The Winslow mail., 1897-03-06

The captain SpTdng up on the bltllUdrkS.
with the dawning. and now the rising
sun tinted the fringe of the storm
wrack as it dwindled into the west and
glinted ON the endless chests of the log
green waves To north and south and
west lay skyline which was unbroken
save by the spout of foam when two of
the great Atlantic seas dashed each
other into spray. To the east was a
rocky island, jutting out into craggy
points, with a few scattered clumps of
palm trees and a apennant Of mist stream
ing out from the bare conical hill which
capped it.
A heavy surf beat upon the shore, and
at a safe distance from it the British 30
gun frigate Leda, Captain A. P. John
son, raised her black, glistening side
upon the crest of wave or swooped
down into an emerald valley, dipping
away to the nor ard under easy sail. On
her snow white quarter deck stood a
stiff little brown faced man, who swept
the horizon with his glass.
''Mr. Wharton" he cried, with a
voice like rusty hinge.
A thin, knockkneed officer shambled
across the poop to him.
Eyes, sir. -
"I've opened the sealed orders, Mr..
Wharton"
A glimmer of curiosity shone upon
the meager features of the first lieuten-
ant The Leda had sailed with her con-
sort, the Dido, from Antigua the week
before, and the admiral's orders had
been contained in sealed envelope.
eve were to open them on reaching
the deserted island of Sombriero, lying
in north latitude 1886, west longitude
So. 20. Sombriero bore four miles to
the northeast from our port bow when
the gale cleared, Mr.. Wharton. -
The lieutenant bowed stiffiy. He and
the captain had been bosom friends
from childhood. They had gone to
school together, joined the navy togeth-
er, fought again and again together and
married into each others families, but
as long as their feet were on the poop
the iron discipline of the service struck
all that was human out of them and
left only the superior and the subordi-
nate. Captain Johnson took blue pa
per from his pocket, which cracked as
he unfolded it:
The 50 gun frigates Leda and Dido, Cap
tains A. P. Johnson and James Munro are to
cruise from the point at which these instruc-
tions are read to the mouth of the Caribbean
sea in the hope of encountering the French
frigate La Gloire (46), which has recently
haraSsed our merchant ships in that quarter.
8. II. frigates are also directed to hunt down
the piratical craft known sometimes as the
Slapping Sal and sometimes as the Hairy
Hudson, which has plundered the British
ships as per margin, inflicting barbarities upon
their crews. She is a small brig carrying 1C
light guns, with one "a pound carronade for
ward. She was last seen on the % ult. to the
northeast of the island of Sombriero.
JAMES MONTGOMERY, Rear Admiral.
II. NJ. S. Colossus, Antigua.
eve appear to have lost our consort, :"
said Captain Johnson, folding up his
instructions and again sweeping the
horizon with his glass. "She drew
away after we reefed down. 1t would
be pity if we met this heavy French
man without the Dido, Mr. Wharton,
eh?"
The lieutenant twinkled and smiled.
'She has Is Founders on the main
and twelves on the poop, sir, said the
captain. "She carries 400 to our 231.
Captain de Milon is the smartest man
in the French service. Oh, Bobby, boy,
I'd give my hopes of my flag to rub my
side up against herp' He turned on his
! heel, ashamed of his momentary lapse.
''Mr. Wharton, said he, looking back
sternly over his shoulder, ''get those
square sails shaken out and bear away
point more to the west
"A brig on the port bow" came a
voice from the forecastle.
A brig on the port bow, said the
lieutenant.
The captain sprang up on the bull
warks and held on by the mizzen
shrouds, strange little figure with fly
ing skirts and puckered eyes. The lean
lieutenant craned his neck and whisper
ed to Smeaton, the second, while Off
GERS and men came popping up from be-
low and clustered along the weather
rail, shading their eyes with their
hands, for the tropical sun was already
clear of the palm trees The strange
brig lay at anchor in the throat of a
curving estuary, and it was already OBJ
vious that she could not get out with
out passing under the guns of the frig-
ate. A long rocky point to the north
Of her held her i'll.
Keep her as she goes, Mr.. Whar-
ton, - said the captain. Hardly worth
clearing for action, Mr.. Smeaton, bu
the men can stand by the guns i'll cast
she tries to pass us. Cast loose the bow
chasers and send the small arm mel
onto the forecastle. -
A British crew went to its quarters
in those days with the quiet seSenity O
men on their daily routine. In lev
minutes, without fuss or sound, th'
sailors were knotted round their guns
the marines were drawn up and leaning
on their muskets, and the frigate's bow
spirit pointed straight for her little vic
tim.
SIS it the Slapping Sal, sir?"
81 have no doubt of it, Mr.. Whar