“It is a matter of religion.—And then the prating puppy, that he sent on board me, is no Captain, after all! Still it was impossible to deceive me as to the air and manner of a gentleman. I warrant me, some young reprobate of a good family, or he would never have acted the sprig so well. We must try to keep his name a secret, Mr Ark, in order that no discredit should fall upon his friends. Our aristocratic columns, though they get a little cracked and defaced, are, after all, the pillars of the throne, and it does not become us to let vulgar eyes look too closely into their unsoundness.” “The individual who visited the ‘Dart’ was the Rover himself.” “Ha! the Red Rover in my ship, nay, in my very presence!” exclaimed the old tar, in a species of honest horror. “You are now pleased, sir, to trifle with my good nature.” “I should forget a thousand obligations, ere I could be so bold. On my solemn asseveration, sir, it was no other.” “This is unaccountable! extraordinary to a miracle! His disguise was very complete, I will confess to deceive one so well skilled in the human countenance. I saw nothing, sir, of his shaggy whiskers heard nothing of his brutal voice, nor perceived any of those monstrous deformities which are universally acknowledged to distinguish the man.” “All of which are no more than the embellishments of vulgar rumour, I fear me, sir, that the boldest and most dangerous of all our vices are often found under the most pleasing exteriors.” “But this is not even a man of inches, sir.” “His body is not large, but it contains the spirit of a giant.” “And do you believe yonder ship, Mr Ark, to be the vessel that fought us in the equinox of March?” “I know it to be no other.” “Hark ye, Harry, for your sake, I will deal generously by the rogue. He once escaped me, by the loss of a topmast, and stress of weather; but we have here a good working breeze, that a man may safely count on, and a fine regular sea. He is therefore mine, so soon as I choose to make him so;—for I do not think he has any serious intention to run.” “I fear not,” returned Wilder, unconsciously betraying his wishes in the words. “Fight he cannot, with any hopes of success; and, as he seems to be altogether a different sort of personage from what I had supposed, we will try the merits of negotiation. Will you undertake to be the bearer of my propositions?—or, perhaps, he might repent of his moderation.” “I pledge myself for his faith,” eagerly exclaimed Wilder “Let a gun be fired to leeward. Mind, sir, all the tokens must be amicable—a flag of truce set out at our main, and I will risk every hazard to lead him back into the bosom of society.” “By George, it would at least be acting a Christian part,” returned the Commander, after a moment’s thought; “and, though we miss knighthood below, lad, for our success, there will be better birth cleared for us aloft.”