making for her side, and then a man clambering up her sea-ladder.

"That be the bailiff of Scarborough, sir," said the coasting pilot, "come
to tell her cap'n 'tis Paul Jones he has to fight."

At that moment the commodore lay down from aloft, and our hearts beat
high as he walked swiftly aft to the quarterdeck, where he paused for a
word with Mr. Dale. Meanwhile Mr. Mayrant hove out the signal for the
squadron to form line of battle.

"Recall the pilot-boat, Mr. Carvel," said the commodore, quietly. "Then
you may beat to quarters, and I will take the ship, sir."

"Ay, ay, sir." I raised my trumpet. "All hands clear ship for action!"

It makes me sigh now to think of the cheer which burst from that
tatterdemalion crew. Who were they to fight the bone and sinew of the
King's navy in a rotten ship of an age gone by? And who was he, that
stood so straight upon the quarter-deck, to instil this scum with love
and worship and fervour to blind them to such odds? But the bo'suns
piped and sang out the command in fog-horn voices, the drums beat the
long roll and the fifes whistled, and the decks became suddenly alive.
Breechings were loosed and gun-tackles unlashed, rammer and sponge laid
out, and pike and pistol and cutlass placed where they would be handy
when the time came to rush the enemy's decks. The powder-monkeys tumbled
over each other in their hurry to provide cartridges, and grape and
canister and doubleheaded shot were hoisted up from below. The trimmers
rigged the splinter nettings, got out spare spars and blocks and ropes
against those that were sure to be shot away, and rolled up casks of
water to put out the fires. Tubs were filled with sand, for blood is