The next evening our friend the captain found his fair audience by the taffrail increased to a round dozen, while several of the gentlemen passengers lounged near, and the chief officer divided his attention between the gay group of ladies below and the "fanning" main-topsail high up, with its corresponding studding-sail hung far out aloft to the breeze; the narrative having by this time contracted a sort of professional interest, even to his matter-of-fact taste, which enabled him to enjoy greatly the occasional glances of sly humour directed to him by his superior, for whom he evidently entertained a kind of admiring respect, that seemed to be enhanced as he listened. As for the commander himself, he related the adventures in question with a spirit and vividness of manner that contributed to them no small charm; amusingly contrasted with the cool, dry, indifferent sort of gravity of countenance amidst which the keen grey seawardly eye, under the peak of the naval cap, kept changing and twinkling as it seemed to run through the experience of youth again—sometimes almost approaching to an undeniable wink. The expression of it at this time, however, was more serious, while it appeared to run along the dotted reef-band of the mizzen-topsail above, as across the entry in a log-book, and as if there were something interesting to come.

"Well, my dear captain," asked his matronly relative, "what comes next? You and your friend had picked up a—a—what was it now!"

"Ah! I remember, ma'am," said the naval man, laughing; "the bottle—that was where I was. Well, as you may conceive, this said scrap of penmanship in the bottle did take both of us rather on end; and for two or three minutes Westwood and I sat staring at each other and the uncouth-looking fist, in an inquiring sort of way, like two cocks over a beetle. Westwood, for his part, was doubtful of its being the planter's writing at all; but the whole thing, when I thought of it, made itself as clear to me, so far, as two half-hitches, and so the angrier I was at myself for being done—by a frog-eating bloody-politeful set of Frenchmen like these. Could we only have clapped eyes on the villanous thieving craft at the time, by Jove! if I wouldn't have manned a boat from the Indiaman, leave or no leave, and boarded her in another fashion. But where they were now, what they meant, and whether we should ever see them again, Heaven only knew. For all we could say, indeed, something strange might have turned up at home in Europe—a new war, old Boney got loose once more, or what not; and I could scarce fall asleep for guessing and bothering over the matter, as restless as the first night we cruised down the Channel in the old Pandora.

"Early in the morning-watch a sudden stir of the men on deck woke me, and I bundled up in five minutes' time. But it was only the second mate setting them to wash decks, and out they came from all quarters, yawning, stretching themselves, and tucking up their trousers, as they passed the full buckets lazily along; while a couple of boys could be seen hard at work to keep the head-pump going, up against the grey sky over the bow. However, I was so anxious to have the first look-out ahead, that I made a bold push through the thick of it for the bowsprit, where I went out till I could see nothing astern of me but the Indiaman's big black bows and figure-head, swinging as it were round the spar I sat upon, with the spread of her canvas coming dim after me out of the fog, and a lazy snatch of foam lifting to her cutwater as the breeze died away.

"The sun was just beginning to rise; ten minutes before it had been almost quite dark; there was a mist on the water, and the sails were heavy with dew; when a circle began to open round us, where the surface looked as smooth and dirty as in a dock, the haze seeming to shine through, as the sunlight came sifting through it, like silver gauze. You saw the big red top of the sun glare against the water-line, and a wet gleam of crimson came sliding from one smooth blue swell to another; while the back of the haze astern turned from blue to purple, and went lifting away into vapoury streaks and patches. All of a sudden the ship came clear out aloft and on the water, with her white streak as bright as snow, her fore-royal and truck gilded, her broad foresail as red as blood, and every face on deck shining as they looked ahead, where I felt like a fellow held up on a toasting fork, against the fiery wheel the sun made ere clearing the horizon. Two or three strips of cloud melted in it like lumps of sugar in hot wine; and after overhauling the whole seaboard round and round, I kept straining my eyes into the light, with the notion there was something to be seen in that quarter, but to no purpose; there wasn't the slightest sign of the brig or any other blessed thing. What struck me a little, however, was the look of the water just as the fog was clearing away; the swell was sinking down, the wind fallen for the time to a dead calm; and when the smooth face of it caught the light full from aloft, it seemed to come out all over long-winding wrinkles and eddies, running in a broad path, as it were, twisted and woven together, right into the wake of the sunrise.

"When I came in-board from the bowsprit, big Harry and another grumpy old salt were standing by the bitts, taking a forecastle observation, and gave me a squint, as much as to ask if I had come out of the east, or had been trying to pocket the flying-jibboom. 'D'you notice anything strange about the water at all?' I asked in an offhand sort of way, wishing to see if the men had remarked aught of what I suspected. The old fellow gave me a queer look out of the tail of his eye, and the ugly man seemed to be measuring me from head to foot. 'No, sir,' said the first, carelessly; 'can't say as how I does'; while Harry coolly commenced sharpening his sheath-knife on his shoe. 'Did you ever hear of currents hereabouts?' said I to the other man. 'Hereaway!' said he. 'Why, bless ye, sir, it's unpossible as I could ha' heerd tell on sich a thing, 'cause, ye see, sir, there ain't none so far out at sea, sir—al'ays axin' your parding, ye know, sir!' while he hitched up his trousers and looked aloft, as if there were somewhat wrong about the jib-halliards.

"The Indiaman by this time had quite lost steerage-way and came sheering slowly round, broadside to the sun, while the water began to glitter like a single sheet of quicksilver, trembling and swelling to the firm edge of it far off; the pale blue sky filling deep aloft with light, and a long white haze growing out of the horizon to eastward. I kept still looking over from the fore-chains with my arms folded, and an eye to the water on the starboard side, next the sun, where, just a fathom or two from the bright copper of her sheathing along the water-line, you could see into it. Every now and then little bells and bubbles, as I thought, would come up in it, and break short of the surface; and sometimes I fancied the line of a slight ripple, as fine as a rope-yarn, went turning and glistening round one of the ship's quarters, across her shadow. Just then the old sailor behind me shoved his face over the bulwark, too, all warts and wrinkles, like a ripe walnut-shell, with a round knob of a nose in the middle of it, and seemed to be watching to see it below, when he suddenly squirted his tobacco-juice as far out as possible alongside, and gave his mouth a wipe with the back of his tarry yellow hand; catching my eye in a shame-faced sort of way, as I glanced first at him and then at his floating property.

"I leant listlessly over the rail, watching the patch of oily yellow froth as it floated quietly on the smooth face of the water; till all at once I started to observe that beyond all question it had crept slowly away past our starboard bow, clear of the ship, and at last melted into the glittering blue brine. The two men noticed my attention, and stared along with me; while the owner of the precious cargo himself kept looking after it wistfully into the wake of the sunlight, as if he were a little hurt; then aloft and round about, in a puzzled sort of way, to see if the ship hadn't perhaps taken a sudden sheer to port. 'Why, my man,' I said, meeting his oyster-like old sea-eye, 'what's the reason of that?—perhaps there is some current or other here, after all, eh?' Just as he meant to answer, however, I noticed his watch-mate give him a hard shove in the ribs with his huge elbow, and a quick screw of his weather top-light, while he kept the lee one doggedly fixed on myself. I accordingly walked slowly aft as if to the quarter-deck, and came round the long-boat again, right abreast of them.

