There were a few words in Spanish scrawled on the back.

“Here is the man!” said I, looking down on the sleeping figure; “who would have thought a thousand dollars could be made of him?” Not, indeed, that I speculated on such an unholy gain. No, the very offer enlisted my sympathies in favor of the poor wretch; besides, how many years ago must that advertisement have appeared? He was forty-eight at that time, and now his age might be nigh eighty. My curiosity became intense to see the contents of the pocket-book, from which I could fancy abundant materials to eke out the negro's history. I am afraid that nothing but the terror of discovery prevented my stealing it. I even planned how it might be done without awaking him; but the long bright knife which glistened in the strap of his blanket admonished me to prudence, and I abstained.

My fire waxed fainter as the dawn drew nigh, and as I was afraid of sleep coming over me, I stepped noiselessly from the hut, and gained the open air. My first occupation was to hoist the signal; and as it rose into the air, I watched its massive folds unfurling, with a throb of hope that gave me new courage. The standard was very lofty, and stood upon a mound of earth; and as the flag itself was large, I had every reason to think it could not escape notice. Scarcely, indeed, had I made fast the halyard than I beheld on the very verge of the horizon what seemed to be a vessel. The moment of sunrise, like that of sunset, is peculiarly favorable to distinct vision; and as the pink line of dawn sheeted over the sea, the dark object stood out clear and sharp; but the next moment the glare of brighter day covered sky and water together, and I could no longer see the ship.

In my anxiety to try and catch sight of it from another spot, I hastened down to the shore; but already a rosy tint was spread over the wide sea, and nothing was discernible except the heaving waves and the streaked sky above them.

I sat upon a rock straining my eyes, but to no purpose; and at last the cold raw air pierced through me, and I remembered that I had left my jacket in the hut. But for this, indeed, I would not have returned to it,—for, without absolute fear of the negro, his repulsive features and scowling look made his companionship far from pleasurable. His suspicion of me, too, might have led him to some act of violence; and therefore I determined, if I were even to seek shelter in the Refuge-house at the other end of the island, I would not go back to this one.

It was some time before I could summon courage to venture back again; and even when I had reached the door, it was not without a struggle with myself that I dared to enter. The daylight was now streaming in, across the long and dreary chamber, and, encouraged by this, I stepped across the threshold. My first glance was towards the stove, where I had left him lying asleep. The fire had burned out, and the negro was gone! With cautious steps, and many a prying glance around, I ventured forward, my heart thumping with a fear I cannot explain,—since his very presence had not caused such terror; but nowhere was he to be found,—not a trace of him remained. Indeed, were it not for the scrap of printed paper, which I had carefully preserved, I should have believed the whole events of the night to be the mere fancies of a dream.

Twice was I obliged to take it from my pocket and read it over, to assure myself that I was not pursuing some hallucination of sleep; and if I felt convinced that the events were real, and had actually happened, I will frankly own that the reality inspired me with a sense of fear which no memory of a mere vision could have inspired.

Daylight is a bold companion, however, and where night would make the heart beat fast and the cheek pale, the sun will give a strong pulse and a ruddy face. This I could not help feeling, as I acknowledged to myself that had it been yet dark, I had rather have perished with cold than sought for my jacket within the hut.

At last, grown bolder, I had even courage to seek for the negro on every side. I examined the berths along the walls; I searched the recesses beside the biscuit-casks; I removed planks and turned over sails; but without success. The difficulty with which he moved made this seem doubly strange, and satisfied me that his place of concealment could not be far off,—nay, possibly, at that very moment he might be actually watching me, and waiting for a favorable instant to pounce upon me. This dread increased as my search continued to be fruitless; so that I abandoned the pursuit, assured that I had done everything that could have been asked either of my courage or humanity; nor was I sorry to assure myself that I had done enough.

My interest in the subject was soon superseded by one nearer to my heart; for as I left the hut I beheld, about four miles off, a large three-masted vessel bearing up the Gulf, with all her canvas spread. Forgetting the distance, and everything save my longing to be free, I ascended a little eminence, and shouted with all my might, waving my handkerchief back and forward above my head. I cannot describe the transport of delight I felt, at perceiving that a flag was hoisted to the main peak, and soon after lowered,—a recognition of the signal which floated above me. I even cried aloud with joy; and then, in the eagerness of my ecstasy, I set off along the shore, seeking out the best place for a boat to run in.

Never did a ship appear so glorious an object to my eyes; her spars seemed more taper, her sails more snowy, her bearing prouder, than ever a vessel owned before; and when at length I could distinguish the figures of men in the rigging, my heart actually leaped to my mouth with delight.

At last she backed her topsail, and now I saw shooting out from beneath her tall sides a light pinnace, that skimmed the water like a sea-bird. As if they saw me, they headed exactly towards where I stood, and ran the craft into a little bay just at my feet. A crew of four sailors and coxswain now jumped ashore, and advanced towards me.

