own
ship by a young American prisoner, who was thereafter to write his name
in history as "Salamander" Farragut? Far from it. Frank's thoughts were
busy with the home he had left; and amid the cold and darkness, its cozy
fireside and bright circle of happy faces rose before him more
distinctly than ever.

"Wonder if they've missed me yet? The boys'll be going out to the
coasting hill presently to shout for me: and sister Kate (dear little
pet!), she'll be wondering why brother Frankie don't come back to finish
her sled as he promised. And what distress they'll all be in till they
get my first letter! and--"

"Hallo, youngster! skulking already! Come out o' that, and go for'ard,
where you belong."

"I didn't mean to skulk, sir," said Frank, startled from his day-dream
by this rough salutation.

"What? answering back, are ye? None o' yer slack. Go for'ard and get to
work--smart, now!"

Frank obeyed, wondering whether this could really be the pleasant
officer of a few hours before. Down in the dark depths below him figures
were flitting about under the dim lamp-light, sorting cargo and "setting
things straight," as well as the rolling of the ship would let them; and
our hero, wishing to be of some use, volunteered to help a grimy fireman
in rolling up a hose-pipe.

But he soon repented his zeal. The hard casing bruised his unaccustomed
hands terribly, and it really seemed as if the work would never end. It
ended, however, too soon for him; for the pipe suddenly parted at the
joint, and splash came a jet of ice-cold water in poor Frank's face,
drenching him from head to foot, and nearly knocking the breath out of
his body.

"Why didn't you let go, then?" growled the ungrateful fireman, coolly
disappearing through a dark doorway, hose and all, while Frank, wet and
shivering, crawled away to the engine-room. Its warmth and brightness
tempted him to enter and sit down in a corner; but he was hardly settled
there when a man in a glazed cap roughly ordered him out again.

Off went the unlucky boy once more, with certain thoughts of his own as
to the "pleasures" of a sea life, which made Gulliver and Sindbad the
Sailor appear not quite so reliable as before. He dived into the
"tween-decks" and sank down on a coil of rope, fairly tired out. But in
another moment he was stirred up again by a hearty shake, and the gleam
of a lantern in his eyes, while a hoarse though not unkindly voice said,
"Come, lad, you're only in the