After dinner, Spike took his siesta.  He slept in a little state-room that stood on the starboard side of the quarter-deck, quite aft; as Mulford did in one on the larboard.  These two state-rooms were fixtures; but a light deck overhead, which connected them, shipped and unshipped, forming a shelter for the man at the wheel, when in its place, as well as for the officer of the watch, should he see fit to use it, in bad weather.  This sort of cuddy, Spike termed his “coach-house.”

The captain had no sooner gone into his state-room, and closed its window, movements that were understood by Mulford, than the latter took occasion to intimate to Rose, by means of Jack Tier, the state of things on deck, when the young man was favoured with the young lady’s company.

“He has turned in for his afternoon’s nap, and will sleep for just one hour, blow high, or blow low,” said the mate, placing himself at Rose’s side on the trunk, which formed the usual seat for those who could presume to take the liberty of sitting down on the quarter-deck.  “It’s a habit with him, and we can count on it, with perfect security.”

“His doing so, now, is a sign that he has no immediate fears of the revenue steamer?”

“The coast is quite clear of her.  We have taken good looks at every smoke, but can see nothing that appears like our late companion.  She has doubtless gone to the eastward, on duty, and merely chased us, on her road.”

“But why should she chase us, at all?”

“Because we ran.  Let a dog run, or a man run, or a cat run, ten to one but something starts in chase.  It is human nature, I believe, to give chase; though I will admit there was something suspicious about that steamer’s movements—­her anchoring off the Fort, for instance.  But let her go, for the present; are you getting things right, and to your mind, below decks?”

“Very much so.  The cabin is small, and the two state-rooms the merest drawers that ever were used, but, by putting everything in its place, we have made sufficient room, and no doubt shall be comfortable.”

“I am sorry you did not call on me for assistance.  The mate has a prescriptive right to help stow away.”

“We made out without your services,” returned Rose, slightly blushing—­“Jack Tier, as he is called, Josh’s assistant, is a very useful person, and has been our adviser and manager.  I want no better for such services.”

“He is a queer fellow, all round.  Take him altogether, I hardly ever saw so droll a being!  As thick as he’s long, with a waddle like a duck, a voice that is cracked, hair like bristles, and knee high; the man might make a fortune as a show.  Tom Thumb is scarcely a greater curiosity.”

“He is singular in `build,’ as you call it,” returned Rose, laughing, “but, I can assure you that he is a most excellent fellow in his way—­worth a dozen of Josh.  Do you know, Harry, that I suspect he has strong feelings towards Captain Spike; though whether of like or dislike, friendship or enmity, I am at a loss to say.”