A LOYAL TRAITOR. A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND. BY JAMES BARNES. CHAPTER V. THE LION'S GREED. So we ran on with the wind holding fair until late in the evening, steering northeast by east. I had overcome a great deal of my timidity already, and had asked so many questions and paid such close attention to the way the brig was being handled, that by nightfall I thought I knew not a little about the working of a ship. Captain Morrison, seeing my interest was so real, and put in a good-humor, as I have said, by the escape from the 74, explained to me something about steering by compass, and the wherefore of several orders. The planter's wife had so far recovered from her indisposition as to take a seat at the swinging-table in the cabin, and we made a very jolly party at supper. The skipper, warmed by a bottle of port which Mr. Chaffee had set upon the table, began to tell tales of the sea. I have heard many stories in my life, but I do not think that I have ever been thrilled or excited by any in the way that I was that evening. Mrs. Chaffee must have noticed it, for she closed her hand over mine (that were tightly gripping the edge of the table), and stroked them gently in a motherly way. I resented this (although I am glad I did not show it), for was not I at that very time employed with the Captain in repelling an attack of a Barbary corsair? and Mrs. Chaffee's kindly touch recalled me to myself, and reminded me that I was but a boy, after all, who a few hours before had been almost in tears for the lack of what she had shown me--a little sympathy and the comfort of a kindly glance and touch. The Captain had not finished his yarn-spinning--in fact, he was but in the middle of it--when the first mate thrust his head down the companionway. "Will you come on deck, sir, and take a look at the glass on the way up?" he asked. To my surprise, the Captain cast his tale adrift without an apology and hurried out, pausing for an instant only for a hasty glance at the barometer, which hung against the bulkhead at the foot of the ladder. "It's evidently fallen calm," said Mr. Chaffee. "And very glad am I that it has," answered his wife. "I think any more of that pitch and toss and I should have died." For the last three-quarters of an hour, indeed, the _Minetta_ had been stationary, heaving a little now and then, but in such a small way and keeping on such an even keel as scarcely to move the coffee in our cups. The Captain had been gone but a few minutes when we all went up on deck. The seas were round and oily, and the brown sails hung in lazy folds against the masts. The man at the wheel now and again gave the spokes a whirl this way and that, and he was forever casting his eye aloft as if by some motion of his he might catch a stray breath of wind.