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Three Midshipmen

<h3>Chapter Five.</h3> <h4>Roasting the Bully.</h4> The midshipmen were aroused by the cry of “All hands shorten sail!” The boatswain’s whistle had not ceased sounding along the decks before Jack and Murray were on their way aloft, the first to the fore, the other to the maintop, where they were stationed. A heavy squall had struck the frigate, and she was heeling over with her main-deck ports almost in the water. Up they flew with the topmen to their respective stations, while the officer of the watch was shouting through his speaking-trumpet. “Let go topgallant-halyards. Clew up, haul down.” Then came, “Let fly topsail-halyards. Clew up. Round in the weather braces.” Down came the yards on the caps. The sails were now bulging out and shaking in the wind. Out flew the active topmen to the yard-arms. Jack, as he had often before done, ran out to get hold of the weather earing. He was hauling away on it while the men hauled the reef over to him. He had already taken two outer turns with it, when, as he leaned back, he felt himself suddenly thrown from his hold. In vain he tried to clutch the earing; it slipped through his fingers. Headlong he came down, striking the leech of the sail. Mechanically he clutched at that. Probably it broke his fall. In another moment he was among the foaming waters, with the ship flying fast away from him. Murray had meantime been watching to see which mast would have its sails first reefed, and as he looked forward he saw Jack fall from aloft. He guessed that he must have struck his head when falling, and that he would be senseless when he reached the water. In a moment his jacket and shoes were off, and down he slid like lightning by the topmast weather backstay, and, leaping into the water, swam towards the spot where Jack had fallen. Captain Lascelles had seen the accident. He was on the poop. Stepping back, he himself let go the life-buoy, noting exactly the spot where the accident had occurred. But not an order did he give. Perfectly cool, he stood waiting till the sails were reefed. Murray meantime caught sight of Jack, who lay senseless on the water, to the surface of which he had just risen, after having once gone down from the force with which he had fallen into the sea. Murray dreaded lest he should again see him sink. He exerted all his strength to get up to him. The life-buoy was not far off. Had there been time he would have first towed it up to Jack, but he was afraid if he did that he would in the meantime sink. Murray swam bravely on. The foam, as the wind swept it off the surface of the sea, dashed wildly in his face, but he kept his eye fixed steadily on Jack’s head, that should he go down again, he might know exactly where to dive after him. Murray, under Jack’s instruction, had been constantly practising swimming, and he now very nearly equalled his master in the art. His courage was as high, and what he wanted in muscular strength he made up by his undaunted spirit. He longed to know what had become of the frigate, but he would not turn his head to look. His first object was to get hold of Jack, and to keep his face out of the water, that, when animation returned, he might not be suffocated. With steady strokes he swam on, admirably retaining his presence of mind. Every stroke was measured. There was no hurry, no bustle, with Murray; he knew that such would only bring worse speed. What an excellent example did he set of the way to attain an important object! Calmly eyeing it, and though clearly comprehending all the difficulties and dangers which surrounded him, with unswerving courage pushing towards his point. “Keep up! keep up, Jack!” he sang out, but Jack did not hear him. The seas, every moment increasing, came roaring towards him, while the foam dashed over his head. He surmounted them all. “I am here. Jack! I am here!” he repeated, as he grasped Jack by the collar and turned him over on his back, so that his face might be uppermost. A faint moan was all the reply Rogers gave. It was satisfactory, as it assured Murray that he was alive. Now he looked round anxiously for the life-buoy. It had drifted away before the gale. But then he also had the wind in his favour, and he did not despair of overtaking it. With one hand supporting his shipmate, and with the other striking out, he swam steadily on as before towards the life-buoy. Evening was coming on. Darkness he knew would soon overspread the sea. He knew that. He knew the difficulty there might be in finding him and his companion. A far more practical swimmer than he might have despaired, but he did not. Murray did not trust to his own right arm to save him. He looked to help from above. He knew if it was right it would be afforded him. If not, he was prepared to meet his fate. Meantime away flew the frigate. The moment the sails were reefed, the captain issued the orders he had been anxious to give. “About ship,” “helm’s a-lee.” Never did the crew more strenuously exert themselves to box round the yards. They knew who was overboard, and the two midshipmen were favourites with all hands: Murray for the calm, gentlemanly, officer-like way in which he spoke to the men, and for the thorough knowledge of his duty he