As they were riding along on their way to the vessel, the boys amused themselves by imagining the astonishment they would create at home by telling all they had learned in regard to affairs in France, and especially concerning silkworms, but were quite crestfallen upon finding that the captain was as familiar with the subject as themselves, who informed them that they had been, and were then, raised at home.

"At home!" cried both the boys, in surprise. "Where?"

"They were raised in Virginia and Georgia when the country was first settled. I have read about it in books in the Salem library. I read in an old newspaper that President Stiles wore at Commencement, in 1788, a gown of silk made and woven in Connecticut. Two years ago my mother had a pair of silk stockings sent her from Northampton by a cousin of ours, who raised the worms, reeled the silk, and made the stockings."

"I never knew all that before," said Ned.

"Ah, my boy, you might have known it," replied the captain; "for you had better privileges than Walter. There were books in the library that told about it; but half the time, even in school, while your eyes were on your book, you were dreaming of going to sea, and, the moment school was out, were sailing boats, climbing on vessels' rigging, helping bend sails; and you know you would work all Saturday afternoons for Frank Hall, the rigger, hold a turn at the windlass, run of errands to the blacksmith shop, in short, do anything if he would only let you furl a royal when it came night, send up a royal yard, or reeve running-rigging. Didn't Deacon Chase tell your mother that you would certainly break your neck: for he saw you, only the day before, astride the end of a royal-yard? You never found time to read about silkworms or anything else."

"That is true, sir. However, what I learned of the riggers all came into play when I got on shipboard."

After sleeping by a camp fire in the fresh air, the boys felt so reluctant to get into their berths in the vessel, even for a night, that they lost no time in filling their beds, and placing them in the tree, where they enjoyed a most delightful night's repose.

"I declare, Ned," said Walter, as he woke in the morning, "if we were on wages, instead of shares, and were not eating our own grub, I shouldn't care much though we had a few more lazy days."

During the forenoon they were occupied in making rough coops for some hens the captain had engaged of Gabriel; but, being at leisure after dinner, they hastened to the platform to talk over the past, lay plans, and cherish expectations for the future.

About three o'clock in the afternoon,—which was beautiful, with a very light breeze that barely stirred the leaves on the evergreen oak,—Walter said, "How clear the sky looks! and the water in the cove—I can see the bottom from here. I can see those sea-fowl that are diving when they are on the bottom."

"Only hear the crows," said Ned; "what a yelling! Look in these pines; they are black with them. They are having a meeting just as they do at home."

"Then I guess the sheep are having a meeting, too. Look under the side of that ledge of rocks. What a lot of 'em! and their heads all one way! There's one cloud, a real mare's tail" (cirrus), "creeping up in the north."

"Here comes Jacques, running as hard as he can. Look at him. He's hallooing, and making signals. I can't hear a word he says; but it must be something about the fleet."

The boys, occupied with the singular conduct of Jacques, had ceased to take note of the sky, or they would have perceived that the cirrus cloud had spread out, covering a great extent of sky, while below it was another, of darker hue, and, while striving to catch Jacques' words, attributed his signals to something connected with the fleet; and so did the captain, who, having observed his motions, was hastening to the tree in order to see if there was any man-o'-war in sight.

But Jacques was shouting, "Mistral, mistral!" with all his might. There was a sharp flash, followed by a terrific peal of thunder, a roar among the tree-tops, and instantly the air was filled with broken limbs, leaves, both green and dry, torn from the trees, and raised from the ground, mixed with clouds of gravel. A large pine near by was torn up; the platform, with everything on it, sent whirling in the air, the oak bent, groaned, and seemed ready to follow the pine. Walter caught hold of a limb forming one side of a crotch; the branch split down four or five feet, when the limb to which he clung came in contact with another cross limb; the tough fibres of the oak, aided by the spring of the cross limb, held on, and there he hung, blown out like a streamer. Ned caught by a larger branch, clasping it with his legs. The captain's spy-glass, falling into the cleft of the fork, stuck there; three of the chairs went over the land to sea; another lodged in the thick top of a pine; the rest went across the cove, and were blown up against the bank. Ned's blanket was twisted round the main-topmast rigging; Walter's sailed for parts unknown. Ned's bed, lavender and all, went to sea; Walter's was jammed between two rocks, on the end of the high bluff.

Hail, mixed with snow, began to fall, and everything wore the garb of winter. When the squall struck, the captain was half way up the tree; the rope-ladder being on the weather-side, the lashings that held the bull's eyes to the ground were parted, and the shrouds, with the captain clinging to them, blew out at an acute angle with the tree.

"Ned!" shouted Walter.

"All right, Wal, I am now," was the reply, as he succeeded in getting hold of the limb over which that to which he clung was chafing.

"This beautiful climate of Provence," said Ned—"see the snow!"

