and got his eyes full of the dust.
"O, Lord! O, Lord! I see um now; I guess you wont catch dis child that way agin."
"Well, well, Cuffy! we must all learn by experience."
"Gorry, massa, guess I wont try de hot water!"
"Well, I wouldn't, Cuff. Now hurry up the pork – you've learnt something this morning."
Such was the spirit of the Raker's crew, as they once more stretched out upon the broad ocean. It was their third privateering trip, and they felt confident of success, as they had been unusually fortunate in their previous trips. The crew consisted of but twenty men, but all were brave and powerful fellows, and all actuated by a true love of country, as well as prompted by a desire for gain. A long thirty-two lay amidships, carefully covered with canvas, which also concealed a formidable pile of balls. Altogether, the Raker, though evidently built entirely for speed, seemed also a vessel well able to enter into an engagement with any vessel of its size and complement.
As the middle day approached the clouds arose and scudded away to leeward like great flocks of wild geese, and the bright sun once more shone upon the waters, seeming to hang a string of pearls about the dark crest of each subsiding wave. All sail was set aboard the Raker, which stretched out toward mid ocean, with the stars and stripes flying at her peak, the free ocean beneath, and her band of gallant hearts upon her decks, ready for the battle or the breeze.
CHAPTER II
Two weeks later than the period at which we left the Raker, a handsome merchant vessel, with all sail set, was gliding down the English channel, bound for the East Indies. The gentle breeze of a lovely autumnal morning scarcely sufficed to fill the sails, and the vessel made but little progress till outside the Lizard, when a freer wind struck it, and it swept oceanward with a gallant pace, dashing aside the waters, and careering gracefully as a swan upon the wave. Its armament was of little weight, and it seemed evident that its voyage, as far as any design of the owners was concerned, was to be a peaceful one. England at that time had become the undisputed mistress of the ocean; and even the few splendid victories obtained by the gallant little American navy, had failed as yet to inspire in the bosoms of her sailors, any feeling like that of fear or of caution; and Captain Horton, of the merchantman Betsy Allen, smoked his pipe, and drank his glass as unconcernedly as if there were no such thing as an American privateer upon the ocean.
The passengers in the vessel, which was a small brig of not more than a hundred and forty tons, were an honest merchant of London, Thomas Williams by name, and his daughter, a lovely girl of seventeen. Mr. Williams had failed in business, but through the influence of friends had obtained an appointment from the East India Company, and was now on his way to take his station. He was a blunt and somewhat unpolished man, but kind in heart as he was frank in speech.
Julia Williams was a fair specimen of English beauty; she was tall, yet so well developed, that she did not appear slight or angular, and withal so gracefully rounded was every limb, that any less degree of fullness would have detracted from her beauty. She was full of ardor and enterprise, not easily appalled by danger, and properly confident in her own resources, yet there was no unfeminine expression of boldness in her countenance, for nothing could be softer, purer, or more delicate, than the outlines of her charming features. There were times when, roused by intense emotion, she seemed queen-like in her haughty step and majestic beauty, yet in her calmer mind, her retiring and modest demeanor partook more of a womanly dependence than of the severity of command.
Julia was seated on the deck beside her father, in the grateful shade of the main-mast, gazing upon the green shores which they had just passed, now fast fading in the distance, while the chalky cliffs which circle the whole coast of England, began to stand out in bold relief upon the shore.
"Good-bye to dear England, father!" said the beautiful girl; "shall we ever see it again?"
"You may, dear Julia, probably I never shall."
"Well, let us hope that we may."
"Yes, we will hope, it will be a proud day for me, if it ever come, when I go back to London and pay my creditors every cent I owe them, when no man shall have reason to curse me for the injury I have done him, however unintentional."
"No man will do so now, dear father, no one but knows you did all you could to avert the calamity, and when it came, surrendered all your property to meet the demands of your creditors. You did all that an honest man should do, father; and you can have no reason to reproach yourself."
"True, girl, true! I do not; yet I hate to think that I, whose name was once as good as the bank, should now owe, when I cannot pay – that's all; a bad feeling, but a few years in India may make all right again."
"O, yes! but, father, it is time for you to take your morning glass. You know you wont feel well if you forget it."
"Never fear my forgetting that; my stomach always tell me, and I know by that when it is 11 o'clock, A.M., as well as by my time-piece."
"Well, John, bring Mr. Williams his morning glass."
Julia spoke to their servant, a worthy, clever fellow, who had long lived in their family, and would not leave it now. He had never been upon the ocean before, and already began to be sea-sick. He however managed to reach the cabin-door, and after a long time returned with the glass, which he got to his master's hand, spilling half its contents on the way.
"There, master, I haint been drinking none on't, but this plaguey ship is so dommed uneasy, I can't walk steady, and I feels very sick, I does; I think I be's going to die."
"You are only a little sea-sick, John."
"Not so dommed little, either."
"You are not yet used to your new situation, John; in a few days you'll be quite a sailor."
"Will I though? Well, the way I feels now, I'd just as lief die as not – oh! – ugh" – and John rushed to the gunwale.
"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your cargo overboard. You'll sail better if you lighten ship."
"Dom this ere sailing – ugh – I will die."
Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the galley, and closed his eyes with a heroic determination.
Such an event, as might be expected, was a great joke to the crew – a land-lubber at sea being with sailors always a fair butt, and poor John's misery was aggravated by their, as it seemed to him, unfeeling remarks, yet he was so far gone that he could only faintly "dom them." His master, who knew that he would soon be well, made no attempt to relieve him; and John was for some time unmolested in his vigorous attempt to die.
He was aroused at length by the same tar who had first noticed his sickness,
"I say, lubber, are you sick?"
"Yes, dom sick."
"Well, I expect you've got to die, there's only one thing that'll save you – get up and follow me to the cock-pit."
John attempted to rise, but now really unwell, he was not able to stir. His kind physician calling a brother tar to his aid, they assisted John below.
"There, now, you lubber, I'm going to cure you, if you'll only foller directions."
John merely grunted.
"Here's some raw pork, and some grog, though it's a pity to waste grog on such a lubber
