And yet, that Sunday morning was not a day to breed troubled thoughts. Tom had rarely seen a lovelier one; the air seemed more like June than April. The last few days of rain had washed the air until it was as clear as crystal. One could see every window pane in the little town of Lewes. There was a sentry walking up and down on the newly-made earthworks in front of the town, and at every turn that he took at the end of his beat, his bayonet flashed like a star. The ship rose and fell lazily on the heaving of the ground swell that rolled in around the Capes. Down to the southward the white sands stretched away into the looming of the distance, rimmed with a whiter line of foam until all was lost in the misty haze cast up by the tumbling surf. The pilot boat had now run up near to them, and was launching a dory from her deck. Tom stood leaning on the rail, looking at her, and presently the pilot came and stood beside him. He was a short, powerful man, bull-necked and long-armed. A shock of hair and a grizzled beard seemed to make a sort of frame around his face. Even he felt uncomfortable at that which had just passed. “A nasty row, wasn’t it, sir?” said he to Tom, jerking his head toward the captain’s cabin. Tom made no answer; in fact, he did not look at the man, for it was none of the fellow’s business. Presently the dory came alongside, and the pilot slid down the man-ropes and stepped cleverly into her. By noon the _Nancy Hazlewood_ had dropped Cape May astern. The captain had sent for Jack to come upon deck again, to take his watch at eight bells. Captain Knight had directed her course to be laid S. E. by E., by which Tom supposed that he intended to run well out, so as to escape the chance of falling in with any of the British cruisers that were at that time hanging about the coast, more especially off the mouth of the Chesapeake. The wind was nearly astern, every inch of cloth was spread, and the way in which the _Nancy Hazlewood_ boomed along showed Tom Granger that he had not overrated her sailing qualities. The log showed that she was running at a little over eleven knots. All of the afternoon Tom was in the forward part of the vessel, looking to the clearing away of a lot of stores, for they were getting things to rights as well as they could, and taking advantage of the fair weather to do it. And it was very needful, too, for, beside spare suits of sails and spars, lashed to nothing, there was a great litter of miscellaneous stores,—barrels of salt pork, junk, hard-tack, and flour, kegs, chests, crates, yeoman’s and purser’s stores, and a hundred and one things—too many to tell of. Tom could not help wondering, as he looked at this mass of stores, what they should do if it should be needful to man the guns for a fight, or work the ship in a sudden squall. However, no craft of any sort was in sight, and there was no sign of foul weather.