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Gus was there, too, looking rather pale, but perfectly restored both to health and spirits.

"Yes, sir," replied Fred; "and, though I have been as near death in many shapes before, I never felt it so horrible as when, wild with thirst, I stood expecting it on that frail raft, on the broad Atlantic."

"And your friend," said the captain, smiling, "was in still worse condition when we providentially came across you."

"Egad!" exclaimed Gus, "it came near doing for me. I'll never undertake to sail across the Atlantic on a raft again, if I can help it; at least, not without a beaker of fresh water on board."

"What is your destination now, captain?" inquired Fred.

"Boston; but I mean to capture, if possible, a few Britishers first, to make time pass pleasantly."

"Boston? we're in luck, Fred," observed Gus. "So," he added to the captain, "you sometimes have a skirmish with the British, do you?"

"Yes," replied Dale; "it's only last week I sent a sloop-of-war to Davie Jones; and, with the help of the Lord, and that long Tom there, I trust speedily to send some more of their brethren to look after them."