“It is an evil, undoubtedly,” here observed Doctor Tourniquet, who had for some time been an attentive but silent listener—“and there is but one way in which it can be completely removed.”

“And how is that way to be found?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.

“The cause of this want of a definite unvarying character in our notion of honesty,” said the Doctor, “may be traced to the present and past construction of society, where each individual has a separate interest, exists in a state of competition with the others, and must always be endeavouring to shape his own notions of right to his own exclusive advantage: were property a fund in common from which each might be allowed to take what he pleased—there being no individual interests, the world would be one family, and there could be no dishonesty in openly appropriating that to which he had an acknowledged right, don’t you see.”

“Preposterous!” exclaimed Fortyfolios.

“An impossible state of things, I should think,” added his pupil.

“Nothing more reasonable, and nothing more easy,” replied the Doctor. “Let every one in a community labour equally according to his physical or mental powers—every kind of labour being productive will produce every thing in abundance—this abundance having been produced must supply every want—every want being gratified at the suggestion of the inclination, there remains nothing to desire—and as all have an equal right to appropriate as much as they require for the gratification of their inclinations, by having equally, according to their abilities, assisted in producing the abundance they enjoy, no desire in which they might think fit to indulge could ever take the appearance of an act of dishonesty, don’t you see.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed the professor.

“But how in the present state of society can you get such notions adopted?” inquired Oriel.

“Either by educating children from the earliest age into the application of these social principles, or by constituting communities apart from the general mass, who will exist within themselves by the same manner of life, till, as the advantages of such a state of society become universally evident, it is adopted by the whole population,” said the Doctor.

“The thing has been tried times out of number,” remarked Fortyfolios, contemptuously, “and has always lingered a short time and then died, with very little regret on the part of those for whose superior happiness it was created. It is based upon an idea of equality, which idea has no personal existence in nature. No matter how carefully the young mind is schooled, there will always be some superiority somewhere. In muscular energy, in mental power, in ingenuity, in quickness of comprehension, and in the skilful adaptation of means to an end—even in the natural desires and susceptibilities—even in acquired habits of industry, and self-denial, in all societies, some will be found greater than others, and these will endeavour to rise above the equality by which they are surrounded; perhaps they will succeed, and then the homogeneousness of the community is soon destroyed; perhaps they will fail, and then their more exalted natures must be crushed down to the Procrustean bed of their associates. Equality can only be a state of general mediocrity. Could we imagine such a social organisation, what would become of the worship of superior greatness that leads men to become great? With what feelings would exist, could they exist under such circumstances, those commanding intellects whose supremacy should be acknowledged by all who love knowledge, and virtue, and humanity, at finding themselves classed with the mere breaker of the clod, a creature without an idea, whose only quality, that of strength and fitness for a certain labour, he shares with brutes and with machines; who eats and drinks, and sleeps and dies, and then makes room for another of the same class? Must they also become hewers of wood and drawers of water for the benefit of their fellows? With as much probability of a beneficial result might an attempt be made to force the ploughman, the shepherd, the mechanic, and the domestic servant, to become a sculptor, a philologist, a musician, and a philosopher.”

What Doctor Tourniquet might have replied, it is impossible now to relate, as the Albatross at that moment was boarded by the port-officers who came to examine the state of health of the ship and the cargo with which she was laden; and as she was expected shortly to drop her anchor among the shipping with which she was now surrounded, those who designed to land proceeded to make the necessary preparations.

CHAP. VII.

CAFFRETON, THE METROPOLIS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA.

In a large heavy building on the banks of a canal in the city of Caffreton, all seemed bustle and confusion: barges were at the water side unloading, and at the land side were waggons being filled with packages for conveyance into the interior by the rail-roads, and others starting off heavily laden to supply the traders in the town and neighbourhood. A considerable number of black slaves were actively employed in assisting the goods from the barges to the stores, and from the stores to the waggons; who jostled, shouted, and chattered apparently with as much noise as they could make; two or three white men were seen among them giving orders in a loud voice to their dark associates, and seeing that their commands were promptly attended to. Under a gloomy archway, which led from the street to the water side were doors opposite each other. One of these, after passing through a long warehouse filled with articles of merchandise of every description, in the midst of which were several slaves of both sexes engaged in weighing, measuring, and packing parcels of various sizes, led into a counting house, in which about a dozen blacks, principally young ones, much better dressed than those in the warehouse, were writing in large books; and beyond this was a much smaller room, furnished with maps and a few cumbrous books, wherein two men were seated opposite each other; one a tall, thin, sharp visaged man about forty, whose features expressed an extraordinary degree of fear and servility, was reading a newspaper, and the other, who appeared considerably older, was short and corpulent, had a dark complexion, and a look of mingled cunning and fierceness, sat leaning back against a huge arm chair, with an open ledger on the table before him.

“Foreign stock rising, eh!” inquired the latter.

“Yes, sir,” replied the other, glancing his eye over the paper, “particularly Columbian and Australian.”

“How goes the share market?”

“Brisk, sir, in many things—Gondar Railroad at a premium—Congo Canal at 125⅜—Ashantee Salt Company, 105½—Mocaranga Timber, 109—Biafra Gold Mines, 200.”

“Capital!” exclaimed the elder, rubbing his hands together briskly, and his forbidding features assuming an expression of intense gratification. “I shall do well by my speculations there;—but how goes the Madagascar Silkworm Company?”

“Down to 45, sir,” replied the thin man.

“Bankrupt and jails! you scoundrel, it can’t be,” furiously exclaimed the other.

“It is so here, sir,” said his companion humbly.

“Then my eternal malediction rest on all silk worms. I’ve lost some thousands. But you haven’t said any thing about the Timbuctoo Beet-root Sugar.”

