verhauled and passed, though she, like themselves, was
under all the canvas she could show. Captain Blyth was simply in a
beatitude of bliss; he walked the poop to and fro, rubbing his hands
gleefully, chuckling, and audibly murmuring little congratulatory
ejaculations to himself, fragments of which--such as--"new hat--astonish
that fellow Spence above a trifle, I flatter myself--reach the Heads a
clear week before him," etcetera etcetera--Ned Damerell caught from time
to time as the skipper trotted past him.

In the forecastle, too, there was great jubilation that evening. Jack
dearly loves a speedy ship; and now that they had had an exemplification
of what the _Flying Cloud_ really _could_ do when she had a fair chance,
all hands were fully agreed that she was by far the fastest ship they
had ever sailed in.

Williams, the man who had assisted at the loading of the guns on board,
was especially enthusiastic upon the subject.

"My eyes! mates, what a pirate-ship this craft would make!" he
ejaculated when at length all hands' catalogue of praises seemed to be
about exhausted. "Why, if she was mine I'd make my fortune--ay, and
that of all hands belonging to her in less than six months!"

This remark produced a general laugh. "Why, Josh, bo! you don't mean to
say as how you'd go piratin' if so be as this here pretty little ship
was yourn, do you?" asked Tim Parsons, a great burly, bushy-whiskered
seaman, who was seated on a sea-chest on the opposite side of the
forecastle.

"Why--no, I don't perhaps exactly mean _that_," was the reply. "And
yet--I don't know--why shouldn't I? There's worse trades than pirating,
let me tell you, boys?"

"Ay, ay? Is there? I should like to hear you name a few of 'em,"
objected Parsons.

"Well, then," said Williams, warming to the subject, "to go no further
than this identical fo'c's'le where we're now sitting, I mean to say
that the trade of sailor-men like ourselves is a precious sight worse.
We're hard worked, badly fed, badly paid--not, mind you, that I'm
finding fault with the treatment we're getting aboard here--far from
it--the grub's good enough for anybody; and, as to work--well, we
haven't seen much of that yet. But this I _will_ say, I don't like the
looks of either of the mates, and as for the skipper, why, he's a good
enough man, but this ship is going to spoil him. Now you mark my words
if she don't--he's just finding out that he's got a flyer under him, and