wake Bluewater up; perhaps he may favour us with a broadside, by way of
retort."

The match was applied, and the report of the gun succeeded. Then
followed a pause of more than a minute; when the fog lifted around the
Caesar, the ship that wore a rear-admiral's flag, a flash like lightning
was seen glancing in the mist, and then came the bellowing of a piece of
heavy ordnance. Almost at the same instant, three little flags appeared
at the mast-head of the Caesar, for previously to quitting his own ship,
Sir Gervaise had sent a message to his friend, requesting him to take
care of the fleet. This was the signal to anchor. The effect of all
this, as seen from the height, was exceedingly striking. As yet not a
single hull had become visible, the fog remaining packed upon the water,
in a way to conceal even the lower yards of the two-deckers. All above
was bright, distinct, and so near, as almost to render it possible to
distinguish persons. There every thing was vivid, while a sort of
supernatural mystery veiled all beneath. Each ship had an officer aloft
to look out for signals, and no sooner had the Caesar opened her three
little flags, which had long been suspended in black balls, in readiness
for this service, than the answers were seen floating at the mast-head
of each of the vessels. Then commenced a spectacle still more curious
than that which those on the cliff had so long been regarding with
interest. Ropes began to move, and the sails were drawn up in festoons,
apparently without the agency of hands. Cut off from a seeming
communication with the ocean, or the hulls, the spars of the different
ships appeared to be instinct with life; each machine playing its own
part independently of the others, but all having the same object in
view. In a very few minutes the canvass was hauled up, and the whole
fleet was swinging to the anchors. Presently head after head was thrown
out of the fog, the upper yards were alive with men, and the sails were
handed. Next came the squaring of the yards, though this was imperfectly
done, and a good deal by guess-work. The men came down, and there lay a
noble fleet at anchor, with nothing visible to those on the cliffs, but
their top-hamper and upper spars.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had been so much struck and amused with a sight that
to him happened to be entirely novel, that he did not speak during the
whole process of anchoring. Indeed, many a man might pass his life at
sea, and never wi