The springing up of a breeze, and in an adverse direction, with a promise of blowing fresh, disappointed all on board; for they fully expected that with the land wind, usually blowing during the night, the vessel would make good way towards Gibraltar. However, there was no fear of meeting any of the enemy’s cruisers so near that stronghold of Great Britain; but, not being able to make out the two ships of war in the offing, the Babet tacked in shore, with the intention of working along the coast. “How very singular,” observed Captain O’Loughlin, to our hero, as they walked the deck together, “that Madame Volney’s brother should happen to command the Surveillante at the time they picked you up. I should not be at all surprised that you may hear something very important concerning yourself—perhaps even the name of your parents.” “I am greatly excited by the same idea,” said the midshipman; “for, though I do not often talk about the circumstance of my birth, yet, in secret, it haunts my mind.” “Faith, William,” said the Commander of the Babet, “I never bestowed a thought upon the respected authors of my being until now,” and the Captain tried to sigh and look sentimental. “And why now, old friend?” “Don’t you think me, William, a complete madman to be after letting myself fall ever head and ears in love with a French Admiral’s daughter?—and I a poor devil of a Lieutenant, worse off than yourself; for, by the powers of war! your father and mother may turn out, as in fairy tales, prince and princess; whereas mine, if I had any, were honest—by the bye, that’s doubtful!—pains-taking shoemakers.” “Why, what on earth puts that into your head, O’Loughlin?” “Stop till I light my pipe, and I’ll tell you all about it; I enjoy a pipe when I’m spinning a yarn.” “You may,” returned our hero, laughing; “but it sadly interrupts the unity of a story.” “Oh, by St. Patrick! never mind the unity; you will make it out, famously; you will have fire and smoke alternately. My first recollection,” began the Captain, “is of a Foundling Hospital in the beautiful city of Cork. How old I might be at the time my recollection begins, I can’t say—perhaps five or six.