"Harry was pacing fore and aft with his arms folded, when his companion made some remark on the heat, peering all about him, and then right up into the air aloft. 'Well then, shipmate,' said Harry, dabbing his handkerchief back into his tarpaulin again, 'I've seen worse, myself—ownly, 'twas in the Bight o' Benin, look ye—an' afore the end o' it, d'ye see, we hove o'erboard nine o' a crew, let alone six dozen odds of a cargo!' 'Cargo!' exclaimed his companion, in surprise. 'Ay, black passingers they was, ye know, old ship!' answered the ugly rascal, coolly; 'an' I tell ye what it is, Jack, I never sails yet with passengers aboard, but some'at bad turned up in the end—al'ays one or another on 'em's got a foul turn in his conscience, ye see! I say, mate,' continued he, looking round, 'didn't ye note that 'ere longshore looking customer as walked aft just now, with them soft quest'ns o' his about——' 'Why,' says Jack, 'it's him Jacobs and the larboard watch calls the Green Hand, an' a blessed good joke they has about him, to all appearance, but they keeps it pretty close.' 'Close, do they,' growled Harry, 'I doesn't like the cut of his jib, I tell ye, shipmate! Jist you take my word for it, that 'ere fellow's done some'at bad at home, or he's bent on some'at bad afloat—it's all one! Don't ye mark how he keeps boxhaulin' and skulking fore an' aft, not to say looking out to wind'ard every now an' again, as much as he expected a sail to leave in sight?' 'Well, I'm blowed, but you're right, Harry!' said the other, taking off his hat to scratch his head, thoughtfully. 'Ay, and what's more,' went on Harry, 'it's just comed ath'art me as how I've clapped eyes on the chap somewheres or other afore this—if I don't think it was amongst a gang o' Spanish pirates I saw tried for their lives, and let off, in the Havanney!'

"'Thank you, my man,' thought I, as I leant against the booms on the other side. 'Did you?—a wonder it wasn't in the Old Bailey, which would have been more possible, though less romantic—seeing in the Havannah I never was!' The curious thing was that I began to have a faint recollection, myself, of having seen this same cross-grained beauty, or heard his voice, before; though where and how it was I couldn't for the life of me say at the moment.

"'Lor' bless us, Harry!' faltered out the old sailor, 'ye don't mean it!—sich a young, soft-looked shaver, too!' 'Them smooth-skinned sort o' coves is kimmonly the worst, mate,' replied Harry; 'for that matter ye may be quite sure he's got his chums aboard—an' how does we know but the ship's sold, from stem to starn? There's that 'ere blackavizzed parson, now, and one or two more aft—cuss me if that 'ere feller smells brine for the first time! An' as for this here Bob Jacobs o' yours, blow me if there ain't over many of his kind in the whole larboard watch, Jack! A man-o'-war's-man's al'ays a blackguard out on a man-o'-war, look-ye!' 'Why, bless me, shipmate,' said Jack, lowering his voice, 'by that recknin', a man don't know his friends in this here craft! The sooner we gives the mate a hint the better, to my thinking?' 'No, blow me, no, Jack,' said Harry, 'keep all fast, or ye'll kick up a worse nitty, old boy! Just you hould on till ye see what's to turn up—ownly stand by and look out for squalls, that's all! There's the skipper laid up below in his berth, I hears—and to my notions, that 'ere mate of ours is no more but a blessed soldier, with his navigation an' his head-work, an' be blowed to him: where's he runned the ship, I'd like to know, messmate!' 'Well, strike me lucky if I'm fit to guess!' answered Jack, gloomily. 'No, s'help me Bob, if he knows hisself!' said Harry. 'But here's what I says, anyhow—if so be we heaves in sight of a pirate, or bumps ashore on a ileyand i' the dark, shiver my tawsels if I doesn't have a clip with a handspike at that 'ere soft-sawderin' young blade in the straw hat!' 'Well, my fine fellow,' thought I, 'many thanks to you again, but I certainly shall look out for you!'

"All this time I couldn't exactly conceive whether the sulky rascal really suspected anything of the kind, or whether he wasn't in fact sounding his companion, and perhaps others of the crew, as to how far they would go in case of an opportunity for mischief; especially when I heard him begin to speculate if 'that 'ere proud ould beggar of a naboob, aft yonder, musn't have a sight o' gould and jowels aboard with him! Why, for the matter o' that, mate,' continued he, 'I doesn't signify the twinklin' of a marling-spike, mind ye, what lubberly trick they sarves this here craft, so be ownly ye can get anyhow ashore, when all's done! It's nouther ship-law nor shore-law, look ye, mate, as houlds good on a lonely dazart!' 'Ay, ay, true enough, bo',' said the other, 'but what o' that? there ain't much signs of a dazart, I reckon, in this here blue water!' 'Ho!' replied Harry, rather scornfully, 'that's 'cause you blue-water, long-v'yage chaps isn't up to them, brother. There's you and that 'ere joker in the striped slops, Jack, chaffing away over the side jist now about a current—confounded sharp he thinks hisself, too—but d'ye think Harry Foster ain't got his weather-eye open? For my part, I thinks more of the streak o' haze yonder-away, right across the starboard bow, nor all the currents in——' 'Ay, ay,' said Jack, stretching out again to look, 'the heat, you means?' 'Heat!' exclaimed the ugly topman, 'heat be blowed! Hark ye, mate, it may be a strip o' cloud, no doubt, or the steam over a sand-bank; but so be the calm lasts so long, and you sees that 'ere streak again by sundown with a touch o' yallow in 't——'

"'What—what—shipmate?' asked Jack, breathless with anxiety. 'Then it's the black coast iv Africay, and no mistake,' said Harry. 'And what's more,' continued the fellow, coolly, after taking a couple of short turns, 'if there be's a current, why look ye, it'll set dead in to where the land lays—an' I'm blessed if there's one aboard, breeze or no breeze, as is man enough for to take her out o' the suck of a Africane current.' 'The Lord be with us!' exclaimed the other sailor, in alarm, 'what's to be done, Harry, bo'; when do you mean for to let them know aft?' 'Why, maybe I'm wrong, ye know, old ship,' said Harry, 'an' a man mustn't go for to larn his betters, ye know; by this time half o' the watch has a notion on it, at any rate. There's Dick White, Jack Jones, Jim Sidey, an' a few more Wapping men, means to stick together in case o' accidents; so Jack, man, ye needn't be in sich an a taking. What the' (here he came out with a regular string of top-gallant oaths), 'when you finds a good chance shoved into your fist, none o' your doin', ain't a feller to haul in the slack of it 'cause he's got a tarry paw and ships before the mast? I tell ye what it is, old ship, 'tain't the first time you an' me's been cast away, an' I doesn't care the drawin' of a rope-yarn, in them 'ere latitudes, if I'm cast away again. Hark ye, ould boy: grog to the mast-head, a grab at the passengers' wallibles, when they ha'n't no more use for 'em, in course; and the pick of the ladies, jist for the takin' o' them ashore!'

