“'T is the two niggers, sir. They've turned in on deck, and are napping it off at the rate of six knots. There's no keepin' way with a nigger in snorin'.” “I thought I heard loud whispering, too, but I suppose it was a sort of half-dream. I'm often in that way now-a-days. Jack!” “Sir.” “Go to the scuttle-butt and get me a pot of fresh water--my coppers are hot with hard thinking.” Jack did as ordered, and soon stood beneath the coach-house deck with Spike, who had come out of his state-room, heated and uneasy at he knew not what. The captain drank a full pint of water at a single draught. “That's refreshing,” he said, returning Jack the tinpot, “and I feel the cooler for it. How much does it want of daylight, Jack?” “Two hours, I think, sir. The order was passed to me to have all hands called as soon as it was broad day.” “Ay, that is right. We must get our anchor and be off as soon as there is light to do it in. Doubloons may melt as well as flour, and are best cared for soon when cared for at all.” “I shall see and give the call as soon as it is day. I hope, Captain Spike, I can take the liberty of an old ship-mate, however, and say one thing to you, which is this--look out for the Poughkeepsie, which is very likely to be on your heels when you least expect her.” “That's your way of thinking, is it, Jack. Well, I thank you, old one, for the hint, but have little fear of that craft. We've had our legs together, and I think the brig has the longest.” As the captain said this, he gaped like a hound, and went into his state-room. Jack lingered on the quarter-deck, waiting to hear him fairly in his berth, when he made a sign to Biddy, who had got as far aft as the galley, where she was secreted, to pass down into the cabin, as silently as possible. In a minute or two more, he moved forward, singing in a low, cracked voice, as was often his practice, and slowly made his way to the forecastle. Mulford was just beginning to think the fellow had changed his mind, and meant to stick by the brig, when the little, rotund figure of the assistant-steward was seen passing through the port, and to drop noiselessly on a thwart. Jack then moved to the bow, and cast off the painter, the head of the boat slowly falling off under the pressure of the breeze on that part of her mast and sail which rose above the hull of the Swash. Almost at the same moment, the mate let go the stern-fast, and the boat was free.