in search of him, the Spunk went after her, and, as luck would have it, met her just inside of the treaty line.  The Spunk pretended to be shying—­put on the rags as if he was going to try legs with the Devastation.  Crowdin’ steam like all Jehu, down the Devastation came, as if she were going to smash the Spunk, and blow her to Daniel’s dungeon.  Bang! whang! boomed a gun or two, but seem’ how ther’ warn’t no iron fallin’ about, Pluck reckoned he’d keep her to it a time longer, knowin’ in his soul that every mile further he got the Devastation away from the Starlight, so much the better for Splitwater and the mackerel.  It warn’t long, afore whir! ziz! ziz! came somethin’ what made a mighty splashin’, and looked savagarous, square across her stern sheets.  Pluck reckoned how the Britisher had got his dander up, and about cleverest thing would be to round to, seem’ how the feller was wastin’ his shot, and sendin’ things what might save a body the trouble of puttin’ on a night-cap about bedtime.  ‘Now,’ said Pluck, ’the Devastation feels kind a out o’ sorts, and ’ll just knock the Spunk into an apple dumplin’;’ but she didn’t!  Well, the skipper and his dandy officers came on board, looking all so shined up, and vented their indignant feelins’ by takin’ it all out in a shower of cussin’ that would ’a made yer hair stand on end straight.  In a few minutes more, a feller in a monkey jacket, a brass button on his hat, and otherwise officially costumed, put on the dignity of the quarter-deck, and out-talked the skipper.  ’Now, why the devil didn’t you come to when you saw our signal?’ says he, with a face of daggers, and looking at Pluck as if he was goin’ to spring the main-mast with his teeth.  ’Hand up yer papers here—­quick, bear a hand!  Take off yer hatches, too; you’ve been fishing inside of the line,’ he grumbled out, as quickly as you’d overhaul a chain cable.  Pluck bore it like a philosopher, cool and quietly.  ’No we hain’t nether, stranger; hain’t hooked a fish for two days.  Can’t ’commodate us with a sup of fresh water, can ye?  Wanted to get a chance at the shore, but ain’t had one for more nor three weeks; true! by Christopher Columbus,’ rejoined Uncle Pluck, puttin’ on the most innocent face ye ever did see.

“‘We’ll talk about that by-and-by,’ says the Britisher.  ’If you’d a cum to, like a man, as you should, and not given us this long chase after you, you might have had some claim to our generosity.  We are only carrying out Her Majesty’s orders for the benefit of the Colonial fisheries.’

“’Lord love yer soul, stranger! had I but known that, ye wouldn’t a seen this salt-water citizen about these diggings.  Pluck had been hum, helping Cousin Gethro to keep school—­would!’

“’Never mind that.  We don’t want yer Yankee soft sauder!  Bear a hand, get your hatches off, and your papers up!’

“’Ye hain’t seen Uncle Caleb’s craft—­her name’s the Winking Weazel—­as ye come from down north, have ye?’ inquires Pluck, giving the mate a side wink.