not
actually engaged in the ship's working, or specially permitted to
remain; ropes were coiled; boats hauled up; sails trimmed; hatches down;
sentinels paced the deck in appointed places, and all was discipline and
regularity. From the decorous silence that prevailed, none could have
supposed so many hundred living beings were aboard, still less, that
they were the same disorderly mob who sailed from the Mersey a few short
hours before. From the surprise which all this caused me, I was speedily
aroused by an order more immediately interesting, being summoned on the
poop-deck to attend the general muster. Up they came from holes and
hatchways, a vast host, no longer brawling and insubordinate, but quiet,
submissive, and civil. Such as were wounded had been placed under the
doctor's care, and all those now present were orderly and service-like.
With a very few exceptions, they were all sailors, a few having already
served in a king's ship. The first lieutenant, who inspected us, was a
grim, gray-headed man past the prime of life, with features hardened by
disappointment and long service, but who still retained an expression
of kindliness and good-nature. His duty he dispatched with all the speed
of long habit; read the name; looked at the bearer of it; asked a few
routine questions; and then cried, "stand by," even ere the answers were
finished. When he came to me he said:

"Abraham Hackett. Is that your name, lad?"

"No, sir. I'm called Maurice Tiernay."

"Tiernay, Tiernay," said he a couple of times over. "No such name here."

"Where's Tiernay's name, Cottle?" asked he of a subordinate behind him.

The fellow looked down the list--then at me--then at the list again--and
then back to me, puzzled excessively by the difficulty, but not seeing
how to explain it.

"Perhaps I can set the matter right, sir," said I. "I came aboard along
with a wounded countryman of mine--the young Frenchman who is now in the
sick bay."

"Ay, to be sure; I remember all about it now," said the lieutenant. "You
call yourselves French officers?"

"And such are we, sir."

"Then how the devil came ye here? Mother Martin's cellar is, to say the
least of it, an unlikely spot to select as a restaurant."

"The story is a somewhat long one, sir."

"Then I haven't time for it, lad," he broke in. "We've rather too much
on hands just now for that. If you've got your papers, or any thing to
prove what you assert, I'll land you when I come into