Already, by the terms of the late treaty, several English regiments were stationed on the Belgian frontier, and three or four more were already under orders to embark for that country.  It was reported that Russia, Austria, and Prussia were taking steps to arm.  The militia had been called out at home, and high bounties were offered for volunteers from these regiments into the line.  Recruiting was going on vigorously all over the country.  Horses were being bought up, and efforts made to place the attenuated regiments on a war footing.  All this was tantalizing news to the Twenty-eighth.  The colonel was known to have written to influential friends in London, begging them to urge upon the authorities the folly of allowing a fine regiment like his to leave the country at such a moment.  But little was hoped from this, for at any moment a change in the weather might place them beyond the possibility of a recall.

Three weeks passed and then the barometer fell, and there were signs of a change.  There was bustle and movement on board the ships, and even the soldiers were glad that the monotony of their imprisonment on board was about to come to an end, and their voyage to commence.  The sails were loosed from their gaskets, and the sounds of the drum and fifes struck up as the capstans were manned, the soldiers lending a hand at the bars, and the chains came clanking in at the hawse-holes.

“There is a vessel coming in round the point,” O’Connor said.  “But we shall hardly get the last news; we shall be under way before she anchors.”

“She is signaling to the fort on the hill,” Ralph said, as he watched the flags run up on the signal-staff on the summit of Spike Island; “and they are answering down below there at the station in front of the commandant’s house.”

A moment later a gun was fired.

“That’s to call our attention, I think,” the skipper said, taking up his glass and directing it to the shore.  “Yes, there is our number flying.  Get the signal-book, boy.  Mr. Smith, run up the answering pennant.”

As soon as this ascended the flags on shore were lowered, and a fresh set run up—­3. 5. 0. 4.

“Give me the book.  ’The vessels are not to sail until further orders,’” he read aloud.

“Hooray, lads!” Captain O’Connor shouted at the top of his voice.  “We are stopped until further orders.”

A loud cheer broke from the troops, which was echoed by a roar from the other vessel; and for a few minutes the greatest excitement reigned.  The men threw their caps into the air, and shouted until they were hoarse.  The officers shook each other by the hand, and all were frantic with delight at the narrow escape they had had.

As soon as the brig had dropped anchor boats rowed off to her, but nothing further was learned.  Just as she was leaving Plymouth an officer had come on board with dispatches, and instructions to the captain to signal immediately he arrived at Cork that if the Twenty-eighth had not already sailed they were to be stopped.  Owing to the lightness of the wind the brig had been eight days on her passage from Plymouth.