ore for
you, than for any other vessel. I hope you've not suffered materially in
your crew?"

"Nine killed. Sir Gervaise; and the surgeon tells me sixteen wounded."

"That proves you've not been in port, Foley! Well, I dare say, could the
truth be known, it would be found that M. de Vervillin's vessels bear
your marks, in revenge. Adieu--adieu--God bless you."

The Thunderer glided ahead, making room for the Blenheim, Captain
Sterling. This was one of your serviceable ships, without any show or
style about her; but a vessel that was always ready to give and take.
Her commander was a regular sea-dog, a little addicted to hard and
outlandish oaths, a great consumer of tobacco and brandy; but who had
the discrimination never to swear in the presence of the
commander-in-chief, although he had been known to do so in a church; or
to drink more than he could well carry, when he was in presence of an
enemy or a gale of wind. He was too firm a man, and too good a seaman,
to use the bottle as a refuge; it was the companion of his ease and
pleasure, and to confess the truth, he then treated it with an
affectionate benevolence, that rendered it exceedingly difficult for
others not to entertain some of his own partiality for it. In a word,
Captain Sterling was a sailor of the "old school;" for there was an "old
school" in manners, habits, opinions, philosophy, morals, and reason, a
century since, precisely as there _is_ to-day, and probably _will_ be, a
century hence.

The Blenheim made a good report, not having sustained any serious injury
whatever; nor had she a man hurt. The captain reported his ship as fit
for service as she was the hour she lifted her anchor.

"So much the better, Sterling--so much the better. You shall take the
edge off the next affair, by way of giving you another chance. I rely on
the Blenheim, and on her captain."

"I thank you, sir," returned Sterling, as his ship moved on; "by the
way, Sir Gervaise, would it not be fair-play to rummage the prize's
lockers before she gets into the hands of the custom-house? Out here on
the high seas, there can be no smuggling in _that_: there must be good
claret aboard her."

"There would be 'plunder of a prize,' Sterling," said the vice-admiral,
laughing, for he knew that the question was put more as a joke than a
serious proposition; "and that is death, without benefit of clergy. Move
on; here is Goodfellow close upon your heels."

The last ship in the English