Newton remained in a state of uneasy slumber until daylight, when he was awakened by the noise of boats coming alongside, and loud talking on deck.  All that had passed did not immediately rush into his mind; but his arm tied up with the bandage, and his hair matted, and his face stiff with the coagulated blood, soon brought to his recollection the communication of Judy Malony, that he had been impressed.  The ’tween decks of the cutter appeared deserted, unless indeed there were people in the hammocks slung over his head; and Newton, anxious to obtain further information, crawled under the hammocks to the ladder, and went up on deck.

About twenty sailors, well armed, were busy handing out of the boats several men whom they had brought on board, who were ordered aft by the officer in command.  Newton perceived that most of them had not received much better treatment than he had on the preceding evening; some were shockingly disfigured, and were still bleeding profusely.

“How many have you altogether, Mr Vincent?” said the lieutenant to a stout master’s mate with a tremendous pair of whiskers, which his loose handkerchief discovered to join together at his throat.

“Seventeen, sir.”

“And how many had we before?—­twenty-six, I think.”

“Twenty-seven, sir, with the young chap I sent on board last night.”

“Well, that will do; it’s quite as many as we can stow away, or take care of:—­pass them all down below, forward; take up the ladder, and put on the grating until we are out of the harbour.  As soon as the jolly-boat comes on board we’ll up anchor.”

“She’ll be off directly, sir; I ordered her to wait for Johnson and Merton, who did not come down with us.”

“Do you think they have given you the slip?”

“I should think not, sir.  Here is the jolly-boat coming off.”

“Well, pass the men forward and secure them,” replied the lieutenant.  “Overhaul the boat’s falls, and bring to with the windlass.”

Newton thought this a good opportunity to state that he was the master of a vessel, and, as such, protected from the impress; he therefore walked over to the lieutenant, addressing him, “I beg your pardon, sir—­”

“Who are you?” interrupted the lieutenant, gruffly.

“I was impressed last night, sir;—­may I speak to you?”

“No, sir, you may not.”

“It might save you some trouble, sir—­”

“It will save me more to send you down below.  Mr Vincent, shove this man down forward; why is he at large?”

“He was under the doctor’s hands, I believe, sir.  Come this way, my hearty—­stir your stumps.”

Newton would have expostulated, but he was collared by two of the press-gang, and very unceremoniously handed forward to the hatchway; the grating was taken off, and he was lowered down to the deck below, where he found himself cooped up with more than forty others, almost suffocated for the want of air and space.  The conversation (if conversation it could be called) was nothing but one continued string of curses and execrations, and vows of deep revenge.