fficers began to suspect
that their lookout on Campanella had been deceived, and that what he had
supposed to be a lugger was, in truth, a felucca, or perhaps a xebec--a
craft which might well be mistaken for a lugger, at the distance of a
few leagues. The error, however, was with those in the ship. The officer
sent upon the heights was a shrewd, practised master's-mate, who knew
everything about his profession that properly came within his line, and
knew little else. But for a habit of drinking, he would long since have
been a lieutenant, being, in truth, an older sailor than Westchester;
but, satisfied of his own infirmity, and coming from a class in life in
which preferment was viewed as a Godsend rather than as a right, he had
long settled down into the belief that he was to live and die in his
present station, thereby losing most of the desire to rise. The name of
this man was Clinch. In consequence of his long experience, within the
circle of his duties, his opinion was greatly respected by his
superiors, when he was sober; and as he had the precaution not to be
otherwise when engaged on service, his weakness seldom brought him into
any serious difficulties. Cuffe, as a last hope, had sent him up on the
heights of Campanella, with a perfect conviction that, if anything were
really in sight, he would not fail to see it. All this confidence,
however, had now ended in disappointment; and, half-an-hour later, when
it was announced to Cuffe that "the cutter, with Mr. Clinch, was coming
down the bay toward them," the former even heard the name of his drunken
favorite with disgust. As was usual with him, when out of humor, he went
below as the boat drew near, leaving orders for her officer to be sent
down to him, the instant the latter got on board. Five minutes later,
Clinch thrust his hard-looking, weatherbeaten, but handsome red
countenance in at the cabin-door.

"Well, sir," commenced the captain, on a tolerably high key, "a d--d
pretty wild-goose chase you've sent us all on, down here, into this bay!
The southerly wind is failing already, and in half an hour the ships
will be frying the pitch off their decks, without a breath of air; when
the wind does come, it will come out at west, and bring us all four or
five leagues dead to leeward!"

Clinch's experience had taught him the useful man-of-war lesson, to bow
to the tempest, and not to attempt to brave it. Whenever he was
"rattled-down," as he called it, he had th