“Down to 22, sir.”

“You rascal, you’re trying to put me in a passion; you’re inventing that, because you know I’ve invested large sums in that affair. I’ll have you whipped like a slave if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“It is so here, sir,” said the man trembling, and turning pale.

“Then the Caffreton Universal Intelligence is a universal liar!” screamed the other in a rage. “Why, if it’s true, I’ve lost all I gained by the indigo and cochineal job. It’s a bad business, Mr. Quagga. There’s cheating in it! There’s ruination in it! I shall be laughed at on ‘Change. My solvency will be suspected—my credit diminish;—but go on, Mr. Quagga—go on, I’m perfectly cool—I’m not going to put myself out of temper by such a loss, don’t think it. In the name of poverty, why don’t you go on, Mr. Quagga?” thundered out the principal.

“Wer—wer—wer—wer—what shall I read next sir?” inquired his servant as plainly as his fright would allow.

“Read the arrivals, you stuttering, stupid blockhead,” cried the broker.

“Arrived in the bay, the Sultan from Cairo, Selim, master.”

“Nothing for me.”

“The Golden Horn, from Stamboul, Mahmoud, master:—twenty chests of opium, consigned by Mandragora and Poppy.”

“Send some one to see it warehoused in the docks.”

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, respectfully.

“What next?”

“The Hellas, from Smyrna, Mavricordato, master.”

“Nothing for me. Cargo of figs and raisins, from Drum and Company.”

“The Albatross, from Columbus, Compass, master.”

“Look to that, Quagga—look to that. She belongs to Master Porphyry, the richest merchant in the whole world. Her cargo is of great value. By last advices from my correspondent, expect some bales of rich fabrics.—Go on, Quagga.”

“There’s a paragraph, here, sir, that seems to relate to that vessel.”

“Read it, Quagga.”

“‘In the Albatross, arrived in our harbour, comes the only son of the great merchant, Master Porphyry, whose name is in such high estimation in every part of the civilised world for his wealth and his philanthropy. It is said that he has come out on a commercial voyage, and that it was Master Porphyry’s desire that his son should visit some of the most celebrated places of traffic in various parts of the globe.’”

“Very good, except philanthropy, which is all humbug, you know, Quagga,” observed the broker, “a bad spec—a dead loss.—We must look after him”—and the face of the master seemed to glance more pleasantly upon his servant.—“Well, what provincial news?” he asked, after a pause.

“‘We regret to inform our readers, that the respectable banking house of Mangel Wurzel, Carrots, and Co., at Lattakoo, have stopped payment.’”

“Stopped payment, you rascal!” shouted the broker, his face becoming purple with rage. “How dare you tell me Mangel Wurzel and Co. have stopped payment? It’s all a conspiracy—a base invention—a lie—a cheat! You know I’ve got all the payments made to me per the Springbok—on account of that fine gang of Hottentots—in their wretched paper. I’ll have you hanged, you scoundrel, for deceiving me. I’ll——”

Here the torrent of his indignation was interrupted by one of the young slaves from the counting-house showing himself at the door.

“Well, you imp of darkness! what do you want?” he cried.

“Cap’ain Gumpas, sar, want to peak wi’ you,” said the young Hottentot.

“Who, scoundrel?”

“Cap’ain Gumpass, sar, ship Albatross.”

“Admit him, instantly.”

The slave disappeared, and so did the broker’s passion.

In a moment afterwards the door opened, and a tall man, of rather handsome exterior, whom it would have been impossible to have recognised as the Captain Compass of the Albatross, had it not been for a peculiar expression in the countenance—sarcastic, bold, and treacherous—no one could mistake, entered the room. His whiskers had disappeared, the colour of his hair had changed, and he looked a much younger and better featured man than he appeared the day previous. As he advanced, the broker seemed to gaze upon him with fear and wonder.

“Well, old Boor, is this the hail I’m to meet after such a long cruise?” cried the captain.

Boor stared till his yellow eye-balls appeared starting out of his head.

“Dockets and bad bills!” at last he exclaimed, with a long breath, “surely it can’t be you!”

“But it is, though, old boy, and I’m afloat in the most slappish style,” replied the other.

“But how did you escape, when——”

“No matter,” said the captain, interrupting his companion. “I’m come to have a little bit of a confabulation with you about a matter that will enrich us both.”

“This way, my good friend,” hastily whispered the broker, leading his associate cautiously to a little door at the further extremity of the room, which opened into a smaller apartment, filled with iron safes, papers, and books. “This way, captain—this way,” added he; then turning to his clerk, said, “Don’t let me be interrupted, Quagga,” as the door opened and closed upon the pair: and there they remained in close conference for a full hour, to the great mystification of the principal clerk. When they returned, the features of the captain wore an air of triumph, and the countenance of Boor expressed all the congratulation of successful cunning.

“Every thing shall be managed according to your desire, captain,” he remarked.

“Be cautious,” said the other.

“Depend upon that,” responded his companion. “You had better go out at this side door.”

The captain was going out as directed, when he quickly asked, “When shall I see you again?”

“To-morrow night,” replied his associate.

“Agreed.”

When his visiter had taken his departure, the broker seemed to have forgotten the losses that had affected him so much a short time previous. His unprepossessing countenance appeared lit up with a continual smile of inward satisfaction, as he leaned back upon his chair, occasionally resting his hands upon his capacious stomach, then crossing his arms—then leaning his chin upon his hand as if in deep reflection, uttering such ejaculations as “capital scheme”—“hazardous though”—“daring villain”—“worth the risk,” and others of a similar nature—till the wondering Quagga, neither daring to move or to speak, began to imagine that his tyrannical master had lost the use of his senses. At that moment the door opened again, and the same slave made his appearance.

