Her rigging was beautifully fitted, every rope lying in the chafe of another, her decks were flush and level, and when at sea any loose rope was neatly coiled away and laid down in a regular man-of-war fashion that came of the recent training of Joe Grummet and others on board H.M.S. _President_. "The skipper has specially requested me to take you in tow, Mr. Hampton," said the boatswain. "In tow?" queried Derval. "In charge, don't you know; so there is one piece of advice I'll give you, keep to windward if you can of Mr. Paul Bitts; he is often crank, and over-fond of colting the youngster, and who yaws a bit in way of doing duty." To this mysteriously worded advice, Derval replied that he should endeavour to please that gentleman in all things. "The captain, of course, will take care that you are not put upon, but then he is not always at hand. He is a fine fellow, Phil Talbot, who can crack his joke and his biscuit on the same head," continued the boatswain manipulating a quid between the hard palms of his hands prior to inserting it in the back recesses of his mouth. "Many a lunar he and I have worked together when mere ship-boys long ago--for there wer'nt no middies--no reefers--in the merchant service in those days, and many who sailed with us then have gone aloft for ever. But come lad--supper waits," he exclaimed as a bell was heard to jingle; "a jolly British leg of mutton with caper sauce--gad boy, I have eaten capers off the bushes many a time on the shore of the Black Sea." At supper were Dr. Strang, the young Scotch surgeon, who in despair of a practice ashore was fain to ship as a "medico" in the _Amethyst_; and two middies, Harry or Hal Bowline, a frank fair-haired and cherry-cheeked young fellow with a confident and often defiant air; and little Tommy Titford,--usually called Tom Tit--a quiet, dark-eyed, and gentle lad about Derval's age, and who was the peculiar object of the malevolence of Mr. Paul Bitts, then busily engaged in slicing down the mutton, of which he reserved all the best cuts for himself. He gruffly told Derval to make haste and finish his supper, as he had a message for him to execute; and Derval, anxious to make himself useful, and also to conciliate this personage, bolted his food, and nearly choked himself with a can of ale handed to him by the good-natured boatswain. "Got any sisters, Hampton?" asked Bowline, who thought himself a wag. "No," replied Derval. "Sorry for that; because we would have stuck their photos all over the place, and set them up to auction now and then." "Your message, please sir?" said Derval. "The harbour watch is set, so go forward and send the cook's shifter to me." "Where shall I find him?" "In the starboard binnacle." "Very good, sir." And Derval vanished.