putting the finishing touches to the repairs. The provisions, water, and other stores had been shipped during the day; but the boat, to replace the one destroyed, would not be ready until the next morning.
My uncle had been trotting round, giving the little craft a thorough inspection, during the time I had been engaged with my junior, and expressed himself as being much pleased with her handsome model. When we were ready to return to the shore he proposed that we should take little Smellie with us; and we accordingly all three trundled over the side into the shore-boat, which we had detained—leaving Hardy to superintend the finishing touches—and rowed down the harbour again in the light of a beautiful, clear full moon.
Sir Peregrine was in high spirits that evening at dinner; he said it reminded him of his young days to be down there once more, and he completely unbent from his usual stateliness, so that we spent a most delightful evening, turning in about midnight.
I awoke early next morning, and, having roused out my second in command, we walked down to the dockyard to hurry the people up with the new boat, which they were just finishing off.
We returned to the hotel to breakfast at eight o’clock; and by ten a.m., having completed all my business on shore, we once more chartered a wherry, and went on board, my uncle accompanying us. On reaching the “Vigilant” I found that the new boat had been delivered and was hoisted in, the dockyard gang was clear of the ship, and everything was ready for an immediate start. I accordingly gave the word to unmoor, and in another quarter of an hour we passed out of the harbour with a nice little breeze from about N.N.E.
My uncle remained on board until we were abreast of Cowes, when he ordered the wherry—which had been towing astern—to be hauled alongside. The “Vigilant” was hove-to; my uncle shook hands with little Smellie, slipped a five-pound note into the hand of Chips, the carpenter’s mate, for the crew to drink my health, and then, taking a hasty but most affectionate leave of me, hurried over the side into the wherry, seized the yoke-lines, and bade the boatman make sail for Portsmouth Harbour. We at once filled away again; and two hours afterwards passed through the Needles.
Nothing worthy of note occurred until we were half-way across the Bay of Biscay, when, about four bells in the forenoon watch of a most delightful day, with a moderate breeze from the westward, and a very long swell, but no sea, the lookout man aloft reported a sail broad on our lee bow.
I was in the cabin at the time, reading.
“What does she look like?” inquired Smellie, who had the watch.
“I can only see the heads of her fore and main-topgallantsails,” replied the man, “but I believe she is a frigate, sir.”
Smellie came to the open skylight and spoke down through it:—
“I say, Chester, if it’s not troubling you too much, will you hand me up my glass, please? It is in the beckets, just inside the door of my berth. Here’s a strange sail to leeward, and I want to take a squint at her.”
I found the telescope, and carried it on deck myself. Master Harold slung it over his shoulder, and in another minute was perched on the long tapering yard of the lateen mainsail.
“What do you make her out to be?” I hailed him, after he had given her a careful overhauling for some three or four minutes.
“A frigate, without doubt,” he replied, his glass still levelled at her. “I can see her mizzen-royal-mast, with the yard across. Her sails are not large enough for a line-of-battle ship. Ha! she has hove in stays. Round she comes, smartly too. Why, she is setting her royals! Surely she can’t be coming after us?”
“As like as not,” returned I. “If we can see her, she can see us; and as a craft of our rig is a rather unusual sight just about here, it is not improbable that her skipper may wish to learn a little more about us. What is she—English or French, think you?”
“I believe she is French,” was the reply. “I had a good look at her canvas as she hove about, and it appeared to me to be decidedly Frenchified in shape.”
We were already hugging the wind as closely as was possible, and had every possible inch of canvas spread; so we could do nothing but stand on as we were going, and await the course of events.
Her sails rose rapidly above the horizon for the first hour or so, but after that, as we brought her more on our quarter, they began to sink again. When about abeam of us, the stranger hoisted the tricolour at her gaff-end, fired a gun, and showed a signal from her main-royal mast-head, of which we could make nothing. We, however, hoisted the French flag also, and left them to make the best they could of it. After the first signal had been flying some time, it was hauled down, and another substituted, but with no better luck than before, and it was soon hauled down.
“She is after us, for a guinea,” said I.
“Ay, ay, nae doot o’ that,” quoth the old quarter-master; “but she’ll no catch us the gait she’s ganging the noo. This is oor ain weather, and I wad like brawly to see the freegate that can beat us wi’ nae mair wind than this. Yon Frenchman wad gie a hantle o’ siller to see the breeze freshen, but it’ll no do that yet awhile.”
The frigate stood on until she was well upon our weather quarter, by which time the heads of her topgallantsails were just visible from the deck, when, to remove any doubt that might have remained as to her intentions, she once more hove in stays and stood after us.
