the watch; he is familiar with the bay. Tell him to
take in the royal and the fore and mizzen topgallantsails if it blows
heavily," he continued, after a pause, and then, bowing, he left the
deck.

[1] The cat-o'-nine-tails, used for punishment by flogging.

CHAPTER XII

_An Important Commission_

Meanwhile, interesting conversations were going on forward, of which
this is a sample.

"I 'm blest if I like this orderin' business," said one grizzled
seaman; "they said he was h--l on orders, but what I shipped for was
prize money and a chance to get a lick at them bloody Britishers; not
for to clean brass work, an' scrape spars, an' flemish down, an'
holy-stone decks, which he won't let us spit terbacker on. I don't
call this no fighting fur liberty, not by a durn sight."

"Shut up, Bill," replied another; "you've got to obey orders. This
yere ain't no old tea wagon, no fishing-boat, you old scowbanker, it's
a wessel-o'-war; and may I never see Nantucket again if the old man,"
using a merchantman's expression, "ain't goin' to be captain of the old
hooker while he's in it. And if you call this hard work and growl at
this kind o' dissyplin'--well, all I got ter say, you'd oughter been on
the old Radnor. Curse the British devils!" he cried, grinding his heel
in the deck. "I 'd give twenty years of my life to be alongside her in
a ship half her size; yes, even in this one, and I tell ye yon 's the
man to put her there, if he gets a chance. Ain't that so, mates?"

"Ay, ay, Jack, 'tis true," came a deep-toned chorus of approval.

"Besides," went on the forecastle orator, "we all know'd wot kind of a
officer he is. Fightin' and prize money is wot we all want; and here
's where we 'll git it, you 'll see, eh, mates?"

"Ay, ay; Jack's right, Bill."

"Then blow the dissyplin', say I; I'll take orders from a man wot ain't
afraid o' nothin', wot hates the red rag we knows of, wot won't send me
where he won't go himself. Fightin' and prize money, he 's our man.
Besides, wot's the use o' kickin', we got to do it; we're bound by them
articles of war we signed," continued this deep-sea philosopher. "Now,
pass me my can o' grog, Tom, I 'm dry as a cod. Here 's to America,
and damn the British, too," continued this sea lawyer, drinking his
toast amid shouts of approval from the men.

Left to himself, Seymour, after the men had received their grog, and
other necessary duties had been attended to, turned the