cealment of the public weal, and rendering
even the well-disposed insensible to the wrongs they commit to
individuals, by means of the deceptive flattery of serving the
community. As doubt was more painful than the certainty of his worst
forebodings, however, and it was not in his nature to refuse a combat so
fairly offered, he was resolved to close with the Comte at every hazard,
trusting the issue to God, and his own efforts.

The Plantagenet presented an eloquent picture of order and preparation,
as she drew near the French line, on this memorable occasion. Her people
were all at quarters, and, as Greenly walked through her batteries, he
found every gun on the starboard side loose, levelled, and ready to be
fired; while the opposite merely required a turn or two of the tackles
to be cast loose, the priming to be applied, and the loggerhead to
follow, in order to be discharged, also. A death-like stillness reigned
from the poop to the cock-pit, the older seamen occasionally glancing
through their ports in order to ascertain the relative positions of the
two fleets, that they might be ready for the collision. As the English
got within musket-shot, the French ran their top-sails to the mast-heads,
and their ships gathered fresher way through the water. Still the former
moved with the greatest velocity, carrying the most sail, and impelled
by the greater momentum. When near enough, however, Sir Gervaise gave
the order to reduce the canvass of his own ship.

"That will do, Greenly," he said, in a mild, quiet tone. "Let run the
top-gallant-halyards, and haul up the fore-sail. The way you have, will
bring you fairly alongside."

The captain gave the necessary orders, and the master shortened sail
accordingly. Still the Plantagenet shot ahead, and, in three or four
minutes more, her bows doubled so far on le Foudroyant's quarter, as to
permit a gun to bear. This was the signal for both sides, each ship
opening as it might be in the same breath. The flash, the roar, and the
eddying smoke followed in quick succession, and in a period of time that
seemed nearly instantaneous. The crash of shot, and the shrieks of
wounded mingled with the infernal din, for nature extorts painful
concessions of human weaknesses, at such moments, even from the bravest
and firmest. Bunting was in the act of reporting to Sir Gervaise that no
signal could yet be seen from the Caesar, in the midst of this uproar,
when a small round-shot, discharged