ollowing, in the order named; some changes having been
made in the night, in order to bring the ships of the division into
their fighting-stations, in a line ahead, the vice-admiral leading. The
superiority of the Plantagenet was a little apparent, notwithstanding;
the Carnatic alone, and that only by means of the most careful watching,
being able to keep literally in the commander-in-chief's wake; all the
other vessels gradually but almost imperceptibly setting to leeward of
it. These several circumstances struck Sir Gervaise, the moment his foot
touched the poop, where he found Greenly keeping an anxious look-out on
the state of the weather and the condition of his own ship; leaning at
the same time, against the spanker-boom to steady himself in the gusts
of the gale. The vice-admiral braced his own well-knit and compact
frame, by spreading his legs; then he turned his handsome but
weather-beaten face towards the line, scanning each ship in succession,
as she lay over to the wind, and came wallowing on, shoving aside vast
mounds of water with her bows, her masts describing short arcs in the
air, and her hull rolling to windward, and lurching, as if boring her
way through the ocean. Galleygo, who never regarded himself as a steward
in a gale of wind, was the only other person on the poop, whither he
went at pleasure by a sort of imprescriptibly right.

"Well done, old Planter!" cried Sir Gervaise, heartily, as soon as his
eye had taken in the leading peculiarities of the view. "You see,
Greenly, she has every body but old Parker to leeward, and she would
have him there, too, but he would carry every stick he has, out of the
Carnatic, rather than not keep his berth. Look at Master Morganic; he
has his main course close-reefed on the Achilles, to luff into his
station, and I'll warrant you will get a good six months' wear out of
that ship in this one gale; loosening her knees, and jerking her spars
like so many whip-handles; and all for love of the new fashion of
rigging an English two-decker like an Algerian xebec! Well, let him tug
his way up to windward, Bond-street fashion, if he likes the fun. What
has become of the Chloe, Greenly?"

"Here she is, sir, quite a league on our lee-bow, looking out, according
to orders."

"Ay, that is her work, and she'll do it effectually.--But I don't see
the Driver!"

"She's dead ahead sir," answered Greenly, smiling; "_her_ orders being
rather more difficult of execution. Her st