ran through the ship. It was followed by another cry of "Heave out a rope!" then by still another of "Cut away the life-buoy!" Then came the order: "Lower a boat!” Notwithstanding the rapidity of these commands, and the confusion occasioned by the anticipated loss of a man, they were rapidly obeyed. The ship was then hove to; but the cause of all this excitement was already a considerable distance from the ship. It was a poor Swede, named Logholm, who, while engaged in lashing the larboard anchor stock, lost his hold, and fell into the sea. He could not swim, but somehow he managed to keep afloat until the boat reached him, when he began to sink. The man at the bow ran his boat-hook down, and caught the drowning man by his clothes; these, however, tearing, he lost his hold, and the unfortunate Swede sunk once more. Again the active bowsman ran the hook down, leaning far over the side, and he now luckily got hold of his shirt-collar. Dripping and apparently lifeless, they drew him into the boat. He was soon under the care of the surgeon, who restored him to animation. It was a narrow escape. We now reached the island of Madeira, and thence crossed the Atlantic to the coast of Virginia. About this time the prevailing topic of conversation among our men and officers was the probability of a war with America, and a feeling of our own success was confidently entertained. As yet, however, there were no hostilities, and our vessel returned, first to Lisbon and then to England. For some time. we lay at Plymouth, where the vessel was repaired and newly painted. After these and other preparations for another cruise were completed, the hoarse voice of the boatswain rang through the ship, crying: "All hands up anchor, ahoy!" In an instant the capstan bars were shipped, the fifer was at his station playing a lively tune, the boys were on the main-deck holding on to the "nippers," ready to pass them to the men, who put them round the "messenger" and cable; then, amid the cries of "Walk round! heave away, my lads!" accompanied by the shrill music of the fife, the anchor rose from its bed, and was soon dangling under our bows. The sails were then shaken out, the ship brought before the wind, and we were once more on our way to sea. We e were directed to cruise off the coast of France this time; where, as we were then at war with the French, we were likely to find active service. We first made the French port of Rochelle; from thence we sailed to Brest, which was closely blockaded by a large British fleet, consisting of one three-decker, with several seventyfours, besides frigates and small-craft. We joined this fleet, and came to an anchor in Basque Roads, to assist in the blockade. Our first object was to bring a large French fleet, greatly superior to us in size and numbers, to an engagement. With all our manoeuvring, we could not succeed in enticing them from their snug berth in the harbour of Brest, where they were safely moored, defended by a heavy fort, and by a chain crossing the harbour, to prevent the ingress of any force that might be bold enough to attempt to cut them out. Sometimes we sent a frigate or two as near their fort as they dared to venture, in order to entice them out; at other times the whole fleet would get under-weigh, and stand out to sea; but without success. The Frenchmen were either afraid we had a larger armament than was visible to them, or they had not forgotten the splendid victories of Nelson at the Nile and Trafalgar. Whatever they thought, they kept their ships beyond the reach of our guns. Sometimes, however, their frigates would creep outside the fort, when we gave them chase, but seldom went beyond the exchange of a few harmless shots. This was what our men called "boy's play;" and they were heartily glad when we were ordered to return to Plymouth. After just looking into Plymouth harbour, our orders were countermanded, and we returned to the coast of France. Having accomplished about one-half the distance, the man at the mast-head cried out: "Sail, ho!" "Where away?" (what direction ?) responded the officer of the deck. The man having replied, the officer again asked: "What does she look like?" "She looks small; I cannot tell, sir." In a few minutes the officer hailed again, by shouting "Mast-head there! what does she look like?" "She looks like a small sail-boat, sir." This was rather a novel announcement; for what could a small sail-boat do out on the wide ocean? But a few minutes convinced us that it was even so; for from the deck we could see a small boat with only a man and a boy on board. They proved to be two French prisoners of war who had escaped from an English prison, and, having stolen a small boat, were endeavouring to make this perilous voyage to their native home. Poor fellows! they looked sadly disappointed at finding themselves once more in British hands. They had already been in prison for some time; they were now doomed to go with us in sight of their own sunny France, and then be torn away again, carried to England, and imprisoned until the close of the war. No wonder they looked sorrowful, when, after having hazarded life for home and liberty, they found both snatched from them in a moment by their unlucky rencontre with our frigate. I am sure we should all have been glad to have missed them. But this is only one of the consequences of war. CHAPTER III. CAPTURED BY AN AMERICAN VESSEL- HAVING joined the blockading fleet again, we led the same sort of life as before; now at anchor, then giving chase; now standing inshore, and anon standing out to sea; firing, and being fired at, without once coming into action. Determined to accomplish some exploit or other, our captain ordered an attempt to be made at cutting out some of the French smallcraft that lay inshore. We were accustomed to send out our barges almost every night in search of whatever prey they might capture ; but on this occasion the preparations were more formidable than usual. The oars were muffled, the boat's crew increased, and every man was armed to the teeth. The cots were got ready on board, in case any of the adventurers should return wounded. Cots are used to sleep in by ward-room officers and captains-midshipmen and sailors using hammocks. But a number of cots are always kept in a vessel of war for the benefit of wounded men; they differ from a hammock in being square at the bottom, and consequently more easy. Notwithstanding these expressive preparations, the brave fellows went |