am not going to give an opinion, but if we were in the
garden at home in the look-out I should say that was a man-of-war coming
into Plymouth port."

"Yes, that she is, uncle," cried Rodd, who had forgotten the heat in
this new excitement.

"A man-of-war--that she is!" said Uncle Paul quietly. "That sounds
ridiculous, Pickle. But one has to give way to custom."

"Yes," said Rodd--"a frigate. I can tell by her white sails."

"Not big enough for a frigate, my boy. A sloop of war, I should think.
Now, what can she be doing down here?"

"I know, uncle," cried the boy excitedly--"looking after the slave
ships."

"Ah, very likely," cried Uncle Paul. "I shouldn't be surprised. We are
pretty near to that neighbourhood; and if she is it's quite likely that
she'll overhaul us. Ah, here's Captain Chubb coming up. Look here,
skipper!"

The captain, who looked very hot, and whose face proclaimed very plainly
that he had been having an after-dinner nap, came slowly up, stooped
within the awning, and in silence took hold of the spy-glass, whose
glistening black sides were quite hot, and which Rodd thrust into his
hands.

He wanted no telling what for, but raised and adjusted the glass to his
own sight, took a quick shot at the distant object upon the horizon, and
then lowered it directly. "British man-of-war," he grunted. "That's
bad."

"Why?" cried Rodd sharply.

The skipper turned upon him, looked at him fiercely, and then almost
barked out--

"You don't know, youngster?"

"No. What do you mean?"

"Means that I've got as smart a picked crew as a man need wish to have."

"To be sure," said Rodd; "of course you have. I do know that."

"Well," said the skipper gruffly, "I don't want to lose them; that's
all."

Rodd and his uncle exchanged glances, while the skipper went and stood
at the side and began scanning the sky, to come back shaking his head.

"No more wind, and not likely to be."

"Well, we don't want any more, do we?" said Uncle Pad.

"Ay; if a good breeze would spring up I'd show them a clean pair of
heels."

"Oh, I see," cried Rodd excitedly. "You think that they would press
some of our men and take them aboard. Oh, Captain Chubb, you mustn't
let them do that!"

"I don't mean to, my lad, if I can help it. I hadn't reckoned on seeing
one of them down here."

"Uncle thinks they're after the slavers."

"Nay, my lad, I don't think that. More likely after one of the palm-oil
craft