always displayed; Jack for his dash and bravery, and good spirits and humour with which he carried out any work allotted to him. They now saw that neither was Murray wanting in dash and courage. As the frigate was standing back towards the spot where the accident had occurred, preparations were made for lowering a boat. There was no hurry or confusion in this case. Her proper crew were called away. The second lieutenant took charge of her. Some people called Captain Lascelles a very strict officer. It is true he never overlooked a breach of discipline or carelessness of duty. He used to say that a breach of discipline, however trifling, if allowed to pass, was like a small leak, which, if permitted to continue, will go on increasing till the ship founders. Thus, among other good arrangements, every boat on board was kept in readiness to be lowered at a moment’s notice, and everybody knew exactly what to do when a boat was to be lowered. Captain Lascelles did not allow his feelings to appear; but he was intensely anxious about the fate of his two midshipmen. He would have given all the worldly wealth of which he was possessed to be assured that they would be saved. The thick clouds brought up by the gale increased the gathering gloom. Neither they nor the life-buoy could be seen. He had carefully noted the exact course on which the frigate had run since they went overboard, so that he was able to calculate how to keep her, so as to fetch back to the same spot. There were also many sharp eyes on the lookout forward, endeavouring with all their might to discover the lost ones. In those southern latitudes darkness comes on with a rapidity unknown in lands blessed by a long twilight. Thus, before the frigate got up to the spot where the accident had occurred, the night had come down completely on the world of waters. “I am afraid that the poor lads must be lost,” said the second to the first lieutenant. “We ought to hear them or see something of them by this time.” “Don’t say that, Thorn,” answered the first lieutenant. “Rogers is the midshipman who took the fine on shore when the Firefly was wrecked; and Murray, though so quiet, is a very gallant fellow. They will do all that can be done to save themselves. I should indeed be deeply grieved if they were lost.” There was a good deal of sea at the time running, but not enough to make the lowering of a boat a matter of danger if carefully performed. “Well heave the ship to, and lower a couple of boats to go in search of the lads,” observed the captain. The first lieutenant issued the necessary orders, and the ship was brought up to the wind and hove-to. Mr Thorn eagerly went to lower one of the boats. Hemming took charge of the other. Their respective crews sprang into them. The falls were properly tended and unhooked at the right moment, and, getting clear of the ship, they lay ready to pull in whatever direction might be indicated. Here was the difficulty. “Silence fore and aft,” sang out the captain. “Does any one hear them?” In an instant there was a dead silence. No one would have supposed that many hundred human beings were at that moment alive and awake on board the ship. Every one listened intently, but no sound was borne to their ears. Even Captain Lascelles began to give up all hope. “The poor widowed mother, how will she bear it?” he muttered; “and that honest country gentleman—it will be sad news I shall have to send him of his son.” Scarcely had the captain thus given expression to his feelings, when a bright light burst forth amid the darkness some way to leeward. A shout spontaneously arose from all on board. “They must have got hold of the life-buoy, they must have got hold of the life-buoy,” was the cry. “Hurrah! hurrah!” The two boats dashed away, with eager strokes, in the direction of the light. Meantime Murray had towed Jack steadily on towards the buoy. He began to feel very weary though, and sometimes he thought that his strength would fail him. He looked at the buoy; it seemed a very long way off. He felt at last that he should never be able to reach it. “I’ll not give in while life remains,” he said to himself. Just then his hand struck against something. He grasped it. It was a large piece of Spanish cork-wood. He shoved it under Jack’s back, and rested his own left arm on it. He immediately found an immense advantage from the support it afforded. “Who sent that piece of cork-wood to my aid?” he thought; “it did not come by chance.” The assurance that he was not deserted gave him additional confidence. Jack also gave further signs of returning animation. “Where am I?” he at length asked, in a tone of voice which showed that his senses were still confused. “In the middle of the Mediterranean; but there’s a life-buoy close at hand, and when we get hold of it we shall be all to rights,” answered Murray. “What! is that you, Alick?” asked jack. “I remember now feeling that I was going overboard; but how came you here? Has the ship gone down?” “No, no; all right; she’ll be here to pick us up directly, I hope.” “Then you jumped overboard to save me!” exclaimed Jack. “Just like you, Alick; I knew you would do it.” Jack lay perfectly still all the time he was talking. It did not seem to occur to him that he could swim as well as his