“And I only quarrel with her at night, sir. She will take up more than her share of the bed, and won’t allow me to sleep single; but never mind that, sir; now will you please to muster the men?”

“If you please, Mr. Oxbelly.”

The men were mustered, and Jack made them a long speech upon subordination, discipline, activity, duty, and so forth.

“A very good speech, Mr. Easy,” said Mr. Oxbelly as the men went forward; “I wish my wife had heard it. But, sir, if you please, we’ll now get under way as fast as we can, for there is a Channel cruiser working up at St. Helen’s, and we may give him the go-by by running through the Needles.”

“But what need we care for the Channel cruiser?”

“You forget, sir, that as soon as she drops her anchor she will come on board and take a fancy to at least ten of our men.”

“But they are protected.”

“Yes, sir, but that’s no protection nowadays. I have sailed in a privateer at least three years, and I know that they have no respect for letters of marque or for privateers.”

“I believe you are right, Mr. Oxbelly; so, if you please, we will up with the anchor at once.”

The crew of the Rebiera had been well chosen; they were prime men-of-war’s men, most of whom had deserted from the various ships on the station, and, of course, were most anxious to be off. In a few minutes the Rebiera was under way with all sail set below and aloft. She was in excellent trim, and flew through the water; the wind was fair, and by night they had passed Portland Lights, and the next morning were steering a course for the Bay of Biscay without having encountered what they feared more than an enemy— a British cruiser to overhaul them.

“I think we shall do now, sir,” observed Mr. Oxbelly to our hero; “we have made a famous run. It’s twelve o’clock, and if you please I’ll work the latitude, and let you know what it is. We must shape our course so as not to run in with the Brest squadron. A little more westing, sir. I’ll be up in one minute. My wife— but I’ll tell you about that when I come up.

“Latitude 41° 12’, sir. I was about to say that my wife, when she was on board of the privateer that I commanded—”

“Board of the privateer, Mr. Oxbelly?”

“Yes, sir, would go; told her it was impossible, but she wouldn’t listen to reason— came on board, flopped herself into the standing bedplace, and said that there she was for the cruise— little Billy with her—”

“What! your child, too?”

“Yes, two years old— fine boy— always laughed when the guns were fired, while his mother stood on the ladder and held him on the top of the booby hatch.”

“I wonder that Mrs. Oxbelly let you come here now?”

“So you would, sir, but I’ll explain that— she thinks I’m in London about my half-pay. She knows all by this time, and frets, I don’t doubt; but that will make her thin, and then there will be more room in the bed. Mrs. Oxbelly is a very stout woman.”

“Why, you are not a little man!”