strain. The boatswain applauded his activity,
sending two or three forecastle-men to help him. From that moment, Neb was
as busy as a bee aloft, now appearing through openings in the smoke, on
this yard-arm, now on that, his face on a broad grin, whenever business of
more importance than common was to be done. The Briton might have had
older and more experienced seamen at work in her rigging, that day, but
not one that was more active, more ready when told what to do, or more
athletic. The _gaite de coeur_ with which this black exerted himself in
the midst of that scene of strife, clamour and bloodshed, has always
presented itself to my mind as truly wonderful.

Captain Rowley did not alter his course, or fire a gun, in answer to the
salute he received, though the two ships were scarcely a cable's-length
asunder when the Frenchman began. The Briton stood steadily on, and the
two ships passed each other, within pistol-shot, a minute or two later,
when we let fly all our larboard guns. This was the beginning of the real
war, and warm enough it was, for half an hour or more,--our ship coming
round as soon as she had fired, when the two frigates closed broadside and
broadside, both running off nearly dead before the wind. I do not know how
it happened, but when the head-yards were swung, I found myself pulling at
the fore-brace, like a dray horse. The master's mate, who commanded these
braces, thanked me for my assistance, in a cheerful voice, saying, "We'll
thrash 'em in an hour, Captain Wallingford." This was the first
consciousness I had, that my hands had entered into the affair at all!

I had now an opportunity of ascertaining what a very different thing it is
to be a spectator in such a scene, from being an actor. Ashamed of the
forgetfulness that had sent me to the brace, I walked on the quarter-deck,
where blood was already flowing freely. Everybody, but myself, was at
work, for life or death. In 1803, that mongrel gun, the carronade, had
come into general use, and those on the quarter-deck of the Briton were
beginning to fly round and look their owners in the face, when they
vomited their contents, as they grew warm with the explosion. Captain
Rowley, Clements, and the master, were all here, the first and last
attending to the trimming of the sails, while the first-lieutenant looked
a little after the battery, and a little at everything else. Scarce a
minute passed, that shot did not strike somewhere, though it was