ed still
inconsolable to his hammock.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Sir George Rodney remained, from ill health, for some time in England,
and the British squadrons on the West India and American stations were
engaged chiefly during that time in guarding the Island of Jamaica from
the contemplated attacks of the French. Captain Penrose soon taught his
new ship's company to love and trust him as much as the old one had
done. The _Fame_ was constantly and actively engaged, and he took good
care, as usual, that the weeds should not grow under her bottom.

Billy True Blue was all this time rapidly growing in size and strength,
and in knowledge of affairs in general.

Time passed on. Sir George Rodney returned from England and took
command of the West India fleet. The French still intended to take
Jamaica, but had not, and he resolved, if some thousand brave British
sailors in stout ships could prevent them, that they should not. With
this object in view, he assembled all his ships at the Island of Saint
Lucia, where, having provisioned and watered them, he lay ready to
attack the Count de Grasse as soon as he, with his fleet, should venture
forth from Fort Royal Bay, where they had been refitting.

Paul Pringle and his shipmates were as eager as ever for the battle.

"I do wish little True Blue was big enough to join in the fight--that I
do, even if it were only as a powder-monkey. He'd take to it so
kindly--that he would, I know," said Peter Ogle to Paul.

"I've no doubt about that, Peter," answered his shipmate. "But we'll
wait a bit. He'll be big enough by and by, and we mustn't let him run
any risk yet. We'll send him down below, as we used to do in the old
_Terrible_, with Sam Smatch. Sam will have more difficulty in keeping
him quiet than he had then."

"But I wonder when we shall get at these Frenchmen?" said Abel Bush.
"They seem to me just as slippery as eels. When you think you've got
them, there they are gliding past your nose, and safe and sound at
anchor under their batteries, or in some snug harbour where you can't
get at them. Well, Paul, night and morning, I do thank heaven that I
wasn't born a Frenchman--that I do."

"Right, Abel; so do I," said Paul. "Ah, here comes little True Blue.
Now, I'll warrant, about the whole French fleet they haven't got such a
youngster as he is--no, nor nothing like him."

"Like him! I should think not!" cried Peter Ogle in a tone of voice
which showed that the