"
A light came into the other man's dour face. "I wish you'd get into
uniform, sir."
"Uniform? No, Greenock! No, I use the borrowed power, but not the
borrowed clothes. I'm a common sailor, and I wear the common sailor's
clothes. You've earned your uniform, and it suits you. Stick to it; and
when I've earned a captain's uniform I'll wear it. I owe you the success
of this voyage so far, and my heart is full of it, up to the brim. Hark,
what's that?"
"By God, it's guns, sir! There's fighting on!"
"Fighting!"
Dyck stood for a minute with head thrust forward, eyes fixed upon the
distant mists ahead. The rumble of the guns came faintly through the
air. An exultant look came into his face.
"Master, the game's with us--it is fighting! I know the difference
between the two sets of guns, English and French. Listen--that quick,
spasmodic firing is French; the steady-as-thunder is English. Well,
we've got all sail on. Now, make ready the ship for fighting."
"She's almost ready, sir."
An hour later the light mist had risen, and almost suddenly the Ariadne
seemed to come into the field of battle. Dyck Calhoun could see the
struggle going on. The two sets of enemy ships had come to close
quarters, and some were locked in deadly conflict. Other ships, still
apart, fired at point-blank range, and all the horrors of slaughter were
in full swing. From the square blue flag at the mizzen top gallant
masthead of one of the British ships engaged, Dyck saw that the admiral's
own craft was in some peril.
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