companion. “Here we are!” cried Murray; “Heaven be praised—I was afraid that I should scarcely be able to make out the life-buoy, it is getting so dark.” He placed Jack’s hand on one of the beckets, and took another himself, and together they climbed up, and sat on the life-buoy. Murray drew the piece of cork up alongside, observing, “I do not like to desert the friend which has been of so much service in our utmost need, and to kick it away without an acknowledgment.” Jack laughed. He had now completely come to his senses. “I’m very much obliged to you, Friend Cork,” said he. “I know, Murray, what you are going to say; I am, indeed, thankful to Heaven for having thus far preserved me, and to you too, my dear fellow. But, I say, can you make out the ship?” “Not a shred of her. I scarcely know in what quarter to look for her.” “Well, then, all we shall have to do is to hang on here till daylight. The weather is warm, so we shall not come to much harm if the wind goes down again, and I am very certain the captain will come and look for us.” “It may be a question whether he can find us, though,” said Murray. “By-the-bye, I do not think that the buoy was fired. If we can find the trigger we will let it off, and that will quickly show our whereabouts.” “A bright idea,” answered jack. “Hurrah! I’ve found it. Now blaze away, old boy.” Jack pulled the trigger as he spoke, and immediately an intensely bright bluish light burst forth above their heads, exhibiting their countenances to each other, with their hair streaming, lank and long, over their faces, giving them at the same time a very cadaverous and unearthly appearance. Jack, in spite of their critical position, burst into a fit of laughter. “Certainly, we do look as unlike two natty quarter-deck midshipmen as could well be,” he exclaimed. “Never mind, we have not many spectators.” Jack and Murray’s coolness arose from the perfect confidence they felt that they would not be deserted while the slightest hope remained of their being found; and now that they had set off the port-fire they were almost as happy as if they were already safe on board. They had not much longer to wait. Presently a hail reached them; they shouted in return, and soon afterwards they saw a couple of boats emerging from the darkness. One took them on board—the other towed the life-buoy; and in half an hour more their wet clothes were off them, and they were being stowed away between the blankets in the sick-bay, each of them sipping a pretty strong glass of brandy and water. Of course, when the excitement was over, a very considerable reaction took place, and several days passed before they were allowed to return to their duty. Captain Lascelles then sent for Jack, and inquired how he came to tumble overboard? Jack had to confess that in his zeal he had gone beyond his duty, and that, instead of remaining at his station in the top, he had been attempting to do work which ought to have been performed by one of the topmen. “You were wrong, as you will see, Rogers,” remarked Captain Lascelles. “Remember that there is a strict line of duty, and that going beyond, as you call it, may be quite as injurious to the service as neglecting any portion of it. Your business was to see that the men were properly reefing the topsail. By going out on the yard-arm you could not do this, and were thus neglecting your duty—not going beyond it. I have no intention of punishing you, on condition that you will recollect what I have said.” Jack promised that he would, and thanked the captain for his lecture. Murray got, as he deserved, a great deal of credit for his gallantry; and he was not a little delighted to receive the gold medal, some time afterwards, from the Humane Society. Soon after this occurrence, the frigate was sent to Gibraltar. She there took on board several passengers for Malta. One was a bear, which was sent as a present to the captain of a line-of-battle ship on the station, from some consul in Africa, who knew that he was fond of pets; another was a young gentleman going to travel in the East. The captain had given him a passage, as he was a relation of some brother officer who could not take him himself. He had been offered, and accepted, a berth in the gun-room. Neither Jack nor Murray had seen him, nor had they heard his name before they sailed. The next morning, after they had lost sight of the rock, when they went on deck, who should they see walking up and down, with an air of no little consequence, and having a pair of lilac kid gloves on his hands, but Bully Pigeon. Jack and Murray forgot all his bad qualities, and only thought of him as an old schoolfellow. So they went up to him, and cordially put out their hands. “Why, Pigeon, how are you, old fellow? Who’d have thought of seeing you here?” exclaimed Jack. Pigeon drew himself up. “You must have made a mistake; I—I don’t remember you,” he answered. “Oh! but we do you, very well, at Eagle House. I’m Jack Rogers, here’s Murray. We two came together. You didn’t leave, either, before us,” said Jack. “Oh! you must remember all about it.” “Ah! now I think I do,” replied Pigeon, extending the tips of his fingers. “There was another fellow went to sea at the same time. Paddy something—Oh! ye-es, I remember.” “Ah! Paddy