heard the shrill sound of the whistle.
Indeed, it made him change colour; he thought it might be a Russian
privateer demanding you to stop. And the priest did not wait one
minute; he went on to his knees and bowed his head in prayer, and the
pasha ordered me to come to you quick. You must not think that I was
nervous, captain; I was very excited only."

"Very well," replied the captain, smiling. "You may call it
excitement, but I should call it white funk, the way you conducted
yourself on my bridge. Why, you spoke every language in the universe!"

"Ah, that was not funk, captain; that was what you call confusion,
caused by anxiety for that brave soldier in your cabin, and his
spiritual adviser. Besides, captain, how can you speak to one of your
own countrymen in this fashion, and accuse him of talking so many
tongues! I am a Maltese, and have interpreted for many years for my
good friend, Osman Pasha."

"What!" cried the captain. "Is this the Turkish patriot, Osman Pasha?"

"Now, captain, _you_ are excited; but I do not say that you speak many
languages. Keep cool, and I will tell you. It is not Osman, but it is
very near him, being his lieutenant or aide-de-camp."

"Is it Suleiman?"

"No, it is not."

"Then who the devil is it? By Jupiter! I believe it _is_ Osman."

"I dare not tell you his name; he has been reconnoitring, and has had
narrow escapes."

"That's not what I want to know. Tell me straight away--is it Osman
Pasha, or is it not?"

"Captain," said the wily interpreter, "this is a secret mission. I
cannot tell secrets that may get us all into trouble; but I will
inform you that you will hear of this warrior during the next few
months. I must ask you to come and see him. He cannot speak one word
of English. Bring your chart, as he is sure to ask you to point out to
him exactly our position."

The captain followed the interpreter into the presence of a
majestic-looking person, who saluted him with kindly dignity. His face
wore a thoughtful appearance; his eyes were penetrating, and under a
massive forehead there rested well-developed eyebrows, betokening keen
observation. His chin and nose were strong, and altogether his general
looks, if not handsome, were comely. He gave the commander a real,
big-hearted grip of the hand, which settled the question of friendship
for him at once. Sailors detest a "grisly shake of the flipper." Likes
and dislikes are invariably fixed by this test. The pasha was