It was dark enough after the somewhat brief twilight had given place to light—to light and to lights, for signal-lanterns hung aloft on every ship; so all appeared safe and snug enough.
But what had become of the Frenchman? He had not been seen all day. Was it indeed but a phantom that had been seen in the moon’s bright wake?
A good watch was kept both ’low and aloft; and Jack went down to dinner at the sound of the bugle.
As he passed near the midshipmen’s berth, quite a buzz of happy voices issued therefrom. Jack paused for a few seconds to listen. It was not so very long since he himself had been a middy. No responsibility had he then, any more than rested on any of these bright young hearts at that moment. How they laughed and chaffed and talked, to be sure! Interspersed in the hubbub were now and then snatches of merry song, and now and then the notes of a somewhat squeaky and asthmatical violin, invariably followed by some one shouting, “Stop that awful fiddle!” “Hit ’im in the eye with a bit o’ biscuit!” or “Grease his bow!” Then a deeper bass voice, evidently Scotch, and just as evidently a junior surgeon’s, saying, “Let the laddie practise.—Fiddle away, my boy; I’ll thrash all hands if they meddle with ye.”
Jack went away laughing to himself. Little those boys—who not long since left home and Merrie England—know or care that ere another hour, perhaps, the decks of the Tonneraire may be slippery with blood.
Ah! all the care was his—was the post-captain’s. Uneasy lies the head that—hallo! He had just entered the ward-room, and found all the fellows there quite as happy as the middies. They were at dessert, for they dined earlier than their captain. MʻHearty was seated at the head of the table, and was spinning a short but funny yarn, to which his messmates’ laugh was ready chorus. Tom was vice-president; the lieutenants, the purser, and officers of the marines were ranged along the tables, red jackets and blue, forming a pretty contrast; the table was laden with fruit and flowers from the island they had that morning left, while glasses and cruets sparkled on a tablecloth white as snow.
Jack took all this in at a glance as he entered with a preliminary tap, which was not heard in the delicious hubbub. He almost sighed to think that he had to go away and dine all by himself alone.
On seeing the captain, every one rose, nor would they be seated until he consented to sit down.
“Just sit down, Captain Mackenzie,” said MʻHearty, with a merry twinkle in his eye, “and have a glass of wine while your soup is getting cold.”
“If the president bids me, I must obey,” said Jack, seating himself beside Tom. “It must be but for a moment. There are older men than myself here—our worthy Master Simmons, for example. I came to take your views about that Frenchman. He is evidently a battle-ship, probably a seventy-four. I say fight him; but considering this is my first captaincy—” But he was interrupted. Every man rose to his feet. It was a strange council of war, because every man held aloft a glass of wine.