"Ay, ay, sir. Morning, sir, morning, leastways good arternoon, seeing as how we’ve just took in our cargo of dinner. Glad to see you, sir. Mr. Blake he said we was to get under way the very minute you came aboard." Jack swung himself up, flung a coin to the boatman, and turned to the old sailor. "Where’s Mr. Blake?" "Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up with rheumatics. You’re in command, sir, _pro tem_, as brother Sol used to say." "Very well; heave the anchor, and run up the mainsail. You’re the bo’sun, eh?" "Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir; that’s my brother, and a much better chap nor me, though, so far. Ben Babbage my name, sir." "Well, Babbage, clear the harbor. I’ll go and see Mr. Blake and get her course. You can call me when you’ve fairly crossed the bar." "Ay, ay, sir." Jack went below and found the lieutenant groaning in his bunk. He was a weather-beaten sea-dog of forty-five, who had long since given up whatever dreams of promotion he might at one time have entertained. "You’re back, then, Mr. Hardy," he said. "You see me a martyr to rheumatism: my old enemy serves me like this every time I go to sea. Babbage gave you my message?" "Yes, sir." "Well, I’ll tell you what our orders are. French privateers are careering up and down the Channel, dodging our cruisers and swooping down on our merchantmen. We’ve got to cruise at large, keeping one eye on the French, and t’other on the smugglers. They’re expected to be pretty active just now, when every one’s mad with excitement about these flat-bottomed boats that Boney is going to invade us with. The _Fury_ has got to act as a sort of watch-dog." "Not much fun about that, sir," said Jack. "No, sir, no fun, and no glory. Both you and I, I take it, would sooner sling our hammocks on a frigate or a line-of-battle ship. But we’ve our duty to do, sir, and we can’t do more than our duty, wherever we are. Did you find your relatives well?" "Yes, sir. Do you know Luscombe?" "No, I’ve never done this shore-crawling before." "A good deal of smuggling goes on there, I am told. ’Tis a quiet little place, almost hidden away in a recess between the cliffs. It doesn’t seem to have been troubled much by the preventive men." "The last riding-officer was a slack-twisted fellow, it appears, no good for his job. The new man—I’ve seen him once or twice here—is energetic enough, but not too quick-witted, I should say, and a little inclined to be bumptious." At this point a sailor put his head in at the little cabin. "If you please, sir, Mr. Babbage says we’re off Minton Point, and waits for orders." "Very well, Turley. Go on deck, Mr. Hardy, and take a run down Channel. Let me know what you think of the _Fury’s_ sailing powers; we’ve nothing but our speed to trust to if we happen to fall in with the enemy in force."