As Martin had no clothes except those on his back, which fortunately happened to be new and good, Barney gave him a couple of blue striped shirts, and made him a jacket, pantaloons, and slippers of canvas; and, what was of much greater importance, taught him how to make and mend the same for himself.

“Ye see, Martin, lad,” he said, while thus employed one day, many weeks after leaving port, “it’s a great thing, intirely, to be able to help yerself.  For my part, I niver travel without my work-box in my pocket.”

“Your work-box!” said Martin, laughing.

“Jist so.  An’ it consists of wan sail-maker’s needle, a ball o’ twine, and a clasp-knife.  Set me down with these before a roll o’ canvas and I’ll make you a’most anything.”

“You seem to have a turn for everything, Barney,” said Martin.  “How came you to be a cook?”

“That’s more nor I can tell ye, lad.  As far as I remimber, I began with murphies, when I was two feet high, in my father’s cabin in ould Ireland.  But that was on my own account intirely, and not as a purfession; and a sorrowful time I had of it, too, for I was for iver burnin’ my fingers promiskiously, and fallin’ into the fire ivery day more or less—­”

“Stand by to hoist top-gallant-sails,” shouted the captain.  “How’s her head?”

“South and by east, sir,” answered the man at the wheel.

“Keep her away two points.  Look alive lads.  Hand me the glass, Martin.”

The ship was close hauled when these abrupt orders were given, battling in the teeth of a stiff breeze, off the coast of South America.  About this time, several piratical vessels had succeeded in cutting off a number of merchantmen near the coast of Brazil.  They had not only taken the valuable parts of their cargoes, but had murdered the crews under circumstances of great cruelty; and ships trading to these regions were, consequently, exceedingly careful to avoid all suspicious craft as much as possible.  It was, therefore, with some anxiety that the men watched the captain’s face as he examined the strange sail through the telescope.

“A Spanish schooner,” muttered the captain, as he shut up the glass with a bang.  “I won’t trust her.  Up with the royals and rig out stun’-sails, Mr. Wilson, (to the mate).  Let her fall away, keep her head nor’-west, d’ye hear?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Let go the lee braces and square the yards.  Look sharp, now, lads.  If that blackguard gets hold of us ye’ll have to walk the plank, every man of ye.”

In a few minutes the ship’s course was completely altered; a cloud of canvas spread out from the yards, and the Firefly bounded on her course like a fresh race-horse.  But it soon became evident that the heavy barque was no match for the schooner, which crowded sail and bore down at a rate that bade fair to overhaul them in a few hours.  The chase continued till evening, when suddenly the look-out at the mast-head shouted, “Land, ho!”