Adair, you mean. Poor fellow, he was lost in the Onyx,” answered Jack, in a sad tone. “Oh! I remember—he was always a harum-scarum vagabond,” said Pigeon, in a sneering way. “He was as true a fellow as ever stepped!” exclaimed Jack indignantly. “If he were here, Pigeon, you would not speak so of him.” The bully, as usual, was silenced. It was not Jack’s way to cut anybody, but neither he nor Murray felt inclined to have any intimate conversation with their old schoolfellow. Still they could not help asking him about the school, and the various changes which had taken place since they left. “Well, I’m glad it prospers,” exclaimed Jack. “It was a first-rate, jolly good school; there was no humbug about it. I spent many happy days there.” Murray echoed these sentiments. Pigeon of course sneered, and observed that, “though there were a good many noblemen, and sons of gentlemen, there were a number of sons of merchants and city people.” “Ah! that is just what there should be,” said Jack. “It is the very thing that keeps England so well together. When the gentle born you speak of find that the sons of city men are as gentlemanly, as clever, and as honourable as themselves, and can play cricket or leapfrog, or anything of that sort, perhaps better than they do, they learn to respect them, and treat them as their equals ever afterwards. That is one of the very things that made our school so good. We used to think of fellows not for what they were but for what they did—except, perhaps, a few miserable sneaks, who ‘carnied’ up to a fellow because he had a handle to his name.” Pigeon did not respond to this sentiment, because he had been noted far doing the very thing that Jack reprobated. Jack could not help describing Pigeon in the berth, and the general opinion was that he deserved to be well roasted while he remained on board—in other words, that he should be made the common butt, at which the shafts of their wits should be aimed. They had plenty of opportunities of shooting the said shafts, for Pigeon exhibited an almost incredible amount of simplicity in all things connected with the sea. I do not mean to say, for one moment, that they were right in playing off their jokes on Pigeon. I have an especial dislike to practical jokes; and those I have generally seen carried out have been decidedly wrong, and very senseless and stupid, without a particle of wit. They had not been long at sea when one night Pigeon was encountered walking the deck, and every now and then stopping and looking eagerly over the side. “What do you see there?” asked Jack. “Anything out of the common way?” “All those sparkles, what can they be?” exclaimed Pigeon, pointing to the flashes of phosphorescent light which played among the foam dashed off from the sides, and which were seen in the wake of the vessel. Hemming came by at the moment. He had taken an especial dislike to the bully. “Those sparkles! don’t you know what they are? I thought everybody did,” he observed, in a tone of contempt. “Well, there’s a Russian fleet just gone up through the Straits, and every man, woman, and child aboard them smokes, from the admiral to the admiral’s baby, and those are the ashes out of their pipes and off the ends of their cigars. Why, that’s nothing to what you sometimes see. If we were close in their wake, there would be light enough for us to see to steer by.” “Law, you don’t say so!” exclaimed Pigeon. “I should have thought the water would have put them out.” “Not down in these latitudes. It’s too warm for that,” answered Hemming gravely. Pigeon was seen, when he went into the gun-room, entering the remark in his notebook. A few days after this Pigeon was walking the deck in solitary grandeur, when, as he passed the marine-sentry at the gangway, of course no notice was taken of him. Now he had observed that, on certain occasions, the sentry presented arms to the officers. This he had taken into his head was in consequence, not of their rank, but of their being gentlemen. He therefore thought that the same respect ought to be shown to him. Instead of complaining to the officers or to the captain, when he would have been well laughed at, he thought fit to take the law into his own hands, and, walking up to the sentry, soundly rated him for his want of respect. “And who bees you?” asked the sentry, cocking his eye—he was a wag in his way; “do you belong to the horse-marines, sir?” “No, I do not; I am Mr Theophilus Pigeon, and you must treat me properly, or I shall report you.” “I thought as how you had drunk many a pint of Pigeon’s milk when you was a baby,” observed the marine, with perfect gravity. Pigeon’s measure had already been very accurately taken on board by the crew. “Fellow, you are an impertinent scoundrel,” exclaimed Pigeon. “What’s your name?” “Mum’s the word,” answered the marine, with perfect gravity. “Ah! you think I am not up to you, do you?” cried Pigeon, glancing at the marine’s musket. “I see it where you forgot that it was, ha! ha!” It was some time before Pigeon could find the first lieutenant to make his report. In the meantime the sentries had been changed. “I am sorry, Mr Pigeon, that you should have received any impertinence from any of the people on board,” said the first lieutenant kindly. “Can you describe