“Why, Bessy, my child,” said Bramble, just as I returned on deck.  “This is Master Tom’s doing,” continued he, kissing her; “so you have come to see your father?”

“Why, you would not come on shore to see me, father,” said Bessy, as Bramble took her up and kissed her again.

“Well, Tom, have you brought the clean things?”

“No, I must go on shore again with Bessy, father.”

“Very true, so you must.”

Bessy was taken much notice of by the captain and all on board.  No wonder:  her fair skin and clear transparent red and white were in such contrast with the bilious-looking passengers that she appeared as if she was not of the same race.  She was much admired, and received many little presents; and when she left the ship, after staying on board an hour, she was much delighted with her trip, and still more so with the promise of Bramble that he would stay ashore for some time as soon as he came back from the river.  I remained with her on shore till dusk, and then, having collected the clean linen, as we were expected to sail early the next morning, I returned on board the Indiaman.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

     Showing the Importance, on board Ship, of a Rope’s End well
     applied.

The next morning, as we expected, the orders came down for the Indiaman to go round to the river.  The wind was fair, but light; we hove up and made sail, stemming the last of the ebb.  When the flood made, the wind died away, so that we made but little progress, much to the annoyance of those on board, who were naturally impatient to land after so tedious a voyage.  Toward the evening it fell calm, and a fog-bank rose on the horizon to the eastward.  There were still two hours of daylight, when, as I was sweeping the horizon with my glass, I discovered the three masts of a vessel with no sails set on them.  As she was a long way off I went half-way up the main rigging to have a better view of her, and made her out to be a large lugger.  I went down to the poop, where Bramble stood smoking a cheroot with some of the officers of the ship.  “Father,” says I, “there’s a large lugger on our beam, with her sails lowered down.  I caught her masts with the glass just now.”

“Then she’s a French privateer, you may depend upon it,” replied Bramble, “and she means to try to take us by surprise to-night.”

The officers went down and reported it to the captain:  the glasses were fixed upon her, and there was little doubt as to what she was.

“Lucky you discovered her, boy, for we might have been surprised, that’s a fact,” said the captain; “however, now she shall catch a Tartar.”

“She’s waiting for the fog, captain,” said Bramble, “which will come rolling down with the shift of wind in about an hour or two, I expect; and then we must allow her another hour to get alongside of us.  Depend upon it she has plenty of men, and intends to try to board us in the fog.”