And Captain Butler was justly proud of the _Moonbeam_. So highly did he regard her that he would not have marked her smooth and spotless deck with his timber toe to obtain his promotion, and therefore his servant had orders to always keep the end of that useful limb shod with softest leather. Nothing that ever sailed got the weather-gauge on the _Moonbeam_. Except the _Brixham_. That smuggling sloop landed many a fine bale of silk, hogshead of wine, and tobacco galore, all along the south coast; but never had been caught. She was a fly-by-night and a veritable phantom. Thrice Butler had chased her. He might as well have attempted to overhaul a gull on the wing. But to-night One-legged Butler meant to do or die. He knew she was going to venture into Tor Bay, and lie off at anchor under the lee of the cliffs. He could have boarded her in boats perhaps; but that would not have suited Butler's idea of seamanship. It must be neck or nothing--a fair race and a fair fight. The _Brixham_ carried a dare-devil crew, however, and Hawkins feared nothing. The _Moonbeam_ would have her work cut out; but then all the more glory to the bold fellows on board of her; for these were the days when adventure was beloved for its own sake alone. * * * * * When, on the night previous, twenty brave blue-jackets from the _Tonneraire_ were told off for special service and sent aboard the little _Moonbeam_, which sailed a few hours after just as the moon was rising over the Hoe, they had no idea what was in the wind. From their armature of cutlasses and pistols, they "daresayed" there was a little bit of fighting to be done, and rejoiced accordingly, for Jack dearly loves a scrimmage. The wind blew high, even then tossing the cutter about like a cork, although she carried but little sail. By next forenoon, however, she had passed Tor Bay, and lay in semi-hiding near Hope's Nose. There was the risk of the vessel's presence being discovered and reported to Scrivings and his gang; but there always are risks in warfare. As soon as it was dusk a portion of the men were landed. Then the _Moonbeam_, although it blew big guns, set herself to watch for the foe. Hour after hour flew by, and the moon, glinting now and then through a rift in the clouds, whitened the curling waves, but showed no signs of the _Brixham_, or of anything else. It was an anxious time. At twelve o'clock grog and biscuits were served out. The men never had time to swallow a mouthful--of biscuit, I mean. No doubt they drank the grog, for those were the days of can-tossing, a custom now happily but seldom honoured. Yes, there she was! It could be none other save daring Hawkins in the _Brixham_. Small look-out was being kept to-night, however, on the smuggler. The _Moonbeam_ swept down on her as hawk swoops down on his prey, and although Tor Bay is wondrous wide, and the _Brixham_ was nearly in the centre of it, the cutter was on her in a surprisingly short time.