Tom was touched to the very bottom of his heart. He stretched his arm across the walnuts and grasped his friend's hand. "Poor Jack!" he said. "Live in your paradise and be happy. Would that I could give you hopes that your lease will be a very long one." "Besides," continued Jack, excusing himself a little more, "with a light heart I shall be able to drub the French more cheerfully." Tom's eyes sparkled. "Ah yes!" he said; "and for the very same reason I too feel in the finest of form for drubbing the French." "And we've had no single-ship action with the Dons yet." "Their time is coming." "Yes, their time is coming. A man never swings a sword half so well, nor sails and fights a ship so well, as when he is in love and happy: 'For mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel.'" CHAPTER XVIII. "WOULD HE EVER COME AGAIN?" "A sailor's life's the life for me, He takes his duty merrily; If bullets whistle, Jack can sing, Still faithful to his friend and king." DIBDIN. Jack was right about love and "the creel," or rather, I should say, the old song is right,-- "Mickle lighter is the boat When love bears up the creel." For the next three months the swift _Tonneraire_ was here, there, and everywhere--except in England. She cruised much farther south, and chiefly along the coast of France, and seldom put into harbour except to cut out some merchantman, snugly ensconced, perhaps, under the guns of a fort, and deeming herself in a very safe position. It was, unfortunately for her, the feeling of security that proved her ruin. Three or four several times did the _Tonneraire_ thus prove herself a crack ship. A crack ship with a crack crew and officers, remember; for the best of ships is but a drone unless well managed. Not even a drone, indeed; for a drone is a most duty-full bee, and a most respectable member of the apiarian republic. There is a vast deal of very indifferent music in the very best of fiddles, and I feel quite convinced that had some less active officer commanded even the _Tonneraire_, he would have had little to show at the end of his cruise. In his daring cutting-out expeditions Jack had been invariably successful. First and foremost he chased the vessel, and failing to overhaul her, he bore away seawards again, as if he had given up all hope, she perhaps taking refuge under the guns of a fort. But although he might sail out of sight of land, soon as the shades of evening began to fall the _Tonneraire_ came round. Then all depended on cleverness and pluck.