“Here’s a horn, your honour,” said one of the men; “I brought it, thinking it might serve a turn somehow if we got anything better than water.” “You’re a thoughtful man, Saunders,” said the Lieutenant; “hand it here,” and giving it a rinse first with water and then with wine, he filled himself a bumper and tossed it off. “Good Bordeaux, by Jove! and no mistake. Come, these fellows know what’s good.” “There’s a row in the town, Mr. Cooke,” said the midshipman; “you can hear them rioting very distinctly.” “Those cursed, bloodthirsty Republicans trying to cut the throats of the Royalists, I suppose,” returned the Lieutenant; “and that’s the reason they would not let us land during the tumult. We shall have to remain here till to-morrow night, as we cannot attempt to pass the ships in the broad daylight.” Telling the men to help themselves to the remains of the fowl and ham, and letting them have a couple of bottles of wine between them, a regular watch having been set, the Lieutenant and midshipman wrapped themselves up in their boat-cloaks, and reclined on the thwarts, conversing together till they dropped off into a short slumber. William Thornton slept an hour or two, and then, waking, sat up; the Lieutenant was fast asleep, and so were the men, excepting the two that kept watch. The night was still extremely dark, but as our hero sat gazing over the dark water, looking at the huge dismasted hulls of some unfinished war vessels, he thought he heard at a little distance a splashing in the water, like a person swimming. “Do you see anything in the water, right ahead, Saunders?” asked the midshipman to one of the watch, stooping down low as he spoke, and looking along the surface of the water. “I thought as how I heard a noise, sir,” said the man; “and I think I see a dark object moving towards us.” “So do I now,” returned William Thornton; “it is a man swimming. Hush! do not make a noise, one man cannot hurt us.” Bill Saunders put down the boat-stretcher he had taken up with the laudable intention of hitting the swimmer over the head, and the next moment a man swam up alongside, stripped all to his drawers, holding up his hand and requesting them to make no noise. He seized the gunnel of the boat, and Saunders and the other men being roused helped him in. The heeling over of the boat rolled Lieutenant Cooke off the thwart, who immediately sprang up, saying— “Hollo, William! what’s in the wind now?” Our hero told him that a man had swum alongside with a letter in his cap for the English officer, and that they had taken him on board. Fortunately, both Lieutenant Cooke and Thornton spoke French fluently. “Well, monsieur,” said the Lieutenant, looking at the Frenchman in the dim light, and taking the letter, “I cannot read this till daylight; tell me, if you please, what it is about, and what has induced you to incur so great a risk.”