"By Jove, sir," exclaimed the commander as we bade farewell to the Frenchman, who also filled at the same time and went about on his way, both of us dipping our ensigns once more in salute, "we never thought of asking his name!" "No more we did, Nesbitt," said Captain Farmer; and the two stared at each other for a moment in silence, the captain ultimately breaking into a laugh. "But, that need not trouble you; for, I should know that corvette anywhere, I think, from the way she tumbles home from her water line abaft the beam. She's the old _Serieuse_ for a thousand!" "Indeed, sir?" "Yes. She was one of the French fleet in the Black Sea when I was out there with old Dundas. I've been alongside her too often to forget her queer build!" "But, I thought most of those French corvettes were wall-sided, sir?" "Ay, true enough," replied Captain Farmer, with a chuckle, as he came down the poop-ladder and turned to go into his cabin. "But, not all of them, Nesbitt, not all of them, my boy. I tell you, I would know the old _Serieuse_ anywhere, for they haven't got another tub like her afloat." "The `old man's' right," I heard the master say to Mr Stormcock when the captain had disappeared. "The corvette was on the right of our line when we bombarded Odessa; and I recollect she missed stays when tacking, and pretty nearly came aboard us." "By jingo," replied Mr Stormcock, enthusiastically, "what an eye the old man has for a ship, and what a memory for signals! I never came across his equal." So thought I too; however, each day disclosed some fresh trait in our captain's character, which surprised us all the more from his being such a very reserved man. He was in the habit of keeping himself to himself until occasion arose to bring out his latent qualities. Time, and a longer acquaintance with him, only taught us this pregnant fact, amongst other things! While all the signalling had been going on, the wind was gradually freshening and the sea getting up; and by the time we made sail again the waves had put on their white caps, while a heavy, rolling swell had set in. This met us almost full butt as we lay on our course and broke over our weather bow in columns of spray, washing the forecastle fore and aft and tumbling into the waist in a cataract of foam. The water was knee-deep on the lee side of the deck, whenever the ship heeled over to port under the pressure of her canvas, passing out of the scuppers like a mill-race on her rising again and righting on an even keel. The more the gale blew, however, the better the old _Candahar_ appeared to like it; racing along in grand style, and kicking up her heels to the Frenchman who was pretty soon hull down astern, the distance between us widening each instant all the more rapidly from the fact of our proceeding in opposite directions!