I went below and looked anxiously at the barometer; it was perfectly steady. I then returned to the deck and keenly scrutinised the sky; it was covered with patches of thin fleecy cloud which allowed the sun to show through, with broad patches of clear blue sky between; and the breeze was just fresh enough to curl the tops of the wavelets over in tiny flecks of foam, and to heel the “Vigilant” until our lee covering-board was just awash, with the clear, sparkling water occasionally welling up through the lee scuppers. It was, indeed, as old Sandy had remarked, the weather in which the little “Vigilant” stepped out to the greatest advantage, and I had very little fear of any square-rigged vessel being able to overhaul us so long as matters remained in statu quo. I knew that we were sailing a good couple of points nearer the wind than was the Frenchman astern, and I believed we were going through the water nearly if not quite as fast as he was. By two bells in the afternoon watch the craft had dropped to leeward until she was a couple of points on our lee quarter, but she had certainly risen us a little, for by standing on the weather-rail I could see the heads of her topsails.
Matters remained in pretty much the same state for the rest of the day, excepting that our pursuer gradually tagged away farther and farther to leeward, until he was broad upon our lee quarter. Toward sun-down, however, the breeze began to freshen, and our pertinacious companion soon showed us how great an advantage this was to him, by the way in which he drew up on our lee beam.
When I went below to tea, I found that the barometer had fallen a little, and by the time that I had finished the meal and regained the deck, we were jerking through a short, choppy head-sea, with our lee bulwarks half-buried in the foam which hissed past our sides, the fore-deck drenched with the continuous heavy shower of spray which flew in over our weather bow, and our long yards swaying and bending as though each had been a fishing-rod with a lively salmon at the end of the line. I began to feel rather anxious, for the sea which the freshening breeze had knocked up was very detrimental to our speed, while upon the frigate, owing to her vastly superior power, it had little or no effect.
Night at length fell. There was no moon, and the stars were partially obscured by the patches of cloud which covered the sky. I began to hope we were going to have a dark night, under cover of which we might give our pursuer the slip. As the darkness closed down upon us, and just before she vanished in the gloom, I took her bearings with the greatest accuracy. She had by this time crept up to within a couple of points abaft our lee beam, and from our deck the upper halves of her topsails were visible. I allowed half an hour to elapse, and then tried to find her with my night-glass. To my great disappointment, I did so without much difficulty; and, what was worse, she was fast drawing up abreast of us.
It was by this time as dark as it was likely to be, so I resolved to heave about at once, in hope that we might execute the manoeuvre undetected, and so give the Frenchman the slip. We accordingly tacked; and as soon as we were fairly round, and the sheets, etcetera, coiled down, I had another look for her. Presently the small dark patch swam into view, as I carefully swept the horizon at the point where I knew her to be, and, to my disappointment, it showed much shorter than before. She also had tacked.
“Umph!” I muttered, “their night-glasses are as good as my own, apparently.”
I began to see a French prison looming in the distance; for, from the rapidity with which she had tacked, and the manner in which, notwithstanding our superior weatherliness, she was overhauling us, I knew that our pursuer must be an exceedingly smart ship, and her skipper was acting like a man who had all his wits about him.
All our lights were of course most carefully masked—a tarpaulin being thrown over the cabin skylight, and a seaman’s jacket over the binnacle, the helmsman steering by a star.
We stood on thus for about a couple of hours after tacking, and I was seriously debating in my mind the possibility of giving the Frenchman the slip by lowering away all our canvas and then running to leeward under bare poles, my eyes resting abstractedly upon a brilliant planet broad upon our weather bow, which was just on the point of dipping below the horizon, when suddenly the said planet vanished. I took no notice of this until it as suddenly reappeared in the space of a few seconds.
“Another sail, by all that’s complicating!” I ejaculated.
“Another sail! Where away, sir?” exclaimed Hardy, who was standing between me and the helmsman.
“Just to the southward of that bright planet on the horizon, broad on our larboard bow,” said I, as I levelled my glass. “Ah! there she is. Another frigate, by the look of her—hull up, too.”
“Phew!” whistled Hardy; “that’s rather awk’ard; she may pick us out any minute. But perhaps she’s English, sir. You don’t often see two French ships so close together as this here. Can you see her pretty plain, sir?”
“Not very,” I replied. “But I fancy there’s an English look about her.”
“Let me take a squint at her, sir.”
I handed him over the glass, and he took a good long look at her. Suddenly he handed the glass back to me.
“She’s English, sir! I’ll take my oath of it!” he exclaimed. “She’s the ‘Amethyst,’ that’s what she is. I knows her by the way her fore-topmast and topgallant-mast is looking over her bows. There ain’t another ship afloat as has got such a kink in her foremast as the ‘Amethyst,’ and that’s her, sir, as sure as I’m Tom Hardy.”
“Are you quite certain?” I inquired. “Do not speak rashly because the consequences may prove serious to us. If you are positive about the matter, I will signal him and turn the tables upon our friend astern.”
