This shocking lack of trouble was a subject for discussion one evening between the two young gentlemen, when the fleet had just sailed from Dominica on a north-westerly course. They sat high on the poop-deck where the great horn lanterns were, and in dolefully sarcastic vein acclaimed the perfections of the peace which surrounded them. It was a heavenly evening, indeed; born of the dreams of the south sea, whose bosom, like the bosom of the sleeping beauty, placidly rose and fell to her ‘tender-taken breath’: a dream of crystal air and golden water; of a sun hanging like a bubble of blown amber above the Western horizon; of a surface so still that the ships in their deep reflections seemed as if melting and dissolving into the placid fire which they rode, with scarce enough way on them to keep their steersmen awake. Brion and Master Anthony had supped exuberantly, and, after the way of youth under such circumstances, were in voluble mood. They had come up on deck to escape the reek of the confined cabin, where the Admiral’s company, professional and civilian, still hung about the table over their wine. Anthony had his lute with him, and thrummed it indifferently to extempore recitative or broken scraps of song. ‘“In December” (sang he) “when the days draw to be short, After November, when the nights wax noisome and long; As I past by a place privily at a port, I saw one sit by himself making a song.”’ ‘What about?’ said Brion. ‘About the beauties of a quiet life, to be sure,’ answered the musician. ‘Do you not thank your stars for them? I met our general this morning. “Sir,” says I, “we should be your grateful servants.” “For what?” says he. “For taking us from the fighting turmoil of our civil lives,” says I, “and showing us the blessings of a bloodless tranquillity.”’ ‘And what did he answer?’ ‘Why, I blush for him. He said that if I was looking for trouble he could accommodate me then and there. Poor little Tony! “His last talk of trifles, who told with his tongue That few were fast i’ the faith. I freyned that freak, Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him wrong. He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speak.”’ ‘Well, are you not hard to please?’ ‘Don’t ask me. I am little John Nobody that durst not speak.’ ‘What is it you want?’ ‘Never mind. I am little John Nobody that durst not speak.’ ‘_Is_ it trouble?’ ‘No, peace, of course. But then I am little John Nobody. “When Captains Courageous, whom death could not daunt, Did march to the siege of the City of Gaunt, They mustred their soldiers by two and by three, And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.” But I durst not speak.’ A dark form came up the stairs, and stood lankly silhouetted against the glowing sky. ‘Is that you, Master Clerivault?’ asked the singer. ‘Is not this peace a lovely thing?’ ‘A lovely thing, Sir.’ ‘We are well rewarded in it for our enterprise?’ ‘Very well rewarded, Sir.’