“Ha, Beelzebub!” shouted Master Boor, “what now?”

“Massa Porfry, sar, and young gennleman ob colour wish to peak wi’ you,” said the youth.

“Admit them,” he exclaimed. Then in a lower tone said, “Coloured persons! what can he mean by bringing such vermin here?” However, though considering the introduction of such a person an indignity, the game he had to play induced him for the present to forget his prejudices, and he met his visitors with every appearance of cordiality.

“Welcome to Caffreton, welcome to the sunny shores of Afrik;” he cried as they advanced into the room. “The land of universal liberty.—Quagga, tell those slaves if I hear them chattering again, I’ll give them the lash——!”

“Yes, sir!” said Quagga; and immediately delivered the message.

“The land of universal equality.—Quagga, you scoundrel! why don’t you get seats for the gentlemen——?”

“Yes, sir!” said Quagga; and instantly did as he was desired.

“And the land of universal freedom of conscience.—Quagga! tell Pipkin, that if he doesn’t choose to attend the same church as his master, I’ll thrash his soul out of his body.”

“Yes, sir,” said Quagga; and Pipkin received the brutal command.

Oriel Porphyry seemed in some degree amused by this exemplification of liberty, equality, and freedom of conscience, but he said nothing; and Zabra seemed intently observing the countenances of the clerk and his master.

“I hope your worthy father is well, sir,” continued Boor. “Health’s a precious commodity—cannot be too highly prized. Quagga! is Nimbo in the warehouse yet?”

“No, sir; doctor says he can’t stand,” said the clerk.

“Then tell him if he don’t come down I’ll make him,” said his master with ferocious emphasis.

“Yes, sir;” replied the obedient Quagga.

“Your father does a deal of good, sir, with his charities,” he resumed. “Ah! charity’s a fine thing!—an admirable thing! I do a wonderful deal of good myself that way sometimes. I give the poor all the bad coin that comes into my hands. I do a deal of good I assure you. Your father enjoys a great reputation for integrity in his dealings. Nothing like it, sir;—It is always at a premium. Hope you will tread in your father’s footsteps; and if you should have a desire for speculating, I trust the credit I possess will induce you to place confidence in me. I should recommend you to invest largely in the shares of the Madagascar Silk Worm Company, and the Timbuctoo Beet-root Sugar Joint Stock Association. I have some shares at my disposal, which, although they’re now very high in the market, to oblige the son of so respectable a man as my correspondent, master Porphyry, I would let you have at a fair price,—say the first at 95⅞, and the other at 80.”

“I am obliged to you,” replied Oriel Porphyry; “but I have no desire to speculate in such things at present.”

“Very good—very good,” said the broker, not at all disconcerted at the failure of his schemes. “Caution is advisable in all mercantile transactions, and I am the last person in the world to suggest any thing to you, which I do not think would turn to your advantage. Perhaps you have bullion to dispose of? If so, I could afford a very handsome per centage, and exchange with you to a considerable amount in notes of one of the most steady banks in the country—that of Mangel Wurzel, Carrots and Co. at Lattakoo.”

“I’m much obliged to you; but as my stay in this part of the world must be brief, it would not be advisable to change my bullion into the paper currency of the country;” said Oriel.

“True—true;” remarked master Boor, and a cloud did pass over his gloomy countenance when he found he could not dispose of any of his unprofitable speculations. “You are right. So you do not intend staying here? Fine country. No kings—none of that nonsense. Every man does just as he likes, and cares for nobody.—Quagga! you rascal, I’ll have you flayed alive if you don’t finish that intricate account with Botherem, Blunder, and Bigfist, in an hour.” The frightened clerk began to write away with the speed of a steam-engine. “In no place in the world is the right of opinion so much respected.—Quagga, you scoundrel! I understand you spoke at the Universal Consolidated Democratic Discussion Society, against the measure now before the legislature for the tax on tenpenny nails. How dare you oppose my political sentiments! This is insolence, sir—treason, anarchy, and rebellion! If ever I hear you entertain an opinion different from mine again, I’ll have you inclosed within four stone walls and starve you upon a mouthful a day.”

Quagga trembled like an aspen, and did not dare lift his eyes from the book.

“Yes, sir, I repeat, this is the only country on the face of the globe, where mankind enjoy a perfect state of civil and religious liberty. What do they think of us, sir, in Columbia? Don’t they envy us our noble institutions, ey? Our excellent government—our enlightened people?”

“Why, those who ever do think of the African states—”

“Ever think of them!” cried the old fellow, with emphasis, interrupting the speaker; “they must always think of them. They cannot help drawing comparisons, sir, with their own wretched state; and they must therefore be wonderfully desirous of sharing in the blessings we enjoy.”

“I really never heard of such a desire existing in any part of the country;” observed Oriel.

“Ah, sir, they live in a wretched state of despotism, and they dare not express their sentiments;” replied the broker. “There cannot be anything like public virtue amongst them—no political honesty—no notion of true liberty. But how did you make the voyage, sir?”

“Admirably!” exclaimed the merchant’s son. “The Albatross is one of the most perfect vessels that was ever launched.”

“Nothing like the African shipping, depend upon it—made of free timber, sir?—beat all vessels at sailing, and last for ever. Skilful captain that Compass, sir—known him long; knew his father—highly respectable. You may place the greatest confidence in him, I assure you.”

During the preceding sentences Zabra kept his eyes fixed upon the face of the speaker, which he observing, turned his own gaze upon the person so earnestly regarding him; but the piercing look that met his quite disconcerted him. His complexion grew more livid; his look became confused; he frowned and smiled by turns; he shifted his position, and evinced by many other signs that he was anything but at ease under the scrutiny to which he was subjected. At last, unable to endure it any longer, he said, in a tone in which anger seemed struggling with indifference. “Who is that person of colour, sir? it is not usual to bring people of that class in company with free Africans.”

