“Well, then,” replied Jack, “I will, as I am quite in the minority. We will work up the whole coast— up to Toulon. After all, there’s something very pleasant in commanding your own ship, and I’m not in a hurry to resign it— so that point’s decided.”

The Rebiera was steered in to the land, and at sunset they were not four miles from the lofty blue mountains which overhang the town of Malaga. There were many vessels lying at the bottom of the bay, close in with the town; the wind now fell light, and the Rebiera, as she could not fetch the town, tacked as if she were a merchant vessel standing in, and showed. American colours— a hint which they took from perceiving three or four large vessels lying in the outer roads, with the colours of that nation hoisted at the peak.

“What is your intention, Jack?” said Gascoigne.

“I’ll be hanged if I know yet. I think of working up to the outer roads, and anchoring at night— boarding the American vessels, and gaining intelligence.”

“Not a bad idea; we shall then learn if there is anything to be done, and if not we may be off at daylight.’

“The pratique boat will not come off after sunset.”

“And if they did, we could pass for an American, bound to Barcelona or anywhere else— the outer roads where the vessels lie are hardly within gunshot.”

“Mesty, who had resumed his sailor’s clothes, now observed, “What we do, Massa Easy, we do quickly— time for all ting, time for show face and fight— time for hide face, crawl, and steal.”

“Very true, Mesty, we’ll crawl this time, and steal if we can. It’s not the warfare I like best of the two.”

“Both good, Massa Easy; suppose you no steal board of polacca ship, you not see Missy Agnes.”

“Very true, Mesty. ’Bout ship, Mr. Oxbelly.”

“Mr. Oxbelly not good for boat sarvice,” observed Mesty, showing his teeth.

It was dark before the Rebiera was anchored in the outer roads, a cable’s length astern of the outermost American vessel. One of her quarter-boats was lowered down, and Gascoigne and our hero pulled alongside, and, lying on their oars, hailed, and asked the name of the vessel.

“So help me Gad, just now I forget her name,” replied a negro, looking over the gangway.

“Who’s the captain?”

“So help me Gad, he gone on shore.”

“Is the mate on board?”

“No, so help me Gad— he gone shore too.”

“Who is aboard then?”

“So help me Gad, nobody on board but Pompey— and dat me.”

“Good ship-keepers, at all events,” said Jack. “A ship in the outer roads with only a black fellow on board! I say, Pompey, do they always leave you in charge of the vessel?”

“No, sar; but to-night great pleasure on shore. Eberybody dance and sing, get drunk, kick up bobbery, and all dat.”