“Captured her!” exclaimed the veteran; “no, no, they didn’t capture her; she was run away with by her own crew, and a horrible deed of blood they made of it. It was in the month of September, --97; the frigate was cruising off the west-end of Porto Rico, just jogging off and on, and now and then taking a peep into Port-au-Prince, and that way, to look arter the enemy. She was commanded by Captain P----, whose very natur was that of a tyrant, and a cruel one too; for by all accounts, he scored the smallest offence upon the bare back of the offender, and very often punished, because the whim took him in the head, for no offence at all. The ship’s company were none of the best, to be sure; there was a sprinkling of all nations, and not a few with C. P. alongside o’their names.” “C. P.” said I; “what does C. P. mean.” “Why, your honour, it just means this here,” replied the old man. “You must understand that when some know-nothing rascal had been caught in a crowd, and suspected of dipping his grappling hooks--” here the veteran crook’d his fingers,--“into a neighbour’s pocket, if so be they couldn’t bring it slap home to him, the magistrates sent him on board a man-o’-war to teach him honesty, and thus a pretty set of the scum and scrapings of villany,--a sort of devil’s own,--contaminated the sarvice; and the C. P. was a kind of curse o’ Cromwell upon ’em--a mark of Cain, denoting they were shipped by the CIVIL POWER, and the master-at-arms had ’special orders to watch their motions.” “And did this really take place?” inquired I; “was the navy made a condemned service for convicts?”