Homeward Bound by James Fenimore Cooper (page 9)

ashamed to pray; and when he did bow down his spirit in this manner, it was with the force, comprehensiveness, and energy of his character. He was now moved by the feeble and common-place consolations that Mr. Monday endeavoured to extract from his situation. He saw the peculiarly deluding and cruel substitution of forms for the substance of piety that distinguishes the policy of all established churches, though, unlike many of his own countrymen, his mind was superior to those narrow exaggerations that, on the other hand, too often convert innocence into sin, and puff up the votary with the conceit of a sectarian and his self-righteousness.

“I will pray with you, Mr. Monday,” he said, kneeling at the side of the dying man’s bed: “we will ask mercy of God together, and he may lessen these doubts.”

Mr. Monday made a sign of eager assent, and John Effingham prayed in a voice that was distinctly audible to the other. The petition was short, beautiful, and even lofty in language, without a particle of Scripture jargon, or of the cant of professed devotees; but it was a fervent, direct, comprehensive, and humble appeal to the Deity for mercy on the being who now found himself in extremity. A child might have understood it, while the heart of a man would have melted with its affecting and meek sincerity. It is to be hoped that the Great Being, whose Spirit pervades the universe, and whose clemency is commensurate with his power, also admitted the force of the petition, for Mr. Monday smiled with pleasure when John Effingham arose.

“Thank you, sir–a thousand thanks,” muttered the dying man, pressing the hand of the other. “This is better than all.”

After this Mr. Monday was easier, and hours passed away in nearly a continued silence. John Effingham was now convinced that his patient slumbered, and he allowed himself to fall into a doze. It was after the morning watch was called, that he was aroused by a movement in the berth. Relieving his patient required nourishment, or some fluid to moisten his lips, John Effingham offered both, but they were declined. Mr. Monday had clasped his hands on his breast, with the fingers uppermost, as painters and sculptors are apt to delineate them when they represent saints in the act of addressing the Deity, and his lips moved, though the words were whispered. John Effingham kneeled, and placed his ear so close as to catch the sounds. His patient was uttering the simple but beautiful petition transmitted by Christ himself to man, as the model of all prayer.

As soon as the other had done, John Effingham repeated the same prayer fervently and aloud himself, and when he opened his eyes, after this solemn homage to God, Mr. Monday was dead.

Chapter XXXI.

Let me alone:–dost thou use to write Thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an Honest, plain-dealing man?

JACK CADE.

At a later hour, the body of the deceased was consigned to the ocean with the forms that had been observed the previous night at the burial of the seaman. These two ceremonies were sad remembrancers of the scene the travellers had passed through; and, for many days, the melancholy that they naturally excited pervaded the ship. But, as no one connected by blood with any of the living had fallen, and it is not the disposition of men to mourn always, this feeling gradually subsided, and at the end of three weeks the deaths had lost most of their influence, or were recalled only at moments by those who thought it wise to dwell on such solemn subjects.

Captain Truck had regained his spirits; for, if he felt mortified at the extraordinary difficulties and dangers that had befallen his ship, he also felt proud of the manner in which he had extricated himself from them. As for the mates and crew, they had already returned to their ordinary habits of toil and fun, the accidents of life making but brief and superficial impressions on natures accustomed to vicissitudes and losses.

Mr. Dodge appeared to be nearly forgotten during the first week after the ship succeeded in effecting her escape; for he had the sagacity to keep himself in the background, in the hope that all connected with himself might be overlooked in the hurry and excitement of events. At the end of that period, however, he resumed his intrigues, and was soon actively engaged in endeavouring to get up a “public opinion,” by means of which he proposed to himself to obtain some reputation for spirit and courage. With what success this deeply-laid scheme was likely to meet, as well as the more familiar condition of the cabins, may be gathered by a conversation that took place in the pantry, where Saunders and Toast were preparing the hot punch for the last of the Saturday nights that Captain Truck expected to be at sea. This discourse was held while the few who chose to join in jollification that peculiarly recalled the recollection of Mr. Monday, were slowly assembling round the great table at the urgent request of the master.

