"Ho—the ship ahoy!"
"Hola-ho!" replied a voice from the waist of the stranger.
"French!" muttered Barton, in a tone of disappointment; "what ship is that?"
"The Sainte Denis, caravel of Monseigneur the admiral of the galleys to his Majesty Charles the Affable."
"This is the Yellow Caravel of his Majesty the King of the Scots. We knew not that the admiral of France was in these seas."
"We are in pursuit of three English ships commanded by Captain Edmund Howard, brother of the lord admiral of England."
"So are we, and would give all the teeth in our heads to overhaul them. Sir Andrew Wood craves leave to pay his respects ko Monseigneur d'Esquerdes, admiral of the galleys."
"Monseigneur the Laird of Largo is welcome."
Archy, the old boatswain, was piping away the crew of the barge, when the pretended Frenchman, having no desire for such a visit, hauled his wind, braced up his yards, and stood right away into the mist, with his topsails glittering, after which Sir Andrew Wood saw no more of him. The ports were lowered, the culverins secured; Master Wad locked the magazine with a sigh, as he reflected there was no chance of fighting; the hammocks were piped down; the yards were squared; and with no ordinary feelings of disappointment, the crew of the Yellow Frigate found themselves once more silently passing the Tower of Broughty towards their former anchorage off the craig of St. Nicholas.
Intent only on reaching England without perilling the crooked measures of his sovereign, Captain Howard was glad that he had succeeded in "throwing dust," as he said, "into the eyes of old Andrew Wood," and when sorely importuned by his officers and crew to fight the Scots, is reported to have lost patience, and said,