d stiff on his own poop lay the French captain, and
alongside him more than one of his officers. The decks were a sad sight
in the glimmering moonlight, for splintered timbers and arms lay
everywhere, and everywhere were dead and wounded.

More by token, from the uncertain, heavy-swaying motion of the vessel,
it was evident she had been badly hit 'twixt wind and water, and was
already sinking. All haste was therefore made to save the men. Those of
the ship's boats that were not smashed were lowered, and further
assistance was sent for from the merchant fleet, and none too soon
either.

A few minutes after the last man--and that was Jack Mackenzie, who
personally superintended everything--had left the ill-fated Frenchman,
her decks blew up with a dull report, the water rushed in from all
sides, and just as the sun threw his first yellow beams upwards through
the morning clouds, the great ship shuddered like a dying thing, and
shuddering sank.

Such is war; why should we desire it?

But side by side with tragedy do we ever find something akin to the
ridiculous or comic.

It was Tom Fairlie himself who was despatched to the merchant fleet to
beg them to send all the boats they could to rescue the wounded and
prisoners from the sinking war-ship. Almost the first vessel he boarded
was that commanded by the skipper who owned the bulbous nose. And here a
strange and a wonderful sight met his gaze. Arranged in double rank on
the quarter-deck were about twenty or more sailors, each armed with a
gun and bayonet, the skipper himself at their head drilling them.

"Shoulder-houp!" he was shouting as Tom leaped down from the bulwark.

The most comical part of the business was this: every one of the honest
skipper's sailor-soldiers had a white linen shirt on over his dress, and
as the men's legs were bare to the knees, they all looked as near to
naked as decency would permit. While Tom stopped to laugh aloud, Captain
Bulbous hastened to explain.

"Were comin' to your assistance, I was, in half-a-minute. Stuck on them
shirts so's they should know each other from the French. See? Do look
curious, though, I must admit. What! the fight all over? Well, I _am_
sorry."

Before eight bells in the morning watch the prisoners were distributed
all over the fleet, with the exception of the wounded, who were under
the charge of Dr. M'Hearty on board the saucy _Tonneraire_.

CHAPTER XIII.

A HAPPY SHIP.

"On Friendship so