over discovered her oars laid neatly side
by side, with a small spritsail. The Captain stood by with the air of a
man who had made a hit, while Sam and Halbert stared at one another
with looks of blank discomfiture and alarm.

Chapter XXXV

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

"This is a very serious matter for us, Captain Blockstrop," said Sam,
as they were walking back to the boats. "An exceedingly serious matter."

"I have only one advice to give you, Mr. Buckley," said the Captain;
"which is unnecessary, as it is just what your father will do. Fight,
sir!--hunt 'em down. Shoot 'em! They will give you no quarter: be sure
you don't give them any."

A wild discordant bellow was here heard from the ship, on which the
Captain slapped his leg, and said,--

"Dash my buttons, if he hasn't got hold of my speaking-trumpet."

The midshipman came up with a solemn face, and, touching his cap,
"reported,"--

"Colonial Secretary hailing, sir."

"Bless my soul, Mr. Vang, I can hear that," said the Captain. "I don't
suppose any of my officer would dare to make such an inarticulate, no
sailor-like bellow as that on her Majesty's quarterdeck. Can you make
out what he says? That would be more to the purpose."

Again the unearthly bellow came floating over the water, happily
deadened by the wind, which was roaring a thousand feet over head. "CAN
you make out anything, Mr. Vang?" said the Captain.

"I make out 'pork-chops!' sir," said the midshipman.

"Take one of the boats on board, Mr. Vang. My compliments, and will be
much obliged if he will come ashore immediately! On important business,
say. Tell him the convicts have landed; will you? Also, tell the
lieutenant of the watch that I want either Mr. Tacks, or Mr. Sheets:
either will do."

The boat was soon seen coming back with the Colonial Secretary in a
statesman-like attitude in the stern sheets, and beside him that
important officer Mr. Tacks, a wee little dot of a naval cadet,
apparently about ten years old.

"What were you bellowing about pork-chops, Pollifex?" asked the
Captain, the moment the boat touched the shore.

"A failure, sir," said the Colonial Secretary; "burnt, sir;
disgracefully burnt up to a cinder, sir. I have been consulting the
honourable member for the Cross-jack-yard (I allude to Mr. Tack's N.C.,
my honourable friend, if he will allow me to call him so) as to the
propriety of calling a court-martial on the cook's mate. He informs me
that such a course