“That young gentleman is my most esteemed and intimate friend;” replied Oriel.

“Oh, I beg pardon; but it’s not respectable to have such friends in a free and enlightened country like the African States; and the ‘young gentleman’,” said he, with contemptuous emphasis, “seems to look on me as if he knew me intimately.”

“I do know you intimately, sir;” remarked Zabra, bending on the old man a stern and searching look.

“Well, this assurance beats any thing I ever saw. Why, I never met with your coppery countenance before,” said the broker, indignantly.

“You spoke the truth there,” replied Zabra, still continuing to regard him with the same earnestness; and the broker’s attempts to conceal his passion and his uneasiness became every moment more unsuccessful.

“He is thus to every one,” observed Oriel Porphyry; “and he means no offence. But let us proceed to business. According to your request, my father has sent you a lot of fabrics of the choicest patterns and materials, which I shall give you an order to remove from the docks upon receiving payment in gold. You can examine them if necessary, whenever it is convenient to you, when you will find them exactly of the description you ordered. I am also commissioned to purchase, to any amount, ivory, gold dust, gums, pearls and precious stones, ostrich feathers, amber, and any other article of traffic of approved quality that may suit the Columbian markets, or that may be turned to a profitable account during my voyage. They can be paid for in money or in goods—whichever should be most desirable.”

“Good—good,” remarked the broker, losing, in his attention to business, all his angry feelings. “Ah! let me see. I think I shall be able to treat with you for a considerable portion of your cargo; and, as a particular friend, I should not advise you to go to any strange brokers; they’ll take you in, depend upon it.”

“Why, I thought, in this free country, all your transactions were distinguished by a degree of honesty superior to that of other nations;” said Oriel.

“Yes, yes,” hastily replied master Boor, considerably puzzled to account for the discrepancy in his statements. “But every man will make a good bargain, if he can.”

“Then what offer are you inclined to make for a thousand bales of lace and cambric goods, best quality?”

“Why, you see, master Porphyry, the truth is, the market here is a little overstocked just now with those articles; they are a complete drug.”

“I have good reason to believe there is a great demand for them,” said Oriel.

“Nothing of the kind, master Porphyry. I wouldn’t deceive you for the world. But, although things are so heavy, I don’t mind offering twenty thousand dollars for them, either in money or goods.”

“That is just half I am commissioned to take;” remarked the young merchant, rising to go away. “And as we shall not be able to do business on those terms, I must seek a more advantageous market.”

“Don’t be too hasty, sir. Reflect before you determine. The price I offer is a good price; and it is impossible you can get one so high, search Caffreton through and through.” Perceiving his visitors were at the door, he added—“Suppose we say five and twenty—a great risk—a hazardous——”

“Good day to you, master Boor!” exclaimed Oriel, bending his head proudly, and departed with his companion through the counting-house. The old man scowled after his visitors, muttering to himself,—“I’ll have them at a less price, in spite of you.”

About the same time two persons were seen walking cautiously through a narrow unfrequented street in the suburbs of the town, connected with a number of other thoroughfares of a like description, chiefly inhabited by the lowest class of the black population. The tallest of the two, who was a little in advance of his companion, whose short dumpy figure and conceited physiognomy it was impossible to mistake, turned round, and addressed his associate:—

“Come, master Log, show more sail. I’m spiflicated if we shall ever find safe anchorage if you don’t. I think I arn’t forgotten the landmarks; but, somehow, I’ve got into a little bit of a mystification about making the proper tacks. This is it! No, it arn’t! Ha! Now I see, as clean as a cable. There’s the sign o’ the Ship, at the corner yonder. We goes right ahead there; then we makes a tack; then we goes ahead again; then we makes another tack; then I knows all the whereabouts. That’s right, arnt it, mister?”

“Right—right—very right—decidedly right—absolutely right: indeed, I may say, positively right, mister Scrumpydike,” responded the little man, endeavouring to keep pace with his more bulky companion.

“Here comes another Hottentot;” said Scrumpydike, noticing an individual of that race approaching them. “What a lot o’ them black craft one meets wi’ steerin’ about in these here seas; they puts one in mind o’ a fleet of colliers, creepin’ along shore. But this nigger is black, arnt he, master Log?”

“Black, black,—monstrous black,—very monstrous black—upon my word most diabolically black, mister Scrumpydike;” replied the captain’s clerk, puffing and blowing with the exertion he made to prolong his walk.

“I say, won’t them bugaboos afloat entertain something of a ’stonishment when we commences the fun. Don’t you think some on ’em ’ll go mad?” inquired the other.

“Mad, mad,—very mad, very mad, indeed,—pretty considerably wild, stiff, stark, staring mad, mister Scrumpydike,” rejoined his companion.

They had now reached one of the narrowest, darkest, and filthiest streets in that quarter of the town; and by the expression of satisfaction that gleamed on the coarse features of Scrumpydike, it was evident that they were near the end of their journey. They proceeded along this street till they came to a court through which they passed, and entered a lane where there were no houses on one side, and very few, and those far apart on the other. Keeping on the side where the houses were, they followed the footpath, till they came to a ruined habitation of the poorest class, little better than a mud kraal. The few windows it possessed were broken and covered with dirt; its door was battered to a fragment; the roof had fallen in, and the walls threatened to tumble. Looking cautiously round to see if any persons were observing them, the sailor removed the door to admit himself and his companion, and then carefully replaced it; afterwards they picked their way over fragments of stone and timber, through a moderate sized chamber, and descended a long flight of steps till they came to a wall.

