right red drops
trickled.

"Huzza! send her up again!" cried Lankey.

The auger was again applied. This time a shriek was heard from the
purser's cabin. Instantly the light was doused, and the party
retreated hurriedly to the cockpit. A sound of snoring was heard as
the sentry stuck his head into the door. "All right, sir," he replied
in answer to the voice of the officer of the deck.

The next morning we heard that Nips was in the surgeon's hands, with a
bad wound in the fleshy part of his leg, and that the auger had NOT
struck claret.

CHAPTER V.

"Now, Pills, you'll have a chance to smell powder," said Briggs as he
entered the cockpit and buckled around his waist an enormous cutlass.
"We have just sighted a French ship."

We went on deck. Captain Boltrope grinned as we touched our hats. He
hated the purser. "Come, young gentlemen, if you're boring for french
claret, yonder's a good quality. Mind your con, sir," he added,
turning to the quartermaster, who was grinning.

The ship was already cleared for action. The men, in their eagerness,
had started the coffee from the tubs and filled them with shot.
Presently the Frenchman yawed, and a shot from a long thirty-two came
skipping over the water. It killed the quartermaster and took off both
of Lankey's legs. "Tell the purser our account is squared," said the
dying boy, with a feeble smile.

The fight raged fiercely for two hours. I remember killing the French
Admiral, as we boarded, but on looking around for Briggs, after the
smoke had cleared away, I was intensely amused at witnessing the
following novel sight:--

Briggs had pinned the French captain against the mast with his cutlass,
and was now engaged, with all the hilarity of youth, in pulling the
captain's coat-tails between his legs, in imitation of a dancing-jack.
As the Frenchman lifted his legs and arms, at each jerk of Briggs's, I
could not help participating in the general mirth.

"You young devil, what are you doing?" said a stifled voice behind me.
I looked up and beheld Captain Boltrope, endeavoring to calm his stern
features, but the twitching around his mouth betrayed his intense
enjoyment of the scene. "Go to the masthead--up with you, sir!" he
repeated sternly to Briggs.

"Very good, sir," said the boy, coolly preparing to mount the shrouds.
"Good by, Johnny Crapaud. Humph!" he added, in a tone intended for my
ear, "a pretty way to treat a hero. The service is going t