"'Lord love ye, Harry, belay there!' said Jack; 'what's the good o' talkin' on what ain't like to be?' 'Less like things turn up,' said Harry. 'More by token, if I hasn't pitched upon my fancy lass a'ready; an' who knows, old ship, but you marries a naboob's darter yet, and gets yourself shoved all square, like a riglar hare, into his heestate, as they calls it? For my part, I've more notion of the maid! An' it'll go hard with me if we doesn't manage to haul that 'ere mishynar parson safe ashore on the strength of it.' 'God bless ye, Harry,' answered Jack, somewhat mournfully, 'I'm twice spliced already!' 'Third time's lucky, though,' replied Harry, with a chuckle, as he walked towards the side again and looked over; the rest of the watch being gathered on the other bow, talking and laughing; the passengers beginning to appear on the poop, and the Scotch second mate standing up aft on the taffrail, feeling for a breath of wind. The big topman came slowly back to his companion, and leant himself on the spars again. 'Blowed if I don't think you're right, mate,' said he, 'you and that 'ere lawyer. You'd a'most say there's a ripple round her larboard bow just now, sure enough—like she were broadside on to some drift or another. Hows'ever, that's neither here nor there; for my part, I sets more count by the look o' the sky to east'ard; an' be blowed, shipmate, if that same yonder don't make me think of woods.' 'Well,' said Jack, 'I goes by sunrise, messmate, an' I didn't like it overmuch myself, d' ye see! That 'ere talk o' yours, Harry, consarnin' dazarts and what not—why, bless me, it's all my eye—this bout, at any rate—seein' as how, if we doesn't have a stiff snuffler out o' that very quarter afore twenty-four hours is over, you call me lubber!'

"'Ho, ho! old salt,' chuckled Harry, 'none o' them saws holds good hereaway; if it's the coast of Africay, mate, two watches 'll settle our hash in them longitudes, without going the length o' six! Ha'n't I knocked about the bloody coast of it six weeks at a time, myself, let alone livin' as many months in the woods?—so I knows the breedin' of a turnady a cussed sight too well, not to speak on the way the landblink looms afore you sights it!'

"'Lived in them there woods, did ye?' inquired Jack. 'Ay, bo', an' a rum rig it was too, sure enough,' said Harry; 'the very same time I told you on, i' the Bight o' Benin.' 'My eye,' exclaimed the other, 'a man never knows what he may come to. Let's into the rights of it, Harry, can't ye, afore eight bells strikes?'

"'Woods!' said Harry, 'I b'lieve ye, ould ship. I see'd enough o' woods, that time, arter all—and 'twan't that long agone, either—I'll not say how long, but it wa'n't last v'yage. A sharp, clinker-built craft of a schooner she wor; I'm not goin' to give ye her right name, but they called her the Lubberhater 21 —an' if there wa'n't all sorts on us aboard, it's blaming ye—an' a big double-jinted man-eatin' chap of a Yankee was our skipper, as sly as slush—more by token, he had a wart alongside o' one eye as made him look two ways at ye—Job Price by name—an' arter he'd made his fortin, I heard he's took up a teetotal chapel afloat on the Missishippey. She'd got a strapping long nose, that 'ere schooner, so, my boy, we leaves everything astarn, chase or race, I promise ye; an' as for a blessed ould ten-gun brig what kept a-cruising thereaway, why, we jest got used to her, like, and al'ays lowers our mainsail afore takin' the wind of her, by way o' good-bye, quite perlite. Blowed if it warn't rum, though, for to see the brig's white figger'ed over the swell, rollin' under a cloud o' canvas, stens'ls crowded out alow an' aloft, as she jogged arter us. Then she'd haul her wind an' fire a gun, an' go beating away up in chase of some other craft, as caught the chance for runnin' out whenever they sees the Lubberhater well to sea—why, s' help me Bob, if the traders on the coast didn't pay Job Price half-a-dozen blacks apiece every trip, jist for to play that 'ere dodge. At last, one time, not long after I joined the craft, what does he do but nigh-hand loses her an' her cargo, all owin' to reckonin' over much on this here traverse. Out we comes one night in the tail of a squall, an' as soon as it clears, there sure enough we made out the brig, hard after us, as we thinks—so never a rag more Job claps on, 'cause two of his friends, ye see, was jist outside the bar in the Noon river. Well, very soon the cruiser begins to overhaul us, as one gaff-taups'l wouldn't do, nor yet another, till the flying-jib and bonnets made her walk away from them in right 'arnest—when slap comes a long-shot that that took the fore-topmast out of us in a twinkling. So when the moonlight comed out, lo an' behold, instead o' the brig's two masts stiff and straight against the haze, there was three spanking sticks all ataunto, my boy, in a fine new sloop-o'-war as had fresh come on the station—the Iris, they called her—and a fast ship she wor. But all said and done, the schooner had the heels of her in aught short of a reef-taups'l breeze—though, as for the other two, the sloop-o'-war picked off both on 'em in the end.'

"At this point of the fellow's account, I, Ned Collins, began to prick up my ears, pretty sure it was the dear old Iris he was talking of; and, thought I, 'Oho, my mate, we shall have you directly—listening's all fair with a chap of this breed.'

"'Well,' said he, ''twas the next trip after that, we finds the coast clear, as commonly was—for, d' ye see, they couldn't touch us if so be we hadn't a slave aboard—in fact, we heerd as how the cruiser was up by Serry Lony, and left some young leftenant or other on the watch with a sort o' lateen-rigged tender. A precious raw chap he was, by all accounts—and, sure enough, there he kept plying off and on, in-shore, 'stead of out of sight to seaward till the craft would make a bolt; an' as soon as ye dropped an anchor, he'd send a boat aboard with a reefer, to ax if ye'd got slaves in the hold. In course, ye know, Job Price sends back a message, "palm-ile an' iv'ry, an' gould if we can"—h'ists the Portingee colours, brings up his Portingee papers, and makes the Portingee stoo'rd skipper for the spell—but anyhow, bein' no less nor three slavers in the mouth of the Bonny river at the time, why, he meant to show fight if need be, and jest man-handle the young navy sprig to his heart's content. Hows'ever, the second or third night, all on a suddent we found he'd sheered off for a decency's sake, as it might be, an hour or two afore we'd began to raft off the niggers. Well, mate, right in the midst of it there comes sich a fury of a turnady off the land, as we'd to slip cable and run fair out to sea after the other craft what had got sooner full—one on 'em went ashore in sight, an' we not ninety blacks aboard yet, with barely a day's water stowed in.

"'The next morning, out o' sight of land, we got the sea-breeze, and stood in again under everything, till we made Fernandy Po ileyand, three leagues off, or thereby, an' the two ebony-brigs beating out in company, so the skipper stands over across their course for to give them a hail, heaves to and pulls aboard the nearest, where he stays a good long spell and drinks a stiff glass, as ye may fancy, afore partin'. Back comes Job Price in high glee, and tould the mate as how that mornin' the brigs had fell foul o' the man-o'-war tender, bottom up, an' a big Newfoundling dog a-howlin' on the keel—no doubt she'd turned the turtle in that 'ere squall—more by token, he brought the dog alongst with him in a present. So away we filled again to go in for the Bonny river, when the breeze fell, and shortly arter there we was all three dead becalmed, a couple o' miles betwixt us, sticking on the water like flies on glass, an' as hot, ye know, as blazes—the very moral o' this here. By sundown we hadn't a drop of water, so the skipper sent to the nearest brig for some; but strike me lucky if they'd part with a bucketful for love, bein' out'ard bound. As the Spanish skipper said, 'twas either hard dollars or a stout nigger, and t' other brig said the same. A slight puff o' land-wind we had in the night, though next day 'twas as calm as ever, and the brigs farther off—so by noon, my boy, for two blessed casks, if Job Price hadn't to send six blacks in the boat. Shorter yarn, Jack, but the calm held that night too, and blowed if the brigs would sell another breaker—what we had we couldn't spare to the poor devils under hatches, and the next day, why they died off like rotten sheep, till we hove the last on 'em o'board; and frighterful enough it was, mind ye, for to see about fifty sharks at work all round the schooner at once, as long as it lasted.

