“Precisely; and to shoot with musquetoon or pistol. I can pick the ace of diamonds off a card at fifteen paces with either weapon.” He spoke modestly, as he always did of his proficiency in such feats of skill. They came so easily to him. “Will you sail with me?” asked George frankly. “You can help me with my papers, and earn your share of the plun―I should say of the profits. No, my friend! you shall not leap blindfold. Listen. I have letters of marque in my cabin, and I mean them to hold good whether peace be proclaimed or not. It may be, we shall fight with a rope round our necks. The gains are heavy, but the risk is great.” “I never count risk!” was the reply. “Then finish the punch!” said Captain George; and thus the bargain was ratified, which added yet one more to the _rôle_ of characters Beaudésir was destined to enact on the stage of life. CHAPTER XXV THREE PRESSED MEN While the occupants of the parlour were sipping punch those of the tap-room had gone systematically through the different stages of inebriety—the friendly, the argumentative, the captious, the communicative, the sentimental, the quarrelsome, the maudlin-affectionate, and the extremely drunk. By nightfall, neither Smoke-Jack, Bottle-Jack, nor Slap-Jack could handle a clay-pipe without breaking it, nor fix their eyes steadily on the candle for five consecutive moments. Notwithstanding, however, the many conflicting opinions that had been broached during their sitting, there were certain points on which they agreed enthusiastically—that they were the three finest fellows under the sun, that there was no calling like seamanship, no element like salt water, and no craft in which any one of them had yet sailed so lively in a sea-way as this, which seemed now to roll and pitch and stagger beneath their besotted senses. With a confirmed impression, varied only by each man’s own experience, that they were weathering a gale under considerable difficulties, in a low latitude, and that it was their watch on deck, though they kept it somewhat unaccountably below, all three had gone through the abortive ceremony they called “pricking for the softest plank,” had pulled their rough sea-coats over their heads, and lain down on the floor among the spittoons, to sleep out the dreamless sleep of intoxication.