"Captain Lindsay, the fate of Damien forms a terrible sequel to the story of his brother."
"That story was falsehood—all," replied the captain; "he was no relation whatever of the famous would-be regicide, who was a peasant of Artois. The name of the spy was Theophile Hautois, not Damiens, and he never was a privateersman, nor served under Thurot, but was a forester of Brittany, and, as some suppose, a robber among the Menez Mountains. His whole narrative, so far as he was concerned, proves an artful forgery, and, like his companion, he was a fully accredited spy of the French authorities, employed to obtain information which his lips can never render them now."
The boom of a second cannon now pealed across the Bay.
"The commodore has fired another gun and hoisted a signal," said an officer close by.
The signal midshipman raised his telescope to the bunting which we saw fluttering at the mainmast-head of the Essex.
"What is it now—what says the order?" asked several, with the impatience and curiosity natural enough at such a time.
"All ships having flat-bottomed boats and landing-stages, to hoist them out!" replied the middy, with a kindling eye.
"Bravo," added Captain Lindsay; "that seems like work! Ere long we shall have to look to our spurleathers and spatterdashes."