“Are there many of you?” said the coxswain, gruffly, and as though nothing were a commoner occurrence in life than to rescue a poor forlorn fellow-creature from an uninhabited rock.

“I am alone, sir,” said I, almost bursting into tears, for mingled joy and disappointment; for I was, I own it, disappointed at the want of sympathy for my lone condition.

“What ship did you belong to, boy?” asked he, as shortly as before.

“A yacht, sir,—the 'Firefly.'”

“Ah, that 's it; so they shoved you ashore here. That's what comes of sailing with gentlemen, as they calls 'em.”

“No, sir; we landed—a few of us—during a calm—”

“Ay, ay,” he broke in, “I know all that,—the old story; you landed to shoot rabbits, and somehow you got separated from the others; the wind sprung up meantime; the yacht fired a gun to come off—eh, is n't that it! Come, my lad, no gammon with me. You 're some infernal young scamp that was 'had up' for punishment, and they either put you ashore here for the rats, or you jumped overboard yourself, and floated hither on a spare hencoop. But never mind,—we 'll give you a run to Quebec; jump in.”

I followed the order with alacrity, and soon found myself on board the “Hampden” transport, which was conveying the —th Regiment of Foot to Canada.

“No one but this here boy, sir,” said the coxswain; shoving me before him towards the skipper, who, amidst a crowd of officers in undress, sat smoking on the after-deck.

A very significant grunt seemed to imply that the vessel's way was lost for very slight cause.

“He says as how he belonged to a yacht, sir,” resumed the coxswain.

“Whose yacht, boy?” asked one of the officers.

“Sir Dudley Broughton's, sir; the 'Firefly,'” said I.

“Broughton! Broughton!” said an old, shrewd-looking man, in a foraging-cap; “don't you know all about him? But, to be sure, he was before your day;” and then, changing his discourse to French,—with which language, thanks to my kind old friend Father Rush, I was sufficiently acquainted to understand what was said,—he added, “Sir Dudley was in the Life Guards once; his wife eloped with a Russian or a Polish Count,—I forget which,—and he became deranged in consequence. Were you long with Sir Dudley, boy?” asked he, addressing me in English.

“Not quite two months, sir.”

“Not a bad spell with such a master,” resumed he, in French, “if the stories they tell of him be true. How did you happen to be left on Anticosti?”

“No use in asking, Captain!” broke in the skipper. “You never get a word of truth from chaps like that; go for'ard, boy.”

And with this brief direction I was dismissed. All my fancied heroism—all my anticipated glory—vanishing at once; the only thought my privations excited being that I was a young scamp, who, if he told truth, would confess that all his sufferings and misfortunes had been but too well merited.

This was another lesson to me in life, and one which perhaps I could not have acquired more thoroughly than by a few days on Anticosti.

CHAPTER XII. A GLIMPSE OF ANOTHER OPENING IN LIFE

Although only a few hundred miles from Quebec, our voyage still continued for several days; the “Hampden” like all transport-ships, was only “great in a calm,” and the Gulf-stream being powerful enough to retard far better sailers.

To those who, like myself, were not pressed for time, or had no very pleasing vista opening to them on shore, the voyage was far from disagreeable. As the channel narrowed, the tall mountains of Vermont came into view, and gradually the villages on the shore could be detected,—small, dark clusters, in the midst of what appeared interminable pine forests. Here and there less pleasant sights presented themselves, in the shape of dismasted hulks, being the remains of vessels which had got fastened in the ice of the early “fall,” and were deserted by the crews.

On the whole, it was novelty, and novelty alone, lent any charm to the picture; for the shores of the Gulf, until you come within two days' journey of Quebec, are sadly discouraging and dreary. The Log-house is itself a mournful object; and when seen standing alone in some small clearing, with blackened stumps studding the space, through which two or three figures are seen to move, is inexpressibly sad-looking and solitary.

Now and then we would pass some little town, with a humble imitation of a harbor for shipping, and a quay; and in the midst a standard, with a flag, would denote that some Government official resided there,—the reward, doubtless, of some gallant deed, some bold achievement afloat; for I heard that they were chiefly lieutenants in the navy, who, having more intimacy with French grape and canister than with “First Lords,” were fain to spend the remnant of their days in these gloomiest of exiles.

The absence of all signs of life and movement in the picture cannot fail to depress the spectator. No team of oxen draws the loaded wagon along; not a plough is seen. There are no gatherings of people in the open places of the towns; no cattle can be descried on the hills. The settlements appear like the chance resting-places of men travelling through the dark forests, and not their homes for life. At times a single figure would be seen on some high cliff above the sea, standing motionless, and, to all seeming, watching the ship. I cannot say how deeply such a sight always affected me; and I could not help fancying him some lone emigrant, following with beating heart the track he was never again to travel.

