He keeps his hands clean, wears rings, and sports a gold snuff-box; notwithstanding which, Jack is one of the boldest and best of sailors, and the men know it. He is full of fun, and as keen as a razor. Jack has a very heavy venture this time--all the lace is his own speculation, and if he gets it in safe, he will clear some thousands of pounds. A certain fashionable shop in London has already agreed to take the whole off his hands. That short, neatly-made young man is the second in command, and the companion of the captain. He is clever, and always has a remedy to propose when there is a difficulty, which is a great quality in a second in command. His name is Corbett. He is always merry--half-sailor, half-tradesman; knows the markets, runs up to London, and does business as well as a chapman--lives for the day and laughs at to-morrow. That little punchy old man, with long gray hair and fat face, with a nose like a note of interrogation, is the next personage of importance. He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue vessels, they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. He knows every creek, and hole, and corner of the coast; how the tide runs in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name is Morrison. You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active and obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly introduce them. 'Now you may call for another litre, my lads, and that must be the last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour, and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we have dirt?' 'I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year I should say yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever, if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards.' 'That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?' 'Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the affair.' 'What did you let him off?' 'Seventeen sous,' replied Corbett, laughing. 'And that satisfied him?' inquired Pickersgill. 'Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide if he had to pay a bill without a deduction.'