nd the men
called contractors were held in general detestation by every ship in the
service.

[Illustration: "_Sailing across the moon's bright wake was a
French man-o'-war._" Page 93.]

The merchantmen under Jack numbered fourteen in all, and were of
different classes--brigs, barques, and full-rigged ships; but long
before sundown they were all securely anchored in front of San Miguel,
and Captain Mackenzie, in full uniform, accompanied by Commander
Fairlie, had gone on shore to pay his respects to the Portuguese
governor.

San Miguel was not so densely populated as it is now, but very quaint as
to its town, and very romantic and beautiful as to its scenery all
around. The governor dwelt in a villa on a garden-terraced hill in the
outskirts. He was very pleased to see the officers, but deferred
business till next day.

It was, however, while smoking in the veranda after dinner, and gazing
dreamily away across the moonlit ocean, that Jack suddenly sprang up,
and, clutching Tom's arm, pointed seawards.

Slowly sailing across the moon's bright wake was a French man-o'-war.

CHAPTER XI.

THE PHANTOM FRENCHMAN.

"If to engage we get the word,
To quarters we'll repair,
While splintered masts go by the board,
And shots sing through the air."
DIBDIN.

Beautiful island of San Miguel! on whose shores, wherever they slope in
sheets of sand towards the sea, the white waves play and sing; whose
gigantic rocks, frowning black and beetling above the water, are fondly
licked by mother ocean's tongue as dog salutes a master's hand.

Island, surrounded by seas that towards the far horizon seem
unfathomably blue, yet near around are patched in the sunshine with
opal, with green, and with azure, and tremble like mercury under the
moon and the starlight.

Island of fountain-springs, that shoot their white and boiling spray
farther skywards than ever spouted Nor'land whale.

Island of mountains, high and wild, whose summits seek to withdraw from
earth away, and hide their proud heads above the clouds, when storms
rage far beneath.

Island of green and lonesome glens, where bright-winged birds chant low
their love-songs to their listening mates, and where many a strange,
fantastic fern nods weeping o'er the hurrying streams.

Island of scented orange-groves, of waving palms, of dark dwarf
pines--black shapes in many a cloud of