Apparently, these things made a deeper impression on me than upon most others on board. As for the soldiers, they were occupied with getting their arms and equipments in order, to make a respectable appearance on landing. It was one eternal scene of soap and pipeclay all day long; and creatures barely able to crawl, from sea-sickness and debility, were obliged to scour and polish away as if the glory of England depended upon the show the gallant—th would make, the day we should set foot on shore. The skipper, too, was bent on making an equally imposing show to the landsmen; his weather topmasts were stowed away, and in their place were hoisted some light and taper spars, not exactly in accordance with the lubberly hull beneath. Pitch and white paint were in great requisition too; and every day saw some half-dozen of the crew suspended over the side, either scraping or painting for the very life. Many a shirt dangled from the boom, and more than one low-crowned hat received a fresh coat of glistening varnish; all were intent on the approaching landing, even to the group of lounging officers on the poop, who had begun to reduce their beards and whiskers to a more “regulation” standard, and who usually passed the morning inspecting epaulettes and sword-knots, shakos, gorgets, and such like, with the importance of men who felt what havoc among the fair Canadians they were soon about to inflict.

My services were in request among this section of the passengers, since I had become an expert hand at cleaning arms and equipments with Sir Dudley; besides that, not wearing his Majesty's cloth, the officers were at liberty to talk to me with a freedom they could not have used with their men. They were all more or less curious to hear about Sir Dudley, of whom, without transgressing Halkett's caution, I was able to relate some amusing particulars. As my hearers invariably made their comments on my narratives in French, I was often amused to hear them record their opinions of myself, expressed with perfect candor in my own presence. The senior officer was a Captain Pike, an old, keen-eyed, pock-marked man, with a nose as thin as a sheet of parchment. He seemed to read me like a book; at least, so far as I knew, his opinions perfectly divined my true character.

“Our friend Con,” he would say, “is an uncommonly shrewd varlet, but he is only telling us some of the truth; he sees that he is entertaining enough, and won't produce 'Lafitte' so long as we enjoy his 'Ordinaire.'”

“Now, what will become of such a fellow as that?” asked another. “Heaven knows! such rascals turn out consummate scoundrels, or rise to positions of eminence. Never was there a more complete lottery than the life of a young rogue like that.”

“I can't fancy,” drawled out a young subaltern, “how an ignorant cur, without education, manners, and means, can ever rise to anything.”

“Who can say whether he has not all these?” said the captain, quietly. “Trust me, Carrington, you'd cut a much poorer figure in his place than would he in yours.”

The ensign gave a haughty laugh, and the captain resumed: “I said it were not impossible that he had each of the three requisites you spoke of, and I repeat it. He may, without possessing learning, have picked up that kind of rudimentary knowledge that keenness and zeal improve on every day; and as for tact and address, such fellows possess both as a birthright. I have a plan in my head for the youngster; but you must all pledge yourselves to secrecy, or I'll not venture upon it.”

Here a very general chorus of promises and “on honors” broke forth; after the subsidence of which, Captain Pike continued, still, however, in French; and although being far from a proficient in that tongue, I was able to follow the tenor of his discourse, and divine its meaning, particularly as from time to time some of the listeners would propound a question or two in English, by the aid of which I invariably contrived to keep up with the “argument.”

“You know, lads,” said the captain, “that our old friend Mrs. Davis, who keeps the boarding-house in the Upper Town, has been always worrying us to bring her out what she calls a first-rate man-servant from England; by which she means a creature capable of subsisting on quarter rations, and who, too far from home to turn restive, must put up with any wages. The very fact that he came out special, she well knows, will be a puff for the 'Establishment' among the Canadian Members of Parliament and the small fry of officials who dine at the house; and as to qualifications, who will dare question the 'London footman '?”

“Pooh, pooh!” broke in Carrington; “that fellow don't look like a London footman.”

“Who says he does?” retorted the captain. “Who ever said brass buttons and blue beads were gold and turquoise? But they pass for the same in villages not fifty miles from where we are sailing. Mother Davis was wife of a skipper in the timber trade who died harbor-master here; she is not a very likely person to be critical about a butler or footman's accomplishments.”

“By Jove,” cried another, “Pike is all right! Go on with your plan.”

“My plan is this: we'll dress up our friend Con, here, give him a few lessons about waiting at table, delivering a message, and so forth, furnish him with a jolly set of characters, and start him on the road of life with Mother Davis.”

A merry roar of approving laughter broke forth from the party at this brief summary of Captain Pike's intentions; and indeed it was not without great difficulty I avoided joining in it.

“He looks so devilish young!” said Carrington; “he can't be fifteen.”

“Possibly not fourteen,” said Pike; “but we'll shave his head and give him a wig. I'll answer for the 'make up;' and as I have had some experience of private theatricals, rely on 't he'll pass muster.”

“How will you dress him, Pike?”

