He ought to be called the sailing-master, for, although he goes on shore
in France, off the English coast he never quits the vessel. When they
leave her with the goods, he remains on board; he is always to be found
off any part of the coast where he may be ordered; holding his position
in defiance of gales, and tides, and fogs: as for the revenue-vessels,
they all know him well enough, but they cannot touch a vessel in
ballast, if she has no more men on board than allowed by her tonnage. He
knows every creek, and hole, and corner, of the coast; how the tide runs
in--tide, half-tide, eddy, or current. That is his value. His name is
Morrison.
You observe that Jack Pickersgill has two excellent supporters in
Corbett and Morrison; his other men are good seamen, active, and
obedient, which is all that he requires. I shall not particularly
introduce them.
"Now you may call for another _litre_, my lads, and that must be the
last; the tide is flowing fast, and we shall be afloat in half an hour,
and we have just the breeze we want. What d'ye think, Morrison, shall we
have dirt?"
"I've been looking just now, and if it were any other month in the year
I should say, yes; but there's no trusting April, captain. Howsomever,
if it does blow off, I'll promise you a fog in three hours afterwards."
"That will do as well. Corbett, have you settled with Duval?"
"Yes, after more noise and _charivari_ than a panic in the Stock
Exchange would make in England. He fought and squabbled for an hour, and
I found that, without some abatement, I never should have settled the
affair.
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