suspend an execution.

"To the Commanding Officer of His Majesty's Ship Foudroyant."

As soon as the magical words of "Nelson and Bronte" were affixed to
this order, with a date, Clinch rose to depart. After he had made his
bows, he stood with his hand on the lock of the door, as if uncertain
whether to prefer a request or not.

"This is a matter of moment, sir, and no time is to be lost," added
Nelson. "I feel great anxiety about it, and wish you to desire Captain
Cuffe to send you back with a report of all that has passed, as soon as
convenient."

"I will report your wishes, my lord," answered Clinch, brightening up;
for he only wanted an opportunity to speak of his own promotion, and
this was now offered in perspective. "May I tell the commanding officer
of the flag-ship to use the lower-deck guns, my lord?"

"He will do that of his own accord, after reading those orders; heavy
guns mean the heaviest. Good afternoon, sir; for God's sake, lose
no time."

Clinch obeyed this injunction to the letter. He reached the Foudroyant
some time before sunset, and immediately placed the order in her
captain's hands. A few words of explanation set everything in motion,
and the three guns were fired on the side of the ship toward Capri, most
opportunely for our hero.

The half hour that succeeded, on board the Proserpine, was one of gayety
and merriment. Every person was glad that the ship had escaped an
execution; and then it was the hour for piping down the hammocks, and
for shifting the dogwatches. Cuffe recovered all his animation, and
conversed cheerfully, having Griffin for an interpreter, with his two
Italian guests. These last had been prevented from paying their visit to
the prisoner, on account of the latter's wish to be alone; but the
intention was now renewed; and sending below, to ascertain if it would
be agreeable, they proceeded together on their friendly mission. As the
two worthies, who had not altogether got their sea-legs, slowly
descended the ladder, and threaded their way among the throng of a ship,
the discourse did not flag between them.

"Cospetto!" exclaimed the podesta; "Signor Andrea, we live in a world
of wonders! A man can hardly say whether he is actually alive or not. To
think how near this false Sir Smees was to death, half an hour since;
and now, doubtless, he is as much alive, and as merry as any of us."

"It would be more useful, friend Vito Viti," answered the philosophical
vice-govern