es were taken off, and the impressed men allowed to go on
deck in the proportion of about one half at a time, two sailors with
drawn cutlasses still remaining sentry at the coombings of the hatchway,
in case of any discontented fellow presuming to dispute such lawful
authority.

Newton Forster was happy to be once more on deck; so much had he
suffered during his few hours of confinement, that he really felt
grateful for the indulgence. The sky was bright, and the cutter was
dashing along the coast with the wind, two points free, at the rate of
seven or eight miles an hour. She was what sailors term rather _a wet
one_, and as she plunged through the short waves the sea broke
continually over her bows and chesstree, so that there was no occasion
to draw water for purification. Newton washed his face and head, and
felt quite revived as he inhaled the fresh breeze, and watched the coast
as the vessel rapidly passed each headland in her course. All around him
were strangers, and no one appeared inclined to be communicative; even
the most indifferent, the most stoical, expressed their ideas in
disjointed sentences; they could not but feel that their projects and
speculations had been overthrown by a captivity so anomalous with their
boasted birthright.

"Where are we going?" inquired Newton of a man who stood next him,
silently watching the passing foam created by the rapid course of the
vessel.

"To _hell_ I hope, with _those who brought us here!_" replied the man,
grinding his teeth with a scowl of deep revenge.

At this moment Judy Malony came pattering along the wet deck with a kid of
potato-peelings to throw over the bows. Newton recognised her, and thanked
her for her kindness.

"It's a nice boy that you are, sure enough, now that you're swate and
clean," replied Judy. "Bad luck to the rapparee who gave you the blow! I
axed my husband if it was he; but he swears upon his salvation that it
was no one if it wasn't Tim O'Connor, the baste!"

"Where are we going?" inquired Newton.

"An't we going to dinner in a minute or two?"

"I mean where is the cutter bound to?"

"Oh! the cutter you mane! If she can only find her way, it's to
Plymouth, sure;--they're waiting for ye."

"Who is waiting for us?"

"Why, three fine frigates as can't go to sea without hands. You never
heard of a ship sailing without hands; the poor dumb craturs can't do
nothing by themselves."

"Do you know where the frigates are going?"

"G