"'Well, in the arternoon we'd just commenced squabbling aboard amongst ourselves, round the dreg water, or whether to board one o' the brigs and have a fair fight, when off come a bit of a breeze, betwixt the two high peaks on Fernandy Po, both the brigs set stensails, and begins slipping quietly off—our skipper gived orders to brace after them, and clear away the long gun amidships; but all on a suddent we made out a lump of a brig dropping down before it round the ileyand, which we knowed her well enough for a Bristol craft as had lost half her hands up the Callebar, in the gould an' iv'ry trade. Down she comed, wonderful fast for the light breeze, if there hadn't been one o' yer currents besides off the ileyand, till about half-a-mile away she braces up, seemingly to sheer across it and steer clear of us. Out went our boat, an' the skipper bids every man of her crew to shove a short cutlash inside his trousers. Says he, "I guess we'll first speak 'em fair, but if we don't ha' water enough, it'll be 'tarnall queer, that's all," says he—an' Job was a man never swore, but he looked mighty bad that time, I must say; so we outs oars and pulls right aboard the trader, without answerin' ever a hail, when up the side we bundled on deck, one arter the other, mad for a drink, and sees the master with five or six of a crew, all as white as ghostesses, and two or three Kroomen, besides a long-legged young feller a-sittin' and kicking his feet over the kimpanion hatch, with a tumblerful o' grog in his fist, as fresh to all seemin' as a fish, like a supper-cargo or some'at o' the sort, as them craft commonly has.

"'"What schooner's that?" axes the master, all abroad like; an' says Job—says he, out o' breath, "Never you mind; I guess you'll let 's have some water, for we wants it mighty keen!" "Well," says the other, shaking his head, "I'm afeared we're short ourselves—anyhow," says he, "we'll give ye a dipper the piece"—and accordingly they fists us along a dozen gulps, hand over hand. "'Twon't do, I guess, mister," says our skipper; "we wants a cask!" Here the master o' the brig shakes his head again, and guv a look to the young long-shore-like chap aft, which sings out as we couldn't have no more for love nor money—an' I see Captin Price commence for to look savitch again, and feel for the handle on his cutlash. "Rather you'd ax iv'ry or gould-dust!" sings out the supper-cargo; "hows'ever," says he, "as ye've tooken sich a fancy to it, short o' water as we is, why a fair exchange ain't no robbery," says he: "you wants water, an' we wants hands; haven't ye a couple o' niggers for to spare us, sir, by way of a barter now?" he says. "Well, mate, I'll be blowed if I ever see a man turn so wicked fur'ous as Job Price turns at this here, an says he, through his teeth, "If ye'd said a nigger's nail-parin', I couldn't done it, so it's no use talkin'." "Oh come, captin," says the young fellow, wonderful angshis-like, "say one, jist—it's all on the quiet, ye know. Bless me, captin," says he, "I'd do a deal for a man in a strait, 'tickerly for yerself—an' I think we'd manage with a single hand more. I'll give ye two casks and a bag o' gould dust for one black, and we'll send aboard for him just now, ourselves!" "No!" roars Job Price, walkin' close up to him; "ye've riz me, ye cussed Britisher ye, an' I tell ye we'll take what we wants!" "No jokes though, captin!" says the feller; "what's one to a whole raftful I heerd of ye shipping?" "Go an' ax the sharks, ye beggar!" says the skipper; "here, my lads!" says he, an' makes a grab at the other's throat, when slap comes a jug o' rum in his eye-lights, and the young chap ups fist in quick-sticks, and drops him like a cock, big as he was. By that time, though, in a twinklin' the master was flat on deck, and the brig's crew showed no fight—when, lo an' behold, my boy, up bundles a score o' strapping man-o'-war's-men out of the cabing. One or two on us got a cut about the head, an' my gentleman supper-cargo claps a pistol to my ear from aft, so we knocked under without more to-do. In five minutes' time every man jack of us had a seizing about his wrists and lower pins; and says Job Price, in a giving-up sort o' v'ice, "You're too cust spry for playin' jokes on, I calc'late, squire," he says. "Jokes!" says the young feller, "why, it's no joke—in course you knows me?" "Niver see'd ye atween the eyes afore," says Job, "but don't bear no malice, mister, now." "That's it," says the t'other, lookin' at the schooner again, "no more I does, so jist think a bit; ha'n't you really a nigger or so aboard o' ye—if it was jist one?" "Squash the one!" says Job, shakin' his head nellicholly like—an' "Sorry for it," says the chap, "'cause ye see I'm the leftenant belongin' to the Irish, an' I carn't titch yer schooner if so be ye ha'n't a slave aboard." "Lawk a'mighty!—no!" sings out Job Price, 'cause, bein' half-blinded he couldn't ha' noted the lot o' man-o'-war's-men sooner. "But I can," says the other, "for piratecy, ye see; an' what's more," he says, "there's no help for it now, I'm afeard, mister what-they-call-ye."

"'Well, mate, after that ye may fancy our skipper turns terrible down in the mouth; so without a word more they parbuckles us all down below into the cabin—an' what does this here leftenant do but he strips the whole lot, rigs out as many of his men in our duds, hoists out a big cask o' water on the brig's far side, and pulls round for the schooner—hisself togged out like the skipper, and his odd hands laid down in the boat's bottom.' You won't wonder at my being highly amused with the fellow's yarn, since the fact was that it happened to be one of my own adventures in the days of the Iris, two or three years before, when we saw a good many scenes together, far more wild and stirring, of course, in the thick of the slave trade; but really the ugly rascal described it wonderfully well.

"'Well,' said Harry, 'I gets my chin shoved up in the starn-windy, where I seed the whole thing, and tould the skipper accordently. The schooner's crew looked out for the water like so many oysters in a tub; the leftenant jumps up the side with his men after him, an' not so much as the cross of two cutlashes did we hear afore the onion-jack flew out a-peak over her mains'l. In five minutes more, the schooner fills away before the breeze, and begins to slide off in fine style after the pair o' brigs, as was nigh half-hull down to seaward by this time. There we was, left neck and heel below in the trader, and he hauled up seemin'ly for the land; an' arter a bit, says the skipper to me, "Foster, my lad, I despise this way o' things," says he; "ain't there no way on gettin' clear?" "Never say die, captin!" I says; an' says he, "I calc'late they left considerable few hands aboard?" "None but them sleepy-like scum o' iv'ry men," I says, but be blowed if I see'd what better we was, till down comes a little nigger cabin-boy for some'at or other, with a knife in his hand. Job fixes his eye on him—I've heerd he'd a way in his eye with niggers as they couldn't stand—an' says he, soft-sawderin' like, "Come here, will ye, my lad, an' give us a drink," so the black come for'ard with a pannikin, one foot at a time, an' he houlds it out to the skipper's lips—for, d'ye see, all on us had our flippers lashed behind our backs. "Now," says he, "thankee, boy—look in atwixt my legs, and ye'll find a dollar." With that, jest as the boy stoops, Job Price ketches his neck fast betwixt his two knees, an' blowed if he didn't jam them harder, grinning all the time, till down drops the little black throttled on the deck. "That's for thankin' a nigger!" says he, lookin' as savitch as a fiend, and got the knife in his teeth, when he turned to and sawed through the seizing round my wrists—an' in course I sets every man clear in quick-sticks. "Now!" says Job, looking round, "the quicker the better—that cussed lubber-ratin' hound's got my schooner, but maybe, my lads, this here iv'ry man'll pay expenses: if I'm made out a pirate, I'll arn the name!"

