"Indeed I do, sir," was the reply from the light-haired seaman who had appeared so elated at the escape of the previous day. "It's his Majesty's sloop-of-war _Little Belt_, if I'm not mistaken, and she is a little floating hell, sir; that's what she is!" Nevertheless, as I have said, she was a trim-looking craft, and I could not but admire the way the men tumbled into the boat and the long, well-timed sweep of the oars as they pulled toward us. When alongside, within a few yards, a young man in a huge cocked hat stood up in the stern-sheets. "What brig is that?" he asked, brusquely. Captain Morrison answered, giving our name and destination. "I will board you," was the short reply of the cocked-hatted one, and he gave orders to the bowman, who was ready with his boat-hook, to make fast to the fore-chains. The English seamen, a sturdy-looking set, were all armed with cutlasses, and four or five of them followed their officer over the bulwarks. The young Britisher's insolence must have been hard to stand. "Muster your crew and let me see your papers," he ordered, with a toss of his head; "I would have a look at both of them." Our Captain's politeness in replying, however, was quite as insulting. "You have only to mention your wish, my courteous gentleman," he sneered. "Here are my papers and there are my crew. Will you help yourself to the cargo also? And pardon my not firing a salute, but we have a lady with us who objects to noise." At this the English Lieutenant lifted his great hat, but he glared at the Captain as if he would have liked to lay hands on him; then he ordered two of the crew to rout out the forecastle (in a lower tone of voice), and two of them to give a look into the cabin and deck-house. He waited until they had returned, and then taking the papers that had been extended to him, he called off the names of the American seamen. Each one stepped forward in turn, but without saluting, and replied to the Lieutenant's questioning; apparently they all hailed from New England. Two of them, however, he told to stand over to the larboard side. The men obeyed, and I have never seen such hate on any faces as they had on theirs. But the scene, which was tragic enough in all conscience, despite the grinning of the armed man-o'-war's men who stood behind their leader, was to be broken by a climax as unexpected as a bolt from a clear sky. "John Dash," read the officer. There was no answer, and he called it louder again, without result. "Where is this man?" he asked, impatiently. The Captain made a low bow. "Thanks to your honor for your kind inquiry," he replied. "But the man failed to report on the morning of sailing." It might have gone well had it not been for the interference of a low-visaged petty officer, who, with his fingers to his cap, here spoke. "I saw a man go over the bow as we came up, sir," he said. Two of the men hurried forward and leaned over the side. I, being near the rail, looked over also.