"I doubt that you are joking, sir."

"And I swear to you that I am not."

He hesitated; tottered to the companion, and called down, "Susannah!
Susannah! A moment on deck, if you please. One of these gentlemen wishes
to ship as passenger."

A dark-browed woman of middle age thrust her head above the ladder and
eyed me. Even so might a ruminating cow gaze over her hedge upon some
posting wayfarer.

"What's he dressed in?" she demanded abruptly.

"Madam, it was intended for a ball-suit."

"You will do no dancing here, young man."

"My dear lady, I accept that and every condition you may impose.
Whatever the discipline of the ship----"

She cut me short. "Have you told him, father?"

"Why, no. You see, sir, I ought to tell you that this is not an ordinary
voyage."

"Nor, for that matter, is mine."

"You will be exposed to risks."

"In a privateer that goes without saying."

"The risk of capture."

"Naturally: though a brave captain will not dwell on it." And I bowed.

"But I do dwell on it," he answered earnestly, a red spot showing on
either cheek. "I must tell you, sir, that we are very likely indeed to
fall into an enemy's hands."

"Say certain," chimed in Susannah.

"Yes, I will say we are certain. I cannot in conscience do less." He
sought his daughter's eyes. She nodded.

"O, damn your conscience!" thought I, my stomach rising in contempt for
this noble-looking but extremely faint-hearted privateersman. "Come," I
said, rallying him, "we fall in with a Frenchman, or--let us suppose--an
American: that is our object, eh?"

"Yes, with an American. That is our object, to be sure."

"Then I warrant we give a good account of ourselves. Tut, tut, man--an
ex-packet captain!"

I pulled up in sheer wonder at the lunacy of our dispute and the side he
was forcing me to take. Here was I haranguing a grey-headed veteran on
his own quarter-deck and exhorting him to valour! In a flash I saw
myself befooled, tricked into playing the patronising amateur,
complacently posturing for the derision of gods and men. And Captain
Colenso, who aimed but to be rid of me, was laughing in his sleeve, no
doubt. In a minute even Sheepshanks would catch the jest. Now, I do
mortally hate to be laughed at: it may be disciplinary for most men, but
it turns me obstinate.

Captain Colenso, at any rate, dissembled his mirth to perfection. The
look which he shifted from me to Susannah and back was eloquent of
senile indecision