"This wind is right from the Alps," said Walter. "Cuts like a knife."

It was indeed the terrible mistral, the scourge of Provence.

Sliding down the trunk of the tree, they found one of the lashings dangling. Catching hold of it, aided by Jacques, who had now arrived, they pulled down the shrouds, and relieved the captain.

There was not a hat on the head of any one save the pilot, and their hair was plastered with snow, and faces cut by the hail.

"Where were the blockaders when you left, Jacques?" asked the captain the moment he could get breath.

"Some of them were cruising, some at anchor."

"Two frigates went by here with a cutter yesterday. Where was Nelson?"

"Yesterday he chased a French ship, cut her off from Marseilles, and she ran under the guns of a very heavy battery, an earth-work, half way between here and Marseilles; and he is watching her."

"Can they hold on?"

"No, except the Agamemnon. She is more under the lee. Nothing can hold against this except they are under a lee, and strongly-moored with anchors well bedded. They generally lie at a single anchor, and the topsail yards swayed up, so as to be ready to get under way in a moment."

"We will hold on a while, to let the 'fiery edge' get off the wind, and give them a chance to get out of the way."

In the mean time the mainsail was balance-reefed, the scope hove in, the fore topmast and main staysails loosed, ready to set, which was all the sail the brigantine would bear, so great was the violence of the wind.

Jacques now said to the boys, "Why didn't you come down when I was making signs to you, hallooing 'mistral' enough to split my throat?"

"We couldn't hear you."

"Couldn't you hear the crows, and see the sheep all huddled together?"

"We didn't know what it meant."

"I rather think you know now."

They lay thus for an hour, when an order was given to man the windlass. The crew, all young, athletic men, having enjoyed a long repose,—stimulated by the strongest motives, self-interest, pride of seamanship, and manly emulation,—sprang like tigers to their work, and "catted" the anchor by hand.

"There's your bed, Mr. Griffin," said Ned, as they shot by the high bluff.

"Never mind; I've had one good night's sleep in it."

"There's Nelson," said Jacques, as they rounded the first prominent headland; "he means to hold on. I had a good look at him yesterday with a glass. He has sent his top hamper down; his yards are pointed to the wind, and, I've no doubt, two anchors ahead."

"Nelson hates the Yankees," said the captain. "How he would grit his teeth if he knew who we are!"

Nelson's dislike for the Yankees was based upon very solid grounds.

After the war of independence, the United States were prohibited by Great Britain from all trade with her West India colonies. Before the war that trade had been exceedingly profitable, and the Americans were loath to relinquish it. It had been no less so to the inhabitants of the islands, custom-house officers, and all holding office under the crown, since that shrewd and persistent people, fully appreciating the importance of the principle illustrated by the old saw of "throwing a sprat to catch a herring," had never shown themselves ungrateful. With a shrewd suspicion of this, the home government sent out a fleet to look after matters in general, and enforce prohibition.

But the naval officers, from the admiral to his midshipmen, dearly loved dinner-parties given by the civil magistrates and wealthy merchants, and were much influenced by them. The officers of his majesty's customs—governor, generals, and presidents of council—missed many a box of spermaceti candles, and were often feelingly reminded of their old friends by their empty pockets. When, therefore, a down-east brig, displaying the stars and stripes, and laden scuppers to with lumber, spermaceti candles, codfish, butter, hoops, apples, and live stock, entered the harbor of a British island, and the boarding officer saw the sharp face of some Yankee friend peering over the rail, with an expression, "It's me, and no mistake," it was certainly natural that he should greet him cordially; and when the captain presented a protest, setting forth that he had sprung his mast, or sprung a leak, was in distress, and wished to discharge enough of his cargo to enable him to get at the leak, and sell enough to pay his repairs, the official could not refuse so reasonable a request. Thus it happened that a great many American vessels sprung a leak; and whatever number of vessels went in loaded, they always came out light, and the Yankee master, with his pocket full of British gold, then sailed for Martinico to buy molasses.

There were vessels in the States, built before the war, having British registers. These were run out there, under their old registers, and no questions asked.

A still more audacious evasion was practised. Captains took the oath of allegiance, hoisted British colors, and the custom-house officials gave them British registers, although American built, owned by Americans, and with American captains and crews.

But in 1784, when Nelson—who cared nought for dinner-parties, and whose ruling nature was love of glory and duty—was sent out to the West Indies, under Admiral Hughes, and found the British ports full of these illicit traders, he pounced upon them like a falcon upon a flock of herons. Adhering to the words of the statute, that all trade to and from the British West Indies and America must be in British bottoms, navigated by British captains, three fourths of the crew British seamen, and owned by Englishmen, inhabitants of Great Britain or her colonies, he seized at once four American vessels under English colors, with English registers, but with American captains and crews, owned and built in America. But the American captains, so far from submitting, prosecuted him in the civil court for assault and imprisonment, laying their damages at the enormous sum of four thousand pounds sterling, while Nelson, knowing he could not obtain a fair trial in the islands, dared not leave his ship for eight weeks, for fear of being arrested on a civil suit; and, as he continued to seize vessels, the captains, after his return to England to avoid prosecution, served a writ on his wife, laying the damages at twenty thousand pounds sterling.

