-good
sounds in the ears of a fighter--"

"Of a d'Avranche--of a d'Avranche!" interposed the Prince.

"We were in no bad way, and my men were ready for another brush with
our enemies, everything being done that could be done, everything in its
place," continued Philip. "When the frigates were a fair gunshot off, I
saw that the squall was overhauling us faster than they. This meant good
fortune if we wished escape, bad luck if we would rather fight. But I
had no time to think of that, for up comes Shoreham, my lieutenant, with
a face all white. 'For God's sake, sir,' says he, 'shoal water-shoal
water! We're ashore.' So much, monsieur le prince, for Admiralty charts
and soundings! It's a hateful thing to see--the light green water,
the deadly sissing of the straight narrow ripple like the grooves of a
wash-board: and a ship's length ahead the water breaking over the reefs,
two frigates behind ready to eat us.

"Up we came to the wind, the sheets were let run, and away flew the
halyards. All to no purpose, for a minute later we came broadside on
the reef, and were gored on a pinnacle of rock. The end wasn't long in
coming. The Araminta lurched off the reef on the swell. We watched
our chance as she rolled, and hove overboard our broadside of long
twelve-pounders. But it was no use. The swishing of the water as it
spouted from the scuppers was a deal louder than the clang of the
chain-pumps. It didn't last long. The gale spilled itself upon us, and
the Araminta, sick and spent, slowly settled down. The last I saw of
her"--Philip raised his voice as though he would hide what he felt
behind an unsentimental loudness--"was the white pennant at the main-top
gallant masthead. A little while, and then I didn't see it, and--and so
good-bye to my first command! Then"--he smiled ironically--"then I was
made prisoner by the French frigates, and have been closely confined
ever since, against every decent principle of warfare. And now here I
am, monsieur le duc."

The Duke had listened with an immovable attention, the grey eyebrows
twitching now and then, the arid face betraying a grim enjoyment.
When Philip had finished, he still sat looking at him with steady
slow-blinking eyes, as though unwilling to break the spell the tale had
thrown round him. But an inquisition in the look, a slight cocking of
the head as though weighing important things, the ringed fingers softly
drumming on the stick before him--all these told Philip that