pect of the captain he served. When the hour of battle arrived,
these two and the sailing master, and a number of raw midshipmen, were
the only line-officers left, and two French officers of marines.

The rest had been lost in various ways. And the crew of the 'Bon homme
Richard' was as sorry a lot as ever trod a deck. Less than three
score of the seamen were American born; near four score were British,
inclusive of sixteen Irish; one hundred and thirty-seven were French
soldiers, who acted as marines; and the rest of the three hundred odd
souls to fight her were from all over the earth,--Malays and Maltese
and Portuguese. In the hold were more than one hundred and fifty English
prisoners.

This was a vessel and a force, truly, with which to conquer a fifty-gun
ship of the latest type, and with a picked crew.

Mr. Carvel's chapter opens with Landais's sudden reappearance on the
morning of the day the battle was fought. He shows the resentment and
anger against the Frenchman felt by all on board, from cabin-boy
to commodore. But none went so far as to accuse the captain of the
'Alliance' of such supreme treachery as he was to show during the
action. Cowardice may have been in part responsible for his holding
aloof from the two duels in which the Richard and the Pallas engaged.
But the fact that he poured broadsides into the Richard, and into
her off side, makes it seem probable that his motive was to sink the
commodore's ship, and so get the credit of saving the day, to the
detriment of the hero who won it despite all disasters. To account for
the cry that was raised when first she attacked the Richard, it must be
borne in mind that the crew of the 'Alliance' was largely composed of
Englishmen. It was thought that these had mutinied and taken her.

CHAPTER LII. HOW THE GARDENER'S SON FOUGHT THE "SERAPIS"

When I came on deck the next morning our yards were a-drip with a clammy
fog, and under it the sea was roughed by a southwest breeze. We were
standing to the northward before it. I remember reflecting as I paused
in the gangway that the day was Thursday, September the 23d, and that we
were near two months out of Groix with this tub of an Indiaman. In
all that time we had not so much as got a whiff of an English frigate,
though we had almost put a belt around the British Isles. Then straining
my eyes through the mist, I made out two white blurs of sails on our
starboard beam.

Honest Jack Pearce, one of the f