“In livery,—a full suit of snuff-brown, lined with yellow; I 'll devote a large cloak I have to the purpose, and we 'll set the tailor at work to-day.”

“Is he to have shorts?”

“Of course; some of you must 'stand' silk stockings for him, for we shall have to turn him out with a good kit.”

A very generous burst of promises here broke in, about shirts, vests, cravats, gloves, and other wearables, which, I own it, gave the whole contrivance a far brighter coloring in my eyes than when it offered to be a mere lark.

“Will the rogue consent, think you?” asked Carrington.

“Will he prefer a bed and a dinner to nothing to eat and a siesta under the planks on the quays of Quebec?” asked Pike, contemptuously. “Look at the fellow! watch his keen eyes and his humorous mouth when he's speaking to you, and say if he would n't do the thing for the fun of it? Not but a right clever chap like him will see something besides a joke in the whole contrivance.

“I foresee he 'll break down at the first go-off,” said Carrington, who through all the controversy seemed impressed with the very humblest opinion of my merits.

“I foresee exactly the reverse,” said Pike. “I've seldom met a more acute youngster, nor one readier to take up your meaning; and if the varlet does n't get spoilt by education, but simply follows out the bent of his own shrewd intelligence, he'll do well yet.”

“You rate him more highly than I do,” said Carrington, again.

“Not impossible either; we take our soundings with very dissimilar lead-lines,” said Pike, scoffingly. “My opinion is formed by hearing the boy's own observations about character and life when he was speaking of Broughton; but if you were ten times as right about him, and I twice as many times in the wrong, he 'll do for what I intend him.”

The others expressed their full concurrence in the captain's view of the matter, voted me a phoenix of all young vagabonds, and their brother-officer Carrington a downright ass,—both being my own private sentiments to the letter.

And now for an honest avowal! It was the flattery of my natural acuteness—the captain's panegyric on my aptitude and smartness—that won me over to a concurrence in the scheme; for, at heart, I neither liked the notion of “service,” nor the prospect of the abstemious living he had so pointedly alluded to. Still, to justify the favorable impression he had conceived of me, and also with some half hope that I should see “life”—the ruling passion of my mind—under a new aspect, I resolved to accept the proposition so soon as it should be made to me; nor had I long to wait that moment.

“Con, my lad,” said the captain, “you may leave that belt there; come aft here,—I want to speak to you. What are your plans when you reach Quebec? Do you mean to look after your old master, Sir Dudley, again?”

“No, sir; I have had enough of salt water for a time,—I 'll keep my feet on dry land now.”

“But what line of life do you propose to follow?”

I hesitated for the answer, and was silent.

“I mean,” resumed he, “is it your intention to become a farm-servant with some of the emigrant families, or will you seek for employment in the town?”

“Or would you like to enlist, my lad?” broke in another.

“No, thank you, sir; promotion is slow from the ranks, and I 've a notion one ought to move 'up,' as they move 'on,' in life.”

“Listen to the varlet now,” said Pike, in French; “the fellow's as cool with us as if we were exactly his equals, and no more. I 'll tell you what it is, lads,” added he, seriously, “when such rogues journey the road of life singly, they raise themselves to station and eminence; but when they herd together in masses, these are the fellows who pull others down, and effect the most disastrous social revolutions.—So you 'll not be a soldier Con?” added he, resuming the vernacular; “well, what are your ideas as to the civil service?”

“Anything to begin with, sir.”

“Quite right, lad,—well said; a fair start is all you ask?”

“Why, sir, I carry no weight, either in the shape of goods or character; and if a light equipment gives speed, I 've a chance to be placed well.”

The captain gave a side-glance at the others as though to say, “Was I correct in my opinion of this fellow?” and then went on: “I have a thought in my head for you, Con: there is a lady of my acquaintance at Quebec wants a servant; now, if you could pick up some notion of the duties, I 've no doubt you'd learn the remainder rapidly.”

“I used to wait on Sir Dudley, sir, and am therefore not entirely ignorant.”

“Very true; and as these gentlemen and myself will put you into training while the voyage lasts, I hope you 'll do us credit in the end.”

“Much will depend on my mistress, sir,” said I, determining to profit by what I had overheard, but yet not use the knowledge rashly or unadvisedly. “Should she not be very exacting and very particular, but have a little patience with me, accepting zeal for skill, I 've no doubt, sir, I 'll not discredit your recommendation.”

“That's the very point I'm coming to, Con,” said the captain, lowering his voice to a most confidential tone.

“The true state of the case is this: “—and here he entered upon an explanation which I need not trouble the reader by recapitulating, since it merely went the length I have already related, save that he added, in conclusion, this important piece of information:—

“Your golden rule, in every difficulty, will then be, to assure Mrs. Davis that you always did so, whatever it may be, when you were living with Lord George, or Sir Charles, or the Bishop of Drone. You understand me, eh?”

