sea
and land, and whose burial-places are battle-fields and oceans.

It was soon decided to wait to attack until the town was asleep. In the
interval De Courval, in case of accident, wrote to his mother and to
Schmidt, but with no word of Carteaux. Then for a while he sat still,
reflecting with very mingled feelings that success in carrying the ship
would again cut him off from all chance of meeting Carteaux. It did seem
to him a malignant fate; but at last dismissing it, he buckled on his
sword, took up his pistols, and went on deck.

At midnight the three boats set out with muffled oars, and after a hard
pull against an off-shore wind, through the warm tropic night, they
approached the town.

The captain whistled softly, and the boats came together.

"Speak low," he said to De Courval. "It is the _George Washington_ and
no mistake. They are wide-awake, by ill luck, and singing."

"Yes, I hear them."

"But they are not on deck. There are lights in the cabin." The "Ca Ira"
rang out in bits across the water. The young noble heard it with the
anguish it always awakened; for unfailingly it gave back to memory the
man he longed to meet, and the blood-dabbled mob which came out of the
hall at Avignon shouting this Jacobin song.

The captain said: "We will board her on this side, all together. She is
low in the water. Pull in with your boat and secure the watch forward
and I will shut the after hatches and companionway. Look out for the
forecastle. If her own men are on board, they will be there."

De Courval's heart alone told him of the excitement he felt; but he was
cool, tranquil, and of the temperament which rises to fullest competence
in an hour of danger. A minute later he was on deck, and moving forward
in the silence of the night, came upon the watch. "Hush!" he said; "no
noise. Two to each man. They are asleep. There--choke hard and gag.
Here, cut up this rope; a good gag." In a moment three scared sailors
awoke from dreams of their Breton homes, and were trussed with sailor
skill.

"Now, then," he said in French, "a pistol ball for the man who moves.
Stay by them, you Jones, and come, the rest of you. Rouse the crew in
the forecastle, mate. Call to them. If the answer is in French, let no
man up. Don't shoot, if you can help it."

He turned quickly, and, followed by four men, ran aft, hearing wild
cries and oaths. A man looking out of a port-hole had seen two boats and
the glint of muskets. As the capta