"'Well, we squints up the hatchway, and see'd a young midshipman a-standing with his back to us, watching the brig's crew at the braces, an' a pistol in one hand—when all at once our skipper slips off his shoes, runs up the stair as quiet as a cat, an' caught the end of a capstan-bar as lay on the scuttle. With that down he comes crash on the poor fellow's scull from aft, and brained him in a moment. Every man of us got bloody-minded with the sight, so we scarce knowed what we did, ye know, mate, afore all hands o' them was gone—how, I ain't goin' for to say, nor the share as one had in it more nor another. The long an' the short on it was, we run the brig by sundown in amongst the creeks up the Camaroons river, thinkin' to lie stowed away close thereabouts till all wor cold. Hows'ever, they kicked up the devil's delight about a piratecy, and the sloop-o'-war comes back shortly, when night an' day there was that young shark of a leftenant huntin' arter us, as sharp as a marling-spike—we dursn't come down the river nohow, till what with a bad conscience, fogs, and sleepin' every night within stink o' them blasted muddy mangroves an' bulrushes together, why, mate, the whole ten hands died off one arter the other in the fever—leaving ownly me an' the skipper. Job Price was like a madman over the cargo, worth good knows how many thousand dollars, as he couldn't take out; but for my part, I gets the brig's punt one night and sculls myself ashore, and off like a hare into the bush by moonlight. No use, ye know, for to say what rum chances I meets with in the woods, livin' up trees and the like for fear o' illiphants, sarpents, an' high-annies; but, blow me, if I didn't think the farther ye went aloft, the more monkeys an' parrykeets you roused out, jabberin' all night so as a feller couldn't close an eye—an' as for the sky, be blowed if I ever once sighted it. So, d' ye see, it puts all notions o' fruits an' flowers out o' my head, an' all them jimmy-jessamy sort o' happy-go-lucky yarns about barbers' ileyands and shipherdresses what they used for to spell out o' dicshinars at school—all gammon, mate!'

"'Lor' love ye, no, surely,' said Jack; 'it's in the Bible!'

"'Ay, ay,' said Harry, 'that's arter ye've gone to Davy Jones, no doubt; but I've been in the Southsy ileyands since, myself, an' be blowed if it's much better there! Hows'ever, still anon, I took a new fancy, an' away I makes for the river, in sarch of a nigger villache, as they calls 'em; and sure enough it warn't long ere right I plumps in the midst on a lot o' cane huts amongst trees. But sich a shine and a nitty as I kicks up, ye see, bein' half-naked, for all the world like a wild man o' the woods, an' for a full hour I has the town to myself, so I hoists my shirt on a stick over the hut I took, by way of a flag o' truce, an' at last they all begins for to swarm in again. Well, ye see, I knowed the ways o' the natifs thereabouts pretty well, an' what does I do but I'd laid myself flat afore an ugly divvle of a wooden himmache, as stood on the flour, an' I wriggles and twists myself, and groans like a chap in a fit—what they calls fittish, thereaway—an' in course, with that they logs me down at once for a rig'lar holy 'possel from Jerusalem. The long an' the short on it was, the fittish-man takes me under charge, and sets me to tell fortins or the like with an ould quadrant they got somewheres—gives me a hut an' two black wives, begad! and there I lives for two or three weeks on end, no doubt, as proud as Tommy; when, one fine morning, what does I see off shore in the river but that confounded man-o'-war tender, all ship-shape an' ataunto again. So, my boy, I gives 'em to understand as how, bein' over vallible at home with the king of England, in course he'd sent for to puckalow me away—an' no sooner said, but the whole town gets in a fluster—the fittish-man, which a knowin' chap he was, takes and rubs me from heel to truck with ile out on a sartin nut as turned me coal-black in half-an-hour, an' as soon as I looks in the creek, mate, be blowed if I'd a knewn myself from a nigger, somehow!'

"To tell the truth, as I thought to myself, it was no wonder, as Master Harry's nose and lips were by no means in the classic style, and his skin, as it was, didn't appear of the whitest.

"'So there, ye know, I sits before a hut grindin' away at maize, with nothink else but a waist-cloth round me, and my two legs stuck out, till such a time as the leftenant an' two boats' crews had sarched the villache, havin' heerd, no doubt, of a white man thereabouts—an' at last off they went. Well, in course, at first this here affair gives the fittish-man a lift in the niggers' eyes, by reason o' havin' turned a white man black—'cause, ye see, them fittish-men has a rig'lar-bred knowledge on plants and sich-like. But hows'ever, in a day or two I begins for to get rayther oneasy, seein' it didn't wash off, an' accordently I made beknown as much to the fittish-man, when, my boy, if he doesn't shake his mop-head, and rubs noses, as much as to say, "We ain't agoin' to part." 'Twas no use, and thinks I, "Ye man-eating scum, be blowed if I don't put your neck out, then!" So I turns too with my knife on a log o' wood, carves a himmache twice as big an' ugly as his'n, and builds a hut over it, where I plays all the conjerin' tricks I could mind on—till, be hanged if the niggers didn't begin to leave the fittish-man pretty fast, and make a blessed sight more o' me. I takes a couple more wives, gets drunk every day on palm-wine and toddy juice—as for the hogs an' the yams they brought me, why I couldn't stow 'em away; an' in place o' wanting myself white again, I rubs myself over and over with that 'ere nut, let alone palm-ile, till the ould fittish-man looks brown alongside o' me. At last the king o' the niggers thereaway—King Chimbey they called him, or some'at o' that sort—he sends for to see me, an' away to his town they takes me, a mile or two up the country, where I see'd him; but I'm blowed, Jack, if he'd got a crown on at all, ownly a ould red marine's coat, an' a pair o' top-boots, what was laid away when he warn't in state. Hows'ever, he gives me two white beans an' a red un in sign o' high favour, and gives me to know as I wor to stay there. But one thing I couldn't make out, why the black king's hut an' the josst-house as they calls it, was all stuck round with bones an' dead men's skulls!—'twan't long, though, ere I finds it out, mate! That 'ere fittish-man, d 'ye see, wor a right-down imp to look at, and wicked enough he eyed me; but still anon I sends over for my wives, turns out a black feller out on his hut, an' slings a hammock in it, when the next day or so I meets the first fittish-man in the woods, an' the poor divvle looks wonderful friendly-like, makin' me all kinds o' woful signs, and seemin'ly as much as to say for to keep a bright look-out on the other one. All on a suddent what does he do, but he runs a bit as far as a tree, picks up a sort of a red mushroom, an' he rubs with it across the back o' my hand, gives a wink, and scuttles off. What it meaned I couldn't make out, till I gets back to the town, when I chanced to look at my flipper, and there I see a clean white streak alongst it! Well, I thinks, liberty's sweet, an' I'm blessed if a man's able to cruise much to windward o' right-down slavery, thinks I, if he's black! Howsomever, thinks I, I'll jest hold on a bit longer.