“I think so, sir,” said I, brightening up, and at the same time stealing an illustration from my old legal practices. “In Mrs. Davis's court there are no precedents.”

“Exactly, Con; hit the nail on the very head, my boy!”

“It will not be a very difficult game, sir, if the guests are like the mistress.”

“So they are, for the most part; now and then you'll have a military and naval officer at table, and you'll be obliged to look out sharp, and not let them detect you; but with the skippers of merchantmen, dockyard people, storekeepers, male and female, I fancy you can hold your own.”

“Why, sir, I hope they'll be satisfied with the qualification that contented my former titled masters,” said I, with a knowing twinkle of the eye he seemed to relish prodigiously, and an assumed tone of voice that suited well the part I was to play.

“Come down below, now, and we 'll write your characters for you;” and so he beckoned the others to accompany him to the cabin, whither I followed them.

An animated debate ensued as to the number and nature of the certificates I ought to possess, some being of opinion that I should have those of every kind and degree; others alleging that my age forbade the likelihood of my having served in more than two or three situations.

“What say you to this, lads?” said Pike, reading from a rough and much-corrected draft before him:—

The bearer, Cornelius Cregan, has lived in my service ten months as a page; he is scrupulously honest, active, and intelligent, well acquainted with the duties of his station, and competent to discharge them in the first families. I now dismiss him at his own request. Cecilia Mendleshaw.

“Gad! I'd rather make him start as what they call in his own country a 'Tay-boy,'” said Carrington,—“one of those bits of tarnished gold-lace and gaiters seen about the outskirts of Dublin.”

“Your honor is right, sir,” said I, glad to show myself above any absurd vanity on the score of my early beginning; “a 'Tay-boy' on the Rathmines road, able to drive a jaunting-car and wait at table.”

“That's the mark, I believe,” said Pike. “Suppose, then, we say: 'Con Cregan has served me twelve months, waited at table, and taken care of a horse and car.'”

“Ah, sir!” said I, “sure an Irish gentleman with a 'Tay-boy' would be finer spoken than that. It would be: 'I certify that Cornelius Cregan, who served in my establishment as under-butler, and occasionally assisting the coachman, is a most respectable servant, well-mannered and respectful, having always lived in high situations, and with the most distinguished individuals.'”

“Ah, that's it,” broke in Carrington; “'understands lamps, and is perfectly competent to make jellies, soups, and preserves.'”

“Confound it, man! you 're making him a cook.”

“By Jove, so I was! It's so hard to remember what the fellow is.”

“I think we may leave it to himself,” said Pike; “he seems to have a very good notion of what is necessary. So, Master Con, write your own biography, my lad, and we 'll give it all the needful currency of handwriting and seal.”

“It's a pity you're a Papist,” said another, “or you could have such a recommendation from a 'serious family' I know of in Surrey.”

“Never mind,” rejoined the captain; “one signed 'P. O. Dowdlum, Bishop of Toronia,' will do even better in the Lower Province.”

“Exactly, sir; and, as I used to serve mass once, I can 'come out strong' about my early training with 'his Grace'!”

“Very well,” said Pike; “tell the tailor to take your measure for the livery, and you'll wait on us to-day at table.” With this order I was dismissed, to con over my fictitious and speculate on my true “character.”

CHAPTER XIII. QUEBEC

As viewed from Diamond Harbour, a more striking city than Quebec is seldom seen.

The great rock rising above the lower town, and crowned with its batteries, all bristling with guns, seemed to my eyes the very realization of impregnability. I looked from the ship that lay tranquilly on the water below, and whose decks were thronged with blue jackets, to the Highlander who paced his short path as sentry, some hundred feet high upon the wall of the fortress; and I thought to myself, with such defenders as these, that standard yonder need never carry any other banner.

The whole view is panoramic. The bending of the river shuts out the channel by which you have made your approach, giving the semblance of a lake, on whose surface vessels of every nation lie at anchor, some with the sails hung out to dry, gracefully drooping from the taper spars; others refitting again for sea, and loading the huge pine-trunks, moored as vast rafts to the stern. There were people everywhere; all was motion, life, and activity. Jolly-boats with twenty oars, man-of-war gigs bounding rapidly past them with eight; canoes skimming by without a ripple, and seemingly without impulse, till you caught sight of the lounging figure who lay at full length in the stern, and whose red features were scarce distinguishable from the copper-colored bark of his boat. Some moved upon the rafts, and even on single trunks of trees, as, separated from the mass, they floated down on the swift current, boat-hook in hand, to catch at the first object chance might offer them. The quays, and the streets leading down to them were all thronged; and as you cast your eye upwards, here and there above the tall roofs might be seen the winding flight of stairs that lead to the upper town, alike dark with the moving tide of men. On every embrasure and gallery, on every terrace and platform, it was the same. Never did I behold such a human tide!

