“Here was a miserable prospect for me; obliged to herd with the very worst class of seamen, the very refuse of the prisons, whereas the Vengeance, excepting in a very few cases indeed, were thorough good seamen. However, there was no help for it. I consoled myself with the reflection that, on arriving at Brest, through the kindness of the first lieutenant, I might get exchanged into another ship, or manage to get away, and trust to my thorough knowledge of French to escape detection, and get to Paris. The day before we reached Brest, in a violent squall, one of the sailors saved from the Vengeance fell from the foreyards and fractured his skull. Before he died he stated to the surgeon that his accusation against me was false; that it was his comrade intended killing me, and that, in my defence, I struck him into the water. “This confession did me no good with our brutal captain. He only swore he’d watch me the sharper, as I was an accursed spawn of an aristocrat. Nevertheless, it was satisfactory to me, this confession, as many of the crew of the Volentier treated me less unkindly. “Misfortune still persecuted me. For some days the first lieutenant complained of illness, but struggled against it. The day we entered Brest he was seized with fever, and became slightly delirious, and was taken ashore to the naval hospital. Captain Baudet, with a mocking laugh, said to me the next day, as I happened to pass near him on some duty I was put to do— “‘So, you young aristocrat, you have lost your friend. Never mind, sacre Dieu! I’ll take care of you. You don’t quit this ship; I’ll have you closely watched. I have not seen your delicate back yet, but don’t despair.’