“To be sure you did, and you might have heard me too,” replied Nancy; “and when I saw such a handsome fellow as you, didn’t I put on my bonnet in a hurry, and come after you? What ship do you belong to?”
“The Mars, at the Nore.”
“Well, I should like to go on board of a man-of-war. Will you take me?”
“To be sure I will; come, have a drink of beer.”
“Here’s to the jollies,” said Nancy, putting the pewter pot to her lips. “When do you go on board again?”
“Not till to-morrow; we’ve caught our bird, and now we’ll amuse ourselves a little. Do you belong to this place?”
“Yes, bred and born here; but we hardly ever see a man-of-war; they stay at the Nore, or go higher up.”
Nancy did all she could to make Furness believe she had taken a fancy to him, and knew too well how to succeed. Before an hour had passed, Furness had, as he thought, made every arrangement with her, and congratulated himself on his good fortune. In the mean time the beer and brandy went round; even the unfortunate captive was persuaded to drink with them, and drown reflection. At last, Furness said to Nancy, “Who was that lad that was looking out of the window with you? Was it your brother?”
“My brother! bless you, no. You mean that scamp, Peter, who goes in the bumboat with old Mother Chopper.”
“Does he?—well, I have either seen him before, or some one like him.”