Now, there was something amazingly inspiriting in all this, particularly when coming from the solitude and monotony of a long voyage. The very voices that ye-hoed, the hoarse challenge of the sentinels on the rock, the busy hum of the town, made delicious music to my ear; and I could have stood and leaned over the bulwark for hours to gaze at the scene. I own no higher interest invested the picture, for I was ignorant of Wolfe; I had never heard of Montcalm; the plains of “Abra'm” were to me but grassy slopes, and “nothing more.” It was the life and stir; the tide of that human ocean on which I longed myself to be a swimmer,—these were what charmed me. Nor was the deck of the old “Hampden” inactive all the while, although seldom attracting much of my notice. Soldiers were mustering, knapsacks packing, rolls calling, belts buffing, and coats brushing on all sides; men grumbling; sergeants cursing; officers swearing; half-dressed invalids popping up their heads out of hatchways, answering to wrong names, and doctors ordering them down again with many an anathema; soldiers in the way of sailors, and sailors always hauling at something that interfered with the inspection-drill: every one in the wrong place, and each cursing his neighbor for stupidity.

At last the shore-boats boarded us, as if our confusion wanted anything to increase it. Red-faced harbor-masters shook hands with the skipper and pilot, and disappeared into the “round-house” to discuss grog and the late gales. Officers from the garrison came out to welcome their friends, for it was the second battalion we had on board of a regiment whose first had been some years in Canada; and then what a rush of inquiries were exchanged. “How's the Duke?” “All quiet in England?” “No signs of war in Europe?” “Are the 8th come home?” “Where's Forbes?” “Has Davern sold out?”—with a mass of such small interests as engage men who live in coteries.

Then there were emissaries for newspapers, eagerly hunting for spicy rumors not found in the last journals; waiters of hotels, porters, boatmen, guides, Indians with moccasins to sell, and a hundred other functionaries bespeaking custom and patronage; and, although often driven over the side most ignominiously at one moment, certain to reappear the next at the opposite gangway.

How order could ever be established in this floating Babel, I knew not; and yet at last all got into train somehow.

First one large boat crammed with men, who sat even on the gunwales, moved slowly away; then another and another followed; a lubberly thing, half lighter, half jolly-boat, was soon loaded with baggage, amid which some soldiers' wives and a scattering population of babies were seen; till by degrees the deck was cleared, and none remained of all that vast multitude, save the “mate” and the “watch,” who proceeded to get things “ship-shape,”—pretty much in the same good-tempered spirit servants are accustomed to put the drawing-rooms to rights, after an entertainment which has kept them up till daylight, and allows of no time for sleep. Till then I had not the slightest conception of what a voyage ended meant, and that when the anchor dropped from the bow, a scene of bustle ensued, to which nothing at sea bore any proportion. Now, I had no friends; no one came to welcome me,—none asked for my name. The officers, even the captain, in the excitement of arriving, had forgotten all about me; so that when the mate put the question to me, “why I didn't go ashore?” I had no other answer to give him than the honest one, “that I had nothing to do when I got there.” “I suppose you know how to gain a livin' one way or t' other, my lad?” said he, with a very disparaging glance out of the corner of his eye.

“I am ashamed to say, sir, that I do not.”

“Well, I never see'd Picaroons starve,—that's a comfort you have; but as we don't mean to mess you here, you 'd better get your kit on deck, and prepare to go ashore.”

Now, the kit alluded to was the chest of clothes given to me by the captain, which, being bestowed for a particular purpose, and with an object now seemingly abandoned or forgotten, I began to feel scruples as to my having any claim to. Like an actor whose engagement had been for one part, I did not think myself warranted in carrying away the wardrobe of my character; besides, who should tell how the captain might resent such conduct on my side? I might be treated as a thief,—I, Con Cregan, who had registered a solemn vow in my own heart to be a “gentleman”! Such an indignity should not be entertained, even in thought. Yet was it very hard for one in possession of such an admirable wardrobe to want a dinner; for one so luxuriously apparelled on the outside, to be so lamentably unprovided within. From the solution of this knotty question I was most fortunately preserved by the arrival of a corporal of the—th, who came with an order from Captain Pike that I should at once repair to his quarters in the Upper Town.

Not being perhaps in his captain's confidence, nor having any very clear notion of my precise station in life,—for I was dressed in an old cloak and a foraging-cap,—the corporal delivered his message to me with a military salute, and a certain air of deference very grateful to my feelings.

“Have you a boat alongside, Corporal?” said I, as I lounged listlessly on the binnacle.

“Yes, sir; a pair of oars,—will that do?”

“Yes, that will do,” replied I, negligently. “See my traps safe on board, and tell me when all's ready.”

