"I can't tell what to make of that lad," said Lieutenant Cary to Lord Robert, as the boatswain was untying Harley from a gun, where he had borne, with Spartan firmness, the infliction of a cruel punishment, which his wilful disobedience had brought on him: "he neither drinks nor swears, nor associates with the more dissolute part of the crew: but we have more trouble with him than with the most abandoned reprobate. Yet he seems to me to be meant for better things."
Cary said this as a sort of encouragement to the unfortunate youth, whose manly endurance of extreme suffering had touched his heart.
"Oh!" returned Lord Robert, with a contemptuous laugh, "mutiny and disobedience are nothing new to this fellow; his conduct at sea only matches his behaviour on land—he was always what you now see him!"
"'Tis false! You have made me what I am," said Philip, with a withering look.
"False!" exclaimed Lord Robert, striking Philip as he spoke.
"Yes, oppressor, false!" repeated Philip, returning the blow.
Cary, from a principle of humanity, tried to stay his arm; but Philip was too quick for him. "Madman!" said he, in a tone of regret, "you have forfeited your life!"
"Then let him take it if he will! Thank God, it will be the last injury he can do me!" said Philip, resigning his hands with composure to the fetters with which he was immediately bound.
Harley was considered on board ship so desperate a mutineer, that it was judged necessary to chain him down to the deck, lest, in his fits of rage, as he seemed so careless of his own life, he should set fire to the vessel, and destroy himself and the ship's company together. Here, then, exposed to the sun by day and the dews by night, with less liberty than the savage beast, the wretched youth awaited the certain fate to which, on their arrival in the first port, the laws of war would doom him, for striking an officer on duty.
At this period, the ship and her convoy were approaching the coast of Brazil; they had hitherto enjoyed a prosperous voyage, with fair winds and weather, and a healthy passage. The Diomede was destined to convoy a fleet of merchant-ships bound for the Portuguese settlement of Rio de Janeiro. Before they neared the Brazilian shore, they descried a sail, which proved to be a French man-of-war, of nearly equal strength with their own. Scarcely had the Diomede recognised her for an enemy, before another sail appeared, which was soon known to be her consort. These ships had been stationed to intercept our richly-freighted merchantmen. The defenceless merchant-ships dispersed in every direction, leaving the valiant Diomede to bear the thunders of the unequal combat. This engagement was a fortunate circumstance for the unhappy Harley. I believe it is a usual thing for seamen under confinement for mutiny to be released before an engagement: however this may be, Philip was set at liberty, by the orders of the Captain.