"No, Sir Gervaise, 'sails ahead;' the number of them to follow. Hoist the answering flag, quarter-master."
"So much the better! So much the better, Bunting! The number to follow? Well, we'll follow the number, let it be greater or smaller. Come, sirrah, bear a hand up with your answering flag."
The usual signal that the message was understood was now run up between the masts, and instantly hauled down again, the flags seen in the Chloe descending at the same moment.
"Now for the number of the sails, ahead," said Sir Gervaise, as he, Greenly, and Bunting, each levelled a glass at the frigate, on board which the next signal was momentarily expected. "Eleven, by George!"
"No, Sir Gervaise," exclaimed Greenly, "I know better than that. Red above, and blue beneath, with the distinguishing pennant beneath, make fourteen, in our books, now!"
"Well, sir, if they are forty, we'll go nearer and see of what sort of stuff they are made. Show your answering flag, Bunting, that we may know what else the Chloe has to tell us."
This was done, the frigate hauling down her signals in haste, and showing a new set as soon as possible.
"What now, Bunting?—what now, Greenly?" demanded Sir Gervaise, a sea having struck the side of the ship and thrown so much spray into his face as to reduce him to the necessity of using his pocket-handkerchief, at the very moment he was anxious to be looking through his glass. "What do you make of that, gentlemen?"
"I make out the number to be 382," answered Greenly; "but what it means, I know not."
"'Strange sails, enemies,'" read Bunting from the book. "Show the answer, quarter-master."