He said that he had been impressed into the English service from the brig _Susan Butler_, of New York. But what grounds the boarding officer had taken in supposing him to be a British subject would puzzle most. The cocked-hats generally left a merchant vessel's side with the pick of the unfortunate crew. The qualifications necessary for a peaceable Yankee merchant sailor to change his vocation and become a servant of King George were plain and simple in 1810: ruddy cheeks--crisp curling hair--youth, health, and strength, why! of English birth and parentage most certainly! What use the papers stating that his name was Esek Cobb, or Hezekiah Brown? His home port or natal town Portsmouth, N.H., Bath, Me., or Baltimore? He spoke the mother tongue; he was an A.B. His services were needed to fight old England's enemies, and away he would go in the stern sheets of the press boat, bitter curses on his lips and irons on his wrists. But this straight-haired, Indian-featured, narrow-shouldered half-man who stood there on the _Constitution's_ deck, with his soaked, scanty clothes, clinging to his thin, big-jointed limbs, why in the name of the Lion or the Unicorn, or the Saint or the Dragon, for that matter, had they chosen him? He told his tale in a low, whimpering voice, with his eyes shifting from one deck-seam to another--Five years in the Royal British Navy!--Five years of glorious service of the one who rules the common heritage of all the peopled earth--Five years of spirit-murdering slavery. Not six cable-lengths away, a dark shape against the lights of the town, lay the great ship from whose side he had lowered himself in the darkness to swim to the shelter of the smart, tall-sparred frigate, over whose taffrail he had watched his country's flag swinging in the sunlight, tempting him all the day. He had fought against the swiftly running tide until at last--just as his strength had left him--he had been hauled on board by the anchor watch, and now his one prayer was that they would not give him up. The men who stood about looked pityingly at his shivering figure. A middy, attracted by the commotion, had hastened aft to find the officer of the deck. The forecastle people murmured among themselves. "Captain Hull won't give you up, lad," said one, laying his hand on the poor fellow's shoulder. "This ship is not the _Chesapeake_," said another; "don't ye fear, man." "Here's the Leftenant," put in another--"'tention!" "What's going on here?" asked a low voice. The sailor who had last spoken touched his cap. "I was down making the running-boat fast to the boom, sir, when I hears a faint cry, and I sees a man in the water just alongside, sir. I lays hold of him, and thinkin' it's one of our crew, sir, we gets him quietly at the forechains; then we sees as how he ain't one of us, sir,--he says." "That'll do; let him speak for himself. Where did you come from, my man?" "From the _Poictiers_, yonder, sir. For the sake of mercy don't give me up!"