a moment, and the scene
which followed tried all the powers of the old yarn-spinner's
descriptive faculties. He held her in his arms and wept and prayed until
her life was extinct. It was said that she recognized him and that she
died with a sweet smile on her face, pointing upward to a place of
reunion. The father, who had survived the conflict, was released, and
Captain Felix continued his career a sadder and better man.

Whether this story was true or not, no one can at this day tell, for
Jack tars are proverbial yarn-spinners, and seek more after romance than
truth. One thing is quite certain, though, Captain Lane was still a
bachelor, and had resisted all the advances of beautiful women, until no
one doubted that he would end his days a bachelor.

On this bright June morning a sail was descried S.S.E., and there
immediately sprang up a little conversation between master and mate as
to the probable character of the ship.

"Perchance, captain, it's a British cruiser," suggested the mate.

"If it should be, we have no fears."

"No, for the _Ocean Star_ can show a pair of clean heels to anything
afloat. These British have a habit of searching all vessels they can
capture and impressing seamen."

"It's ugly business."

"It will breed another storm."

"I don't think America will long submit."

At this, the mate, whose temper was as fiery as his red hair, vowed:

"If they should board a ship of mine, I would give 'em lead and steel,
until they would not care to search or impress any one."

"They have no such right," the captain answered, and his face grew very
stern.

The vessel, whatever she was, did not cross their path, however, and in
a few hours disappeared around some jutting headlands.

They had only left Rio the day before, and had very light winds. The
land breeze lasted long enough to bring them by Santa Cruz, and their
ship drifted along all day between Raza and the main. Toward night the
sea-breeze came in fresh from the eastward, and they made four-hour
tacks, intending to keep the northern shore quite close aboard, and to
take their departure from Cape Frio. The night was very clear, and at
eight bells they tacked ship to the northward, heading about N.N.E.;
Raza lights could just be discerned, bearing about West. Captain Lane
had come on deck, as was his custom, to "stay" the brig, and, finding
everything looking right, was about to go below, when the man on the
lookout cried:

"Sail ho!"