"Escape, captain, is no easy matter, and is attended with serious consequences. They usually hang one who tries to desert. I am a gunner, by profession, and but for the fact they need my services against the French, I would have been hung long since for trying to desert."
The gunner impressed Captain Parson favorably. He was a man between forty and forty-five years of age. His eyes were deep blue, his hair light. His round, full face was smooth shaven. As he stood on the deck, his brawny arms folded across his massive chest, he looked a perfect model of a man and a tower of strength.
Captain Parson led him aside and said:
"You are no common sailor."
"I'm only a gunner now, captain."
"But in the past?"
"I once commanded a ship. I will tell you my story on the morrow. It is a sad one, but, thank God, there's nothing in it at which I need blush. For the present, however, let us get along as fast as your ship can make it, for the Sea-Wing is a swift vessel, and if we are not beyond reach of her vision before the dawn of day, we shall be overhauled."
Captain Parson knew that some evil consequences might result from being overhauled by the Sea-Wing, and consequently every stitch of canvas was spread and the brig sped away with a good stiff breeze. It was a long and anxious night; master and crew were all on deck. No one slept. The coming dawn would tell the story. If the frigate were in sight, then they might expect the very worst; even the ship might be captured and borne away as a prize and the entire crew enslaved.
Dawn came at last. Each anxious heart welcomed and yet dreaded to see the new day. Sailors and officers swept the sea as it grew lighter, and, to their dread, just as the sun rose over the glossy surface of the sea, a snowy speck appeared far off to the westward.
The lookout at the mast-head first called their attention to it, and as it drew nearer and nearer the tall handsome gunner went aloft with a glass to see if he could recognize it. In a few moments he came back and said: