h captain to drop his anchor at this point. It tended however
somewhat to abate these suspicions--that, by the flashes of the
lanthorns, as they played unsteadily upon the guns, anchors, and
tackling of the vessel, he could distinguish the lilies of France: and
upon inquiry from the helmsman, who spoke to him however in English, he
learned that he was on board a French corvette--_Les trois fleurs de
lys_.

At this moment the wind veered a point; and instantly a voice of
thunder was heard exclaiming

"_Mort de ma vie!_ look sharp: by the three names of Satan, I'll send
you a message else from this little brace of bulldogs: you there at the
foresheet,--be handy, will you? Or by our lady I'll nail you to the
mast, until the cormorants have made their breakfast."

All was now life and activity: the sails were bent and furled: men and
boys were crawling about every part of the rigging: the helmsman took
his quiet station: and just as day began to break, the "Trois fleurs de
lys," with all sails set, was running gaily before a fresh breeze of
wind. She had made a good deal of way before there was light enough for
Bertram to examine the coast he was leaving; and, by the time he became
able to use his eyes with effect, all the details by which it was
possible to have identified the exact situation of his late confinement
were obliterated and melted into indistinct haze which preserved only
the great outlines of the coast: in these the principal feature was a
bold headland; and within _that_ a pretty deep bay.

"What is that promontory called?" said Bertram, addressing an old
sailor who was passing him at the moment.

"What--_that_ right a helm?" said the sailor.

"Yes."

"They call _that_ Lubber's Point."

"And what do you call the bay beyond?"

"The bay? Why Buttermilk bay: and t'other horn to leward is Cape
Sugarcandy."

So saying, the old sailor hitched his trowsers; and with perfect
gravity passed on--leaving Bertram not much in his debt for any
accessions to his geographical knowledge. He had no leisure however
to ruminate on this little specimen of nautical gaiety; for just at
this moment up rolled a brawny thick-set figure, and without any
ceremonies of introduction or salutation spoke to him--or rather spoke
_at_ him--thus:

"So!--This is the son of a gun that was asking for a passage?"

The lordly step and gay confidence of eye sufficiently announced to
Bertram that he who addressed him was the captain