“I am puzzled,” said I, as I spied away again. Meanwhile there was no acknowledgment made at our semaphore--“There, down they go,” I continued “Why, it must be a mistake, Stop, here’s a new batch going up above the green trees--There goes the tablecloth once more, and the towel, and deuce take me, if I can compare the lowermost to any thing but a dishclout--why, it must be a dishclout.” The flags, or substitutes for them, streamed another minute in the breeze, but as there was still no answer made from our end of the string, they were once more hauled down--We waited another minute--“Why, here goes the same signal up again, tablecloth, towel, dishclout, and all--What the diable have we got here? A red ball, two pennants under. What can that mean?--Ball--it is the bonnet-rouge, or I am a Dutchman, with two short streamers” Another look--“A red night-cap and a pair of stockings, by all that is portentous!” exclaimed I. “Ah, I see, I see!” said the lieutenant, laughing, “signal-man, acknowledge it.” It was done, and down came all the flags in a trice. It appeared, on enquiry, that the washing cart, which ought to have been sent up that morning, had been forgotten; and the Admiral and his secretary having ridden out, there was no one who could make the proper signal for it. So the old housekeeper took this singular method of having the cart despatched, and it was sent off accordingly. For the first week after I entered on my new office, I was busily engaged on board; during which time my mind was quite made up, that the most rising man in his Majesty’s service, beyond all compare, was Lieutenant Thomas Cringle, third of the Firebrand. During this eventful period I never addressed a note to any friend on shore, or to a brother officer, without writing in the left-hand lower corner of the envelope, “Lieutenant Cringle,” and clapping three dashing, &c. &c. &c below the party’s name for whom it was intended. “Must let ‘em know that an officer of my rank in the service knows somewhat of the courtesies of life, eh?” In about ten days, however, we had gotten the ship into high order and ready for sea, and now the glory and honour of command, like my only epaulet, that had been soaked while on duty in one or two showers, and afterwards regularly bronzed in the sun, began to tarnish, and lose the new gloss, like every thing else in this weary world. It was about this time, while sitting at breakfast in the gunroom one fine morning, with the other officers of our mess, gossiping about I hardly remember what, that we heard the captain’s voice on deck. “Call the first lieutenant.” “He is at breakfast, sir,” said the man, whoever he might have been, to whom the order was addressed.