This said, Spike tumbled into his boat, and was pulled ashore.  As for Mulford, though he cast many an anxious glance toward the islet, he obeyed his orders, keeping the brig standing off and on, under easy canvas, but working her up toward the indicated passage.

Spike was met by Jack Tier on the beach of the little island.

“Muster the women at once,” ordered the captain, “we have no time to lose, for that fellow will soon be firing broad-sides, and his shot now range half a mile beyond us.”

“You’ll no more move the widow and her maid, than you’ll move the island,” answered Jack, laconically.

“Why should I not move them?  Do they wish to stay here and starve?”

“It’s little that they think of that.  The sloop-of-war no sooner begun to fire than down went Mrs. Budd on the canvas floor of the tent, and set up just such a screaming as you may remember she tried her hand at the night the revenue craft fired into us.  Biddy lay down alongside of her mistress, and at every gun, they just scream as loud as they can, as if they fancied they might frighten off Uncle Sam’s men from their duty.”

“Duty!—­You little scamp, do you call tormenting honest traders in this fashion the duty of any man?”

“Well, captain, I’m no ways partic’lar about a word or two.  Their `ways,’ if you like that better than duty, sir.”

“Where’s Rose?  Is she down too, screaming and squalling?”

“No, Captain Spike, no.  Miss Rose is endeavouring, like a handsome young Christian lady as she is, to pacify and mollify her aunt and Biddy; and right down sensible talk does she give them.”

“Then she at least can go aboard the brig,” exclaimed Spike, with a sudden animation, and an expression of countenance that Jack did not at all like.

“I ray-y-ther think she’ll wish to hold on to the old lady,” observed the steward’s-mate, a little emphatically.

“You be d—­d,” cried Spike, fiercely; “when your opinion is wanted, I’ll ask for it.  If I find you’ve been setting that young woman’s mind ag’in me, I’ll toss you overboard, as I would the offals of a shark.”

“Young women’s minds, when they are only nineteen, get set ag’in boys of fifty-six without much assistance.”

“Fifty-six yourself.”

“I’m fifty-three—­that I’ll own without making faces at it,” returned Jack, meekly; “and, Stephen Spike, you logged fifty-six your last birthday, or a false entry was made.”

This conversation did not take place in the presence of the boat’s crew, but as the two walked together toward the tent.  They were now in the verandah, as we have called the shaded opening in front, and actually within sound of the sweet voice of Rose, as she exhorted her aunt, in tones a little louder than usual for her to use, to manifest more fortitude.  Under such circumstances Spike did not deem it expedient to utter that which was uppermost in his mind, but,