es on the Dolphin. Among
the first I saw old Dilly, and behind him came Cyrus Vetch, his
countenance black with rage. As soon as he was among us he launched
out into bitter complaints at being herded with common seamen--he
who by right and courtesy ought to have been classed with the
officers and allowed the hospitality of a cabin.

"'Tis infamous," he cried; "'tis a scandal to treat a gentleman
with such indignity. Duguay-Trouin was not so served when he was
brought prisoner to Plymouth."

"Stow your jab!" cried the mate angrily. "Ain't we good enough for
you? What's a land lubber like you doing here at all? We ain't
aboard the Dolphin now, I'll let ye know, and here we're all equal,
and smite my eye, if you complains of your company, and gives
honest seamen any more of your paw-wawing, 'ware timbers is what I
say to you, my gemman, or I'll rake you fore and aft."

From which it may be concluded that Vetch was by no means a
favorite with the crew of the Dolphin.

Chapter 14: Harmony And Some Discord.

From Dilly I learned that the Dolphin had suffered severely in the
engagement. A third of the crew had been killed or wounded: Captain
Cawson himself was dead. The survivors had been divided, some being
left in the Dolphin, the remainder being brought to the Francois;
among these were the more severely wounded, who were tended with
much humanity in the sick bay.

Now that the chase and the fight were over, we were allowed on deck
a few at a time, a boon for which I was very grateful. I was
surprised at the youth of our captor, the renowned Duguay-Trouin.
He looked little older than myself, and was in fact, as I
afterwards discovered, but twenty-three years of age.

His youthful appearance somewhat heartened me. Here was a man (so
ran my thought) but little my senior, yet he had already won a
great name for daring and courage; he had been captured and
imprisoned, but had escaped, and was now again active in his
vocation. Other men as well as I had their mischances and
surmounted them: why should not I? Thus it happened that when, a
few days later, we arrived at the French port of St. Malo, and were
handed over to the authorities of the prison there, I was not so
depressed in spirits as I had expected to be.

This was fortunate, for the lot to which we were condemned was
miserable in the extreme. We had wretched quarters, foul and
unhealthy; some five hundred prisoners, most of them captured in
merchant ve