cessary to remain on deck any
longer. At the end of the hour, the rear-admiral bethought him of
retiring too. Before he quitted the poop, however, he stood at the
weather-ladder, holding on to the mizzen-rigging, and gazing at the
scene.

The wind had increased, as had the sea, but it was not yet a gale. The
York had long before hauled up in her station, a cable's length ahead of
the Caesar, and was standing on, under the same canvass as the flag-ship,
looking stately and black. The Dover was just shooting into her berth,
under the standing sailing-orders, at the same distance ahead of the
York; visible, but much less distinct and imposing. The sloop and the
cutter were running along, under the lee of the heavy snips, a quarter
of a mile distant, each vessel keeping her relative position, by close
attention to her canvass. Further than this, nothing was in sight. The
sea had that wild mixture of brightness and gloom, which belongs to the
element when much agitated in a dark night, while the heavens were murky
and threatening.

Within the ship, all was still. Here and there a lantern threw its
wavering light around, but the shadows of the masts and guns, and other
objects, rendered this relief to the night trifling. The lieutenant of
the watch paced the weather side of the quarter-deck, silent but
attentive. Occasionally he hailed the look-outs, and admonished them to
be vigilant, also, and at each turn he glanced upward to see how the
top-sail stood. Four or five old and thoughtful seamen walked the waist
and forecastle, but most of the watch were stowed between the guns, or
in the best places they could find, under the lee of the bulwarks,
catching cat's naps. This was an indulgence denied the young gentlemen,
of whom one was on the forecastle, leaning against the mast, dreaming of
home, one in the waist, supporting the nettings, and one walking the
lee-side of the quarter-deck, his eyes shut, his thoughts confused, and
his footing uncertain. As Bluewater stepped on the quarter-deck-ladder,
to descend to his own cabin, the youngster hit his foot against an
eye-bolt, and fetched way plump up against his superior. Bluewater
caught the lad in his arms, and saved him from a fall, setting him
fairly on his feet before he let him go.

"'Tis seven bells, Geoffrey," said the admiral, in an under tone. "Hold
on for half an hour longer, and then go dream of your dear mother."

Before the boy could recover himself to thank hi