Chapter 41

It was at the close of that war which lost this country the wealthiest and
most populous of her American colonies, that a fleet of ships were
returning from their service amongst the islands of the New World, to seek
for their worn out and battered hulks, and equally weakened crews, the
repairs and comforts of England and home.

The latter word, to the mariner the most endearing of all sounds, had, as
it were, drawn together by instinct a group of sailors on the forecastle
of the proudest ship of the squadron, who gazed with varied emotions on
the land which gave them birth, but with one common feeling of joy that
the day of attaining it was at length arrived.

The water curled from the bows of this castle of the ocean, in increasing
waves and growing murmurs, that at times drew the attention of the veteran
tar to their quickening progress, and having cheered his heart with the
sight, he cast his experienced eye in silence on the swelling sails, to
see if nothing more could be done to shorten the distance between him and
his country.

Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the land of their birth, and hundreds of
hearts were beating in that one vessel with the awakening delights of
domestic love and renewed affections; but no tongue broke the disciplined
silence of the ship into sounds that overcame the propitious ripple of the
water.

On the highest summit of their towering mast floated a small blue flag,
the symbol of authority, and beneath it paced a man to and fro the deck,
who was abandoned by his inferiors to his more elevated rank. His
square-built form and careworn features, which had lost the brilliancy of
an English complexion, and hair whitened prematurely, spoke of bodily
vigor, and arduous services which had put that vigor to the severest
trials.

At each turn of his walk, as he faced the land of his nativity, a lurking
smile stole over his sun-burnt features, and then a glance of his eye
would scan the progress of the far-stretched squadron which obeyed his
orders, and which he was now returning to his superiors, undiminished in
numbers, and proud with victory.

By himself stood an officer in a uniform differing from all around him.
His figure was small, his eye restless, quick, and piercing, and bent on
those shores to which he was unwillingly advancing, with a look of anxiety
and mortification, that showed him the late commander of those vessels
around them, which, by displaying their double flags, manifested to the
eye of the seaman a recent change of masters.

Occasionally the conqueror would stop, and by some effort of well meant,
but rather uncouth civility, endeavor to soften the hours of captivity;
efforts which were received with the courtesy of the most