“Well, I must say, Mr. Toast,” the steward commenced, as he kept stirring the punch, “that I am werry much rejoiced Captain Truck has resuscertated his old nature, and remembers the festivals and fasts, as is becoming the master of a liner. I can see no good reason because a ship is under jury-masts, that the passengers should forego their natural rest and diet. Mr. Monday made a good end, they say, and he had as handsome a burial as I ever laid eyes on at sea. I don’t think his own friends could have interred him more efficaciously, or more piously, had he been on shore.”

“It is something, Mr. Saunders, to be able to reflect beforehand on the respectable funeral that your friends have just given you. There is a great gratification to contemplate on such an ewent.”

“You improve in language, Toast, that I will allow; but you sometimes get the words a little wrong. We suspect before a thing recurs, and reflect on it after it has ewentuated. You might have suspected the death of poor Mr. Monday after he was wounded, and reflected on it after he was interred in the water. I agree with you that it is consoling to know we have our funeral rights properly delineated. Talking of the battle, Mr. Toast, I shall take this occasion to express to you the high opinion I entertain of your own good conduct. I was a little afraid you might injure Captain Truck in the conflict; but, so far as I have ascertained, on close inwestigation, you hurt nobody. We coloured people have some prejudices against us, and I always rejoice when I meet with one who assists to put them down by his conduck.”

“They say Mr. Dodge didn’t do much harm, either,” returned Toast. “For my part I saw nothing of him after I opened my eyes; though I don’t think I ever stared about me so much in my life.”

Saunders laid a finger on his nose, and shook his head significantly.

“You may speak to me with confidence and mistrust, Toast,” he said, “for we are friends of the same colour, besides being officers in the same pantry. Has Mr. Dodge conwersed with you concerning the ewents of those two or three werry ewentful days?”

“He has insinevated considerable, Mr. Saunders; though I do not think Mr. Dodge is ever a werry free talker.”

“Has he surgested the propriety of having an account of he whole affair made out by the people, and sustained by affidavits?”

“Well, sir, I imagine he has. At all ewents, he has been much on the forecastle lately, endeavouring to persuade the people that _they_ retook the ship, and that the passengers were so many encumbrancers in the affair.”

“And, are the people such _non composses_ as to believe him, Toast?”

“Why, sir, it is agreeable to humanity to think well of ourselves. I do not say that anybody actually _believes_ this; but, in my poor judgment, Mr. Saunders, there are men in the ship that would find it _pleasant_ to believe it, if they could.”

“Werry true; for that is natural. Your hint, Toast, has enlightened my mind on a little obscurity that has lately prewailed over my conceptions. There are Johnson, and Briggs, and Hewson, three of the greatest skulks in the ship, the only men who prewaricated in the least, so much as by a cold look, in the fight; and these three men have told me that Mr. Dodge was the person who had the gun put on the box; and that he druv the Arabs upon the raft. Now, I say, no men with their eyes open could have made such a mistake, except they made it on purpose. Do you corroborate or contrawerse this statement, Toast?”

“I contrawerse it, sir; for in my poor judgment it was Mr. Blunt.”

“I am glad we are of the same opinion. I shall say nothing till the proper moment arrives, and then I shall exhibit my sentiments, Mr. Toast, without recrimination or anxiety, for truth is truth.”

“I am happy to observe that the ladies are quite relaxed from their melancholy, and that they now seem to enjoy themselves ostensibly.”

Saunders threw a look of envy at his subordinate, whose progress in refinement really alarmed his own sense of superiority; but suppressing the jealous feeling, he replied with, dignity,

“The remark is quite just, Mr. Toast, and denotes penetration. I am always rejoiced when I perceive you elewating your thoughts to superior objects, for the honour of the colour.”

“Mister Saunders,” called out the captain from his seal in the arm-chair, at the head of the table.

“Captain Truck, sir.”

“Let us taste your liquors.”

This was the signal that the Saturday-night was about to commence, and the officers of the pantry presented their compounds in good earnest. On this occasion the ladies had quietly, but firmly declined being present, but the earnest appeals of the well-meaning captain had overcome the scruples of the gentlemen, all of whom, to avoid the appearance of disrespect to his wishes, had consented to appear.

