crew of able seamen, having already made a successful voyage to Marseilles, a blockaded port, is now ready to sail again. Walter Griffin is a Pleasant Cove boy,—belonging to a very athletic, resolute family,—who began active life in a store, but, finding that mode of life ill adapted to his inclinations and capacities, became a sailor, shipped in the brigantine before the mast, and is now first mate.

Ned Gates is a Salem boy, in his nineteenth year, rather small of his age, was rescued at the same time with Arthur Brown by Captain Rhines (the details of which occurrence will be found in the previous volume), being a townie and at school with Arthur, was an excellent boy, and much beloved by him.

On the former voyage, Walter and Ned were before the mast together, in the same watch, and slept in the same berth, till, on the home passage, Walter was promoted; their friendship still continues, although with fewer opportunities of intercourse.

Jacques Bernoux is a Frenchman, native of Marseilles, fisherman by occupation, and thoroughly acquainted with the coast.

James Peterson is a negro, born of slave parents in Martinique, but sold in boyhood to an American captain, residing near Pleasant Cove, and obtained freedom when slavery was abolished in New England. Although ignorant and much addicted to intemperance at particular times, he was very much liked (especially by two families, Captain Rhines's and Edmund Griffin's), and by all the boys, because of other sterling qualities. He was possessed of great personal strength, an excellent seaman and pilot, first-rate calker, perfectly honest, and of a most affectionate disposition. The boys idolized him, because he taught them to wrestle, tie sailor knots, and, when at leisure, was ever ready to make playthings for them. On stormy days, when it was known he could not work, his house would be thronged with boys, coaxing him to make one thing or another. Luce, his wife, was a splendid cook, and nothing suited them better than to be asked to stop to dinner; victuals tasted a great deal better there than at home. Ben, his oldest son, was as great a favorite with the young fry as his father,—excelling in all sports that required strength and agility, always good-natured, never presuming, and full of queer, witty sayings. Ben Peterson was (in boy language and estimation) a bully fellow.

Thus it fell out that the cross-path which led to his house was deeply worn by young feet. Going to Peterson's, and having a good time, were convertible terms.

By the efforts of his young friends, he was persuaded to abandon his cups, and taught to read and write; the result of which was, that he immediately began to acquire property, became a freeholder, and was universally respected and beloved.

Captain Murch, of the mast ship Casco, coming home sick, a new captain, of the name of Aldrich, was put in to go the voyage. It was very difficult to get a crew for her, as he was generally disliked. Captain Rhines, anxious to get the ship away, persuaded Peterson and another by the name of Danforth Eaton to ship first, in consequence of which a crew was obtained.

One evening, while the ship was lying in Martinique, Peterson (then acting as cook, the cook having gone to the hospital, sick) was sent ashore by the captain with letters. In the morning he was missing. Search being made, it was evident that he returned on board, as a fire was burning and breakfast partly prepared; at length his kerchief was discovered on the fender, and the dock was dragged, but without finding the body. The captain concluded that he had met with some old shipmates the evening before, and was prevailed upon to take a friendly glass, which waked up the old appetite, and the next morning he had turned out early, obtained more liquor, fallen from the gangway plank, and the tide had swept the body to sea. The crew, on the contrary, refused to believe he drank, but thought he went ashore to get something to season his stew, made, in his haste, a misstep, and fell overboard.

Captain Rhines and the community at large inclined to the opinion of the crew. His death was universally lamented; the boys sadly missed their colored friend, and the grass grows over the well-worn path that leads to his dwelling.

Captain Murch resuming the command, Aldrich went to England. Percival, the mate, becoming intemperate, was reduced to the position of lumper around the wharves in Boston.

There was, however, something quite mysterious about the disappearance of Peterson: his family refused to believe he was dead, and opinions were divided. It long formed a topic of dispute and discussion at the winter firesides; some contending that a man so athletic and agile as Peterson would have caught hold of something, and never would have been drowned between the vessel and the wharf; at least, he would have made an outcry; to which it was replied, that he might have struck his head on the wharf or fender, and stunned himself. In reply to this, it was urged that a negro's head is too thick to be affected in that manner. After a while, other topics of interest came up, and the vexed subject was gradually dropped. Before the arrival of the Casco, bringing that sad news, the brigantine had sailed for Marseilles. Thus Walter and Ned went away ignorant of the whole matter.

Walter and Ned had made their preparations for this voyage to Marseilles with feelings quite different from that blithesome, buoyant mood in which they weighed anchor before.

The death of Uncle Isaac, as he was fondly called by the young people, had blighted anticipations of pleasure to be derived from going into the woods during the holidays; and the loss of one who united in his single person the characters of parent, counsellor, and most genial companion, weighed heavily upon their hearts. Having been called to his bedside, his last words of affectionate counsel to them were fresh in their remembrance.

Ned Gates—Little Ned, as he was called at sea to distinguish him from a man by the name of Edward—had grown remarkably, in both size and strength, since his recovery from wounds received in running the broadside of an English ship on the last voyage, and no longer merited that appellation.

It is customary on shipboard for the boys and ordinary seamen to furl the light sails. The royal, therefore, on board the Arthur Brown, during the last voyage, pertained to Ned; but, in a vessel that spread so much canvas as the brigantine, it was by no means a small sail. When the wind blew fresh, and especially if the canvas was wet, all the way he could manage it was to furl the yard-arms first, which, however, was not seaman-like. In very bad weather he could not furl it at all, although he sometimes exerted himself till his finger nails were torn to the quick, and the blood spun from his nostrils.

It was a great mortification to him when a man was sent aloft to help him. He would look as meeching as a dog caught in the act of sheep-killing, and not get over it for a week.

After Walter, on the homeward voyage, was promoted to a chief mate's berth, he, in order to save Ned's feelings, and enable him to handle it, had a royal buntline rove, the legs of which, led through thimbles on each leech, which spilled the sail, that is, threw the wind out of it, gathered it up, and enabled him to handle it in all weathers.

Even this chafed the proud-spirited boy, because he thought everybody knew what it was done for, and felt that it was a tacit acknowledgment of incompetence.

Walter and Ned went on board the vessel in Boston some days before the crew came up from Pleasant Cove. Ned goes aloft in the night, unreeves the royal buntline, takes the thimbles from the sail, the block from the eyes of the rigging, and the thimbles from the tie, and stows them all away.

"Ned," said Walter, the next day, as he was looking over the running-rigging, preparatory to bending sails, "where is the royal buntline?"

"I thought, sir, it wouldn't be needed," replied Ned, slightly coloring; "so I unrove