_A.F._ _Keep the frigate cruising. I am off to Dover at dawn to square up there. Diamond calls for me at the old rendezvous on Wednesday, and puts me on board the frigate that I may be_ in at the death _as our friends this side say._ The boy lifted dark eyes. "It looks like a--" The other cut him short. "In our Service, sir, the Captain speaks when he's the mind; the First Lieutenant all the time; and the midshipmen--_never_." He snapped fierce jaws. "What date, d'ye say?" "Seventeenth." "Seventeenth, _sir_.... That's to-day, ain't it?" The old man grunted. "Started this morning--sharp work." "He was riding a thorough-bred ... sir." "What's a furrow-bred?... plough-oss?" "Plough-horse!" sparkling scorn. "It's the best sort of horse going." "What if it be?--I'm a sea-man myself--not a postboy.... How d'ye know he was ridin a what-d'ye-call-it?" "He always does." "Who does?" "The man they call the Gentleman--the Galloping Gentleman." "Who told you?" "I picked it up, listening to the riding-officer." The old man cocked an eye over his shoulder at the boy. "I keep on a-listinin for that _sir_," he said. "Reck'n I'm hard o hearin." He resumed his study of the face on the bulk-head. A long while he gazed: then smacked one fist into the other. "That gal!" he muttered. "I always know'd how it'd be," and turned at last. Taking the paper from the boy, he packed it into the scent-bottle. "When I've laid this here in Nelson's hands," he said deliberately, "I'll be ready to say what your father said aboord the Don." A curious smile made kindly wrinkles about his eyes: it was half mischievous, half wistful: the smile of a child about to gratify an innocent spite, long cherished. Then he shoved the bottle into his breast-pocket, and looked up. The light fell on his face; and for the first time Kit saw his Captain fairly. Square shoulders; square face; square chin; a square brow, strangely white above the terra-cotta-coloured lower face; and blue eyes that looked squarely into yours. All square, body and soul. A true man, and a born fighter, the blue and white riband for St. Vincent at his breast. "When you joomped aboord the lugger, was you scared?" he asked curtly. The boy looked him in the eyes. "Yes, sir." The old man's hand lay for a moment on his shoulder. "So'd I ha been," he said, and went out, nodding. III On deck the dawn glimmered faintly. On their lee, high in the heaven, a glowing smother hung in the dark over a snaky brood, darting red tongues hither and thither. "What's that?" growled old Ding-dong. "The chaps as got away in the long-boat, sir. Set a light to the gorse on Beachy Head. Signal. An old game o their'n." The old man swung about. As he looked, a blue light spurted seaward, and another answered it. "Thought so," he muttered. "Burning flares." Then he turned again. "Bout ship!" he barked. "Make your course for Newhaven. Send a look-out man aloft. And clear for action." II