"'Youngster, to the mast-head. What! going without your glass, and be
d----d to you? Let me know what she is immediately.'

"'A sloop of war, or frigate, my lord," shouted the young
signal-midshipman.

"'Demand her number.'

"'The Success, my lord.'

"'Captain Peard; signal to cut off the flying enemy--great odds,
though--thirty-two small guns to eighty large ones.'

"'The Success has hove-to athwart-hawse of the Généreux, and is firing
her larboard broadside. The Frenchman has hoisted his tri-colour, with
a rear-admiral's flag.'

"'Bravo--Success, at her again!'

"'She has wore round, my lord, and firing her starboard broadside. It
has winged her, my lord--her flying kites are flying away all
together.' The enemy is close on the Success, who must receive her
tremendous broadside. The Généreux opens her fire on her little enemy,
and every person stands aghast, afraid of the consequences. The smoke
clears away, and there is the Success, crippled, it is true, but,
bull-dog like, bearing up after the enemy.

"'The signal for the Success to discontinue the action, and come under
my stern,' said Lord Nelson; 'she has done well, for her size. Try a
shot from the lower-deck at her, Sir Ed'ard.'