"'Well, next day, the black king had the blue-devils with drinking rum, an' he couldn't sleep nohow, 'cause, as I made out, he'd killed his uncle, they said—I doesn't know but he'd eaten him, too—anyhow, I see'd him eat as much of a fat hog, raw, as ud sarve out half the watch—so the fittish-man tells him there's nought for it but to please the fittish. What that wor, blowed if I knew; but no sooner sundown nor they hauls me out o' my hut, claps me in a stinking hole as dark as pitch, and leaves me till mornin', as I thought. Jist about the end o' the mid-watch, there kicks up a rumpus like close-reef taups'ls in a hurricane—smash goes the sticks over me; I seed the stars, and a whole lot o' strange blacks with long spears, a-fightin', yellin', tramplin', an' twistin' in the midst of the huts—and off I'm hoisted in the gang, on some feller's back or other, at five knots the hour, through the woods—till down we all comes in a drove, plash amongst the very swamps close by the river, where, lo an' behold! I makes out a schooner afloat at her anchor. The next thing I feels a red-hot iron come hiss across my shoulders, so I jumped up and sang out like blazes, in course. But, my flippers bein' all fast, 'twas no use; I got one shove as sent me head-foremost into a long canoe, with thirty or forty niggers stowed away like cattle, and out the men pulls for the schooner. A big bright fire there was ashore, astarn of us, I mind, where they heated the irons, with a chap in a straw hat sarvin' out rum to the wild blacks from a cask; and ye saw the pitch-black woods behind, with the branches shoved out red in the light on it, and a bloody-like patch on the water under a clump o' sooty mangroves. An', Jack, if I didn't feel the life sick in me, that time—for, d' ye see, I hears nothin' spoke round me but cussed French, Portingeese, an' nigger tongue—'specially when it jist lighthens on me what sort on a case I were in; an' thinks I, "I'm took for a slave, arter all!—an' be hanged, but I left that 'ere 'farnal mushroom a-lying under that there tree yonder!" I begins for to think o' matters an' things, an' about Bristol quay, an' my old mother, an' my sister as was at school—mind ye, mate, all atwixt shovin' off the mangroves an' coming bump agen the schooner's side—an' blow me if I doesn't turn to, an' nigh-hand commences for to blubber—when jist then what does I catch sight on, by the lantern over the side, but that 'ere villain of a fittish-man, an' what's more, King Chimbey hisself, both hauled in the net. And with that I gives a chuckle, as ye may suppose, an' no mistake; for thinks I, so far as consarns myself, this here can't last long, blow me, for sooner or later I'll find some un to speak to, even an I nivver gets rid o' this here outer darkness—be blowed if I han't got a white mind, any ways, an' free I'll be, my boy! But I laughs, in course, when I see'd the fittish-man grin at me—for thinks I, "My cocks, you're logged down for a pretty long spell of it!"

"'Well, bo,' somehow I knows no more about it till such time as I sort o' wakes up in pitch-dark, all choke and sweat, an' a feller's dirty big toe in my mouth, with mine in some un else's eye; so out I spits it, an' makes a scramble for my life. By the roll and the splash I knowed I wor down in the schooner's hold; an' be hanged if there warn't twenty or thirty holding on like bees to a open weather-port, where the fresh wind and the spray come a-blowing through—but there, my boy, 'twere no go for to get so much as the tip o' yer nose. Accordently, up I prizes myself with my feet on another poor devil's wool—for d' ye see, by that time I minds a man's face no more nor so much timber—an' I feels for the hatch over me, where by good luck, as I thought, there I finds it not battened down yet, so I shoved my head through on deck like a blacksmith's hammer.

"'Well, mate, there was the schooner's deck wet, a swell of a sea on round her, well off the land, no trifle of a morning gale, and the craft heeling to it; a lot o' hands up on her yards, a-reefing at the boom mains'l and fo'taups'l, an' if my heart doesn't jump into my mouth with the sight, for I feels it for all the world like a good glass o' grog, settin' all to rights. Two or three there was walkin' aft the quarter-deck, so out I sings, "Hullo! hullo there, shipmates, give us a hand out o' this!" Two on 'em comes for'ard, one lifts a handspike, but both gives a grin, as much as to say it's some nigger tongue or other in place o' good English—for, d' ye see, they'd half their faces black-beard, and rings i' their ears—when up walks another chap like the skipper, an' more the looks of a countryman. "I'm a free-born Briton!" roars I again; with that he lends me a squint, looks to the men, and gives some sort of a sign, when they jams-to the hatch and nips me fast by the neck. "Devil of a deep beggar, this 'ere!" says he; "jist give him the gag, my lads," says he; "the planters often thinks more of a dumby, 'cause he works the more, and a stout piece o' goods this is!" says he. Well, mate, what does they do but one pulls out a knife, an' be blowed if they warn't a-goin' for to cut out my tongue; but the men aloft sung out to hoist away the yards; so they left me ready clinched till they'd belay the ropes. Next a hand for'ard, by good luck, hailed "Sail ho!" and they'd some'at else to think o' besides me; for there, my boy, little more nor three miles to wind'ard, I see'd the Irish as she come driving bodily out o' the mist, shakin' out her three to'gallant-sails, an' a white spray flying with her off one surge to another. Rather bad it was, mind ye, for my windpipe, for every time the schooner pitched, away swings my feet clear o' the nigger's heads—'cause, d' ye see, we chanced for to be stowed on the 'tween-decks, an' another tier there was, stuffed in her lower hold—an' there I stuck, mate, so as I couldn't help watchin' the whole chase, till at last the hatch slacks nip a bit, and down I plumps into the dark again.

"'Well, bo', the breeze got lighter, an' to all seemin' the cursed schooner held her own; but hows'ever, the sloop-o'-war kept it up all day, and once or twice she tips us a long shot; till by sunset, as I reckoned, we hears no more on her. The whole night long, again, there we stews as thick as peas—I keeps harknin' to the sighs and groans, an' the wash along the side, in a sort of a doze; an' s'help me Bob, I fancies for a moment I'm swinging in my hammock in the foc'sle, an it's no more but the bulkheads and timbers creakin'. Then I thinks it's some un else I dreams on, as is oneasy, like to choke for heat and thirst; and I'm a-chucklin' at him—when up I wakes with the cockroaches swarming over my face. Another groan runs from that end to this, the whole lot on us tries hard, and kicks their neighbours to turn, an' be blowed if I knowed but I was buried in a churchyard, with the horrid worms all a-crawl about me. All on a suddent, nigh-hand to daybreak it was, I hears a gun to wind'ard, so with that I contrives for to scramble up with my eye to the scuttle-port. 'Twas a stiffish breeze, an' I see'd some'at lift on a sea like a albatross's wing, as one may say—though what wor this but the Irish's bit of a tender, standing right across our bows—for the schooner, ye see, changed her course i' the night-time, rig'lar slaver's dodge, thinkin' for to drop the sloop-o'-war, sure enough. But as for the little f'lucca, why they hadn't bargained for her at all, lying-to as she did, with a rag o' sail up, in the troughs of the sea, till the schooner was close on her.

"'Well, no sooner does they go about, my boy, but the muskeety of a cruiser lets drive at her off the top of a sea, as we hung broadside to them in stays. Blessed if I ever see sich a mark!—the shot jist takes our fore top fair slap—for the next minute I seed the fore-topmast come over the lee-side, an' astarn we begins to go directly. What's more, mate, I never see a small craft yet handled better in a sea, as that 'ere chap did—nor the same thing done, cleaner at any rate—for they jist comes nigh-hand tip on our bowsprit-end, as the schooner lifted—then up in the wind they went like clockwork, with a starnway on as carried the f'lucca right alongside on us, like a coachman backing up a lane, and grind we both heaved on the swell, with the topmast hamper an' its canvas for a fender atwixt us. Aboard jumps the man-o'-war's-men, in course, cutlash in hand, an' for five minutes some tough work there was on deck, by the tramp, the shots, an' the curses over our heads—when off they shoved the hatches, and I seed a tall young feller in a gold-banded cap look below. Be blowed if I wasn't goin' to sing out again, for, d' ye see, I'm blessed if I took mind on the chap at all, as much by reason o' the blood an' the smoke he'd got on his face as aught else. Hows'ever, I holds a bit meantime, on account o' Job Price an' that 'ere piratecy consarn—till what does I think, a hour or two arter, when I finds as this here were the very leftenant as chased us weeks on end in the Camaroons. So a close stopper, sure enough, I keeps on my jaw; an' as for scentin' me out amongst a couple o' hundred blacks in the hold, why, 'twere fit to 'ppal my own mother herself.

