With that he took the helm, and glad of it, to keep himself awake; and so held her going till daybreak.

By eight in the morning, just as the light began creeping, and Jacka was calculating his whereabouts, he lifted his eye over the weather-bow, and—­

“Hullo!” he sings out.  “What’s yonder to windward?”

The lad he’d relieved jumps up from where he’d been napping beside the bitts, and runs forward.  But, whatever he sang out, Jacka paid no attention; for by this time his own one eye had told him all he wanted to know, and a trifle more; and he clutched at the wheel for a moment like a man dazed.  Then, I believe, a sort of heavenly joy crept over his face, mixed with a sort of heavenly cunning.

“Call up the crew,” he ordered.  “I’m going to put her about.  The whole crew—­every man-Jack of them!”

By the time the men tumbled up, Jacka had his helm up, and the Van der Werf, with sheets pinned, was leaning to it and knocking up the unholiest sputter.

“All right, my lads.  Don’t stand glazing at me like stuck pigs.  Stand by to slacken sheets.  I’m going to gybe her.”

Well, they obeyed, though not a man of them could guess what he was after.  Over went the big mainsail with a jerk that must have pitched Captain Cornelisz clean out of his bunk below; for half a minute later he comes puffing and growling up the companion and wanting to know in his best Dutch if this was the end of the world, and if not, what was it?

“That’s capital,” says Jacka, “for I was just about stepping down to call you.  See that lugger, yonder?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a speck in the grey from which the Van der Werf was now running at something like nine knots an hour.

“Well?”

“I know that lugger, and we’re running away from her.”

“Pack of stuff!” says Captain Cornelisz, or Dutch to that effect.  “D’ee want to be told a dozen times that this is a licensed ship?” And he called for his flag, to hoist it.

“Oh, drop your fancy pocket-handkerchiefs, and listen to reason, that’s a dear man! O’ course I know you carry a licence; but the point is—­ the lugger don’t know. O’ course I’m running away from her, by your leave; but the point is—­she can run and reach three miles to our two.  And lastly, o’ course you’re master here, and can do what you please; but, if you’re not pressed for time, there’s money in it, and you shan’t say I didn’t give you the chance.”

Captain Cornelisz eyed Jacka for a full minute, and then a dinky little smile started in one eye and spread till it covered the whole of his wide face.

“You’re a knowing one,” said he.

“Was never considered so,” answered Jacka, very modest.

“She’s put about and after us,” said the skipper, after a long stare over his right shoulder.

“She’ll have us in less than three hours.  There’s one thing to be done, and that’s to stow me somewheres out of the way; for if anyone on board of her catches sight of me, the game’s up.  S’pose we try the lazarette, if you have such a place.  I like fresh air as a rule, but for once in a while I don’t mind bein’ squoze; and, as lazarettes go, yours ought to be nice and roomy.”