er of ships lying snugly at anchor.

"Ah!" said the skipper, "here is the admiral, just as I expected. Do
you see that bwig, Mr Percival?"

"Yes, sir," returned Percival, "I wanted to weather her, but we shall
not do it, the wind is too light, and the tide too strong; we must tack
under his stern, as there is shoal water not far to leeward of where he
is."

"Then, in that case, we'll give her a little more muslin," said Mr
Annesley. "Haul out the driver, and down with the fore tack and sheet;
look sharp, my lads! Now, Mr Percival, we are all ready."

We were now drawing up on the brig's starboard quarter, and almost
within hailing distance. Captain Hood was preparing to hail the vessel,
when a figure was seen on the taffrail of the stranger, and the next
moment some indistinct words were hoarsely bellowed at us.

"_What_ does he say?" said the skipper, turning to the group of officers
standing near.

"Couldn't exactly make out," said one. "Didn't hear very distinctly,"
said another. "I thought it sounded like French," said Percival.

"Oh!" said the skipper, "he is of course asking who we are. His
Bwitannic Majesty's fwigate `Juno,' from Malta, with supahnumewawies for
the garrison," he added, roaring back between his hands at the
motionless figure on board the brig.

"Viva!" was the reply, accompanied by the wave of a navy cap.

"He's Fwench," said the skipper; "one of the fellows who has suwendered
to our fleet. Can any of you gentlemen speak Fwench well enough to ask
him which is the Bwitish admiral's ship?"

There was no one, it appeared, with quite sufficient confidence in his
knowledge of the French language to undertake this duty, so I stepped
forward and, with becoming modesty, offered to obtain whatever
information was required. Permission being given, I approached the
side, and squeaked out, in the most manly tones at my command, the
proposed inquiry.

The figure gesticulated violently, then stooped down to commune with
three or four more, whose heads could now be seen just above the
taffrail; finally he raised himself to an upright position, and shouted
back, "Yesh, yesh!"

"I'm afraid he did not understand you, Mr Chester," said Mr Annesley.
"Try him again."

I did so, with even more confusing results than before.

"Ask him which is the Bwitish fleet," suggested the skipper.

I put this question also, and the confusion appeared to become worse
confounded; some half-a-dozen replies