As the gale increased, the captain, as we heard, sent for the first lieutenant, and said he should like to bear up for the Cove of Cork or Plymouth Sound. "There's just one objection to our doing that," observed old Rough-and-Ready. "You see, my lord, they happen to be right away to windward, and we can no more get there until the wind shifts, than we can reach the moon. We'll heave the ship to, if your lordship pleases, and she'll be so much nearer Portsmouth than if we run on as we're doing." "Oh, pray heave to; it is the best thing we can do under the circumstances," answered his lordship. The hands were accordingly turned up, and the ship brought to the wind at the risk of carrying away some of our bulwarks and boats. We thus rode, hove-to, for a couple of days, when, the gale moderating, we were able to make sail, and steer for the Channel. As soon as the weather was fine enough, old Rough-and-Ready, according to promise, kept all hands exercising at the guns and shortening and reefing sails for hours together. He was in no hurry to get into port again, as he wanted before then to have a smart ship's company. This evidently gave the captain great satisfaction, for he knew he would gain the credit, and he was not above wishing that for himself, if it could be obtained without too much trouble. He had come on deck with his arms akimbo to give his orders, in a voice very different from that in which he spoke when in his cabin or ashore, introducing as many expletives and adjurations as the boatswain himself could have done. No sooner had the sails been again loosed, and tacks and sheets hauled down, than he sang out once more-- "Shorten sail. If you're not smart enough about it, I'll flog the last man in off the yards."