walked over to the lieutenant, addressing him, "I beg your pardon,
sir--"

"Who are you?" interrupted the lieutenant, gruffly.

"I was impressed last night, sir;--may I speak to you?"

"No, sir, you may not."

"It might save you some trouble, sir--"

"It will save me more to send you down below. Mr Vincent, shove this man
down forward; why is he at large?"

"He was under the doctor's hands, I believe, sir. Come this way, my
hearty--stir your stumps."

Newton would have expostulated, but he was collared by two of the
press-gang, and very unceremoniously handed forward to the hatchway; the
grating was taken off, and he was lowered down to the deck below, where
he found himself cooped up with more than forty others, almost
suffocated for the want of air and space. The conversation (if
conversation it could be called) was nothing but one continued string of
curses and execrations, and vows of deep revenge.

The jolly-boat returned, pulling only two oars; the remainder of her
crew, with Johnson and Merton, having taken this opportunity of
deserting from their forced servitude. With some hearty execrations upon
the heads of the offending parties, and swearing that by G--d there was
no such thing as _gratitude_ in a sailor, the commander of the cutter