so full of reproach and contempt, that Lord Robert vowed within himself that his haughty spirit should be broken.

Alas, for Philip! he needed no worse enemy than himself. Instead of a manly resignation to what he knew was unavoidable, and a determination to perform his duties so well as to gain respect from the crew—instead of pursuing this course, which would have partly defeated the hatred of his enemy,—he continued so sullen and contrary, that no means, whether good or bad, could bring him out of his fits of obstinacy. There needed no interference of Lord Robert's to bring on him the most severe and cruel punishments. But no bodily pain could subdue Philip; disgrace and suffering only rendered him furious and desperate; and he was considered mutinous and ungovernable to such a degree, that he passed the first three months of a seafaring life in a succession of confinement and punishment.

Had young Harley, instead of such headstrong conduct, exerted his real abilities as a seaman, applied himself to his profession, and shown his officers and commanders, that, though a mere youth, he could hand, reef, and steer, as well as the most experienced seaman,—and this, added to the sober and moral conduct natural to him, with an education and manners far above his station in life, joined to a stout and active body, and undaunted courage;—these qualifications would have created respect in every one, and in no one more than his just and upright commander; and his persecutor must have exposed his motives before he could have injured him: now he was fully in his power, and Lord Robert vowed that he should most submissively implore his pardon for all his transgressions, before he should find any mercy.

"I can't tell what to make of that lad," said Lieutenant Cary to Lord Robert, as the boatswain was untying Harley from a gun, where he had borne, with Spartan firmness, the infliction of a cruel punishment, which his wilful disobedience had brought on him: "he neither drinks nor swears, nor associates with the more dissolute part of the crew: but we have more trouble with him than with the most abandoned reprobate. Yet he seems to me to be meant for better things."

Cary said this as a sort of encouragement to the unfortunate youth, whose manly endurance of extreme suffering had touched his heart.

"Oh!" returned Lord Robert, with a contemptuous laugh, "mutiny and disobedience are nothing new to this fellow; his conduct at sea only matches his behaviour on land—he was always what you now see him!"

"'Tis false! You have made me what I am," said Philip, with a withering look.

"False!" exclaimed Lord Robert, striking Philip as he spoke.

"Yes, oppressor, false!" repeated Philip, returning the blow.

Cary, from a principle of humanity, tried to stay his arm; but Philip was too quick for him. "Madman!" said he, in a tone of regret, "you have forfeited your life!"

"Then let him take it if he will! Thank God, it will be the last injury he can do me!" said Philip, resigning his hands with composure to the fetters with which he was immediately bound.

Harley was considered on board ship so desperate a mutineer, that it was judged necessary to chain him down to the deck, lest, in his fits of rage, as he seemed so careless of his own life, he should set fire to the vessel, and destroy himself and the ship's company together. Here, then, exposed to the sun by day and the dews by night, with less liberty than the savage beast, the wretched youth awaited the certain fate to which, on their arrival in the first port, the laws of war would doom him, for striking an officer on duty.

At this period, the ship and her convoy were approaching the coast of Brazil; they had hitherto enjoyed a prosperous voyage, with fair winds and weather, and a healthy passage. The Diomede was destined to convoy a fleet of merchant-ships bound for the Portuguese settlement of Rio de Janeiro. Before they neared the Brazilian shore, they descried a sail, which proved to be a French man-of-war, of nearly equal strength with their own. Scarcely had the Diomede recognised her for an enemy, before another sail appeared, which was soon known to be her consort. These ships had been stationed to intercept our richly-freighted merchantmen. The defenceless merchant-ships dispersed in every direction, leaving the valiant Diomede to bear the thunders of the unequal combat. This engagement was a fortunate circumstance for the unhappy Harley. I believe it is a usual thing for seamen under confinement for mutiny to be released before an engagement: however this may be, Philip was set at liberty, by the orders of the Captain.

Lieutenant Cary was the officer appointed to set him free. "Harley," said he, "you have shown a bold spirit in a bad cause; let us now see what you can do for your country. It will be my duty to head the boarding-party. Let me see you near me!"

"You shall see me near you!" said young Harley, grasping the cutlass which Cary put into his hand: "I would do much for you! You are the only man who has felt for me as a fellow-creature since I was torn from my home."

By this time the decks were cleared; and, everything being prepared for action on both sides, the Frenchmen approached pretty close. During the awful pause, while this unequal force bore down upon them, perhaps even some of the boldest hearts felt a chill of anxiety; for they were not fighting now for wealth or conquest, but for life, liberty, and the honour of their flag,—that flag which they had borne in triumph round half the world, and which had never yet been lowered to a foe. True, the odds against them were tremendous; but they were British seamen, and would not doubt the result. Yet there was the heart of one amongst them that throbbed high with desperate ardour for the combat, with the hope of redeeming disgrace, and showing that he was worthy a better fate than the death of a felon.

The engagement was long and sanguinary; but British valour at length prevailed, and the French ships were forced to sheer off in a shattered condition, leaving the Diomede little better than a wreck on the mid ocean. The retreat of the enemy was, however, a glorious and hard-earned triumph; and the brave officers and crew of the Diomede were conscious of having performed their duty, and protected the charge committed to their care by their country.

After matters were a little set to rights on deck, and the officers had assembled round their gallant Captain, to congratulate him on the retreat of the enemy, Sir Henry Stanley ordered the young mutineer to be brought before him. Philip made his appearance, pale and bleeding, but with a determined countenance.

"Young man," said Sir Henry, "you have done your duty to-day. I have to thank you for twice saving the life of my friend, Lieutenant Cary: he speaks highly of your conduct in boarding. Your offences are forgiven—you may return to your duty; and, I hope, from this day, your conduct will be as remarkable for obedience, as it has before been the reverse."

Philip raised his eyes to his commander's face, and reading there an expression of manly pity and candour, he was so completely softened by conduct which he little expected from Lord Robert's uncle, that he said, with tears, he had acted wrong, and would spend his best blood, or even his life, if required, to amend his fault.

"Then," said Sir Henry, "ask pardon of Lord Robert Summers for the outrage you have committed, and all will be well, if you persevere in your good resolutions."

"I will ask your pardon, Sir Henry, on my knees, for having rebelled against so good and gracious a commander, and for having struck one of your officers; but I cannot ask forgiveness of Lord Robert Summers, since he was the first to injure me, long before I saw this ship."

Lord Robert, who stood by his uncle's side, gave him a disdainful look; Philip's eyes answered scorn with scorn.

"No conditions, sir!" said his captain; "they don't become you. But pray how