n the word _you_ slightly nettled me.

"What, in the name of--um! um! What's your name, pray, young
gentleman?" said he.

"Ralph Chester, midshipman, of the frigate `Juno,' at your service,
sir," I replied.

"Ralph Chester, eh? Of the `Juno.' Ah! um! Let me see. Um! Your
name seems familiar to me. Where did I hear it before? _Must_ have
heard it before, somewhere; never make mistakes about names; _never.
Where_ did I hear it before, eh, youngster?"

"It is quite impossible for me to say, sir," I replied. "The only way
in which an officer in your high position is likely to become acquainted
with the name of an obscure midshipman is, it seems to me, through the
Gazette."

"Gazette? Gazette? Oh, ay; to be sure. Yes, yes; certainly; that was
it. `Juno'--Captain Hood--of course. And are you the lad who
distinguished himself so conspicuously at the storming of the Convention
Redoubt?"

"I was named in the despatches in connection with that affair, sir," I
modestly replied.

"Then I congratulate you most heartily, my boy," said he, shaking hands
with me vigorously, and changing his hitherto gruff and somewhat
churlish demeanour for one of almost paternal cordiality. "Ha! ha! you
made the whole service your debtor that night, by helping your skipper
to get into the breach before the red-coat. The rascals! They like to
`top the officer' over us, and claim to be the more useful arm of the
service; but you gave us the pull on them that night, my boy, and no
mistake. Poor Dundas! How awfully disgusted he must have felt. But--
sit down, and let me see your despatches--we can talk afterwards."

I produced my box, and handed to him the letter from Lord Hood which was
addressed to himself.

He hastily tore open the envelope, and soon ran over the few lines which
formed the contents of the letter.

"Can't do it," he exclaimed, testily, crumpling up the letter in his
hand. "Haven't a single frigate at my disposal; not even a corvette nor
a despatch-boat--_nothing_, in fact, but my own barge. Sheer
impossibility; so there's an end of it. Why, in the name of all that's
ridiculous, could he not send one of his own frigates, so that these
confounded despatches might have gone straight on? Much more sensible
than to send them here in a little hooker which is not fit to cross the
Bay of Biscay. _Why_ is she not fit, eh? What's the matter with her?"

"There is nothing the matter with her, sir; nothing wha