_I.--The Frigate._
The _Merry Maid_ had left the Texel by the narrow gut called
De Witt's Diep, with her convoy following in line and in
admirable order. The breeze was fair for England. A full round
moon rose over the sandbanks behind them as Captain Barker sent the
pilots ashore and stood easily out to sea, for the most of his
merchant-ships were sluggish sailers, and not a few overladen.
So clear was the night that, as he paced the quarter-deck with the
dew falling steadily around him, he could not only count their
thirty-six lanterns, but even discern their piled canvas glimmering
as they stole like ghosts in his wake.
That night he left his watch for an hour only, when shortly before
dawn Captain Runacles came to relieve him, threatening mutiny unless
he retired to snatch a little slumber. But the sun was scarce up
before the little man reappeared. The pride of his old profession
was working like yeast within him. His breast swelled and his chin
lifted as he found the convoy still sailing in close order, obeying
his signals smoothly and intelligently as a trained pack obeys its
huntsman. He was delighted with the frigate and her crew, who were
English to a man. To be sure there was a fair sprinkling of Dutchmen
among the soldiers; but his heart had begun to warm somewhat towards
that nation.
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