Jacques, as he hung up the hammock, explained to the sailors who
crowded round the character of the passenger who had so unexpectedly
come on board.

"Poor lad," one of the sailors said good-naturedly, "he will be some
time before he sees his mother again. He hasn't got a very bright
lookout before him--a long voyage, and then a prison. I will go and
see if the cook has got some water hot. A glass of spirits will do him
good."

A few minutes later Ralph was wrapped up in a blanket and the warm
glow produced by that and the glass of strong grog soon sufficed to
send him soundly to sleep, in spite of the painful uncertainty of his
position and of his sorrowful thought of his mother, who would in the
morning be inquiring for him in vain. It was nearly midday before he
woke. Looking round he saw that he had the forecastle to himself. His
clothes were lying on a chest close by, and in a few minutes he was on
deck. A sense of disappointment stole over him. He had, while he was
dressing, entertained the hope that on going on deck he should see an
English cruiser in pursuit; but the wind had dropped and it was still
thick, and his vision was confined to a circle a quarter of a mile in
diameter. Jacques nodded to him good-temperedly, for all on board the
privateer were in high spirits. Their voyage had begun propitiously;
the darkness of the preceding night had enabled them to ran the
gantlet of the British cruisers in the narrow part of the channel,
they were now well down the coast of France, and the fog reduced their
chances of being seen by an enemy to a minimum.

"Where about are we?" Ralph asked.