I paused, and then thinking that, though these men were traitors and rascals, their services or information might be valuable to the general and commodore, I said-- "Messieurs, I may be able to assist you, when relieved from guard. What are your names?" "Mine is Theophile Damien," said the first speaker. "And mine, Benoit Bossoit." "We have both been seamen, and have served on board the privateer ship, _le Maréchal Duc de Belleisle_, under the famous M. Thurot, in that battle off the Firth of Forth, with your two frigates, the _Solebay_ and _Dolphin_, in May last." Next day, when relieved from guard, I met those men, by appointment, at a quiet tavern, where we had some wine, for which they paid liberally, seeming to be very well furnished (especially for deserters) with Louis d'ors; and in the course of conversation I spoke freely--far too freely--of the number, strength, and probable objects of our expedition. The name of one of these men--a tall, muscular, dark, and coarse-looking fellow, whose subdued manner belied his savage aspect--struck me as being singular. "You are named Damien, are you not?" I said to him. "Theophile Damien--at monsieur's service." "It seems familiar to me." "As to the most of Europe," said he, bitterly, and he ground his strong white teeth as he spoke. "What causes your hatred to your country--this disloyalty to your king?" "Tudieu! have I not told you that we were slaves--galley slaves--and confined in St. Malo?" (I find myself in honourable company, thought I.) "Slaves without a crime," growled Bossoit. "At least I had no crime," said the other, "save that I bore the hated name of Damien." "What," I exclaimed, as a sudden light broke upon me; "are you a kinsman of--" "Exactly, monsieur, of Robert Francis Damien, you would say--of that unfortunate peasant of Tieuloy, who, in January last year, stabbed King Louis, just as he was stepping into his state coach at Versailles, and so nearly rid France of a tyrant--yes, I am his brother." "Was not this would-be regicide deranged?" said I, as fresh doubts of the value of such a pilot occurred to me, and I feared for my own honour, if found in company with Frenchmen of such a character, and especially at such a conjecture. "His reason was wavering--poverty and the long wanderings of an unsettled life had made it so; but instead of confining him in a prison or fortress, he died of the most dreadful tortures," replied the first Frenchman. "So I have heard."