“No more? No more than holdin’ our own, lad?”
“I cannot see that we gain any advantage; but the flag-ship is the only craft which has been so badly used.”
The commodore’s voice from above summoned us to the deck, and as we clambered up the narrow companionway I heard old Silas giving the surgeon a tongue-lashing because the latter had threatened to tie the gunner to a stanchion if he persisted in his attempts to leave the cockpit.
When Alec and I were come on deck again an exclamation of surprise burst from our lips.
We had left the commodore clad in the garb of a sailor, smoke-begrimed and covered with the blood of others to whom he had lent a helping hand.
Now he was arrayed in the uniform of an officer in the American navy, from the epaulets to the sword, and looked to my eye more like a victor than one whose ship had been literally torn to pieces beneath his feet.
I stared at him in astonishment; but Alec, going to his brother’s side, asked in surprise:—
“What is the meaning of this, Oliver?”
“Of what, lad?”
“Why have you laid aside the clothes you wore in action?”