“Ship ahoy!” shouted Scrumpydike, putting his mouth near the wall.

“What cheer?” was answered in a low voice from within.

“Death and gold!” was the strange reply; immediately after which, bolts were heard quickly drawn, and the wall, or rather a door made to resemble the wall in which it was placed opened, and a stout, active man of a fierce aspect, clad in coarse jacket and trowsers, without shoes or cap, carrying a naked cutlass in his hand, and wearing several large pistols in his belt, became visible by the light of a torch that burned stuck upright in the ground beside him. Without another word Log and Scrumpydike entered. The door was quickly closed, the bolts set, and the man, taking up the torch, preceded them through a long passage or cellar, till they were stopped by the brickwork.

“Ship ahoy!” shouted the man.

“What cheer?” was answered from within.

“Death and gold!” he replied. In an instant another door opened, the man turned back, and the captain’s clerk, and his companion were admitted into a long subterranean chamber, in which the many torches that were burning enabled them to distinguish the figures of about twenty men, dressed like sailors, all variously armed, seated round a large table covered with drinking vessels. Immediately Scrumpydike made his appearance, the whole party set up a loud shout of welcome, and in a moment they were all crowding round him, shaking hands, asking questions, and offering him refreshment.

“Ha! let us stow in a cargo o’ some sort or other,” said the sailor, seating himself before what appeared to be the remains of a roast kid, and proceeding to help himself. “I’ve had a desperate long cruise here. Come, master Log, bear a hand:” a command the captain’s clerk was not slow in executing. “And so you’d given me up, ey? never made a worser recknin; scrunch me if I arnt a got more lives nor a cat. But the best of the joke is,” said he taking a hearty draught from a can of liquor which was handed to him, and which example was immediately followed by his companion; “the best o’ the joke is—but you’ll think I’m gammonin’ ye—I knows you will. The joke is—I’ve been livin’ in the most honestest way you ever heard on.”

The whole party raised a shout of incredulity, and laughed in derision at such an idea.

“I know’d how it would be—I was afear’d I should lose my precious character,” remarked the man gloomily; “but master Log can tell ye as how I ha’ been for a matter o’ two or three months most abominably honest,—arn’t I master Log?”

“Honest—honest,” replied the captain’s clerk, moving the wine can from his mouth a short distance; “shamefully honest—disgracefully honest—indeed I may say villainously honest, master Scrumpydike.” The men stared with astonishment, and many still seemed to doubt his assertion.

“Nobody can lament the unfortnit occurrence more nor I do,” said Scrumpydike; “but what’s done can’t be undone,—so clear the decks o’ this lumber—pipe all hands to grog, and I’ll tell ye a sort o’ summat much more nat’ral and creditable.”

The eatables were cleared off into an open pantry at the side, and fresh flasks of liquor and drinking vessels were placed on the table. Some of the men began to smoke from long pipes; others made for themselves mixtures of the different beverages before them; and every one sat himself down laughing and joking with the rest with the evident intention of commencing a carouse. Log having procured a pipe almost as big as himself, and a large jug of a strong potation he had carefully prepared, sat smirking with secret satisfaction at his own comfort. His pig-like eyes twinkled with self-conceit, and his pug nose seemed to curl itself up with delight. Opposite to him, but not less at his ease, sat Scrumpydike. He also had taken care of himself after a similar fashion; and the humorous twist of his ugly countenance became every minute more evident. The set by whom they were surrounded, were remarkable for the daring and somewhat ferocious character of their features, and the great variety of their costumes; and as they sat enveloped in the smoke they were creating, bandying the ready jest, and pushing about the intoxicating liquor, they presented to the eye a band of as determined ruffians as the whole world could have produced.

“Have you all a mind for a job?” at last inquired Scrumpydike.

“Every one on us,” replied a stout fellow with a red nose and a fierce squint. “We’ve been laid up here for a month or more, waiting for a ’portunity to get afloat.”

“Well, Billbo! you shall go aboard a prime craft afore another week’s out, or I’m less nor nobody.”

“Hurra!” exclaimed the men joyfully.

“I can’t tell ye the ’ticulars just now,” he continued; “but I’ll make it all plain sailin’ afore you goes. Push the stuff about; a ship at anchor makes no way. Here’s to ye, my trumps! wi’ lots o’ plunder and a wide berth; and may we stick to one another while there’s a plank left for us to stand on.”

“Hurra!” replied his associates with increased delight! and they all seemed now to abandon themselves to riot and debauchery with additional zest. Briskly were the liquor cans replenished, rapidly was the tobacco consumed;—the laugh became louder, and occasionally an attempt at a ribald song was made by some of the more musical members of the company.

“Well, scrunch me! if this arn’t pleasant in the extreme,” said the individual addressed as Billbo; who, by the vacuity of his gaze, and the unsteadiness of his body, was evidently far gone towards complete intoxication. “I’m as happy as if I was a cap’ain. I’m happier nor any body. I’m happier nor any body, afloat or ashore.”

“You arn’t more happier nor me!” shouted a big-headed fellow fiercely, from the other end of the table, as he attempted to get upon his legs.

“I’m happier nor any body,” repeated the man with the squint.

“I don’t allow nobody to be more happier nor me,” cried the other, as he, after repeated efforts, attained the perpendicular.

“I’m happier nor any body,” doggedly repeated Billbo.

“Then I’m spiflicated if I don’t give you toko, ’cause you arn’t no business to be more happier nor me,” rejoined his associate, attempting to draw his cutlass.