“This is the last Saturday night, gentlemen, that I shall probably ever have the honour of passing in your good company,” said Captain Truck, as he disposed of the pitchers and glasses before him, so that he had a perfect command of the appliances of the occasion, “and I feel it to be a gratification with which I would not willingly dispense. We are now to the westward of the Gulf, and, according to my observations and calculations, within a hundred miles of Sandy Hook, which, with this mild south-west wind, and our weatherly position, I hope to be able to show you some time about eight o’clock to-morrow morning. Quicker passages have been made certainly, but forty days, after all, is no great matter for the westerly run, considering that we have had a look at Africa, and are walking on crutches.”

“We owe a great deal to the trades,” observed Mr. Effingham; “which have treated us as kindly towards the end of the passage, as they seemed reluctant to join us in the commencement. It has been a momentous month, and I hope we shall all retain healthful recollections of it as long as we live.”

“No one will retain as _grateful_ recollections of it as myself, gentlemen,” resumed the captain. “You had no agency in getting us into the scrape, but the greatest possible agency in getting us out of it. Without the knowledge, prudence, and courage that you have all displayed, God knows what would have become of the poor Montauk, and from the bottom of my heart I thank you, each and all while I have the heartfelt satisfaction of seeing you around me, and of drinking to your future health, happiness and prosperity.”

The passengers acknowledged their thanks in return, by bows, among which, that of Mr. Dodge was the most elaborate and conspicuous. The honest captain was too much touched, to observe this little piece of audacity, but, at that moment, he could have taken even Mr. Dodge in his arms and pressed him to his heart.

“Come, gentlemen,” he continued; “let us fill and do honour to the night. God has us all in his holy keeping, and we drift about in the squalls of life, pretty much as he orders the wind to blow. ‘Sweethearts and wives!’ and, Mr. Effingham, we will not forget beautiful, spirited, sensible, and charming daughters.”

After this piece of nautical gallantry, the glass began to circulate. The captain. Sir George Templemore–as the false baronet was still called in the cabin, and believed to be by all but those who belonged to the _coterie_ of Eve–and Mr. Dodge, indulged freely, though the first was too careful of the reputation of his ship, to forget that he was on the American coast in November. The others partook more sparingly, though even they submitted in a slight degree to the influence of good cheer, and for the first time since their escape, the laugh was heard in the cabin as was wont before to be the case. An hour of such indulgence produced again some of the freedom and ease which mark the associations of a ship, after the ice is fairly broken, and even Mr. Dodge began to be tolerated. This person, notwithstanding his conduct on the occasion of the battle, had contrived to maintain his ground with the spurious baronet, by dint of assiduity and flattery, while the others had rather felt pity than aversion, on account of his abject cowardice. The gentlemen did not mention his desertion at the critical moment, (though Mr. Dodge never forgave those who witnessed it,) for they looked upon his conduct as the result of a natural and unconquerable infirmity, that rendered him as much the subject of compassion as of reproach. Encouraged by this forbearance, and mistaking its motives, he had begun to hope his absence had not been detected in the confusion of the fight, and he had even carried his audacity so far, as to make an attempt to persuade Mr. Sharp that he had actually been one of those who went in the launch of the Dane, to bring down the other boat and raft to the reef, after the ship had been recaptured. It is true, in this attempt, he had met with a cold repulse, but it was so gentlemanlike and distant, that he had still hopes of succeeding in persuading the other to believe what he affirmed; by way of doing which, he endeavoured all he could to believe it himself. So much confusion existed in his own faculties during the fray, that Mr. Dodge was fain to fancy others also might not have been able to distinguish things very accurately.

Under the influence of these feelings, Captain Truck, when the glass had circulated a little freely, called on the Editor of the Active Inquirer, to favour the company with some more extracts from his journal. Little persuasion was necessary, and Mr. Dodge went into his state-room to bring forth the valuable records of his observations and opinions, with a conviction that all was forgotten, and that he was once more about to resume his proper place in the social relations of the ship. As for the four gentlemen who had been over the ground the other pretended to describe, they prepared to listen, as men of the world would be apt to listen to the superficial and valueless comments of a tyro, though not without some expectations of amusement.

