n did
not rise until near midnight, their enemies could do little until after
the lapse of a few hours--that those who wished, might disperse
themselves along the shore, and escape to Sussex, or any other smuggling
station, as they best could; sending intimation to their friends as to
their movements: and he was the more particular in giving this
permission, as to each and every one had been distributed full pay and
profits;--that those who loved the Fire-fly, and would risk their lives
for her, or with her, were to conceal themselves along the coast, and
ere the moon rose, make their way a-board. This they could easily effect
under the thick darkness, and in so calm a night. There was not one who
could not steer a plank, in quiet water, from Essex to Sheerness; and in
default of that, they were all good swimmers.

"And now, my brave fellows," he added, "I may, or I may not, meet you on
the deck, where I have so often trod and triumphed. One great account I
have to settle with the land before I leave it. I may swing from a
gibbet before to-morrow's sun sets; or I may secure---- But if I am not
with you," he added, breaking off his sentence abruptly, "before the
moon rises, Mathews will take the helm; for I see by his eye that he
will not leave the ship he has mated with so much steadiness and good
seamanship for so long a time. The long-boat must have a light placed
like ours; and false canvass hung round, so as to make a bulk, while the
Fire-fly steals silently and darkly on her way. This, if well managed,
will give an hour's start--But you understand all that. Make up your
minds, among yourselves, who's for the land, who for the sea; and I will
join you again in five minutes." As Dalton (who was more agitated than
his crew had ever seen him) withdrew, he heard Roupall mutter--

"Confound all she-things! This circumbendibus is all owing to his
daughter: 'twould be a precious good job if she had never been born, or
being born, was dead in earnest, which I hear she is not--He's not the
same skipper he was afore he took to land and sentimentality! Confound
all she-things, again say I! they are tiresome and troublesome."

We trust none of our readers will echo the prayer of Jack Roupall, as we
draw towards the conclusion of our story.

CHAPTER X.

Vain is the bugle horn,
Where trumpets men to manly work invite!
That distant summons seems to say, in scorn,
We hunters may be hunted hard ere ni