“Let me take another look, sir.”
I handed over the glass, and he took another long look at her.
“Fire away with your lanterns, sir, as soon as you like,” said he. “I’ll stake my liberty that yon craft is none other than the ‘Amethyst.’ She’s a twenty-eight; but her skipper is man enough to give a good account of Johnny, I’ll be bound.”
“Then rouse out the lanterns, and let’s make the private signal,” said I. “But instead of hoisting them at our peak, where the Frenchman will see them and perhaps suspect something, haul the staysail down, get a block well up on the fore-stay, and we will run them up there; our sails will then hide them from the craft astern.”
So said, so done; we showed the private signal, and in less than a minute it was properly answered, upon which we telegraphed the news that a French frigate was about ten miles astern in chase of us.
Our signal was duly acknowledged; and immediately afterwards the “Amethyst”—for she it was—bore up.
I now looked for the French frigate, to see if I could observe anything to show that they had seen the English frigate’s signal lanterns; but she was still carrying on upon the same tack, and, as I judged that she and the “Amethyst” were about seventeen miles apart, I hoped that the lights had escaped her notice.
In about twenty minutes the “Amethyst” passed us, a mile to windward, and apparently steering a course which would run her slap on board the Frenchman in another half-hour. There was not a light to be seen anywhere about her; but for all that I knew that her crew were wide awake and busy. She was running down under courses, topsails, spanker, and jib, her topgallant-yards down upon the caps, with the sails clewed up, but not furled; royals stowed.
“Now we shall see some fun shortly,” exclaimed Smellie, in high glee—he having got an inkling that something out of the common was toward, in that mysterious way in which people do learn such things on board a small ship, and had accordingly come on deck. But he was mistaken for once, if by the term fun he meant a frigate action; for old Clewline, the skipper of the “Amethyst,” was too seasoned a hand to do anything rashly. He ran down, his ship as dark as the grave, until he had attained a position about two miles dead to windward of our pursuer, when he hauled up and showed the private signal at his gaff-end. The French frigate immediately edged away about four points and showed some lanterns, but they were not a reply to the “Amethyst’s” signal; so Clewline tried another—to make quite sure of avoiding any mistake. This was not answered at all; on the contrary, the Frenchman hauled down his lanterns and wore short round, crowding sail at the same moment; whereupon the “Amethyst” also bore up again and—Clewline must have had his men aloft all the time, ready for the emergency—as she squared away in chase, we saw her stunsails fluttering out to their boom-ends on both sides. We then tacked and resumed our original course once more, heartily thankful for our escape, and chuckling mightily at the thought of the trap Johnny Crapaud had run his nose into. In less than half an hour afterwards we lost sight of both ships.
We reached Gibraltar without further incident, and failing there to obtain any intelligence as to Lord Hood’s whereabouts, we filled up our water and sailed again for Malta the same evening. We had a splendid but perfectly uneventful run from the Rock, a westerly wind and fine weather prevailing during the whole trip.
On our arrival at Malta I learned that the “Victory” was lying at Genoa, and thither we accordingly went, picking up on the way a small French schooner from the Levant, laden with fruit. We were over three weeks on the passage, having an alternation of calms and strong head-winds to contend with; so that I was heartily glad when we at length found ourselves in port, and the mud-hook down.
The “Juno” was also there, and, on delivering my despatches and making my report, I was ordered to give up the command of the “Vigilant” to the senior mid belonging to the “Victory,” and to rejoin my own ship. This, of course, I at once did; and I was not at all sorry to get back once more among my old shipmates, from whom I had been separated for so long a time.
I had not left the “Victory” many minutes before the signal was made for our skipper to repair on board the flag-ship. His boat was still alongside that craft when I went up over the “Juno’s” side with my trifling belongings; but by the time that I had stowed them away and had found my way on deck, Captain Hood was back again on board his own ship, and in conference with the first lieutenant in the former’s cabin. It was not long before the first luff reappeared—with such a delighted expression upon his face that we at once felt certain he had heard pleasant news, and very soon it came out that I had brought, among my despatches, the order for the “Juno” to return home and pay off.
“Hurrah for old England!” was now the cry; everybody was in the highest of spirits, for there was literally nothing to do but up anchor and away, which was promptly done, so that I scarcely spent half a dozen hours in the port of Genoa, the “Juno” sailing on the evening of the day on which the “Vigilant” had arrived.
We were nearly a month in reaching as far as Gibraltar; but after getting fairly through the Gut and round Saint Vincent we made short miles of it, the girls having taken hold of the tow-rope, as Jack says, and eventually arrived at Spithead without the occurrence of any circumstance worth recording. The ship was paid off next day, and I was enabled to return once more, after an absence of nearly two years, to the paternal roof.