struggled for freedom, while her crew drew its sheets down to the blocks
on the lower yard-arms. A minute later, the Gnat, under the head of her
fore-and-aft-main-sail, was seen standing slowly off from the land,
looking in the darkness like some half-equipped shadow of herself. The
sloop of war, too, was seen bending low to the force of the wind, with
her mere apology of a top-sail thrown aback, in waiting for the flag-ship
to cast.

The surface of the waters was a sheet of glancing foam, while the air
was filled with the blended sounds of the wash of the element, and the
roar of the winds. Still there was nothing chilling or repulsive in the
temperature of the air, which was charged with the freshness of the sea,
and was bracing and animating, bringing with it the flavour that a
seaman loves. After fully fifteen minutes' severe tugging at the oars,
the barge drew near enough to permit the black mass of the Caesar to be
seen. For some time, Lord Geoffrey, who had seated himself at the
tiller,--yoke-lines were not used a century since,--steered by the
top-light of the rear-admiral; but now the maze of hamper was seen
waving slowly to and fro in the lurid heavens, and the huge hull became
visible, heaving and setting, as if the ocean groaned with the labour of
lifting such a pile of wood and iron. A light gleamed from the
cabin-windows, and ever and anon, one glanced athwart an open gun-room
port. In all other respects, the ship presented but one hue of
blackness. Nor was it an easy undertaking, even after the barge was
under the lee of the ship, for those in it, to quit its uneasy support
and get a firm footing on the cleets that lined the vessel's side like a
ladder. This was done, however, and all ascended to the deck but two of
the crew, who remained to hook-on the yard and stay-tackles. This
effected, the shrill whistle gave the word, and that large boat, built
to carry at need some twenty souls, was raised from the raging water, as
it were by some gigantic effort of the ship herself, and safely
deposited in her bosom.

"We are none too soon, sir," said Stowel, the moment he had received the
rear-admiral with the customary etiquette of the hour. "It's a cap-full
of wind already, and it promises to blow harder before morning. We are
catted and fished, sir, and the forecastle-men are passing the
shank-painter at this moment."

"Fill, sir, and stretch off, on an easy bowline," was the answer; "when
a league in the o