slippery upon the boards. The French marines, their scarlet and white
very natty in contrast to most of our ragged wharf-rats at the guns, were
mustered on poop and forecastle, and some were sent aloft to the tops to
assist the tars there to sweep the British decks with handgrenade and
musket. And, lastly, the surgeon and his mates went below to cockpit and
steerage, to make ready for the grimmest work of all.

My own duties took me to the dark lower deck, a vile place indeed, and
reeking with the smell of tar and stale victuals. There I had charge of
the battery of old eighteens, while Mr. Dale commanded the twelves on the
middle deck. We loaded our guns with two shots apiece, though I had my
doubts about their standing such a charge, and then the men stripped
until they stood naked to the waist, waiting for the fight to begin. For
we could see nothing of what was going forward. I was pacing up and
down, for it was a task to quiet the nerves in that dingy place with the
gun-ports closed, when about three bells of the dog, Mr. Mease, the
purser, appeared on the ladder.

"Lunt has not come back with the pilot-boat, Carvel," said he. "I have
volunteered for a battery, and am assigned to this. You are to report to
the commodore."

I thanked him, and climbed quickly to the quarterdeck. The 'Bon homme
Richard' was lumbering like a leaden ship before the wind, swaying
ponderously, her topsails flapping and her heavy blocks whacking against
the yards. And there was the commodore, erect, and with fire in his eye,
giving sharp commands to the men at the wheel. I knew at once that no
trifle had disturbed him. He wore a brand-new uniform; a blue coat with
red lapels and yellow buttons, and slashed cuffs and stand-up collar, a
red waistcoat with tawny lace, blue breeches, white silk stockings, and a