The old admiral, who burned to punish the slayers of his venerable friend and messmate, more than to avenge the temporary disgrace--if disgrace it was--cast by the Howards upon the rising prowess of the Scottish mariners, shared all the impatience of Barton, and together they trod up and down the weather side of the poop, frequently hailing Cuddie, who was still perched at the crosstree, to be assured that he kept a proper look-out. The night stole on; the moon began to sink; the frigates were still going free with the wind upon the quarter; Fifeness, with the dangerous Carr-rock, arose on the starboard-bow, and the old admiral, who knew every part of the coast as well as the features of his own face, now looked from time to time at the compasses which stood in the lighted binnacle, or as the seamen then named it, _habbitacle_--_i.e._, a small house, for there were two--one for the steersman and another for the gunner who was conning. The _Margaret_ was now a falcon-shot astern, and the great poop-lantern of the _Yellow Frigate_ was lighted; but this precaution was needless, as her cloud of snow-white canvas and all her taut black rigging were as visible to her consort under the clear blue sky of night as if at noonday. "Fifeness in sight, and no sign of them yet!" muttered the Admiral; "square the yards, Barton, and stand right away before the breeze." The temporary bustle of this manoeuvre soon subsided; the rope-ends were again coiled away, and, save the watch and some of the crew, who were listening to another of the boatswain's incredible yarns in the forecastle, all the ship's company had turned into their hammocks. About the middle watch of the night, Barton, who was still impatiently pacing the deck, heard the man (who for a time had replaced the coxwain) at the masthead hailing the deck. "Poop, ho!" "Hallo," answered Barton, instinctively grasping his trumpet, which lay on the binnacle; "are you aloft, Dalquhat?" "Twa sail are in sicht, sir." "Where away, my old Carle?" "On the larboard bow." "What are they like?" "Ilk ane is a three-masted ship. Ane has a poop lantern--the other is hull doon; but we are coming up wi' them hand owre hand." "Look hard, shipmate, and mayhap ye may see another," said Barton; "Falconer, call the admiral. Yeomen of the sheets and braces, to your quarters; up with that fore-top-gallant-sail a bit, and fill the heads of that sprit-sail-yard. How does she steer, Wad?" "Like a swan," replied the gunner; "a wee bairn micht keep her full wi' a silken twine." The admiral now came on deck, and with a beating heart the gallant Barton sprang away aloft, to have a look at the vessels a-head, and praying as he went, that they might prove to be those of Captain Edmund Howard. By this time the silver moon had waned, and the hills of Fife were melting into the darkened sea and cold, blue, starlit sky astern. CHAPTER XIV. THE OGRE OF ANGUS.