Wapshott,
who in turn shouted an order to man the yards.
As this was an order which the Major neither understood nor, had he
understood it, could comply with, he remained on deck while the
sailors swarmed aloft and disposed themselves in attitudes the mere
sight of which turned him giddy, so wantonly precarious they seemed.
The strains of the National Anthem from a distant key-bugle drew his
eyes shoreward again, and between the moored ships he descried a
white-painted gig approaching, manned by twenty oars and carrying an
enormous flag on a staff astern--the Royal Standard of England.
Not until the gig, fetching a long sweep, had made a half-circuit of
the _Vesuvius_ and fallen alongside her accommodation-ladder did the
Major comprehend. Captain Crang, with Mr. Wapshott behind him, had
stepped down the ladder and stood at the foot of it reverently
lifting his cocked hat.
That rotund, star-bedecked figure in the stern sheet, beside the Port
Admiral--that classic but full-blooded face crowned with a chestnut
wig. . . . Who could it be if not his Royal Highness the Prince
Regent?
Yes, it was he. Had not our Major scanned those features often
enough--in his own mirror?
The Port Admiral was inviting Captain Crang to step into the gig.
The Prince nodded a careless, haughty assent, shrinking a little,
however, as Mr. Wapshott passed down the clockwork of the catamaran
for his royal inspection.
Pages:
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208