etty figure for a despatch, and would make Bronte
smile--ha!--wouldn't it?"

"D--n the figure, the harriers, and the despatch, too, Dashwood; first
win the day, before you begin to write poetry about it. Bronte, as you
call Nelson, has lightning in him, as well as thunder, and there isn't
an admiral in the service who cares less for blood and private rank than
himself. The way to make him smile is to do a thing neatly and well. For
God's sake, now, be careful of the men;--we are short-handed as it is,
and can't afford such another scrape as that off Porto Ferrajo."

"Never fear for us, Cuffe; you'll never miss the men I shall expend."

Every captain had a word to say to his officers; but none other worth
recording, with the exception of what passed between Lyon and his first
lieutenant.

"Ye'll remember, Airchy, that a ship can have a reputation for economy,
as well as a man. There's several of our own countrymen about the
Admiralty just now; and next to courage and enterprise, they view the
expenditures with the keenest eyes. I've known an admiral reach a red
ribbon just on that one quality; his accounts showing cheaper ships and
cheaper squadrons than any in the sairvice. Ye'll all do your duties,
for the honor o' Scotland; but there's six or seven Leith and Glasgow
lads in the boats, that it may be as well not to let murder themselves,
out of a' need. I've put the whole of the last draft from the river
guard-ship into the boats, and with them there's no great occasion to be
tender. They're the sweepings of the Thames and Wapping; and quite half
of them would have been at Botany Bay before this, had they not been
sent here."

"Does the law about being in sight apply to the boats or to the ships,
the day, Captain Lyon?"

"To the boats, man; or who the de'il do you think would sairve in them!
It's a pitiful affair, altogether, as it has turned out; the honor being
little more than the profit, I opine; and yet 'twill never do to let old
Scotia lag astairn, in a hand-to-hand battle, Ye'll remember; we have a
name for coming to the claymore; and so do yer best, every mither's
son o' ye."

McBean grunted assent, and went about his work as methodically as if it
were a sum in algebra. The second lieutenant of the Terpsichore was a
young Irishman, with a sweet, musical voice; and, as the boats left the
ships, he was with difficulty kept in the line, straining to move ahead,
with his face on a grin, and his cheers stimu