The admiral was disposed to wink at these proceedings, and, in reply to a representation from Nelson, said it was an affair of the custom-house officers, and ordered him not to interfere with their decisions.

In this dilemma he petitioned to the king, who came to the rescue, and ordered him to be defended by his lawyers. The Yankees, however, were an overmatch for him, aided as they were by unprincipled officials.

American captains would clear for some of the Dutch or French islands, then go to Trinidad, put the vessel under Spanish colors, ship a few creoles, to put a better face on the matter, take some live stock on deck, and go to the British islands.

The custom-house officers, despite the efforts of Nelson, would admit them, under an old order from the Board of Treasury, 1763, declaring British ports open to Spanish vessels bringing bullion and live stock, although all the bullion they brought was a hold full of Yankee lumber.

Our young readers will now perceive why Nelson disliked the Yankees, and how much good it would have done him to have closed his jaws upon the "Arthur Brown."

"Suppose we should run up the colors, captain," said Walter, "and stir them up a little."

"We are dead to leeward. If too much provoked, he might slip his cables and come down on us."

"No provocation," said Jacques, "could make him leave the vessel he is watching; for he knows as soon as he makes sail she is away."

It was evident the brigantine had already been the subject of close scrutiny; for, while Ned was bending the flag to the halyards, a flash was seen from the stern of the ship, followed by the report, and a ball sank harmless into the water, a long distance to windward; for the guns of that day were of short range, compared with those of the present time.

As the flag streamed out on the wind, shot followed shot in quick succession, attesting the galling nature of this taunt.

"Let her luff, Lancaster," said the captain to the seaman at the helm.

"Luff, sir."

"That will do; steady."

"Steady, sir."

"He likes the looks of us so well, Mr. Griffin, we'll give him a chance to see more of us."

The firing now suddenly ceased.

"He knows by our springing our luff," said Jacques, "that he's throwing away his powder and shot."

"I see a boat," said the second mate; "he's going to board us."

The captain, getting into the companion-way, where he could brace himself, as it was impossible to stand without holding on to something, put the glass to his eye.

"There's a man overboard," he cried.

"God help him," said Walter; "he can't live long in this sea."

"He's got hold of something that has been flung over,—a spar or plank,—and they are after him."

In a few moments he could be seen with the naked eye whenever he rose on the crest of a wave. They continued silently to watch him, approaching fast before the wind and sea.

"They don't see the man," shouted the captain; "the boat's crew don't see him, the vapor is so thick, and he so low in the water; they are lying on their oars, and the cockswain is standing up, looking round. We must save him, or he's a dead man. Hard down the helm."

Instantly Walter, followed by Ned and two more of the crew, one of whom was Henry Merrithew (the strongest man in the ship's company), sprang to cut the lashings of the boat. It was no child's play to launch a boat, get clear of the vessel, and pull to windward against that wind and sea; but with the exception of Ned, who made up in resolution and quickness of apprehension for lack of strength and practice, these men had from childhood been brought up in boats, accustomed to fishing among shoals in the edge of the surf, and pursuing sea-fowls among breaking rocks. Enveloped in spray, they forced the boat to windward with long, steady strokes, while the captain, with his eye on the man, pointed out the direction in which they were to pull, which, as they were back to, was a most effectual aid.

"Keep cool, Merrithew," said Walter, who pulled the after oar, as he heard the crack of a thole-pin behind him; "keep cool; if you break that oar or thole-pin, we are dished."

"Here he is, close aboard," said Ned, looking over his shoulder.

Walter, flinging his oar out of the row-lock into the scull-hole, steered the boat directly for the man, who was clinging by the jack-stay to a royal yard.

"Ship your oar, Ned, and stand by."

Ned caught the end of the spar as it came broadside on, when it drifted alongside of the boat, bringing the man abreast of Merrithew, who caught him by the hair and collar of his coat. Notwithstanding the great strength of the seaman, he could not break the death-grip of the drowning man. In a moment Blaisdell drew his knife across the jack-stay, and he was taken on board.

"A midshipman, by his dress, and dead—dead enough, too, poor boy," said Merrithew, as he laid him in the stern-sheets.

"There's life in him yet," said Walter. "I saw him treading water with his feet to keep the spar from rolling over, while you were pulling up."

"His mouth is shut," said Blaisdell, "which shows he knew how to take care of himself in the water. If he was dead, his mouth would be partly open, and his tongue between his teeth."

