wallowed his discontent, and departed. The
five minutes that succeeded were bitter minutes to Sir Gervaise Oakes.
Beside himself there were but five men on the poop; viz., the
quarter-master who tended the signals, and three of the Bowlderos. All
of these were using muskets as usual, though the vice-admiral never
permitted marines to be stationed at a point which he wished to be as
clear of smoke, and as much removed from bustle as possible. He began to
pace this comparatively vacant little deck with a quick step, casting
wistful glances towards the larboard-quarter; but though the smoke
occasionally cleared a little in that direction, the firing having much
slackened from exhaustion in the men, as well as from injuries given and
received, he was unable to detect any signs of a ship. Such was the
state of things when Wycherly returned and reported that his orders
were delivered, and part of the people were already in the
larboard-batteries.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"And oh, the little warlike world within!
The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
The hoarse command, the busy humming din.
When at a word, the tops are manned on high:
Hark to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides,
Or school-boy midshipman, that, standing by,
Strains his shrill pipe, as good or ill betides,
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides."

BYRON.

"Are you quite sure, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, that there is not some
mistake about the approach of the rear division of the French?" inquired
the vice-admiral, endeavouring to catch some glimpse of the water,
through the smoke on the larboard hand. "May not some crippled ship of
our own have sheered from the line, and been left by us, unknowingly, on
that side?"

"No, Sir Gervaise, there is _no_ mistake; there _can_ be none, unless I
may have been deceived a little in the distance. I saw nothing but the
sails and spars, not of a single vessel, but of _three_ ships; and one
of them wore the flag of a French rear-admiral at the mizzen. As a proof
that I was not mistaken, sir, there it is this minute!"

The smoke on the off side of the Plantagenet, as a matter of course, was
much less dense than that on the side engaged, and the wind beginning to
blow in eddies, as ever happens in a heavy cannonade, there were moments
in which it cast aside the "shroud of battle." At