*CHAPTER XIII* *OFF LUSCOMBE* During the latter part of the voyage Jack had devoted a good deal of thought to his future course of action. To report to the admiral would be his first duty; when that was done he wished to wipe off a personal score. He had been shipped off to France by the smugglers of Luscombe; they had unquestionably been assisted by Monsieur de Fronsac; and, remembering the name Goujon mentioned by the Frenchman, he felt pretty sure that the boat in which he had been conveyed from the shore belonged to the sufferer from the flutters, Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon. It was not in human nature that he should let slip his chance of having his tit for tat. And apart from his personal feelings, there were other reasons for this determination. To put down smuggling was part of his duty as a king’s officer; it was no less his duty to suspect a Frenchman whom he found in league with them. There was something mysterious in their connection with De Fronsac, and something very unpleasant in the idea of De Fronsac’s sailing under false colors in the house of Squire Bastable. It seemed to Jack that he would only be fulfilling a public duty, as well as getting even with private enemies, if he probed the mystery and laid the offenders by the heels. But to do this it was very necessary that his return to England should be kept secret. The Luscombe smugglers would, no doubt, have friends spying for them in neighboring ports, and if he were seen they would be on their guard, and De Fronsac would have time to get away. He was glad, therefore, that it was dark when the _Glorieuse_ came to her anchorage. It increased his chances of escaping notice in preparing to take the smugglers by surprise. Smartening himself up as well as he could, and removing as far as possible the traces of his wound, he went ashore and made his way to Admiral Horniman’s lodgings in the Hard. He was admitted at once on explaining his errand, and found himself in the presence of a big man with rugged, weather-beaten face, fierce white eyebrows, and a wooden arm. The admiral was alone, examining a chart with the aid of a tumbler of toddy and a long pipe. "Mr. Midshipman Hardy, sir," said the servant. "Come in and shut that door," roared the admiral in a quarter-deck bellow. "Dash my buttons! Do you want me to catch my death of cold! Now what’s this?" "Come to report a prize, sir." The admiral looked Jack up and down. "You have come to report a prize, have you, sir? And what’s your superior officer about when he sends a youngster like you?" "He’s in a French prison, sir. I—" "The deuce he is! How do you come to be in charge of a prize, eh? What’s your vessel?" "The _Glorieuse_, sir!" "Don’t trifle, sir! I didn’t ask you for French crack-jaw. Your own vessel, sir?" "The _Fury_, sir," Jack responded.