his mind reverts to his youth, overlooking the scenes of latter
life! Yes, _Dick is_ dead, Sir Gervaise. He fell in that battle in which
you were doubled on by the French--when you had le Foudroyant on one
side of you, and le Pluton on the other--"

"_I remember it!_" interrupted Sir Gervaise, in a clear strong voice,
his eye flashing with something like the fire of youth--"I remember it!
Le Foudroyant was on our starboard beam; le Pluton a little on our
larboard bow--Bunting had gone aloft to look out for Bluewater--no--poor
Bunting was killed--"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, who afterwards married Mildred Bluewater,
Dick's niece," put in the baronet, himself, almost as eager as the
admiral had now become; "Sir Wycherly Wychecombe _had_ been aloft, but
was returned to report the Pluton coming down!"

"So he did!--God bless him! A clever youth, and he _did_ marry Dick's
niece. God bless them _both_. Well, sir, you're a stranger, but the
story will interest you. There we lay, almost smothered in the smoke,
with one two-decker at work on our starboard beam, and another hammering
away on the larboard bow, with our top-masts over the side, and the guns
firing through the wreck."

"Ay, now you're getting it like a book!" exclaimed Galleygo exultingly,
flourishing his stick, and strutting about the little chapel; "that's
just the way things was, as I knows from seeing 'em!"

"I'm quite certain I'm right, Galleygo?"

"Right! your honour's righter than any log-book in the fleet. Give it to
'em, Sir Jarvy, larboard and starboard!"

"That we did--that we did"--continued the old man earnestly, becoming
even grand in aspect, as he rose, always gentleman-like and graceful,
but filled with native fire, "that did we! de Vervillin was on our
right, and des Prez on our left--the smoke was choking us
all--Bunting--no; young Wychecombe was at my side; he said a fresh
Frenchman was shoving in between us and le Pluton, sir--God forbid! I
_thought_; for we had enough of them, us it was. There she comes! See,
here is her flying-jib-boom-end--and there--hey! Wychecombe?--_That's_
the _old Roman_, shoving through the smoke!--Caesar himself! and there
stands Dick and young Geoffrey Cleveland--_he_ was of your family,
duke--there stands Dick Bluewater, between the knight-heads, waving his
hat--_HURRAH!_--He's true, at last!--He's true, at last--_HURRAH!
HURRAH!_"

The clarion tones rose like a trumpet's blast, and the cheering of the
old