As his frigate was passing at night through the Straits of Gibraltar he met a strange ship and hailed her. The vessel made no reply, but manoeuvred to get into an advantageous position for firing. "I hail you for the last time!" Preble shouted. "If you don't answer, I'll fire a shot into you." "If you do, I'll return a broadside!" came from the strange ship. "I should like to catch you at that! I now hail for an answer. What ship is that?" Captain Preble cried. "His Britannic Majesty's eighty-four gun ship-of-the-line _Donegal_! Sir Richard Strachan. Send a boat on board!" Preble shouted back: "This is the United States' forty-four gun ship _Constitution_, Captain Edward Preble, and I'll be d--d if I send a boat on board any ship! Blow your matches, boys!" No broadside was fired. Captain Preble now shouted to the officer that he doubted the truth of his statement and would stay alongside until the morning revealed the identity of the stranger. A boat now approached, bearing a message from the strange ship's commander. He explained that she was the thirty-two gun British frigate _Maidstone_, and that, taken by surprise, he had resorted to strategy in order to get his men to their stations before the _Constitution_ fired. Samuel Childs had his chance to serve under this terrible Captain Preble, and so, for that matter, had all of us. My first meeting with the captain was far from being one that promised comfort. To explain why, I had better note here that the clothing supplies of the _George Washington_ had been depleted, consequently there were several pieces of my dress that were not in accord with the regulation uniform. Captain Preble's gaze chanced to rest on me. Then, with an outburst that nearly frightened me out of my wits, he asked me how I dare present myself before him in such attire. "If I catch you out of uniform again," he said, "out of the service you'll go!" I darted out of his sight, resolving to alter my dress at once, but a lieutenant hailed me and gave me a message to deliver to the _Constellation_. He then ordered the coxswain to man the running boat. Off we rowed. The _Constellation_ lay with her bow towards us. Instead of waiting for the Jacob's ladder to be thrown to me, I stood in the bow of the running boat waiting for it to be lifted to the crest of a sea. The next roller lifted our cockle shell high in the air, approaching the level of the ship's deck. I took advantage of this rise and vaulted from our boat. We were in a rough sea, and, instead of landing on the bulwark, as I had aimed to do, I was hurled by the next roller head-first across the vessel's side. With the velocity of a butting goat, my head rammed a group of three officers who had chosen that particular spot for a chat. Two of them were tossed left and right; the third one was floored. I arose with abject apologies. Who should I see squirming and cursing before me but Captain Preble? I felt my blood turn to ice.