“I propose that we shift the scene to London,” said Captain Truck, “in order that a plain seaman, like myself, may judge of the merits of the writer–which, I make no doubt, are very great; though I cannot now swear to it with as free a conscience as I could wish.”

“If I knew the pleasure of the majority,” returned Mr. Dodge, dropping the journal, and looking about him inquiringly, “I would cheerfully comply with it; for I think the majority should always rule. Paris, or London, or the Rhine, are the same to me; I have seen them all, and am just, as well qualified to describe the one as to describe the other.”

“No one doubts it, my dear sir; but I am not as well qualified to understand one of your descriptions as I am to understand another. Perhaps, evon you, sir, may express yourself more readily, and have better understood what was said to you, in English, than in a foreign tongue.”

“As for that, I do not think the value of my remarks is lessened by the one circumstance, or enhanced by the other, sir. I make it a rule always to be right, if possible; and that, I fancy, is as much as the natives of the countries themselves can very well effect. You have only to decide, gentlemen, whether it shall be England, or France, or the Continent.”

“I confess an inclination to the _Continent_,” said John Effingham; “for one could scarcely wish to limit a comprehensiveness like that of Mr. Dodge’s to an island, or even to France.”

“I see how it is,” exclaimed the captain; “we must put the traveller through all his paces, and have a little of both; so Mr. Dodge will have the kindness to touch on all things in heaven and earth, London and Paris inclusive.”

On this hint the journalist turned over a few pages carelessly, and then commenced:

“‘Reached _Bruxelles_ (Mr. Dodge pronounced this word Brucksills) at seven in the evening, and put up at the best house in the place, called the Silver Lamb, which is quite near the celebrated town-house, and, of course in the very centre of the _beau_ quarter. As we did not leave until after breakfast next morning, the reader may expect a description of this ancient capital. It lies altogether on a bit of low, level land—–‘”

“Nay, Mr. Dodge,” interrupted the _soi-disant_ Sir George, “I think _that_ most be an error. I have been at Brussels, and I declare, now, it struck me as lying a good deal on the side of a very steep hill!”

“All a mistake, sir, I do assure you. There is no more hill at _Brucksills_ than on the deck of this ship. You have been in too great a hurry, my dear Sir George; that is the way with most travellers; they do not give themselves time to note particulars. You English especially, my dear Sir George, are a little apt to be precipitate; and I dare say, you travelled post, with four horses, a mode of getting on by which a man may very well transfer a hill, in his imagination, from one town to another. I travelled chiefly in a _voitury_, which afforded leisure for remarks.”

Here Mr. Dodge laughed; for he felt that he had got the best of it.

“I think you are bound to submit, _Sir George Templemore”_ said John Effingham, with an emphasis on the name that raised a smile among his friends; “Brussels certainly lies on a flat; and the hill you saw has, doubtless, been brought up with you from Holland in your haste. Mr. Dodge enjoyed a great advantage in his mode of travelling; for, by entering a town in the evening, and quitting it only in the morning, he had the whole night to look about him.”

“That was just my mode of proceeding, Mr. John Effingham; I made it a rule to pass an entire night in every large town I came to.”

“A circumstance that will give a double value to your opinions with our countrymen, Mr. Dodge, since they very seldom give themselves half that leisure when once in motion. I trust you have not passed over the institutions of Belgium, sir; and most particularly the state of society in the capital, of which you saw so much?”

“By no means; here are my remarks on these subjects:

“–‘Belgium, or _The Belges_, as the country is now called, is one of the upstart kingdoms that have arisen in our times; and which, from signs that cannot be mistaken, is fated soon to be overturned by the glorious principles of freedom. The people are ground down, as usual, by the oppression of hard task-masters, and bloody-minded priests. The monarch, who is a bigoted Catholic of the House of Saxony, being the son of the king of that country, and a presumptive heir to the throne of Great Britain, in right of his first wife, devoting all his thoughts to miracles and saints. The nobles form a class by themselves, indulging in all sorts of vices.’–I beg pardon, Sir George, but the truth must be told in our country, or one had better never speak.–‘All sorts of vices, and otherwise betraying the monstrous tendencies of the system.'”

“Pray, Mr. Dodge,” interrupted John Effingham, “have you said nothing as to the manner in which the inhabitants relieve the eternal _ennui_ of always walking on a level surface?”