"'Well, Jack, by this time bein' near Serry Loney, next day or so we got in—where, what does they do but they lubberrates us all, as they calls it, into a barracoon ashore, till sich time as the slaver ud be condemned—an' off goes the tender down coast again. Arter that, they treats us well enough, but still I dursn't say a word; for one day, as we goed to work makin' our huts, there I twigs a printed bill upon the church-wall, holdin' out a reward, d' ye see, consarnin' the piratecy, with my oun name and my very build logged down—ownly, be hanged if they doesn't tack on to it all, by way of a topgallant ink-jury to a man, these here words—"He's a very ugly feller—looks like a furriner." Well, mate, I ain't a young maiden, sure enough, but, thinks I, afore I fell foul o' that blasted fittish-man an' his nut, cuss me if I looks jist so bad as that 'ere! So ye know this goes more to my heart nor aught else, till there I spells out another confounded lie in the bill, as how Captin Price's men had mutinied again him, and murdered the brig's crew—when, in course, I sees the villain's whole traverse at once. So sayin', I watched my chance one night an' went aboard a Yankee brig as were to sail next day; an' I tells the skipper part o' the story, offerin' for to work my passage across for nothing; which, says he, "It's a hinterestin' narritif"—them was his words; and, says he, "It's a land o' freedom is the States, an' no mistake—ain't there no more on ye in the like case?" he says. "Not as I knows on, sir," I answers; an' says he, "Plenty o' coloured gen'lmen there is yonder, all in silks an' satins; an' I hear," says he, "there's one on 'em has a chance o' bein' President next time—anyhow I'm your friend," says he, quite hearty.

"'Well, the long an' short of it was, I stays aboard the brig, works my spell in her, an' takes my trick at the hellum—but I'm blowed, Jack, if the men 'ud let me sleep in the foc'sle, 'cause I was a black, so I slung my hammock aft with the nigger stoord. D' ye see, I misgived myself a bit when we sank the coast, for, thinks I, it's in Africay as that 'ere blessed mushroom are to be found, to take the colour off me—hows'ever, I thinks it carn't but wear out in time, now I've got out o' that 'ere confounded mess, where, sure enough, things was against me. So at last the v'yage were up, an' the brig got in to New Orleans. There I walks aft to the skipper for to take leave, when says he, wonderfly friendly like, "Now, my lad," says he, "I'm goin' up river a bit for to see a friend as takes a interest in your kind—an' if ye likes, why I'll pay yer passage that far?" In course I agrees, and up river we goes, till we lands at a fine house, where I'm left in a far-handy, ye know, while the skipper an' his friend has their dinner. All at once the gen'lman shoves his head out of a doure, takes a look at me, an' in again—arter that I hears the chink o' dollars—then the skipper walks out, shuts the doure, and says he to me, "Now," he says, "that's a 'cute sort o' tale ye tould me, my lad, but it's a lie, I guess!" "Lie, sir!" says I, "what d' ye mean?" for ye see that 'ere matter o' the iv'ry brig made me sing small at first. "No slack, Pumpey," says he, liftin' his forefinger like a schoolmaster; "ain't yer name Pumpey?" says he. "Pumpey!" says I, "my name's Jack Brown," for that wor the name I'd gived him afore. "Oh!" says he, "jest say it's Gin'ral Washington, right off. Come," says he, "I guess I'd jest tell ye what tripe you belongs to—you're a Mandigy nigger," says he. "It's all very well," he says, "that 'ere yarn, but that's wot they'd all say when they comes, they've been dyed black! Why," says he, "doesn't I see that 'ere brand one night on yer back—there's yer arms all over pagan tattooin'——" "Bless ye, captin," I says, a-holdin' up my arm, "it's crowns an' anchors!" "Crowns!" says he, turnin' up his nose, "what does we know o' crowns hereaway—we ain't barbers yet, I guess"—of what he meant by barbers here, mate, I'm hanged if I knowed. "'Sides," says he, "you speaks broken Aimerricane!" "'Merricain?" I says, "why, I speaks good English! an' good reason, bein' a free-born Briton—as white's yerself, if so be I could ownly clap hands for a minnet on some o' them mushrooms I tould ye on!" "Where does they grow, then?" axes he, screwin' one eye up. "In Africay yonder, sir," I says, "more's the pity I hadn't the chance to lay hands on them again!" "Phoo!" says he, "glad they ain't here! An' does you think we 're a-goin' for to send all the way over to Africay for them mushrooms you talks on? Tell ye what, yer free papers 'ud do ye a sight more good here!" says he; "it's no use with a black skin for to claim white laws; an' what's more, ye're too tarnation ugly-faced for it, let alone colour, Pumpey, my man," he says. "I tell ye what it is, Captin Edwards," says I, "my frontispiece ain't neither here nor there, but if you calls me Pumpey again, blowed an' I don't pitch inty ye!"—so with that I handles my bones in a way as makes him hop inside the doure—an' says the skipper houldin' it half-shut, "Harkee, lad," he says, "it's no go your tryin' for to run, or they'll make ye think angels o' bo'sun's-mates. But what's more," says he, "nivver you whisper a word o' what ye tells me, about nuts an' mushrooms, or sich like trash—no more will I; for d' ye see, my lad, in that case they'd jest hush ye up for good!" "Who d' ye mean?" I says, all abroad, an' of a shiver like—mindin' on the slave-schooner again. "Why, the planter's people," says he, "as I've sold ye to." An' with that he pints into his mouth, and shuts the doure.

"'Well, mate, ye may fancy how I feels! Here I stands, givin' a look round for a fair offing; but there was bulwarks two fadom high all round the house, a big bloodhound lyin' chained, with his muzzle on his two paws, an' nobody seem'd for to mind me. So, I see'd it were all up wonst more; an' at the thou't of a knife in my tongue, I sits right down in the far-handy, rig'lar flabbergasted, when out that 'ere blasted skipper snoots his head again, an' says he, "Pumpey, my lad, good-day," says he; "you knows some'at o' the water, an' as they've boat-work at times hereaway, I don't know but, if you behaves yerself, they'll trust you with an oar now an' then: for I tould yer master jist now," says he, "as how you carn't speak no English!" Well, I gives him a hoath, 'cause by that time I hadn't a word to throw at a dog; and shortly arter, up comes the overseer with his black mate, walks me off to a shed, strips me, and gives me a pair o' cotton drawers and a broad hat—so out I goes the next mornin' for to hoe sugarcane with a gang o' niggers.

