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and a brave frigate she was, with high poop and nobly carved fiddlehead and sharp, deep cutwater. The gun-deck ports were closed, but on the main deck was a great show of ordnance with new carriages and new yellow breechings. There were swivel-guns on the fore-castle and the quarter-deck and there was a finely wrought lantern of bronze and glass at the stern. But as they came up to her, a cloud hid the sun and the gilded carving ceased to shine and the bright colours lost their brilliance and her black, high sides loomed up sombrely, and to Phil she seemed for the moment very dark and forbidding.

Of this Martin appeared to have no perception, for he smiled and whispered, “Mother Taylor hath done well by us. This Rose of Devon is a tall ship and by all the signs she will be well found.”

There were men standing about the capstan on the main deck and voices came from the forecastle ;but on the poop there leaned against the rail to watch the two come down the quay a single man, of an age in the mid- dle-thirties, with a keen, strong face, who wore a good coat on his back and had the manner of a king in a small island.

They stepped under the poop and Martin doffed his hat, having assumed his most ingratiating smile. “An it please you, sir,” said he, ‘‘have I the honour to address Captain Candle of the Rose of Devon frigate?”

“I am Captain Candle.”

"Good morrow to thee, sir, and Master Stephen Gangley of Liverpool sent us — ”

“Yea, I received his letter. I know him not, but it seems he knows friends of mine. You are over heavy for a good seaman but your fellow takes my eye.”