Courtenay, who was daring as man could be, but not of a very athletic frame, reclimbed from the main chains of the vessel, into which he had already once fallen, from one of his own seamen having inadvertently made use of his shoulder as a step to assist his own ascent. He was overtaken by Robinson, the coxswain of the cutter, who sprang up with all the ardour and activity of an English sailor who "meant mischief," and, pleased with the energy of his officer (forgetting, at the moment, the respect due to his rank), called out to him, by the _sobriquet_ with which he had been christened by the men,--"Bravo, _Little Bilious_! that's your sort!" "What's that, sir?" cried Courtenay, making a spring, so as to stand on the plane-sheer of the vessel at the same moment with the coxswain, and seizing him by the collar,--"I say, Robinson, what do you mean by calling me `_Little Bilious_?'" continued the lieutenant, wholly regardless of the situation they were placed in. The coxswain looked at him with surprise, and at the same moment parried off with his cutlass a thrust of a pike at Courtenay, which, in all probability, would otherwise have prevented his asking any more questions; then, without making any answer, sprang down on the deck into the midst of the affray. "You, Robinson, come back," cried Courtenay, after him--"Damned annoying--_Little Bilious_, indeed!" continued he, as, following the example of the coxswain, he proceeded to vent his bile, for the present, on the heads of the Frenchmen.