The corporal saluted once more, and went to give the necessary directions; meanwhile the mate, who had been a most amazed spectator of the scene, came over and stood right opposite me, with an expression of the most ludicrous doubt and hesitation. It was just at that moment that, in drawing the cloak round me, I discovered in a pocket of it an old cigar-case. I took it out with the most easy nonchalance, and, leisurely striking a light, began smoking away, and not bestowing even a glance at my neighbor.

Astonishment had so completely gotten the better of the man that he could not utter a word; and I perceived that he had to look over the side, where the boat lay, to assure himself that the whole was reality.

“All right, sir,” said the corporal, carrying his hand to his cap.

I arose languidly from my recumbent position, and followed the soldier to the gangway; then, turning slowly around, I surveyed the mate from head to foot, with a glance of mild but contemptuous pity, while I said, “In your station, my good man, the lesson is perhaps not called for, since you may rarely be called on to exercise it; but I would wish to observe that you will save yourself much humiliation and considerable contempt by not taking people for what they seem by externals.” With this grave admonition, delivered in a half-theatrical tone of voice, I draped my “toga” so as to hide any imperfection of my interior costume, and descended majestically into the boat.

When we reached the barrack, which was in the Upper Town, the captain was at mess, but had left orders that I should have my dinner, and be ready at his quarters, in my full livery, in the evening.

I dined, very much to my satisfaction, on some of the “débris” of the mess, and, under the auspices of the captain's servant, arrayed myself in my new finery, which, I am free to confess, presented what artists would call “a flashy bit of color;” being far more in the style of Horace Vernet than Van Dyke. Had the choice been given me, I own I should have preferred wooing Fortune in more sombre habiliments; but this was a mere minor consideration, and so I felt as I found myself standing alone in the captain's sitting-room, and endeavoring to accustom myself to my own very showy identity, as reflected in a large cheval glass, which exhibited me down to the very buckles of my shoes.

I will not affirm it positively, but only throw it out as a hint, that the major part of a decanter of sherry, which I discussed at dinner, aided in lifting me above the paltry consideration of mere appearance, and made me feel what I have often heard ragged vagabonds in the streets denominate “the dignity of a man.” By degrees, too, I not only grew reconciled to the gaudy costume, but began—strange accommodation of feeling—actually to enjoy its distinctive character.

“There are young gentlemen, Con,” said I, in soliloquy, “many are there who would look absurd merry-andrews if dressed in this fashion. There are fellows to whom this kind of thing would be a sore test! These bright tints would play the very devil with their complexion,—not to mention that every one's legs could n't afford such publicity! But Con, my friend, you have a natural aptitude for every shade of color, and for every station and condition. Courage, my boy! although in the rear rank at present, you 'll march in the van yet. Nature has been gracious with you, Mr. Cregan!” said I, warming with the subject, while, with my hands deep down in my coat-pockets, I walked backward and forward before the glass, stealing sidelong glances at myself as I passed; “there are fellows who, born in your station, would have died in it, without a bit more influence over their fate in this life than a Poldoody oyster; they 'd vegetate to the end of existence, and slip out of the world as a fellow shirks out of a shebeen-house when he has n't tu' pence for another 'dandy' of punch. Not so with you, Con Cregan! You have hydrogen in you,—you have the buoyant element that soars above the vulgar herd. These are not the partial sentiments of a dear friend, Con, they are the current opinions of the world about you. How soon the 'Captain' saw what stuff you were made of! How long was old Pike in detecting the latent powers of your intellect?” What a shout of laughter followed these words! It came from half-a-dozen officers, who, having entered the room during my apostrophe, had concealed themselves behind a screen to listen to the peroration.

They now rushed out in a body, and, throwing themselves into chairs and upon sofas, laughed till the very room rang with the clamor, the captain himself joining in the emotion with all his heart. As for me, however self-satisfied but one moment back, I was humbled to the very earth now; the vauntings by which I had been soothing my vanity were suddenly turned into scorns and sneers at my self-conceit, and I actually looked to see if I could not leap out of the window, and never be seen by one of the party again. The window, however, was barred, the door was unapproachable, there was a fire in the grate; and so, as escape was denied me, I at once abandoned a plan which I saw unfeasible, and, with a quickness to which I owe much in life, immediately adopted an opposite tactic. Assuming a deferential position, I drew back towards the wall, to be laughed at as long as the honorable company should fancy it.

“So, Mr. Cregan,” cried one, drying his eyes with his handkerchief, “modesty is one of those invaluable gifts with which nature has favored you?”

“I sincerely trust it may be no bar to your advancement,” said another.

“Rather cruel,” added a third, “to be balked for such a mere trifle.”

“I say, Pike,” added another, “I rather envy you the insinuated flattery of your discrimination. It would seem that you detected the precious metal here at once.”

“What country do you come from, boy?” said a hard-featured old officer who had laughed less than the others.

“How can you ask, Chudleigh?” said another. “There's only one land rears that plant.”

“There's a weed very like it in Scotland, M'Aldine,” said the captain, with a grin which the last speaker did not half relish.

