“I never knew such bad luck in all my life. The devil has been appointed First Lord of the weather ever since I came to Springhaven.” As Stubbard declared these great truths he strode about in his little fortress, delivering a kick at the heels of things which had no right to be lumbering there. “To think that I should never have seen those beggars, when but for the fog I could have smashed them right and left. Admiral, these things make a Christian an infidel.” “Nonsense, sir!” said the Admiral, sternly, for a man of his kind nature; “you forget that without the fog, or rather the mist--for it was only that--those fellows would never have come within range. We have very great blessings to be thankful for, though the credit falls not to our battery. The Frenchmen fought wonderfully well, as well as the best Englishman could have done, and to capture them both is a miracle of luck, if indeed we can manage to secure them. My friend, young Honyman, of the Leda, has proved himself just what I said he would be; and has performed a very gallant exploit, though I fear he is severely wounded. But we shall know more now, for I see a young fellow jumping up the hill, like a kangaroo, and probably he comes for orders. One thing we have learned, Stubbard, and must take the hint to-morrow--put a hut on the Haven head, and keep a watchman there. Why, bless my heart, it is Blyth Scudamore that's coming! There is nobody else that can skip like that.” The young lieutenant entered between two guns--the gunners were dismissed in great disgust to dinner--with his pleasant face still a little grimed with gunpowder, and flushed by his hurry up the steep hill-side. “This for you, sir,” he said, saluting the Admiral, presenting his letter, and then drawing back; “and I am to wait your convenience for reply.” “What next will the service come to,” asked the Admiral of Captain Stubbard, “when a young man just commissioned gives himself such mighty airs? Shake hands, Blyth, and promise you will come and dine with us, unless you are ordered to return on board at once. How is your good captain? I knew him when he wore Nankins. Jem Prater brought word that he was wounded. I hope it is not serious.” “No, sir; not much to speak of. He has only lost three fingers. That was why I wrote this letter--or report, I ought to call it, if anybody else had written it. Oh, sir! I cannot bear to think of it! I was fifth luff when the fight began, and now there is only one left above me, and he is in command of our biggest prize, the Ville d'Anvers. But, Admiral, here you will find it all, as I wrote it, from the lips, when they tied up the fingers, of Captain Honyman.”