Our anchor had scarcely been dropped, when an eight-oar gig, with a midshipman steering, came alongside.
“Ship ahoy, there! You’ve troops on board?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Before the answer could be spoken, he was on the deck.
“May I ask,” said he, touching his cap slightly, “who is the officer in command of the detachment?”
“Captain Power; very much at your service,” said Fred, returning the salute.
“Rear-Admiral Sir Edward Douglas requests that you will do him the favor to come on board immediately, and bring your despatches with you.”
“I’m quite ready,” said Power, as he placed his papers in his sabretasche; “but first tell us what’s doing here. Anything new lately?”
“I have heard nothing, except of some affair with the Portuguese,—they’ve been drubbed again; but our people have not been engaged. I say, we had better get under way; there’s our first lieutenant with his telescope up; he’s looking straight at us. So, come along. Good-evening, gentlemen.” And in another moment the sharp craft was cutting the clear water, while Power gayly waved us a good-by.
“Who’s for shore?” said the skipper, as half-a-dozen boats swarmed around the side, or held on by their boat-hooks to the rigging.