“Look a’ here, Hank, you old growler, if Sammy Risk can’t show as clear a pair of heels to them Britishers as ever vanished out of a spying-glass,” replied old Bill Weathergage, “then I’ll take all the jobs of slushin’ and swabbin’ that the boys ought’er do for a for’night on the cruise.” “Mind what ye’re sayin’, Bill.” “I’ll do it, you old figger-head.” The privateersmen were discussing probabilities as the Holker lay in the stream below Philadelphia awaiting Captain Risk to fill out his complement of sixty-five men. Roderick Barclugh had started on his journey and the flour was all on board. The Holker stood up like a church steeple with her cargo stowed away in her hold and hatches all battened down, waiting for a passage outside the capes. Her armament was three short six-pounders forward, and three long nine-pounders aft, being the batteries on port and starboard; a long twelve-pounder bow chaser and a long eighteen-pound quarter-deck stern chaser. A heavy eighteen-pound swivel amidships completed the ship’s metal. She was equal to many of the King’s cruisers in armament, and excelled two-thirds of them in sailing qualities. Word came up the river that a brace of the King’s cruisers were standing off Cape May, ready to pounce upon any Yankee that chanced to run the blockade. The best chance was for Captain Risk to run the gauntlet in the dark, so that the tenth day after Barclugh had left Philadelphia, he quietly weighed anchor and slipped past the forts and stood off into the roadstead, waiting for a chance to slip out. The night came on dark and boisterous, so that word was passed to get under weigh, as the weather looked nasty from the sou’-sou’east, and as the enemy would have to stand off the coast for sea-room, Captain Risk took advantage of the opportunity to make blue water. Setting his foresail, main and fore-topsail, and reefing down for a scud up the coast, Captain Risk jammed into the wind from the cover of the river and made for the offing. All lights were out and the binnacle was hooded. A double watch was called on deck and the Holker tacked into the teeth of the gale until the capes were fully two hours astern. The wind was moderating when orders came to make her course nor’east by north. The yards were braced in, and as the wind now came from abaft the beam, she was bounding before the gale and scudding from wave to wave. The moon was two hours high, and was peering through rifts in the clouds. The sea was settling to a long swell. Every one on deck began to feel that no danger was near, when the lookout sang sharply: “Sail, ho.” “Where away?” asked Captain Risk, as he stood on the port quarter, glass in one hand, and the other on the main shrouds. “Three miles on the lee bow. He is bearing down on the port tack, sir,” returned the man aloft. “That’s well. All hands!” commanded Captain Risk, as he turned to his lieutenant, Mr. Ripley, saying with assurance: “We have the weather and can keep him guessing.”