My father flung up both hands.  “Oh!  So Adam honoured his father and his mother?”

“Belike,” suggested Billy Priske, scratching his head, “Eve was expecting, and he invented it to keep her spirits up.”

“I assure you, sir,” Mr. Badcock protested with dignity, “Dr. South was the most admired preacher of his day.  Her late Majesty offered him the Deanery of Westminster.”

“I could have found a better preferment for him, then; that of Select Preacher to the Marines.”

“If you will have patience, sir—­”

“Prosper, how near is the leading boat?”

“A good mile away, sir, as yet.”

“Then I will have patience, Mr. Badcock.”

“The Doctor, sir, proceeds to make some observations on Love, with which you will find yourself able to agree.  Love, he says—­

    “’is the great instrument and engine of Nature, the bond and
      cement of society; the spring and spirit of the universe. . . . 
      Now this affection in the state of innocence was happily
      pitched upon its right object—­’”

“‘Happily,’ did you say?  ‘Happily’?  Why, good heavens, sir! how many women had Adam to go gallivanting after?  Enough, enough, gentleman!  To your guns! and in the strength of a faith which must be strong indeed, to have survived its expositors!”

By this time, through our glasses, we could discern the faces of the pirates, who, crowded in the bows and stern-sheets of the two leading boats, weighted them almost to the water’s edge.  The third had dropped, maybe half a mile behind in the race, but these two came on, stroke for stroke, almost level—­each measuring, at a guess, some sixteen feet, and manned by eight rowers.  They bore down straight for our stern, until within a hundred yards; then separated, with the evident intention of boarding us upon either quarter.  At fifty yards the musketeers in their bows opened fire, while my father whistled to old Worthyvale, who, during Dr. South’s sermon, had been bringing the points of half a dozen handspikes to a red heat in the galley fire.  The two seamen, Nat and I, retorted with a volley, and Nat had the satisfaction to drop the steersman of the boat making towards our starboard quarter.  Unluckily, as it seemed—­for this was the boat on which my father was training our 3-pounder—­this threw her into momentary confusion at a range at which he would not risk firing, and allowed her mate to run in first and close with us.  The confusion, however, lasted but ten seconds at the most; a second steersman stepped to the helm; and the boat came up with a rush and grated alongside, less than half a minute behind her consort.