“Silence, Loggerhead!” shouted Scrumpydike, in a voice of thunder that made the captain’s clerk start from his seat with affright. “No squabbling, or you’ll get a broadside from one as arn’t fond o’ trifling.”

“He says he’s more happier nor me,” exclaimed Loggerhead, in a most lachrymose tone of voice.

“I’m happier nor any body,” repeated the pertinacious Billbo, his eyes squinting defiance upon his jealous antagonist.

“Silence, Billbo!” shouted Scrumpydike, “or I’ll rake ye fore and aft.”

“He arn’t no right to be more happier nor me,” cried Loggerhead, as the tears swelled in his eyes at such an assumption of superior happiness. “I’m very happy!” he added, in a manner the most miserable that can be conceived. “Unkimmon happy. I’m as happy as a fellow can be in this here molloncholy world;” and he began crying like a fretful child.

“I’m happier nor any body,” muttered the other, sinking back upon the floor.

“Let’s have a song!” cried Scrumpydike.

“A song, a song,” echoed as many of his associates as were able to speak.

“A song, master Log,” continued Scrumpydike, with the desire of preventing a quarrel among his drunken companions. “Come, my prince o’ singing birds! Pipe away till all’s blue. You’re a reg’lar trump at chaunting a good stave; a right-down warbler; a nightingale’s a fool to ye. Arn’t it true, now?”

“True, true—very true—undeniably true—most undeniably true—most undeniably true, indeed, mister Scrumpydike,” cried the captain’s clerk, his gratified vanity visible even through the sleepy expression that now characterised his countenance; and after a few preparatory hems, considerable smirking, and a plentiful affectation of modesty, he sang, in a voice that might have frightened an owl, the following verses:—

While his associates were wildly shouting, in a dozen different keys, the burthen of the song, Log, in whom the exertion of singing had destroyed the little sense he had remaining, as he was swinging his body back, lost his balance, pitched head over heels off his seat, and then rolled under the table, in a state of complete insensibility.

CHAP. VIII.

THE PIRATES.

“’Tis a lovely night!” observed Oriel Porphyry, as he stood upon the deck of the Albatross, watching the fast receding shores of Africa.

“Indeed it is,” said his companion. “The air is filled with beauty, and there is an eloquent glory in the stars that speaks marvels of wisdom. See how the rolling waves rush on, bathed with the trembling light from above them—so do the multitudinous hearts within the world send forth their tide, each illumined by glimpses of a heaven of its own. The planets look down upon the waters, and from their mighty mirror drink in the images of their own loveliness—just as the maiden venturing to gaze into the glowing eyes of the youth of whom she is enamoured, sees in their depths the reflection of her own beauty, and lingers delighted within the influence of the charm she herself created. But what a philanthropist is the world! A universal spirit of love exists around us, and beneath its outstretched wings throbs the everlasting heart of the universe, distributing through its rosy channels that refreshing stream which is the life, the strength, the humanity of nature. What a wonder is the world! All within the boundless circle of infinity, with a harmony of soul-entrancing modulations, tune the same music to the ear. Systems of worlds, and worlds of systems—each earth blessed with its own sun, moon, and stars, that fill its atmosphere with gladness, and its waters with delight, rejoicing in the abundance in which it rears its countless offspring, that draw their verdure, their fragrance, and their consummate grace, from the exhaustless nourishment of its breast, rolls on in one unvarying course, carrying with it the fond desires of youth, the proud ambition of manhood, and the peaceful speculations of age; while, as the stream of Time progresses on its way to float them into the shoreless ocean of Eternity, its own nature, keeping a continual change in all things which have from it their existence, from the beginning hath followed its particular path in the glad possession of a perpetual youth. What a gladness is the world! There is not a creature born of its most fruitful womb that is not taught to slake its thirst and bathe its buoyant limbs in the fountain of delight that flows for all. Smiles and flowers are about us from our infancy. The air breathes of gladness. The clear firmament looks down on us in bliss. The leaves that quiver in the breeze dance for joy, and the stream that wandereth on its way singeth its own merry tune. The voice of song murmurs a continual carol that stirs the hearts of the antique forest trees, and the echoes of the mighty hills—in swelling tones the vigorous wind joins in the thrilling harmony—and as the natural concert rises into power, into its gladdening sounds the deep sea roars its triumphant chorus.”

“You are eloquent, Zabra!” remarked Oriel, gazing with wondering eyes upon the handsome countenance of his companion, which appeared more than usually excited.

“’T is a fit time, and a most fitting subject for eloquence,” he replied; “and if the soul hath such impulses, never were they more likely to be called into action than on such an occasion, and with such a theme as I have now. We are again upon the sea. That is sufficient impetus for the thought. We have left the dwellings of men whose souls were devoted to the mere scraping together wealth they would not use for any benefit to their fellow-creatures, and could not expend with any happiness to themselves.”

“Ay, I am glad I have escaped from the place,” said the young merchant. “It has given me every thing but a favourable impression of the pleasures of traffic. Each person I met seemed anxiously intent upon cheating me; and, if I had not been carefully attentive to my father’s instructions, before I had left their filthy town I should have been plundered of every bale of goods in my possession. As for Master Boor, he is as fine a sample of deliberate roguery as I ever met with.”

“He is worse than that, or I am much mistaken,” remarked Zabra, earnestly. “I have not been able to collect sufficient proof, but I strongly suspect, from observation I have made, that he is connected with your captain, whom he praised so much, in some deep-laid scheme of treachery, of which you are to be the sufferer.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Oriel. “That Boor would cheat his own father, I believe; but I don’t think he would act the villain, except in the general routine of business:—as for Compass, there’s no harm in him—the freedom of his language and the unprepossessing character of his manners are likely to create an unfavourable impression in any observer. Besides, he is alone in the ship, or nearly so. He is not at all popular with the crew, and were he to attempt any thing, the majority would rise in my favour. No, no, Zabra, your suspicions must be groundless.”

