The British vessel had indeed suffered much damage in the fearful storm.  The crashing and wrenching that had so overwhelmed poor Hal with terror, had been the destruction of mast and yard and bulwark.  Yet, though sorely dismantled, the good ship was able to keep bravely on her way.

She had been several days heading for the distant shores of England, alone on the wide ocean, which like a sulky child bore the marks of its late outburst of passion long after the sky above was all smiles and sunshine.

The appearance of three sails along the far horizon caught the captain’s wary eye.  That they were Americans he did not doubt ­privateers, against which singly he could have won an easy victory; but disabled as his vessel now was, he could not dare to cope with such a trio.

They gained rapidly upon him.  His resolution was taken at once.  He wrote a few lines hastily, sealed them, and summoned Blair to his side.  “My boy,” he said, “I want to send you on a dangerous mission.  Dare you trust yourself in your boat upon the sea, chafing as it still is from the late storm?  I want a messenger to send to yonder craft so swiftly nearing us.  Dare you go?  Your courage shall set you free.”

“I will go.  God will watch over me, and bring me safe to my mother,” said Blair promptly.

A few words of affectionate parting with Hal, and then Blair was again a free boy, the sky above and the friendly waters below.  Friendly they seemed to him as he sped over the waves towards the flag of his native land.  He did not look behind him to see that the Stars and Stripes were waving above the British vessel, run up when she was called on to show her colors.  He did not note the fact that the deck on which he had lately stood was fast passing from sight while he hasted on his errand.

Two of the privateers kept up their chase of the suspicious craft, while the other hove to, to receive the message which had been signalized as in the hands of the boy in the fast approaching boat.

Blair stepped freely and gladly when he was once more among his own dear countrymen, and it was with a beaming face that he presented his sealed note to the captain of the “Molly.”

The note was as follows:  “We send you herewith an American boy, by chance our prisoner.  We trust that the 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.

“It 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.

“No 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.”