Meantime the Nelson was making her way rapidly along the French coast, and had already crossed the Bay of Biscay.  The Nelson behaved herself admirably, and took to her new gear with excellent grace.  All was going merrily as a marriage bell.  They did not now run very much risk of cruisers, as Fritz had French papers perfectly en regle, and Captain Littlestone would have had little difficulty to prove his identity; besides, the speed of the Nelson was sufficient to secure their safety in cases where danger was to be apprehended.

One night, about four bells (ten o’clock), when Willis was lazily lolling in his hammock, doubtless ruminating on his newly-acquired dignity, his cabin-door gradually opened, and the captain entered.  Willis stared at first, thinking he might have something important to communicate, but he only muttered something about a cloud gathering in the west.  This was too much for Willis; it resembled his former meditations so vividly, that he leaped out of his hammock, seized Littlestone by the collar, and called loudly for Fritz and Jack.

“It is not very respectfull, captain, to handle you in this way; but the case is urgent, and I should like to have the mystery cleared up.”

The two brothers, when they entered the cabin, beheld Willis holding the captain tightly in his arms.

“I have caught him at last, you see,” said the Pilot.

“So it would appear,” observed Jack; “but are you not aware the captain is asleep?”

And so it was Littlestone had walked from his own cabin to that of Willis in a state of somnambulism.

“What is the matter?” inquired the latter, when he became conscious of his position.

“Nothing is the matter, captain,” replied Jack, “only you have been walking in your sleep.”

“Ah—­yes—­it must be so!” exclaimed Littlestone; gazing about him with a troubled air.  “Have I not paid you a visit of this kind before, Willis?”

“Yes, often.”

“Where?”

“On board the Boudeuse.”

“That must have been the craft I was transferred to, then, after the capture of the Nelson.  Just call Mr. Wolston, and let us have the matter explained.”

On comparing notes, it appeared that the captain and the missionary had been on board the Boudeuse.  Both had been ill, and both had been closely confined to their cabin during the entire voyage, partly on account of their being prisoners of war, and partly on account of their illness.  On one occasion, but on one only, the captain had escaped from his cabin during the night.  Willis might, therefore, have seen him once, but that he had seen him oftener was only a dream.

“It appears, then,” said Littlestone, “that my illness has left this unfortunate tendency to sleep-walking.  I shall, therefore, place myself in your hands, Master Jack; perhaps you may be able to chase it away.”