“Only that of owner, sir.  Both ship and cargo are my own private property.”

“And you seem to be English, or American—­for, I confess myself unable to tell the difference between the people of the two countries, though I dare say there is a very great difference.”

“I am an American by birth, as have been my ancestors for generations.”

“I declare that is remarkable!  Well, I can see no difference.  But, if you are American, I do not see why the sugar and coffee are not American, too.  Lord Harry, however, desired us to be very particular about these things, for some reason or other.  Do you happen to know, now, where this sugar grew?”

“The canes of which it was made grew, I believe, in St. Domingo.”

“St. Domingo!—­Is not that a French Island?”

“Certainly, in part, sir; though the Spaniards and the negroes dispute the possession with the French.”

“I declare I must send Lord Harry word of this!  I am exceedingly sorry, Captain Wallingford, to detain your ship, but my duty requires me to send a young gentleman on board the Speedy for orders.”

As I could urge no plausible objection, the young gentleman was again sent back to the frigate.  In the mean time, Sennit had not been idle.  Among my crew were a Swede and a Prussian, and both these men having acquired their English in London or Liverpool, he affected to believe they were natives of the old island, ordering them to get their dunnage ready to go under the pennant.  Neither of the men, however, was disposed to obey him, and when I joined the group, leaving the Hon. Mr. Powlett waiting the return of his boat, on the quarter-deck, I found the three in a warm discussion on the subject.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Wallingford,” Sennit cried, as I approached, “we will compromise matters.  Here are two fellows who are Lancashire men, if the truth were known, that pretend to be Norwegians, or Fins, or to come from some other outlandish country or other, and I wish to place them under His Majesty’s pennant, where they properly belong; as they are so reluctant to receive this honour, I will consent to take that fine-looking Kentish man, who is worth them both put together.”

As this was said, Sennit pointed to Tom Voorhees, an athletic, handsome young North River man, of Dutch extraction, a fellow who had not a drop of English blood in his veins, and the ablest-bodied and the best seaman in the Dawn; a fact that the lieutenant’s nautical tact had not been slow to detect.

“You are asking me to let you have a man who was born within ten miles of myself,” I answered, “and whose family I know to be American, for near two centuries.”

“Ay, ay; you’re all of old families in America, as everybody knows.  The chap is English born, for a hundred guineas; and I could name a spot in Kent, not ten miles distant from that where he first saw the light.  I do not say, however, you were not his neighbour—­for you have a Dover look, yourself.”