Ithuel was now completely exposed, and he at once perceived that his wisest way was to submit.  Cuffe’s countenance darkened, for he regarded a deserter with a species of professional horror, and the impressed deserter, to whose services England had no other right than that of might, with an additional degree of resentment, that was very fairly proportioned to the inward consciousness he felt that a great wrong was done in detaining the man at all.  There is nothing extraordinary in these feelings; a very common resource, under such circumstances, being to imagine delinquencies that justify us to ourselves, by endeavoring to believe that the subject of any act of our oppression at least merits the infliction.

“Do you dare to deny what this young gentleman has just said, sirrah?” demanded the captain.  “I now remember you myself; you are Bolt, the foretop-man, that ran at Plymouth.”

“You’d a-run, too, Captain Cuffe, had you been in my place, had the ship been at Jericho.”

“Enough—­no impudence, sir.  Send for the master-at-arms, Mr. Griffin, and have the fellow ironed:  to-morrow we’ll look into the affair.”

These orders were obeyed, and Ithuel was removed to the place where the master-at-arms usually reigns on board ship.  Cuffe now gave the lieutenant his conge, and then withdrew to the inner-cabin, to prepare a despatch for the rear-admiral.  He was near an hour writing a letter to his mind, but finally succeeded.  Its purport was as follows:  He reported the capture of Raoul, explaining the mode and the circumstances under which that celebrated privateersman had fallen into his hands.  He then asked for instructions as to the manner in which he was to dispose of his prisoner.  Having communicated this important fact, he ventured some suggestions as to the probable vicinity of the lugger, and the hopes he entertained of being able to find out her precise situation, through the agency of Bolt, whose condition he also explained, hinting at the same time the expediency of bringing both delinquents to as speedy trials as possible, as the most certain manner of using their apprehensions in seizing le Feu-Follet.  The letter concluded with an earnest request that another frigate, which was mentioned, her captain being junior to Cuffe, and a fast-sailing sloop that was lying off Naples might be sent down to assist him in “heading off” the lugger, as he feared the latter was too swift to be overtaken by the Proserpine alone, more especially in the light winds which prevailed.

When this letter was written, addressed, and sealed, Cuffe went on deck again.  It was now nine o’clock, or two bells, and Winchester had the quarter-deck nearly to himself.  All was as tranquil and calm on the deck of that fine frigate as a moonlight night, a drowsy watch, a light wind, and smooth water could render things in a bay like that of Naples.  Gleamings of fire were occasionally seen over Vesuvius, but things