“You're Hirish, ain't you?” said a very boyish-looking ensign, with sore eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very much so, I fancy,” said he, laughing as though he had been very droll.

“I always heard your countrymen had wings; what has become of them?”

“I believe we used to have, sir; but the English plucked us,” said I, with a look of assumed simplicity.

“And what is all that about the Blarney stone?” said another; “is n't there some story or other about it?”

“It's a stone they kiss in my country, sir, to give us a smooth tongue.”

“I don't see the great use of that,” rejoined he, with a stupid look.

“It's mighty useful at times, sir,” said I, with a half glance towards Captain Pike.

“You're too much, gentlemen, far too much for my poor friend Con,” said the captain; “you forget that he's only a poor Irish lad. Come, now, let us rather think of starting him in the world, with something to keep the devil out of his pocket.” And, with this kind suggestion, he chucked a dollar into his cap, and then commenced a begging tour of the room, which, I am ready to confess, showed the company to be far more generous than they were witty.

“Here, Master Con,” said he, as he poured the contents into my two hands, “here is wherewithal to pay your footing at Mrs. Davis's. As a traveller from the old country, you 'll be expected to entertain the servants' hall,—do it liberally; there's nothing like a bold push at the first go off.”

“I know it, sir; my father used to say that the gentleman always won his election who made most freeholders drunk the first day of the poll.”

“Your father was a man of keen observation, Con.”

“And is, sir, still, with your leave, if kangaroo meat has n't disagreed with him, and left me to sustain the honors of the house.”

“Oh, that's it, Con, is it?” said Captain Pike, with a sly glance.

“Yes, sir, that's it,” said I, replying more to his look than his words.

“Here's the letter for Mrs. Davis: you'll present it early to-morrow; be discreet, keep your own counsel, and I 've no doubt you 'll do well.”

“I'd be an ungrateful vagabond if I made your honor out a false prophet,” said I; and, bowing respectfully to the company, I withdrew.

“What a wonderful principle of equilibrium exists between one's heart and one's pocket!” thought I as I went downstairs. “I never felt the former so light as now that the latter is heavy.”

I wandered out into the town, somewhat puzzled how to dispose of myself for the evening. Had I been performing the part of a “walking gentleman,” I fancied I could have easily hit upon some appropriate and becoming pastime. A theatre,—there was one in the “Lower Town,”—and a tavern afterwards, would have filled the interval before it was time to go to bed. “Time to go to bed! “—strange phrase, born of a thousand and one conventionalities. For some, that time comes when the sun has set, and with its last beams of rosy light reminds labor of the coming morrow. To some, it is the hour when wearied faculties can do no more, when tired intellect falters “by the way,” and cannot keep the “line of march.” To others, it comes with dawning light, and when roses and rouge look ghastly; and to others, again, whose “deeds are evil,” it is the glare of noonday.

Now, as for me, I was neither wearied by toil nor pleasure; no sense of past fatigue, no anticipation of coming exertion, invited slumber,—nay, I was actually more wakeful than I had been during the entire evening, and I felt a most impulsive desire for a little social enjoyment,—that kind of intercourse with strangers which I always remarked had the effect of eliciting my own conversational qualities to a degree that astonished even myself.

In search of some house of entertainment, some public resort, I paced all the streets of the Upper Town, but to no purpose. Occasionally, lights in a drawing-room, and the sound of a piano, would tell where some small evening party was assembled; or now and then, from a lower story, a joyous roar of laughter, or the merry chorus of a drinking-song, would bespeak some after-dinner convivialities; but to mingle in scenes like these, I felt that I had yet a long road to travel,—ay, to pass muster in the very humblest of those circles, what a deal had I to learn! How much humility, how much confidence; what deference, and what self-reliance; what mingled gravity and levity; what shades and gradations of color, so nicely balanced and proportioned, too, that, unresolved by the prism, they show no preponderating tint,—make up that pellucid property men call “tact!” Ay, Con, that is your rarest gift of all,—only acquire that, and you may dispense with ancestry, and kindred, and even wealth itself; since he who has “tact” participates in all these advantages, “among his friends.”

As I mused thus, I had reached the “Lower Town,” and found myself opposite the door of a tavern, over which a brilliant lamp illuminated the sign of “The British Grenadier,”—a species of canteen in high favor with sergeants and quartermasters of the garrison. I entered boldly, and with the intention of behaving generously to myself; but scarcely had I passed the threshold than I heard a sharp voice utter in a half-whisper, “Dang me if he an't in livery!”

I did not wait for more. My “tact” assured me that even there I was not admissible; so I strolled out again, muttering to myself, “When a man has neither friend nor supper, and the hour is past midnight, the chances are it is 'time to go to bed;'” and with this sage reflection, I wended my way towards a humble lodging-house on the quay, over which, on landing, I read the words, “The Emigrant's Home.”