"This is check, Merriman," said the last comer as the seamen, flourishing their hangers menacingly, pressed forward past the prostrate body of Desmond. "The fellow has escaped you; best withdraw at discretion." "Come on," shouted Bulger, waving his hook. "Bill Bulger en’t the man to sheer off from a couple of landlubbers." As with his mates in line he steadily advanced, the two gentlemen, their lips set, their eyes fixed on the assailants, their rapiers pointed, backed slowly up the street. The noise had brought clerks and merchants to the doors; some one sprang a rattle; there were cries for the watchmen; but no one actively interfered. Meanwhile Desmond had regained his senses, and, still feeling somewhat dizzy, had sat down upon a doorstep, wondering not a little at the pursuit and flight of Diggle and the opportune arrival of the sailors. Everything had happened very rapidly; scarcely two minutes had elapsed since the first onset. He was still resting when there was a sudden change in the quality of the shouts up street. Hitherto they had been boisterous rallying cries, now they were unmistakably hearty British cheers, expressing nothing but approval and admiration. And they came not merely from the throats of the sailors, but from the now considerable crowd that filled the street. A few moments afterwards he saw the throng part, and through it Bulger marching at the head of his mates, singing lustily. They came opposite to the step on which he sat, and Bulger caught sight of him. "Blest if it en’t our supercargo!" he cried, stopping short. A shout of laughter broke from the sailors. One of them struck up a song. Oho! we says good-bye, But never pipes our eye, Tho’ we leaves Poll, Sue, and Kitty all behind us; And if we drops our bones Down along o’ Davy Jones, Why, they’ll come and ax the mermaids for to find us. "And what took ye, Mister Supercargo, to try a fall with the fourteen stoner?" "Oh, I was helping a friend." "Ay, an’ a friend was helpin’ him, an’ here’s a dozen of us a-helpin’ of one supercargo." "And I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Bulger. But what were you cheering for?" "Cheerin’! Why, you wouldn’t guess. ’Twas General Clive, matey." "General Clive!" "Ay, General Clive, him what chased the mounseers out o’ Fort St. George with a marlin-spike. I didn’t know him at fust, comin’ up behind t’other chap; but when I seed that purple coat with the gold lace and the face of him above it I knowed him. In course there was no more fight for us then; ’twas hip-hip hurray and up with our hangers. Clive, he smiled and touched his hat. ’Bulger,’ says he, ’you en’t much fatter----’" "Does he know you, then?"