The men cheered with a will. The Captain’s notions of sea-oratory were founded on a knowledge of his audience, and answered his purpose better than the most finished style of rhetoric. As the shouting died out, a strong voice was heard, demanding “one cheer more for the skipper.” It was given enthusiastically—Slap-Jack, who had sneaked on deck with his head bandaged, having taken this sailor-like method of showing he bore no malice for a ducking, and was indeed only desirous that his late prank should be overlooked. Nevertheless, in the hurry and confusion of getting the anchor up, he contrived to place himself at Beaudésir’s side and to grasp him cordially by the hand. “You _be_ a good chap,” said this honest seaman, with a touch of feeling that he hid under an affectation of exceeding roughness; “as good a chap as ever broke a biscuit! Look ye, mate; my name’s Slap-Jack; so long as I can show my number, when anything’s up, you sings out ‘Slap-Jack!’ and if I don’t answer ‘Slap-Jack _it is_!’ why―” The imprecation with which this peculiar acknowledgment concluded did not render it one whit more intelligible to Beaudésir, who gathered enough, however, from the speaker’s vehemence to feel that he had made at least one stanch friend among the crew. By the time he had realised this consoling fact, the brigantine’s head, released from the restraint of her cable, swung round to leeward, her strong new sails filled steadily with the breeze, and while the ripple gurgled louder and louder round her bows, already tossing and plunging through the increasing swell, the quay, the lighthouse, the long low spit of land, the town, the downs themselves seemed to glide quietly away; and Beaudésir, despite the beauty of the scene and the excitement of his position, became uncomfortably conscious of a strange desire to retire into a corner, lay himself down at full length, and die, if need be, unobserved. A waft of savoury odours from the cook’s galley, where the men’s breakfasts were prepared, did nothing towards allaying this untimely despondency, and after a short struggle he yielded, as people always do yield in such cases, and staggering into the cabin, pillowed his head on a couch, and gave himself over to despair. Ere he raised it again ‘The Bashful Maid,’ making an excellent run down Channel in a south-westerly course, was already a dozen leagues out at sea. CHAPTER XXVII ‘THE BASHFUL MAID’