the man!” “Why, he had a red coat and white belt,” etcetera, etcetera. “I am afraid that won’t help us,” said the first lieutenant, laughing. “Ah! he thought himself very clever; but I know his name, I saw it on his musket. It was Tower!” exclaimed Pigeon triumphantly. A general laugh followed this announcement, for Tower is the name engraved on all Government arms issued from the stores in that ancient fortress of London. He used to find his way into the midshipmen’s berth and to make himself quite at home, occupying the space which, as Hemming observed, a better man might fill. Various devices were made to get clear of him. One of the officers had a horn with which he now and then startled the silence of the decks—a practice, by-the-bye, rather subversive of discipline. One day, while Pigeon was in the berth, the horn was heard to sound. “What’s that?” he asked. “Hurrah! the mail coach come in from Sicily,” exclaimed Jack, starting up and rushing out. “Come along, it’s a sight worth seeing. You’ll have letters by it to a certainty, Pigeon.” Away rushed Pigeon up on deck, while Jack, amid the laughter of the rest of the occupants, returned to the berth. The captain and several of the gun-room officers were on deck, when Pigeon made his hasty appearance, and hurried eagerly to the side. “What is the matter, Mr Pigeon?” asked Captain Lascelles. “The mail from Sicily! the mail from Sicily!” ejaculated Pigeon. “Has it gone? Am I too late to see it?” Even the captain could not help joining in the laugh which was raised against the once dictatorial bully of little boys at school. “Oh, you have not missed it,” said Mr Thorn. “Go down to the berth again, and say that we will call you when it heaves in sight.” More mystified than ever, Pigeon returned to the berth, when he was welcomed with shouts still more vehement than those which had received him on deck. The place he had left was occupied, and no one offered to make room for him, or asked him to sit down—a pretty strong proof that he was not wanted. Such is the deserved fate of school bullies when they get into the world, and have their measures properly taken. Still the midshipmen had not done with him. Quirk, the monkey, had remained, on his good behaviour, part and parcel of the crew. For the sake of the men, with whom he was a decided favourite, any slight misdemeanours which they could not contrive to hide were generally overlooked. Quirk occasionally paid a visit to the midshipmen’s berth, where he sat up at table cracking nuts, “evidently under the impression,” as Jack observed, “that he is one of us.” Quirk had soon struck up a friendship with the bear, who was a very tame beast, and could play almost as many antics as he could, only in a more sedate way. Wherever Quirk went, Bruin would endeavour to follow; and one day, while the midshipmen were at dinner, the latter, led by the monkey, was seen approaching the berth. Nuts and biscuits were held out. They were easily tempted in. Room was made for them, and they were regaled to their hearts’ content on all the delicacies of the season which the men could produce. “We’ll have them again, and we’ll have a friend to meet them,” exclaimed Jack. “A bright idea!” “Who?” was asked. “Pigeon,” said Jack; and so it was settled. That afternoon Mr Pigeon received a note written on pink scented paper, to the following effect:— “The gentlemen of the midshipmen’s berth request the pleasure of Mr Pigeon’s company at dinner, to meet two distinguished foreigners, in every way worthy of his acquaintance and friendship.” Pigeon asked the gun-room officers whether he ought to accept the invitation. “Certainly, it will be an insult if you don’t,” was the answer. They might possibly have suspected that a joke was brewing, but they said nothing. The dinner-hour on the next day arrived. The berth was kept as dark as possible, and when Pigeon presented himself at the door he was ushered in in due form, and with unusual politeness handed to the upper end of the berth. “Dinner!” cried the caterer. “Bear a hand, boy.” The midshipman’s boy, who had been standing against the door, grinning from ear to ear, had to decamp. “Before the soup comes, Mr Pigeon, let me introduce our other guests—Señor Don Bruno, who is on your right side, and Monsieur de Querkerie, whom you will find on your left. Manners makes the man, and as their manners are unexceptionable, I hope that you will consider them as men, and treat them, as men should men, with due civility.” The screens by the side of the berth were at this instant withdrawn, when Pigeon beheld a bear sitting on one side of him, and a monkey on the other, both dressed with huge shirt-collars, large ties, and broad ribbons across their breasts. Astonishment, rage, and fear struggled within for the mastery. “Don’t be alarmed at their looks, my dear sir,” said Hemming. “There are no better behaved gentlemen on board. Allow me to help you to soup. Rogers, you take care of Monsieur de Querkerie; Thompson, see to Don Bruno.” This was a necessary caution, for the monkey gave signs that he was about to thrust his paw into Pigeon’s plate, which act would have belied the assertion just made in his favour, and would certainly not have been pleasant to the human guest. Bruin, who had