The first and second cutter and the captain’s gig were already moored to the swinging-boom, to which the boats of a man-of-war are fastened when she lies in port. Jack wished the order would be given to pipe over the side into the gig; for he felt just as though he should sink through the deck-planks, if this scene continued much longer. But there stood the captain and Mr. Bankhead, talking about him, just as though he had been some great man. The executive officer was evidently giving his superior a history of Jack’s cruise on the life-buoy; and our hero thought he was spinning out the yarn to a very unnecessary length. At last the story came to an end. The two great men of the ship wheeled round upon their heels, and walked aft. They paused a few moments at the taffrail, and continued the conversation in a more earnest manner. Suddenly the captain wheeled round again,--just as naval officers do who have spent years of their valuable lives in pacing the weather-side of the quarter-deck,--and walked briskly towards the boat’s crew, who were--all but Jack Somers--patiently waiting for a further expression of his mighty will and pleasure. “Cockswain!” said Captain Mainwright sharply; for he was an officer who always spoke quick and to the point. “He’s on the sick-list, your honor,” replied the stroke-oarsman, touching his cap. “Sick!” exclaimed the captain with well-feigned astonishment; for everyone of the gig’s crew was perfectly well aware that the captain knew where his cockswain was at that particular moment, and also what had occasioned his sudden illness. “He’s very bad, your honor,” added the stroke-oarsman, touching his hat again with a smile which indicated that he was presumptuous enough to understand and appreciate the joke that the majesty of the quarter-deck was engaged in perpetrating. “What business has my cockswain to be sick?” added he, turning to the executive officer; for the captain of a man-of-war never jests with the denizens of the berth-deck. “Mutiny!” replied Mr. Bankhead, with a smile. “What’s his name?” asked the captain, who could not be expected to know the cognomen of so humble an individual as the cockswain of his own gig, especially as the ship had been in commission less than a fortnight. “Becket,” replied the first-lieutenant, who might possibly have consulted the station-bill within half an hour. At any rate, his information was sufficiently accurate to enable him to answer the question without any embarrassing hesitation. “That’s the man that fell overboard, and was saved by Somers!” added Captain Mainwright with apparent astonishment; but it is more than probable that he was not half so much astonished as he appeared to be. “The same, sir.” “He had no business to fall overboard, and I shall disrate him for doing so.” Mr. Bankhead bowed with becoming reverence to the fiat of his superior. “I want a new cockswain,” continued the captain.