Captain Risk was now on his mettle. His ship was crippled; his main-topmast was gone, he had thrown overboard his six-pounders, and he was short his two lieutenants; his prize crew was on the General Monk, and the killed and wounded in the engagement depleted his numbers; however, he was determined that if he were compelled to strike to the enemy he would make them pay two for one. Mounting the quarter-deck, he first ordered a spring-line on his kedge to windward, his bower anchor to leeward so that he could spring his stern in a semicircle and bring his battery of twelve-pounders to bear, no matter from what point the enemy approached. Next he ordered the boarding-nets in place, loaded all the muskets and pistols, and placed everything handy for fighting close aboard. Cutlasses and pikes were made ready and the deck was sanded. The battery was double-shotted with grape for close execution. The Albatross came up with a fair breeze from the south’ard as though they were on a pleasure excursion. When the sloop drew up into the inlet, Barclugh got the glass from Captain Sutherland and critically examined the lines and rig of the Holker. He then began to think. The whole matter came before his view. The Holker could be taken. The crew and Captain Risk could be confined until his plot was carried through. Yet he did not wish any harm to come to Risk during the fight. When Barclugh returned the spying-glass to Captain Sutherland, he remarked earnestly: “Captain Sutherland, I see that fellow is getting ready to give us a warm reception, and may I have the honor of leading one of your boats’ crews against him?” “No, sir,” replied the captain imperatively. “I have strict orders to land you safely on the Jersey shore in Little Egg River, and I can not take any risks. You better repair at once to your cabin, and remain there during the engagement, sir,” continued the captain, as he turned to order his men. Barclugh could say nothing to these orders, and he went below to mingle with the crew of the frigate. Among the men he noticed a good-natured looking fellow; going up to him, he said in an undertone: “I want to speak to you, my good man. Kindly come to my cabin.” “Certainly, sir,” replied the man-o’-war’s man, as he ambled along with Barclugh. When they reached his cabin, Barclugh said: “For certain private reasons, I desire to go aboard that brig when she is taken. Here are five guineas, my man, if you exchange your uniform for my suit. You remain closely in my cabin and keep the door fastened until I return. Give me your name and station and I will take your place in the boarding party.” “My name is William Atkinson, hand as hit’s to obleege a gentleman I’m willin’. We ’ave more’n this business than a poor man’s pay allows. Hi belongs to boat’s crew number one,” replied the sailor as he hitched up his trousers and put the guineas in a bag around his neck. When Barclugh had changed his garb, Atkinson looked at him and remarked: