He's a rum 'un, a soldier, at the best; and this opinion proves it.

Now, sir, Captain Cuffe, just suppose a Frenchman of about our own metal took it into his head to surprise the Proserpine some dark night; what would come of it, after all?
There's the guns, and it's only to turn the hands up, to set 'em at work, just the same as if there wasn't a spy in the world.

And should they prefer to come on board us, and to try their luck at close quarters, I rather think, sir, the surprise would meet 'em face to face.
No, no, sir; spies is nothing to us--though it might teach 'em manners to keel-haul one, once-and-a-while." Cuffe now became thoughtful and silent, and even Strand did not presume to speak, when the captain was in this humor.

The latter descended to the forecastle, and walked aft, his hands behind his back, and his head inclining downward.

Every one he met made way for him, as a matter of course.