and whose name was borne on the shipping paper as Harry Johnson, he
sternly asked, "How long is it since you left His Majesty's service?"

The poor fellow turned pale as death. He lifted his hand to his hat, in
a most anti-republican style, and stammered out something indistinctly.

"'Tis of no use, Johnson," exclaimed the officer. "I see how it is; and
we must be better acquainted. Your protection was obtained by perjury.
Get ready to go in the boat."

In vain Captain Tilton represented that Johnson was sailing under the
American flag; that he had the usual certificate of being an American
citizen; that his vessel was already short manned, considering the
peculiar character of the cargo, and if his crew should be reduced, he
might find himself unable to manage the brig in heavy weather, which
there was reason to expect at that season in the latitude of the West
Indies.

To these representations the lieutenant replied in a brief and dry
manner. He said the man was an Englishman, and was wanted. He repeated
his orders to Johnson, in a more peremptory tone, to "go in the boat."

To the threats of the captain that he would lay the matter before
Congress, and make it a national affair, the officer seemed altogether
indifferent. He merely bade his trembling victim "bear a hand," as he
wished to return to the brig without delay.

When Johnson saw there was no alternative, that his fate was fixed, he
prepared to meet it like a man. He looked at the American ensign, which
was waving over his head, and said it was a pity the American flag could
not protect those who sailed under it from insult and outrage. He
shook each of us by the hand, gave us his best wishes, and followed his
baggage into the boat, which immediately shoved off.

The officer told Captain Tilton that when the British ensign was hauled
down, he might fill away, and proceed on his voyage. In about fifteen
minutes the ensign was hauled down. Orders were given to fill away
the foretopsail. The helm was put up, and we resumed our course for
Demarara.

Steering to the southward, we reached that narrow belt of the Atlantic,
called "the doldrums," which lies between the variable and the trade
winds. This tract is from two to three degrees in width, and is usually
fallen in with soon after crossing the thirtieth degree of latitude.
Here the wind is apt to be light and baffling at all seasons; and
sometimes calms prevail for several days. This tract of ocean w