Tier gave an account of his proceedings, which could have no interest with the reader.  His narrative was anything but very clear, and it was delivered in a cracked, octave sort of a voice, such as little dapper people not unfrequently enjoy—­tones between those of a man and a boy.  The substance of the whole story was this.  Tier had been left ashore, as sometimes happens to sailors, and, by necessary connection, was left to shift for himself.  After making some vain endeavours to rejoin his brig, he had shipped in one vessel after another, until he accidentally found himself in the port of New York, at the same time as the Swash.  He know’d he never should be truly happy ag’in until he could once more get aboard the old hussy, and had hurried up to the wharf, where he understood the brig was lying.  As he came in sight, he saw she was about to cast off, and, dropping his clothes-bag, he had made the best of his way to the wharf, where the conversation passed that has been related.

“The gentleman on the wharf was about to take boat, to go through the Gate,” concluded Tier, “and so I begs a passage of him.  He was good-natured enough to wait until I could find my bag, and as soon a’terwards as the men could get their grog we shoved off.  The Molly was just getting in behind Blackwell’s as we left the wharf, and, having four good oars, and the shortest road, we come out into the Gate just ahead on you.  My eye! what a place that is to go through in a boat, and on a strong flood!  The gentleman, who watched the brig as a cat watches a mouse, says you struck on the Pot, as he called it, but I says `no,’ for the Molly Swash was never know’d to hit rock or shoal in my time aboard her.”

“And where did you quit that gentleman, and what has become of him?” asked Spike.

“He put me ashore on that point above us, where I see’d a nigger with his skiff, who I thought would be willin’ to ’arn his quarter by giving me a cast alongside.  So here I am, and a long pull I’ve had to get here.”

As this was said, Jack removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief, which, if it had never seen better days, had doubtless been cleaner.  After this, he looked about him, with an air not entirely free from exultation.

This conversation had taken place in the gangway, a somewhat public place, and Spike beckoned to his recruit to walk aft, where he might be questioned without being overheard.

“What became of the gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demanded Spike.

“He pulled ahead, seeming to be in a hurry.”

“Do you know who he was?”

“Not a bit of it.  I never saw the man before, and he did n’t tell me his business, sir.”

“Had he anything like a silver oar about him.”

“I saw nothing of the sort, Capt.  Spike, and knows nothing consarning him.”

“What sort of a boat was he in, and where did he get it?”

“Well, as to the boat, sir, I can say a word, seein’ it was so much to my mind, and pulled so wonderful smart.  It was a light ship’s yawl, with four oars, and came round the Hook just a’ter you had got the brig’s head round to the eastward.  You must have seen it, I should think, though it kept close in with the wharves, as if it wished to be snug.”