The officer sent upon the heights was a shrewd, practised master's-mate, who knew everything about his profession that properly came within his line, and knew little else.

But for a habit of drinking, he would long since have been a lieutenant, being, in truth, an older sailor than Westchester; but, satisfied of his own infirmity, and coming from a class in life in which preferment was viewed as a Godsend rather than as a right, he had long settled down into the belief that he was to live and die in his present station, thereby losing most of the desire to rise.

The name of this man was Clinch.

In consequence of his long experience, within the circle of his duties, his opinion was greatly respected by his superiors, when he was sober; and as he had the precaution not to be otherwise when engaged on service, his weakness seldom brought him into any serious difficulties.

Cuffe, as a last hope, had sent him up on the heights of Campanella, with a perfect conviction that, if anything were really in sight, he would not fail to see it.