one was moving.  All was safe, the watch was all asleep forward, and Vanslyperken, leaving the cutter to steer itself, hastened aft, cast off the gripe, the boat, as he calculated, immediately turning over, and the sleeping Smallbones fell into the sea.  Vanslyperken hastened back to the helm, and put the cutter’s head right.  He heard the cry of Smallbones, but it was not loud, for the cutter had already left him astern, and it was fainter and fainter, and at last it was heard no more, and not one of the watch had been disturbed.

“If ever you haunt me again,” muttered Vanslyperken, “may I be hanged.”

We particularly call the reader’s attention to these words of Mr Vanslyperken.

The man returned with the brandy-and-water, with which Vanslyperken drank bon voyage to poor Smallbones.  He then ordered the cutter to be put about, and as soon as she was round, he went down into his cabin and turned in with greater satisfaction than he had for a long time.

“We shall have got rid of him at last, my poor dog,” said he, patting Snarleyyow’s head.  “Your enemy is gone for ever.”

And Mr Vanslyperken slept soundly, because, although he had committed a murder, there was no chance of his being found out.  We soon get accustomed to crime:  before, he started at the idea of murder; now, all that he cared for was detection.

“Good-night to you, Mr Vanslyperken.”

Chapter XLIII

In which Smallbones changes from a king’s man into a smuggler, and also changes his sex.

If we adhered to the usual plans of historical novel writers, we should, in this instance, leave Smallbones to what must appear to have been his inevitable fate, and then bring him on the stage again with a coup de theatre, when least expected by the reader.  But that is not our intention; we consider that the interest of this our narration of bygone events is quite sufficient, without condescending to what is called claptrap; and there are so many people in our narrative continually labouring under deception of one kind or another, that we need not add to it by attempting to mystify our readers; who, on the contrary, we shall take with us familiarly by the hand, and, like a faithful historian, lead them through the events in the order in which they occurred, and point out to them how they all lead to one common end.  With this intention in view, we shall now follow the fortunes of Smallbones, whom we left floundering in about seven fathoms water.

The weather was warm, even sultry, as we said before; but notwithstanding which, and notwithstanding he was a very tolerable swimmer, considering that he was so thin, Smallbones did not like it.  To be awoke out of a profound sleep, and all of a sudden to find yourself floundering out of your depth about half a mile from the nearest land, is anything but agreeable; the transition is too rapid.  Smallbones