er bare poles.
Not content with this, he ordered out the boat, and the two seamen
(Mike Halliday and Roger Wearne their names were) took turns with Nat
and me in towing the _Gauntlet_ off the coast. It was back-breaking
work under a broiling sun, but before evening we had the satisfaction
to lose all sight of land. Still we persevered and tugged until
close upon midnight, when the captain called us aboard, and we
tumbled asleep on deck, too weary even to seek our hammocks.

At daybreak next morning (Sunday) my father roused me. A light wind
had sprung up from the shore, and with all canvas spread we were
slipping through the water gaily; yet not so gaily (doubted Captain
Pomery) as a lateen-sailed craft some four or five miles astern of
us--a craft which he announced to be a Moorish xebec.

The _Gauntlet_--a flattish-bottomed ship--footed it well before the
wind, but not to compare with the xebec, which indeed was little more
than a long open boat. After an hour's chase she had plainly reduced
our lead by a mile or more. Then for close upon an hour we seemed to
have the better of the wind, and more than held our own; whereat the
most of us openly rejoiced. For reasons which he kept to himself
Captain Pomery did not share in our elation.

For sole armament (besides our muskets) the ketch carried, close
after of her fore-hatchway, a little obsolete 3-pounder gun, long
since superannuated out of the Falmouth packet service. In the dim
past, when he had bid for her at a public auction, Captain Pomery may
have designed to use the gun as a chaser, or perhaps, even then, for
decoration only. She served now--and had served for many a peaceful
passage--but as a peg for spare coils of rope, and her rickety
carriage as a supplement, now and then, for the bitts, which were
somewhat out of repair. My father casting about, as the chase
progressed, to put us on better terms of defence, suggested unlashing
this gun and running her aft for a stern-chaser.

Captain Pomery shook his head. "Where's the ammunition? We don't
carry a single round shot aboard, nor haven't for years.
Besides which, she'd burst to a certainty."

"There's time enough to make up a few tins of canister," argued my
father. "Or stay--" He smote his leg.

"Didn't I tell you old Worthyvale would turn out the usefullest man
on board?"

"What's the matter with Worthyvale?"

"While we've been talking, Worthyvale has been doing. What has he
been doi