“Good—bye, Little Jule,” cried Navy Bob, as we swept under the bows. “Don’t fall overboard, Ropey,” said another to the poor land—lubber, who, with Wymontoo, the Dane, and others left behind, was looking over at us from the forecastle.

“Give her three more!” cried Salem, springing to his feet and whirling his hat round. “You sacre dam raskeel,” shouted the lieutenant of the party, bringing the flat of his sabre across his shoulders, “you now keepy steel.”

The doctor and myself, more discreet, sat quietly in the bow of the cutter; and for my own part, though I did not repent what I had done, my reflections were far from being enviable.