a handful of hard biscuit before him to munch, was behaving himself very well. Hemming kept serving out the soup with the greatest gravity amid roars of laughter, not a little increased by Pigeon’s perplexed countenance. What to do he could not decide. He felt that a joke was being played off on him, but he was too much afraid to resent it, or show his indignation, and therefore he did the very best thing he could have done under the circumstances, he went on eating his soup without speaking. All might have ended well had not Quirk, not understanding fully the proprieties of the dinner-table, darted out his paw and seized a lump of potato from the soup-plate. Pigeon could not stand this, but shoving the denied plate from him, he made a dash with his spoon at Quirk’s face, almost knocking some of his teeth down his throat. The monkey retaliated, and not without Jack’s utmost exertions could quiet be restored; I will not say peace or harmony, because that was out of the question. “I beg pardon, Mr Pigeon, we thought you might like the companionship of our foreign guests, as you are supposed to have some qualities in common,” said Hemming, in a grave tone. “But as you do not appear to admire their society, pray remove to the other side of the berth, where you will be more at your ease.” Pigeon was glad enough of an excuse to get away, but he was puzzled to settle whether it was safer to pass the bear or the monkey. At length he decided to get behind the former. At that moment Bruin took it into his head to lift up his huge back, and catching poor Pigeon between the legs, he sent him right into the middle of the table, with his head into the soup-dish, while Quirk, delighted at the opportunity, caught hold of his heels, and getting a kick, sprang in revenge on the part of his body most exposed to attack, which he bit till the wretched victim roared with pain, and Jack had by main force hauled him off. Hemming and Murray, with others, as soon as their laughter would allow them, dragged Pigeon off the table, apologising with tears in their eyes for the mishap which had occurred. Pigeon’s first impulse was to roar out for a basin and towel to wash off the soup from his face; and when his features were made clean, though earnestly pressed to come back, nothing could persuade him to take his seat till Bruin and Quirk were removed from the berth. In truth the mess were not sorry to get rid of them, for to more than one sense they were somewhat unpleasant companions. All things considered, it was voted that Pigeon had really behaved very well, and the lesson he had received did him a great deal of good, and while he remained on board he seemed to think very much less of himself. I cannot defend the conduct of Hemming or Jack, or any one concerned in the affair, but my belief is, that had Pigeon not spoken disparagingly of Adair, whose memory Jack and Murray so fondly cherished, the trick would not have been played. Malta was visited, so were the Ionian Islands, and the frigate clove through the waters of the Levant. “A sail in sight to leeward, sir,” said Jack, entering the cabin, cap in hand, one afternoon, while the captain was at dinner. “What does she look like?” asked Captain Lascelles, applying his table-napkin to his mouth, and finishing his glass of wine as a man does when he has to move in a hurry, while he fumbles in his waistcoat-pocket for his toothpick case. “The first lieutenant thinks her a heavy frigate, or a line-of-battle ship,” answered Jack, “and she is not English.” In a moment the captain was on deck, and taking an earnest look at the stranger through his telescope. At that period all captains of English men-of-war had received orders to be very circumspect with regard to their conduct towards French ships, for there was no doubt that France was seeking cause by which she might pick a quarrel with England. The Racer had now been cruising for some time, and Captain Lascelles could not tell whether the stranger in sight might or might not prove an enemy with whom he might speedily be engaged in deadly strife. The wind was from the north, and the African coast, a thin blue line, was rising to sight in the horizon. The helm was instantly put up, and all sail made in chase. “Hurrah!” exclaimed Jack, rushing into the berth, and throwing up his cap; “there’s a chance of a brush this time and no mistake. The gun-room officers say that the French are certain to be at war with us by this time. They are going to help Mehemet Ali, so if the stranger is not a Frenchman, she is pretty certain to be an Egyptian, and either one or the other will do.” The information was received in the berth with general satisfaction. Only one person heard it with dismay. That was Pigeon. He turned very pale. “What shall I do? Where shall I go?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t come here to fight. Couldn’t I be put on shore?” “No, but you can keep below and help the doctor, where you may be of use and out of harm’s way, if we don’t go down, or blow up during the action,” said Murray, with no little disdain in the tone of his voice. “Oh! oh!” groaned Pigeon. “Go down, or blow up! Oh, dear!” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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