“Who are those strange men that have come on board?” asked his companion, in a whisper.

“Those in long frocks and straw hats? They are some poor agricultural labourers that have begged a free passage from the captain, which, at his desire, I have granted.”

“I have received information, through the boy Loop, from old Hearty, whose fidelity I can depend on, that these men are not what they appear to be; that they are evidently sailors, and, from their countenances alone, I should imagine that they are here for no good purpose,” said Zabra.

“Ha!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, for the first time entertaining a suspicion of the captain’s intentions.

“Hush!” whispered Zabra, clutching his companion firmly at the arm, while the expression of his features became intensely anxious.

“Heard you that?”

It was a stifled scream. While both listened in great excitement, it was followed by a discharge of fire-arms, a clashing of weapons, shouts, imprecations, and yells of agony; and immediately afterwards Hearty, Boggle, Ardent, Climberkin, and about half a dozen others, rushed upon deck, followed by Captain Compass, Scrumpydike, and the gang of ruffians described in the last chapter, fighting furiously; and, though streaming blood from many wounds, obstinately disputing every inch of ground.

“I have no weapon, but I must find one!” cried the young merchant, attempting to break from his companion.

“Move not for your life, Oriel,” said his companion, earnestly, as he held him more firmly. “You can only be slaughtered, without conferring the slightest assistance, for see, the unequal struggle is over.”

A loud cheer from the ruffians proclaimed the truth of Zabra’s intimation. The faithful few were either killed, or so wounded as to be unable to continue the contest, and the victors were rejoicing at their triumph. Oriel Porphyry was not allowed many moments to consider of what he had best do, when Compass, Scrumpydike, and two or three of their associates, came hastily towards the place where he stood, flourishing their bloody weapons, and shouting their riotous hurras.

“Captain Compass!” exclaimed Oriel proudly, as the party advanced, “what is the meaning of this bloodshed?”

“Beg your pardon, Master Porphyry,” he replied, “I have the honour of being Captain Death; ey, boys?” said he turning to his men, and the appeal was answered by a noisy demonstration of applause. “Yes, I am Captain Death, the most distinguished leader of the Free Mariners in these seas; and I beg to inform you, that I now hold the ship and all it contains for the benefit of myself and brave companions; ey, boys?” and the inquiry met with a similar reply.

“And I begs to add to what the cap’ain says,” observed Scrumpydike, giving his ugly countenance a more ludicrous twist than ever, “that I’m Leevetenant Rifle, very much at your sarvice, gennlemen; and if you has the slightest ’clination to end your miserable lives, I’ll do the job handsome, and to show my respect for ye, wo’n’t charge ye nothin’”—a riotous roar of laughter followed.

“You need not be afraid, Master Gloomy,” cried the captain, noticing that Zabra trembled as he clung to Oriel Porphyry—“your pretty countenance shan’t be spoilt just yet, at any rate, if you behave yourself; and as for you, Master Porphyry! your life shall be spared, and those of your men who may have survived this conflict, on condition that you follow my directions regarding your conduct; but the slightest show of disobedience will be punished with instant death to yourself and all who belong to you.”

By this time Professor Fortyfolios and Doctor Tourniquet had hurried upon deck, and with much appearance of apprehension had joined the group.

“What is this dispute about, captain?” asked the professor, looking fearfully upon the threatening faces he saw around him. “Let us argue the matter coolly.”

“The dispute is settled, Professor Fortyfolios, and these are my arguments,” said the pirate, pointing to the bloody weapons of his companions. The professor was convinced without inquiry; and the perspiration seemed to break out over his bald head as if he had taken a shower bath.

“This looks very much like an act of piracy, don’t you see,” remarked the incautious Tourniquet.

“So like, that there can be no difference,” replied the pirate; “and you look as if you had a great desire for a swing from the fore-yard arm, or a plunge under the bows, don’t you see. But you are too useful at present, so look to the wounded, Doctor Tourniquet, or I’ll have you hanged before you can suspect any thing about it.”

The doctor’s ruddy features grew pale with fear, and he made his way to his patients without loss of time.

“Master Porphyry, you had better go to your cabin,” said the captain, “and your shadow may go with you; but if I notice any treachery in either, you shall not have time to say a prayer.” The friends left the deck together without a reply.

“And now, boys, hey for Madagascar; and as this job’s done, you may set your hearts afloat as much as you like.” A cheer followed the announcement—the liquor was soon in requisition; and the pirates became so incapable of taking care of themselves, that if the defenders of the ship who were alive had not been disabled by their wounds, the Albatross might have been retaken the same evening.

The wounded men were lying where they had fallen when the doctor arrived amongst them. In a moment his fear for himself disappeared in his anxiety for the poor fellows who so much required his assistance.

“Here, Loop!” he cried as soon as he noticed the lad, unhurt, endeavouring to support his wounded relative. “Run into my cabin, and you will find on the table there a case of instruments, bring them here, look in at the cook room as you return, and ask Roly Poly to let me have a basin of warm water instantly, for I have immediate want for it, don’t you see.” The boy, with tears in his eyes, left old Hearty to the care of the surgeon, and hastened to obey his instructions.

“Well, old friend!” exclaimed he, taking the sailor by the hand, “where are you hurt? Ah, I perceive—ugly gash in the face—don’t you see—any thing else?”

“Arm cut to the bone, and shot through the body,” said the man faintly.

