High overhead, the red cross, that for a thousand years “has braved the battle and the breeze,” blew out strong from the peak, like a sheet of flickering white flame, or a thing instinct with life, struggling to tear away the ensign haulyards, and to escape high into the clouds; while, from the main-royal-masthead, the long white pennant streamed upwards into the azure heavens, like a ray of silver light. Oh! it was a sight “most beautiful to see,” as the old song hath it,-----but I confess I would have preferred that pleasure from t’other side of the hedge. There was no hailing nor trumpeting, although, as we crossed on opposite tacks when we first weathered her, just before she hove in stays, I had heard a shrill voice sing out, “Take good aim, men--Fire”; but now each cannon in thunder shot forth its glance of flame, without a word being uttered, as she kept away to bring them to bear in succession, while the long feathery cloud of whirling white smoke that shrouded her sides from stem to stem, was sparkling brilliantly throughout with crackling musketry, for all the world like fire-flies in a bank of night fog from the hills, until the breeze blew it back again through the rigging, and once more unveiled the lovely craft in all her pride and glory. “You see all that?’ said Obed. “To be sure I do, and I feel something too’; for a sharp rasping jar was repeated in rapid succession three or four times, as so many shot struck our hull, and made the splinters glance about merrily; and the musketballs were mottling our top sides and spars, plumping into the timber, whit whit! as thick as ever you saw schoolboys’ plastering a church door with clay-pellets. There was a heavy groan, and a stir amongst the seamen in the run. “And, pray, do you see and hear all that yourself, Master Obed? The iron has clenched some of your chaps down there.--Stay a bit, you shall have a better dose presently, you obstinate old”-- He waved his hand, and interrupted me with great energy--“I dare not give in, I cannot give in; all I have in the world swims in the little hooker, and strike I will not so long as two planks stick together. “Then,” quoth I, “you are simply a damned, cold-blooded, calculating scoundrel--brave I will never call you.” I saw he was now stung to the quick. “Lieutenant, smuggler as I am, don’t goad me to what worse I may have been; there are some deeds done in my time, which at a moment like this I don’t much like to think upon. I am a desperate man, Master Cringle; don’t, for your own sake, as well as mine, try me too far.’ “Well but”--persisted I. He would hear nothing.