Jack returned to Wynport in a carrier's cart. He went down at once to the harbor, and was rowed to the Fury, which lay at her moorings, just inside the bar. A stout old mariner was leaning over the side, smoking a big pipe. One of his eyes was considerably larger than the other; a big and very bulbous nose seemed to occupy the greater part of his face; and a long black curl hung in a graceful curve over his right brow. Guessing instinctively that this could be none other than Ben Babbage, Gumley's friend, and bo'sun of the cutter, Jack hailed him.
"Fury ahoy!"
"Ay, ay, sir. Morning, sir, morning, leastways good arternoon, seeing as how we've just took in our cargo of dinner. Glad to see you, sir. Mr. Blake he said we was to get under way the very minute you came aboard."
Jack swung himself up, flung a coin to the boatman, and turned to the old sailor.
"Where's Mr. Blake?"
"Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up with rheumatics. You're in command, sir, pro tem, as brother Sol used to say."
"Very well; heave the anchor, and run up the mainsail. You're the bo'sun, eh?"
"Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir; that's my brother, and a much better chap nor me, though, so far. Ben Babbage my name, sir."
"Well, Babbage, clear the harbor. I'll go and see Mr. Blake and get her course. You can call me when you've fairly crossed the bar."
"Ay, ay, sir."