Captain Pomery promptly checked our rejoicing, telling us this was about the worst that could happen.  “We shall carry this wind for another ten minutes at the most,” he assured us.  “And these devils have boats.”

So it proved.  Within ten minutes our booms were swinging uselessly; the sea spread calm for miles around us; and we saw no fewer than three boats being lowered from the xebec, now about four miles away.

“There is nothing but to wait for ’em,” said my father, seating himself on deck with his musket across his knees.  “Mr. Badcock!”

“Sir?”

“To-day is Sunday.”

“It is, sir.  Six days shalt thou labour and do all thou hast to do, but on the Seventh day (if you’ll excuse me) there’s a different kind of feeling in the air.  At home, sir, I have observed that even the rooks count on it.”

“You have a fine voice, Mr. Badcock, and have been, as I gather, an attentive hearer of sermons.”

“I may claim that merit, sir.”

“If you can remember one sufficiently well to rehearse it to us, I feel that it would do us all good.”

Mr. Badcock coughed.  “Oh, sir,” he protested, “I couldn’t!  I reelly couldn’t.  You’ll excuse me, but I hold very strong opinions on unlicensed preaching.”  He hesitated; then suddenly his brow cleared.  “But I can read you one, sir. Reading one is altogether another matter.”

“You have a book of sermons on board?”

“Before starting, sir, happening to cast my eye over the book-case in the bedroom . . . a volume of Dr. South’s, sir, if you’ll excuse my liberty in borrowing it.”

He ran and fetched the volume, while we disposed ourselves to listen.

“Where shall I begin, sir?”

“Wherever you please.  The book belongs to my brother Gervase.  For myself I have not even a bowing acquaintance with the good Doctor.”

“The first sermon, sir, is upon Human Perfection.”

“It should have been the last, surely?”

“Not so, sir; for it starts with Adam in the Garden of Eden.”

“Let us hear, then.”

Mr. Badcock cleared his throat and read: 

     “The image of God in man is that universal rectitude of all the
      faculties of the soul, by which they stand apt and disposed to
      their respective offices and operations.”

“Hold a moment,” interrupted my father, whose habit of commenting aloud in church had often disconcerted Mr. Grylls.  “Are you quite sure, Mr. Badcock, that we are not starting with the Doctor’s peroration?”

“This is the first page, sir.”

“Then the Doctor himself began at the wrong end.  Prosper, will you take a look astern and report me how many boats are coming?”

“Three, sir,” said I.  “The third has just pushed off from the ship.”

“Thank you.  Proceed, Mr. Badcock.”