“Well, Mr. Tarbrick, we shall be able to be of service to you, I believe. We have a Dutchman on board who wants to get home. He and the captain have fallen out, and the Dutchman desires to return by the first passing ship. You may guess that he speaks English, and that he is a navigator, when I tell you he was mate of that vessel. Will you receive him?” “Will I?” he cried, his face lighting up. “Why, he’s just the man we want.” “Is there nothing else we can do for you?” “No, sir; and I never reckoned on getting so much,” he answered mildly and sadly. “I reckoned only on larning the day of the week and the date of the month, and getting the course for a straight steer home.” “Keep all fast as you are,” said I, “and I will return to you.” I dropped into the boat and was rowed aboard the brig. Greaves was impatiently walking the deck. He came to that part of the rail over which I climbed, and said: “Will the brig take Van Laar?” I answered, “Yes.” His face instantly cleared. I gave him the story of the _Commodore Nelson_, as it had been related to me by Mr. Tarbrick, and explained the object of the cask under the stern and the lines rove from it to the pump handle. He laughed, but there was a note of admiration in his laughter. “That Tarbrick is no fool, spite of his thinking the Clyde lies down this way. I have heard of worse notions than that of making a ship pump herself out. The cask is half full of water, I suppose?” “It would not be heavy enough for the down-drag unless it were half full of water,” said I. “And it is guyed to either quarter, of course,” he continued, “otherwise, when the brig moves, it must be towed directly from the gaff-end, which would never do. A clever notion. Bol!” The boatswain, who was standing forward looking at the brig, immediately came aft. “Come below with me,” said the captain, “and free Van Laar. That brig will receive him. Keep your boat over the side, Mr. Fielding, and stand by to receive Van Laar and his clothes.” They entered the cabin. In a few minutes I heard a confused noise of voices. Van Laar’s tones were distinguishable, but I could not collect what he said. Bol came under the skylight and asked me to send down a couple of hands to bring up Van Laar’s chest. Presently Van Laar cried out, “Dis vhas Mynheer Tulp’s schip, and you vhas kicking me out of her.” “You leave at your own request,” I heard Greaves say. “Dot vhas valse,” shouted the Dutchman. “But you are a whole ship’s gompany to von man. Yet vill I have der bed from oonder you und your vife.” “Now step on deck, if you please.”