"'Well, mate, arter that I kept close enough—says no more, but mumbles a lot o' no-man's jargon, as makes 'em all log me down for a sort o' double-Guinea savitch—'cause why, I were hanged afeard for my tongue, seein', if so be I lost it, I'd be a nigger for ever, sure enough. So the blacks, for most part being country-bred, they talks nothin' but a blessed jumble, for all the world like babbies at home; an' what does they do but they fancies me a rig'lar African nigger, as proud as Tommy, an' a'most ready for to washup me they wor—why, the poor divvles 'ud bring me yams and fish; they kisses my flippers an' toes as I'd been the Pope; an' as for the young girls, I'm blowed if I warn't all the go amongst 'em—though I carn't say the same where both's white, ye know! What with the sun an' the cocoa-nut ile, to my thinkin', I gets blacker an' blacker—blessed if I didn't fancy a feller's very mind turned nigger. I larns their confounded lingo, an' I answers to the name o' Pumpey, blast it, till I right-down forgets that I'd ever another. As for runnin', look ye, I knowed 'twas no use thereaway, as long as my skin tould against me, an' as long as Africay wor where it wor. So, my boy, I see'd pretty clear, ye know, as this here world 'ud turn a man into a rig'lar built slave-nigger in the long run if he was an angel out o' heaven!

"'Well, mate, one day I'm in the woods amongst a gang, chopping firewood for the sugar-mill, when, what does I light on betwixt some big ground-leaves and sich like, but a lot o' them very same red mushrooms as the fittish-man shows me in Africay!—blowed if there warn't a whole sight o' them round about, too! So I pulls enough for ten, ye may be sure, stuffs 'em in my hat, an' that same night, as soon as all's dark, off I goes into the woods, right by the stars, for the nearest town 'twixt there and New Orleans. As soon as I got nigh-hand it, there I sits down below a tree amongst the bushes, hauls off my slops, an' I turns to for to rub myself all over, from heel to truck, till daybreak. So, in course, I watches for the light angshis enough, as ye may suppose, to know what colour I were. Well, strike me lucky, Jack, if I didn't jump near a fadom i' the air, when at last I sees I'm white wonst more!—blessed if I didn't feel myself a new man from stem to starn! I makes right for a creek near by, looks at my face in the water, then up I comes again, an' every yarn o' them cussed slave-togs I pulls to bits, when I shoves 'em under the leaves. Arter that I took fair to the water for about a mile, jist to smooth out my wake, like; then I shins aloft up a tree, where I stowed myself away till noon—'cause, d'ye see, I knowed pretty well what to look for next. An' by this time, mind ye, all them queer haps made a fellow wonderful sharp, so I'd scheme out the whole chart aforehand how to weather on them cussed Yankees.

"'Accordently, about noon, what does I hear but that 'ere savitch bloodhound comin' along up creek, with a set o' slave-catchers astarn, for to smell out my track. With that, down I went in the water again, rounds a point into the big river, where I gets abreast of a landin' place, near the town, with craft laying out-stream, boats plyin', an' all alive. D' ye see, bo', I'd got no clothes at all, an' how for to rig myself again, 'blowed if I knows—seein' as how by this time I'd turned as white as the day I were born, an' a naked white man in a town arn't no better than a black nigger. So in I swims like a porpus afore a breeze, an' up an' down I ducks in the shallow, for all the world like a chap a-takin' a bath; an' out I hollers to all an' sundry, with a Yankee twang i' my nose, for to know if they had seen my clothes, till a whole lot on 'em crowds on the quay. Hows'ever, I bethinks me on that 'ere blasted brand atwixt my shoulders, an' I makes myself out as modest as a lady, kicks out my legs, and splashes like a whale aground, an' sticks out my starn to 'em for to let 'em see it's white. "Hullo!" I sings out, "han't ye seen my clothes?" "No, stranger," says they, "someun's runned off with 'em, we cal'clates!" With that I tells 'em I'm a Boston skipper new comed up from New Orleans; an' not being used to the heat, why I'd took a bath the first thing; an' I 'scribes the whole o' my togs as if I'd made 'em—"split new," says I, "an' a beaver hat, more by token there's my name inside it; an'," says I, "there's notes for a hundred dollars in my trousers!"

"'By this time down comes the slave-catchers, an' says they, hearin' on it, "That 'ere tarnation nigger's gone off with 'em, we'll know 'un by them marks well enough," says they, an' off they goes across river. "Hullo!" I sings out to the folks, "I'm a-gettin' cold here, so I guess I'll come ashore again, slick off!" I twangs out. "Guess ye can't, straunger!" they hails; "not till we gets ye some kiverin's!—we 're considerable proper here, we are!" "Ain't this a free country, then?" I says, givin' a divvle of a splash; an' with that they begs an' axes me for to hould on, an' they'd fix me, as they calls it, in no time. "Well, mate, what does they do but one an' another brings me somethin' as like what I 'scribed as could be, hands 'em along on a pole, an' I puts 'em on then an' there. Arter that, the ladies o' the place bein' blessed modest, an' all of a fright leest I'd a comed out an' gone through the town—why, out o' grannytude, as they says, they gets up a supperscription on a hundred dollars to make up my loss—has a public meetin' logged down for the evenin', when I'm for to indress the citizens, as they says, all about freedom an' top-gallantry, an' sich-like. Hows'ever, I jist sticks my tongue in my cheek, eats a blessed good dinner in a hot-ell, watches my chance, an' off by a track-boat at sundown to New Orleans, where I shipped aboard a English barque, an' gets safe out to sea wonst more.

"'Lord love ye, Harry!' exclaimed Jack hereupon, 'the likes o' that now! But I've heerd say, them fittish-men you talks on has wonderful knowledge—why, mayhap it's them as keeps all the niggers black, now?' 'Well, bo',' said Harry, 'I don't doubt but if them 'Merricain slaves jist knowed o' that 'ere red mushroom, why they'd show the Yankees more stripes nor stars! D' ye see, if a Yankee knowed as his own father were a-hoein' his sugar-canes, blowed if he wouldn't make him work up his liberty in dollars! All the stripes, d' ye see, mate, is for the blacks, an' all the stars is for the whites, in them Yankee colours as they brags so much about! But what I says is, it's cussed hard to get through this 'ere world, shipmate, if ye doesn't keep well to the wind'ard of it!'

"I was the more amused with this account of the ugly rascal's adventures that I remembered two or three of the occasions he mentioned, and he told them pretty exactly so far as I had to do with them. As for the fetish-man's curious nut, and that extraordinary mushroom of his, why 'ten to one,' thought I, 'but all the while the fellow never once touched a piece of soap!' which, no doubt, had as much to do with it as anything besides. Somehow or other, notwithstanding, I had taken almost a fancy to the villain—such a rough sample of mankind he was, with his uncouth grumpy voice, and his huge black beard; and he gave the story in a cool, scornful sort of way that was laughable in itself. 'So, my lad,' I thought, 'it seems you and I have met twice before; but if you play any of your tricks this time, Master Harry, I hope you've found your match'; and certainly, if I had fancied my gentleman was in the slaver's hold that time off the African coast, I'd have 'lubberrated' him with a vengeance.

"'I say, mates,' said he again, with a sulky kind of importance, to those of the watch who had gathered round during the last half of his yarn, 'there's three things I hates—an' good reason!' 'What be's they, Harry?' asked the rest. 'One's a Yankee,' said he, 'an' be blowed to him; the second's a slaver; and the third is—I carn't abide a nigger, nohow. But d' ye see, there's one thing I likes——' Here eight bells struck out, and up tumbled the watch below, with Jacobs' hearty face amongst them: so I made my way aft, and, of course, missed hearing what that said delightful thing might be, which this tarry Æsop approved of so much.