“How are we to decide this affair?  Am I considered absolved from the accusation under which I lay, of cowardice?” inquired Sir Francis Varney, with a cold smile.

“Why, as for that,” said the admiral, “I should as soon expect credit for fighting behind a wall, as with a man that I couldn’t hit any more than the moon.”

“Henry; let me implore you to quit this scene; it can do no good.”

At this moment, a noise, as of human voices, was heard at a distance; this caused a momentary pause, and, the whole party stood still and listened.

The murmurs and shouts that now arose in the distance were indistinct and confused.

“What can all this mean?” said Marchdale; “there is something very strange about it.  I cannot imagine a cause for so unusual an occurrence.”

“Nor I,” said Sir Francis Varney, looking suspiciously at Henry Bannerworth.

“Upon my honour I know neither what is the cause nor the nature of the sounds themselves.”

“Then we can easily see what is the matter from yonder hillock,” said the admiral; “and there’s Jack Pringle, he’s up there already.  What’s he telegraphing about in that manner, I wonder?”

The fact was, Jack Pringle, hearing the riot, had thought that if he got to the neighbouring eminence he might possibly ascertain what it was that was the cause of what he termed the “row,” and had succeeded in some degree.

There were a number of people of all kinds coming out from the village, apparently armed, and shouting.  Jack Pringle hitched up his trousers and swore, then took off his hat and began to shout to the admiral, as he said,—­

“D——­e, they are too late to spoil the sport.  Hilloa! hurrah!”

“What’s all that about, Jack?” inquired the admiral, as he came puffing along.  “What’s the squall about?”

“Only a few horse-marines and bumboat-women, that have been startled like a company of penguins.”

“Oh! my eyes! wouldn’t a whole broadside set ’em flying, Jack?”

“Ay; just as them Frenchmen that you murdered on board the Big Thunderer, as you called it.”

“I murder them, you rascal?”

“Yes; there was about five hundred of them killed.”

“They were only shot.”

“They were killed, only your conscience tells you it’s uncomfortable.”

“You rascal—­you villain!  You ought to be keel-hauled and well payed.”

“Ay; you’re payed, and paid off as an old hulk.”

“D——­e—­you—­you—­oh!  I wish I had you on board ship, I’d make your lubberly carcass like a union jack, full of red and blue stripes.”

“Oh! it’s all very well; but if you don’t take to your heels, you’ll have all the old women in the village a whacking on you, that’s all I have to say about it.  You’d better port your helm and about ship, or you’ll be keel-hauled.”

“D—­n your—­”

“What’s the matter?” inquired Marchdale, as he arrived.