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gaining of such an addition to your crew will make amends for the loss of the British property which this delay gives us a chance to carry off in safety.”
    The captain of the Molly read these few words at a glance; then stamping his foot, he exclaimed, “You young villain! American or no American, you shall suffer for this sneaking trick. We’ll send you back again out of the mouth of our guns, or half-way at least. It is not worth our while to follow that miserable cheat. Those good ships will take him before many hours are over. Yankees know a British hull if American colors are flying over her.”
    Blair looked with astonishment where, far over the waters, the British man-of-war was fading from sight.
    â€œIt is a shabby trick, but I was no party to it,” he exclaimed. “I would sooner lose my right hand than lift one finger against my countrymen. I am an American. I am the son of old Joe Robertson, the pilot of Fairport. Perhaps you know him. If you do, you will be sure that one of his blood would never do dishonor to the Stars and Stripes.”
    Captain Knox of the privateer Molly had never heard of Joe Robertson; but his knowledge of the world made him see truth and innocence in the face of the boy. Blair’s words came too quickly, and his voice was pitched too high for English birth, and that the blunt captain marked at once.
    â€œNo matter who you are or where you came from, if you are all right as to the Stars and Stripes,” said Captain Knox. “We don’t ask too many questions here as to what folks have been before they come aboard the Molly. If you can obey orders and handle a rope, this is the place for you to make your fortune. Go aft, and Derry Duck our first-mate will find something for you to do in short order. He knows how to take the stiffness out of a fellow’s bones.”
    Thus dismissed, Blair mingled among the sailors at the other end of the vessel, by no means a welcome guest. Muttered curses fell on his ears, and more than one voice was heard to say, “He ought to be sunk forty fathoms in salt water, with a hundred weight of lead at his heels.”

CHAPTER XI.
    â€œMUM”
    Captain Knox did not set off in pursuit of the British vessel from which Blair had so unexpectedly escaped. Our young sailor soon learned that the “Molly” was on the look-out for richer prey, in the shape of an East Indiaman, whose costly cargo was expected to prove a gold mine for captain and crew.
    The love of adventure and the lust for gold seemed uppermost in the minds of Blair’s new companions. The Fairport boy was not long in discovering that there was about as little Christian patriotism on board the Molly, as there is verdure in Sahara. In the freedom of the mess-table, the late achievements of the crew were the occasion of many a “yarn,” and of many a fierce discussion as to who had been the boldest and most reckless in the excitement of attack and victory. It was plain that the crew of the Molly were little better than a den of thieves, their whole thought being of plunder, their whole ambition the winning of gold. Blair blushed for the honor of his country, to find such men among her avowed defenders. Oaths and obscenity made even more hateful the rough narratives in which each strove to prove himself more hardened and abandoned than the last speaker. Blair’s soul recoiled with horror from the taint of such companionship; yet for him there was no escape. Among these coarse rovers he was forced to eat and sleep, to live and labor, while many weeks went by.
    The youngest on board, he was at the beck and call of these rough men, who made his body as weary of doing their bidding as his soul of their words of wickedness. A deep, hearty hatred of the crew of the Molly took possession of Blair Robertson. He wondered that a benevolent Providence should have placed a Christian boy in the midst of the pollution of such associates, and subject