Well, I was saying that the _Tonneraire_ was a happy ship. All the officers, both junior and senior, agreed. The chief lights of the senior mess were Tom Fairlie, always good-humoured and cheerful; honest M'Hearty, rough and genial; young Murray, the boy marine officer, merry and innocent; and Simmons the master, who _would_ have his growl, who was all thunder without the lightning, but a very excellent old fellow, when young Murray didn't tease him _too_ much. Between M'Hearty, Fairlie, Murray, and Jack himself a strange sort of a compact was made. It was Murray who proposed it one lovely moonlight night, when the four were together on the poop. Young Murray had cheek enough for anything. He was the second son of a noble lord, and would himself be a lord one day--probably. Not that his rank in life made him any the cheekier, but I suppose it was born in the boy. He cared little or nothing for the etiquette or punctilios of the service when it suited him not to. For example, he one day actually linked his arm through that of an admiral on the quarter-deck. Everybody was aghast; but the good old admiral merely smiled. He knew boys and liked them. But that night on the quarter-deck Murray said openly and innocently to Jack: "I like you, sir--fact, I wish you were my brother; and you too, Fairlie, though you're a fool sometimes; and you, M'Hearty, though you're often absurdly rough. I wish we could be together for years and years and years, in the same ship, you know, and all that sort of thing." "Well, why not?" said M'Hearty. "Let us try; eh, captain?" "I'm agreeable," said Jack. "And I," said Fairlie. "Hurrah!" cried Murray. So the compact was made. The men forward, taking the cue from their officers, were just as jolly. Those were terrible days of flogging. For a look or a glance, a man might be tied up and receive four dozen lashes with the terrible "cat." It was a brutal punishment. But M'Hearty was dead against it; Jack too; and so the grating was never rigged on board the _Tonneraire_. Well, despite dirty weather and head winds, the fleet finally sailed into the mouth of the St. Lawrence river without ever losing a stick. At the Canadian capital, Jack and his officers, ay, and the men as well, had what the Yankees call "a real good time of it." Jack became quite a hero among the ladies, young and old. Yet he did not let that elate him. His heart was not his own--as yet, though he might get over his grief for his lost love Gerty. But having refitted, there was nothing left but to put to sea again.