“Where did you pass the night, Clinch?” demanded the captain, after they had discussed the probability of the lugger’s escape.  “Not on the heights, under the canopy of heaven?”

“On the heights, and under the great canopy that has covered us both so often, Captain Cuffe; but with a good Neapolitan mud-roof between it and my head.  As soon as it was dark, and I saw that the ship was off, I found a village, named St. Agata, that stands on the heights, just abeam of those rocks they call the Sirens, and there we were well berthed until morning.”

“You are lucky in bringing back all the boat’s crew, Clinch.  You know it’s low water with us as to men, just now; and our fellows are not all to be trusted ashore, in a country that is full of stone walls, good wine, and pretty girls.”

“I always take a set of regular steady ones with me, Captain Cuffe; I haven’t lost a man from a boat these five years.”

“You must have some secret, then, worth knowing; for even the admirals sometimes lose their barge-men.  I dare say, now, yours are all married chaps, that hold on to their wives as so many sheet-anchors; they say that is often a good expedient.”

“Not at all, sir.  I did try that, till I found that half the fellows would run to get rid of their wives.  The Portsmouth and Plymouth marriages don’t always bring large estates with them, sir, and the bridegrooms like to cut adrift at the end of the honeymoon.  Don’t you remember when we were in the Blenheim together, sir, we lost eleven of the launch’s crew at one time; and nine of them turned out to be vagabonds, sir, that deserted their weeping wives and suffering families at home!”

“Now you mention it, I do remember something of the sort; draw a chair, Clinch, and take a glass of grog.  Tim, put a bottle of Jamaica before Mr. Clinch, I have heard it said that you are married yourself, my gallant master’s mate?”

“Lord, Captain Cuffe, that’s one of the young gentlemen’s stories!  If a body believed all they say, the Christian religion would soon get athwart-hawse, and mankind be all adrift in their morals,” answered Clinch, smacking his lips, after a very grateful draught.  “We’ve a regular set of high-flyers aboard this ship, at this blessed minute, Captain Cuffe, sir, and Mr. Winchester has his hands full of them.  I often wonder at his patience, sir.”

“We were young once ourselves, Clinch, and ought to be indulgent to the follies of youth.  But what sort of a berth did you find last night upon the rocks yonder?”

“Why, sir, as good as one can expect out of Old England.  I fell in with an elderly woman calling herself Giuntotardi—­which is regular built Italian, isn’t it, sir?”

“That it is—­but, you speak the language, I believe, Clinch?”

“Why, sir, I’ve been drifting about the world so long, that I speak a little of everything, finding it convenient when I stand in need of victuals and drink.  The old lady on the hill and I overhauled a famous yarn between us, sir.  It seems she has a niece and a brother at Naples, who ought to have been back night before last; and she was in lots of tribulation about them, wanting to know if our ship had seen anything of the rovers.”