As they rowed towards the _Swallow_, which carried Kirke´s flag, Gervase´s mind was full of the way in which he should deliver his message, while Douglas sat beside him pouring his homely counsel into his ear. It was evident that the latter stood in no little dread of the commander who had won for himself an unenviable notoriety for cruelty and severity, and was clearly doubtful of the reception that awaited an envoy who knew so little regarding the character of the man with whom he had to deal. But Gervase had determined that if all else failed he would speak out his mind without any fear of the consequences. He had not undertaken this perilous journey and faced so many dangers to shrink from plain speech if that would serve his purpose. The master of the _Phoenix_ on the news being brought that Kirke would receive them immediately in the gunroom, was like to have turned tail incontinently and left Gervase to face the redoubtable soldier alone. “The boatswain yonder is an old crony of mine,” he said, “and we don´t often have a chance of a quiet word. I wish you all luck, but I think I´ll step forward and have a bit of speech while you do your errand.” “By your leave, but the General must see you both, Master Douglas,” said the man who had brought the message; “if you don´t come now I´ll have to fetch you by the ears by-and-by. He hath ten thousand blue devils tearing his liver this morning, so that we cannot bind or hold him. But you have seen the General after a wet night with a head wind in the morning.” “I was a fool to come aboard,” Douglas muttered. “Speak to him fair and soft, Mr. Orme,” he continued, taking Gervase by the arm, “if ye would have the tyke listen to ye, but for God´s sake don´t cross him.” “I´ll tell him a plain story that wants no gloss,” Gervase answered. “You need not be afraid that I shall speak outside my commission. Now, sir, I am at your service.” “He´ll get a flea in his ear,” muttered Douglas, letting go his arm, and dropping behind. “Send me well out of this.”