“Bad,” replied the doctor; “but cheer up. I’ve put worse things than that to rights, don’t you see. There, let me take off your jacket. Don’t exert yourself: I’ll do it. You’ve lost a good deal of blood, my friend, and feel a little sickish or so. Never mind that. Now let me move your shirt from the wound. Tut, tut,” he exclaimed, as the man seemed to shrink with pain when the linen was withdrawn from the lacerated flesh. “You must learn to bear pain, don’t you see. Wo’n’t hurt you more than I can help.” He then minutely examined his patient’s hurts. “Bad gun-shot wound that; but the bullet’s taken a more favourable direction than I expected, don’t you see. Ugly cut this in the arm; muscles cut through; arteries severed; requires much attention. Gash in the face don’t look well, but is in no way alarming. So, old friend, cheer up; you’re wounded severely, but not mortally, don’t you see.”

“Don’t care about it, sir,” replied Hearty, in a more feeble voice than usual. “Don’t care if I had as many holes in me as a sieve; but to be circumwented in this here ’bominable way by a set o’ rascally pirates arn’t to be endured.”

“Hush!” exclaimed Tourniquet, looking round him anxiously, to see if any of the victors were within hearing. “You must be cautious of what you say, don’t you see.”

“While I a got a breath o’ wind in the canvass I’ll tell ’em they’re a set o’ murderin’ thieves,” cried the brave old fellow, with all his remaining strength.

“Hush, I tell you!” said the alarmed doctor. “Do you want to have me murdered as well as yourself? Keep your tongue still, or every soul of us left alive in the ship will be massacred.”

“Where’s Master Porphyry?” asked the man, languidly.

“Safe,” replied the surgeon.

“Glad on’t. And Master Zabra, they arn’t a done him no harm, the villains?” he inquired anxiously.

“Both are unhurt,” said Tourniquet, in a whisper; “and the only way you can keep them so, is to remain as quiet as possible, and say nothing to incense your conquerors; and who knows, but that after you have recovered, you may have an opportunity of doing them some service, don’t you see.”

“The very thought a’most sets me on my legs again,” observed his patient, clasping the doctor’s hand affectionately.

“Hush,” he exclaimed, “here comes Roly Poly and Loop, at last.”

“Oh, massa!” cried the black, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes with one hand, while carrying the basin of water with the other—“Sockin’ doin’s! Sockin’ doin’s! Me was takin’ bit of nap, and heard nuttin. But who’d o’ ebber tort ob such obstroplousness.”

“Hold your tongue, Roly Poly,” said the surgeon, as he proceeded to cleanse, to dress, and bind up the wounds. “Hold your tongue, and bring the basin nearer I can’t reach it, don’t you see.”

“Yes, massa, me see berry well,” replied the fat cook, heedless of the injunction he had heard. “Sorry for poor Massa Hearty; him look done to a turn, poor fellar. Him nebber eat no more puddin’; no more soup; no more meat; no more nuttin, as Roly Poly cooks so boofliful. Sorry for him.”

“Hold your tongue, sir, directly,” exclaimed the doctor, with more emphasis.

“Yes, massa,” responded Roly Poly, and in a moment afterwards recommenced. “Massa Hearty, him berry good man. Him eat ebry thin’ me cook, and ax no ’pertinent questions. Nebber turn up him nose when him find bacca in him soup, or lump o’ soap in him puddin’. Sorry for him, poor fellar.”

“Will you hold your tongue, sir?” said Doctor Tourniquet, angrily, “and help to carry the patient to his hammock. Talk to him on your peril, sir. He requires rest, don’t you see.”

“Yes, massa,” he replied, assisting to support the wounded man; but he had not proceeded a yard before his voice was heard running on as fast as ever. “Wo’n’t say word more. Hate a fellar as can’t hold him tongue when him told. Al’ays talkee, talkee. Mornin’ till night him foolis tongue nebber hab no peace. He go talkee, talkee, to eb’ry body; foolis’ fellar! Poor man, him want rest; nebber mind, him not hold him tongue bit more. Hate a fellar as can’t hold him tongue when him told.” And so he continued till he left old Hearty in his hammock.

The next person the doctor approached was lying on his back motionless. A brief inspection seemed sufficient. He shook his head and passed on towards a man who was supporting his back against the mast. His face was pale, and his look haggard, and he seemed trying with a handkerchief to stop the blood that was oozing from his side.

“Not much hurt, I hope?” was Doctor Tourniquet’s first inquiry.

“Why, sir, I likes to have particular notions o’ things in general, as every man as is a man, and thinks like a man, should have, and I must say,” said he, slowly and faintly, “as I’ve a notion, as I’m right down reglarly spiflicated;” and immediately afterwards his head fell upon his shoulder, his back glided from its support, and he fell flat upon the deck.

“Bad look that,” remarked the surgeon, kneeling down beside his patient, whom he proceeded to examine. “Bad look—but ’tis only a swoon. He’ll recover presently, and in the mean time I’ll look at the wound. Ah! unpromising case. Dangerous thrust that; don’t like it by any means, but if he is tractable he may get over it. Well, my friend,” exclaimed Tourniquet, perceiving his patient open his eyes and look wildly about him, “your case is not so desperate as you imagine; and if you are attentive to what I tell you, it’s very possible I shall be able to make you safe and sound again, don’t you see.”

After doing what he thought necessary, he ordered him off to his hammock, and proceeded to the others. Ardent was found suffering from severe fracture of the skull; Climberkin had fainted from loss of blood, having been wounded in nearly a dozen different places, but none of them were dangerous; five others had received the same rough treatment, who were expected to recover, and seven more were either dead or dying. As Doctor Tourniquet was placing a bandage on the last of his patients, he heard the pirates, who had been joining in a wild uproar the whole of the time he had been engaged upon the wounded, shouting as loud as they could bawl,—