had been too
late, notwithstanding his zeal, for the boats came back laden with sheep
and other provisions of every soft.

The last of the men who climbed over the gangway--just as the boats were
being hoisted up--was a sailor of gigantic height, of colossal
proportions, and Herculean vigour. He was a Canadian by birth. He
carried in his arms a young child that was cold and motionless, as if
dead. A slight trembling in its limbs, however, proclaimed that there
was still life in it.

"What the deuce have you got there, Bois-Rose?" demanded the officer of
the watch.

"With your leave, lieutenant, it's a young child that I found in a boat
adrift, half dead with hunger and cold. A woman, quite dead, and bathed
in her own blood, still held it in her arms. I had all the trouble in
the world to get the boat away from the place where I found it, for
those dogs of Spaniards espied it, and took it for one of ours. There
was a terrible devil of a coast-guard kept all the while firing at me
with as much obstinacy as awkwardness. I should have silenced him with
a single shot, had I not been hindered in looking after this poor little
creature. But if ever I return--ah!"

"And what do you intend to do with the child?"

"Take care of it, lieutenant, until peace be proclaimed, then return
here and find out who it belongs to."

Unfortunately the only knowledge he was able to obtain about the infant
was its name, Fabian, and that the woman who had been assassinated was
its mother.

Two years passed during which the French privateer did not return to the
coast of Spain. The tenderness of the sailor towards the child he had
picked up--which was no other than the young Count Fabian de Mediana--
did not cease for an instant, but seemed rather to increase with time.
It was a singular and touching spectacle to witness the care, almost
motherly, which this rude nurse lavished upon the child, and the
constant _ruses_ to which he had recourse to procure a supplement to his
rations for its nourishment. The sailor had to fight for his own
living; but he often indulged in dreams that some day a rich prize would
be captured, his share of which would enable him to take better care of
his adopted son. Unfortunately he did not take into his calculations
the perilous hazards of the life he was leading.

One morning the privateer was compelled to run from an English brig of
war of nearly twice her force; and although a swift sailer, t