My own duties took me to the dark lower deck, a vile place indeed, and reeking with the smell of tar and stale victuals.  There I had charge of the battery of old eighteens, while Mr. Dale commanded the twelves on the middle deck.  We loaded our guns with two shots apiece, though I had my doubts about their standing such a charge, and then the men stripped until they stood naked to the waist, waiting for the fight to begin.  For we could see nothing of what was going forward.  I was pacing up and down, for it was a task to quiet the nerves in that dingy place with the gun-ports closed, when about three bells of the dog, Mr. Mease, the purser, appeared on the ladder.

“Lunt has not come back with the pilot-boat, Carvel,” said he.  “I have volunteered for a battery, and am assigned to this.  You are to report to the commodore.”

I thanked him, and climbed quickly to the quarterdeck.  The ’Bon homme Richard’ was lumbering like a leaden ship before the wind, swaying ponderously, her topsails flapping and her heavy blocks whacking against the yards.  And there was the commodore, erect, and with fire in his eye, giving sharp commands to the men at the wheel.  I knew at once that no trifle had disturbed him.  He wore a brand-new uniform; a blue coat with red lapels and yellow buttons, and slashed cuffs and stand-up collar, a red waistcoat with tawny lace, blue breeches, white silk stockings, and a cocked hat and a sword.  Into his belt were stuck two brace of pistols.

It took some effort to realize, as I waited silently for his attention, that this was the man of whose innermost life I had had so intimate a view.  Who had taken me to the humble cottage under Criffel, who had poured into my ear his ambitions and his wrongs when we had sat together in the dingy room of the Castle Yard sponging-house.  Then some of those ludicrous scenes on the road to London came up to me, for which the sky-blue frock was responsible.  And yet this commodore was not greatly removed from him I had first beheld on the brigantine John.  His confidence in his future had not so much as wavered since that day.  That future was now not so far distant as the horizon, and he was ready to meet it.

“You will take charge of the battery of nines on this deck, Mr. Carvel,” said he, at length.

“Very good, sir,” I replied, and was making my way down the poop ladder, when I heard him calling me, in a low voice, by the old name:  “Richard!”

I turned and followed him aft to the taffrail, where we were clear of the French soldiers.  The sun was hanging red over the Yorkshire Wolds, the Head of Flamborough was in the blue shadow, and the clouds were like rose leaves in the sky.  The enemy had tacked and was standing west, with ensign and jack and pennant flying, the level light washing his sails to the whiteness of paper.  ’Twas then I first remarked that the Alliance had left her place in line and was sailing swiftly ahead toward the Serapis.  The commodore seemed to read my exclamation.