Robarts steered in for the Lizard; but, when abreast the Point, kept well out again, and opened the Channel and looked out for a pilot One was soon seen working out towards him, and the _Agra_ brought to. The pilot descended from his lugger into his little boat, rowed alongside, and came on deck; a rough, tanned sailor, clad in flushing, and in build and manner might have passed for Robarts' twin brother. “Now then, you, sir, what will you take this ship up to the Downs for?” “Thirty pounds.” Roberts told him roughly he would not get thirty pounds out of' _him._ “Thyse and no higher, my Bo,” answered the pilot sturdily: he had been splicing the main brace, and would have answered an admiral. Robarts swore at him lustily: Pilot discharged a volley in return with admirable promptitude. Robarts retorted, the other rough customer rejoined, and soon all Billingsgate thundered on the _Agra's_ quarter-deck. Finding, to his infinite disgust, his visitor as great a blackguard as himself, and not to be outsworn, Robarts ordered him to quit the ship on pain of being man-handled over the side. “Oh, that's it, is it?” growled the other: “here's fill and be off then.” He prudently bottled the rest of his rage till he got safe into his boat, then shook his fist at the _Agra_, and cursed her captain sky-high. “You see the fair wind, but you don't see the Channel fret a-coming, ye greedy gander. Downs! You'll never see them: you have saved your ---- money, and lost your ---- ship, ye ---- lubber.” Robarts hurled back a sugar-plum or two of the same and then ordered Bayliss to clap on all sail, and keep a mid-channel course through the night. At four bells in the middle watch, Sharpe, in charge of the ship, tapped at Robarts' door. “Blowing hard, sir, and the weather getting thickish.” “Wind fair still?” “Yes, sir.” “Then call me if it blows any harder,” grunted Robarts. In two hours more, tap, tap, came Bayliss, in charge. “If we don't take sail in, they'll take themselves out.” “Furl to-gallen'sels, and call me if it gets any worse.” In another hour Bayliss was at him again. “Blowing a gale, sir, and a Channel fog on.” “Reef taupsles, and call me if it gets any worse.” At daybreak Dodd was on deck, and found the ship flying through a fog so thick that her forecastle was quite invisible from the poop, and even her foremast loomed indistinct and looked distant. “You'll be foul of something or other, Sharpe,” said he. “What is that to you?” inquired a loud rough voice behind him. “I don't allow passengers to handle my ship.” “Then do pray handle her yourself; captain! Is this weather to go tearing happy-go-lucky up the Channel?” “I mean to sail her without your advice, sir; and, being a seaman, I shall get all I can out of a fair wind.” “That is right Captain Robarts, if you had but the British Channel all to yourself.” “Perhaps you will leave me my deck all to myself.”