"There's a big sea coming; round with her before it gets along; pull, boys, pull, and don't let him die in the boat. The air is colder than the water, and taking him out of the water has chilled him."

When the boat came alongside, and the apparently lifeless body was conveyed to the cabin of the brigantine, every heart was touched.

"Dear little fellow! He can't be more than eighteen; and what a noble face!" said the captain, while they were stripping off his wet clothing, rubbing the body, and wrapping him in blankets. "There's life," said he after he was placed in the captain's own berth. "I can just see that he breathes, and there's a faint fluttering of the heart."

As the readiest and most efficacious means in their power, they put bags filled with hot salt to his feet and other parts of his body. His cheeks were pale, flesh cold, muscles relaxed, and eyes half closed. The crew of the man-o'-war's boat, after witnessing the rescue, endeavored to return; but they could no longer perceive the ship, and, as the only course left them by which to save their own lives, pulled for the brigantine.

A rope was thrown to them as they came under her stern, the "gig" hoisted on board, and the brigantine kept on her course.

"Make yourselves at home, boys," said the captain, "here's plenty to eat, and not much to do."

"You picked up the young gentleman, sir," said the cockswain of the gig, addressing the captain.

"Yes; he's in my berth below."

"Will he win through it, sir?"

"I think so; but there's just the breath of life in him."

"God be thanked! he's a fine young gentleman, and much thought of by all the ship's company; there's not a man but would risk his life to save him. He was very poorly when we were in Leghorn, but has been getting quite stout latterly."

"How did he get overboard?"

"I don't know; the boat was hanging at the cranes, and we were sitting in her, when there was a shout, 'Man overboard!' While they were lowering us away, the boatswain sung out that it was Mr. Reed. I suppose he slipped. The ship was rolling very heavy, and everything covered with sleet. We never got sight of him at all, but pulled the way we thought he must drift."

The young man lay for three hours in the condition we have described, breathing regularly, but faintly, and manifesting no other signs of returning consciousness than a convulsive twitching of the eyelids. The captain hung over him with the greatest anxiety, making such outward application as he thought of use.

In three hours more, to his great delight, his patient was able to swallow; but it was not till nine o'clock the next morning, twelve hours after he was taken from the water, that he could speak, or reply to questions. Ascertaining where he was, and by whom rescued, he seemed greatly moved, and expressed the wish that he had perished rather than be carried to Marseilles, and become a French prisoner of war.

"Make yourself easy, sir," replied the captain. "I will cut my right hand off before I will deliver those who have come on board my vessel in distress into the hands of their enemies. I'll put you and your men into an English man-o'-war."

This frank declaration proved more efficacious than all the other remedies that had been administered. His pale cheeks flushed in a moment, the light of youth and vigor returned to his eyes, and, after eating, he got up, and put on his uniform, which the seamen had dried for him, and scoured the buttons. He then went on deck, and met the boat's crew, who manifested great pleasure at seeing him. He shook hands with them all, calling each man by name.

The weather now began to moderate fast. The reefs were shaken out, yards sent up, and all sail made upon the vessel. When, at length, the high lands of Marseilles, and Planier Island, ten miles from the city, came into view, and it was evident the coast was clear of blockaders, the brigantine was hove to. A very strict watch was kept during the night; and, just as the sun rose, the lookout at the mast-head sung out, "A sail to leeward!" The mate went aloft with the glass, and reported that it was an English man-o'-war.

"She is beating back to her station," said the captain. "We'll get our breakfast while she is working up."

The midshipman, somewhat surprised at the coolness of the captain, said, "You have great confidence in the sailing qualities of your vessel, captain."

"I have reason for it, Mr. Reed," was the reply. "Indeed, if assured this wind would hold, I should not fear to lie here till she came nearly within gunshot."

After the meal was concluded, which was not at all hurried, the man-o'-war was near enough to be distinguished with the naked eye.

"Do you recognize that frigate, Mr. Reed?"

"Yes, sir. It is the Leda, Captain Campbell."

"One of your blockading fleet?"

"Yes, sir."

The frigate, with every sail set, now came up fast.

"I am about as near to her as is prudent," said the captain, and gave orders to launch the gig.

He then said, "Now, Mr. Reed, there is one of your own fleet. You are at liberty to depart with a fair wind and a fresh crew. Your captain, I believe, don't like us Yankees; but give my respects to him, and add whatever you think proper."

All sail was made on the brigantine, and, by the time the boat reached the frigate, she was nearing the harbor of Marseilles.

Notwithstanding Nelson's prejudices (certainly not groundless), the Arthur Brown had not been a week in Marseilles when a flag of truce came in, and by it came a letter to the captain from the midshipman, enclosing a note from Nelson, thanking him for the rescue of his officer, and the kindness manifested to both him and his crew.