He looked round for Julia. She was still in her cabin, and he would not awaken her. At the foot of the companion-steps lay the Newfoundland; Hardy knelt beside the noble creature and put his cheek to the wet muzzle, and the dog groaned in pleasure and gratitude. Then they went on deck together. It was a strange, new, surprising sight to Hardy and perhaps to the dog: a British man-of-war's man stood at the wheel of the ship; up and down the quarter-deck stumped the stout figure of Mr. Harper in all pomp of commanding strut. It was the first dog-watch, and some of the sailors were walking about the forecastle smoking pipes, and some of them, also smoking pipes, lurked about the galley door. A fresh breeze was sweeping down upon the quarter. The ship was under full sail from main-royal to flying jib, from mizzen-royal to spanker. The weather-clew of the mainsail was up, and--what was that yonder, right ahead? By heaven! the _Magicienne_ slapping along at ten and pouring incense of soot to the very extremity of the visible universe, and the _York_ was doing twelve and overhauling her with foam to the figurehead, with derisive laughter aloft, with all graceful scorn of the wind-swept structure in every leap, that brought closer yet to the eye the laborious ploughing of the paddles. Hardy and Mr. Harper touched their caps to each other. "This is business, sir," said the boatswain, "and this ship is going to point a moral to that there steamer!" Hardy sent a critical gaze aloft. Everything was set to a hair and rounded firm as a boiler full of steam. Everything was doing the work of a boiler and more than the work of a boiler, as witness yonder sky-blackening fabric, like panting Time, toiling to elude the Camilla of the sea. "Your captain has sent me some good men," said Hardy. "It did not take you long, I reckon, to bend new canvas." The boatswain smiled loftily betwixt his red whiskers. "It isn't all New Navy yet, sir," he answered; "but it's coming." He sighed like a risen porpoise. "There'll be no call for sailors when it's to be nothing but that, with pole-masts and so built"--he was pointing as he spoke to the steamer--"that a dock-master might fitly sing out to the skipper, Which end of you is coming in?"