A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XXI.
TAKING A PRIZE.
had found a little box, that had just room enough for a bunk and a narrow cupboard, at the foot of the forecastle ladder, and this I took possession of, as, of course, it would not do for me to mess or bunk in with the crew. There was a fine ten-knot breeze blowing when I was awakened the next morning, and the little cutter was dipping into the waves gracefully like a Mother Cary's chicken. Every one was in high spirits. All idea of my being a Jonah had faded from the minds of the crew. Yet I was filled with a huge disappointment. A bitter, miserable sensation had firm hold of me. I saw what an injudicious and, mayhap, an unkind thing I had done, and regretted that I had not been more strenuous in my efforts to keep Mr. Middleton from carrying out his intentions of leaving the Cæsar; but I believe that if I should have urged strongly against it, the cruise of the Bat would have ended there and then.
At eight bells in the morning watch I saw Mr. Middleton come on deck. I noted that he held his wig on with one hand as he approached. I lifted my hat and bowed politely.
"A word with you," began the old gentleman. "It is evident that you never had any intention of touching at Dublin."
"That, sir," I returned, "is the truth; I never had. Would you suppose it possible for an American crew to sail into a hostile harbor in a captured vessel and get out again?"
"You played the joke well on the Englishmen," he said.