“I am afraid not, sir. My attention was chiefly given to the institutions, and to the state of society, although I can readily imagine they must get to be heartily tired of a dead flat”

“Why, sir, they have contrived to run a street up and down the roof of the cathedral; and up and down this street they trot all hours of the day.”

Mr. Dodge looked distrustful; but John Effingham maintained his gravity. After a pause the former continued:–

“‘The usages of _Brucksills_ are a mixture of Low Dutch and High Dutch habits, as is the language. The king being a Polander, and a grandson of Augustus, king of Poland, is anxious to introduce the customs of the Russians into his court; while his amiable young queen, who was born in New Jersey when her illustrious father kept the school at Haddonfield, early imbibed those notions of republicanism which so eminently distinguish his Grace the Honourable Louis Philippe Orleans, the present King of the French.'”

“Nay, Mr. Dodge,” said Mr. Sharp, “you will have all the historians ready to cut your throat with envy!”

“Why, sir, I feel it a duty not to throw away the great opportunities I have enjoyed; and America is a country in which an editor may never hope to mystify his readers. We deal with them in facts, Mr. Sharp; and although this may not be your English practice, we think that truth is powerful and will prevail. To continue,–‘The kingdom of _the Belges_ is about as large as the north-east corner of Connecticut, including one town in Rhode Island; and the whole population may be about equal to that of _our_ tribe of Creek Indians, who dwell in the wilder parts of _our_ state of Georgia.'”

“This particularity is very convincing,” observed Paul, “and then it has the merit, too, of coming from an eye-witness”

“I will now, gentlemen, return with you to Paris, where I stayed all of three weeks, and of the society of which my knowledge of the language will, of course, enable me to give a still more valuable account.”

“You mean to publish these hints, I trust, sir?” inquired the captain.

“I shall probably collect them, and enlarge them in the way of a book; but they have already been laid before the American public in the columns of the Active Inquirer, I can assure you, gentlemen, that my colleagues of the press have spoken quite favourably of the letters as they appeared. Perhaps you would like to hear some of their opinions?”

Hereupon Mr. Dodge opened a pocket-book, out of which he took six or eight slips of printed paper, that had been preserved with care, though obviously well thumbed. Opening one, he read as follows:

“‘Our friend Dodge, of the Active Inquirer, is instructing his readers, and edifying mankind in general, with some very excellent and pungent remarks on the state of Europe, which part of the world he is now exploring with some such enterprise and perseverance as Columbus discovered when he entered on the unknown waste of the Atlantic. His opinions meet with our unqualified approbation, being sound, American, and discriminating. We fancy these Europeans will begin to think in time that Jonathan has some pretty shrewd notions concerning themselves, the critturs!’ This was extracted from the People’s Advocate, a journal edited with great ability, by Peleg Pond, esquire, a thorough-going republican, and a profound observer of mankind.”

“In his own parish in particular,” quaintly added John Effingham. “Pray, sir, have you any more of these critical _morceaux_?”

“At least a dozen,” beginning to read again.–“Steadfast Dodge, esquire, the editor of the Active Inquirer, is now travelling in Europe, and is illuminating the public mind at home by letters that are Johnsonian in style, Chesterfieldian in taste and in knowledge of the world, with the redeeming qualities of nationality, and republicanism, and truth. We rejoice to perceive by these valuable contributions to American literature, that Steadfast Dodge, esquire, finds no reason to envy the inhabitants of the Old World any of their boasted civilization; but that, on the contrary, he is impressed with the superiority of our condition over all countries, every post that he progresses. America has produced but few men like Dodge; and even Walter Scott might not be ashamed to own some of his descriptions. We hope he may long continue to travel.'”

“_Voitury_” added John Effingham gravely. “You perceive, gentlemen, how modestly these editors set forth their intimacy with the traveller–‘our friend Dodge, of the Active Inquirer,’ and ‘Steadfast Dodge, esquire!’–a mode of expression that speaks volumes for their own taste, and their profound deference for their readers!”

“We always speak of each other in this manner, Mr. John Effingham–that is our _esprit du corps_.”

“And I should think that there would be an _esprit de corps_ in the public to resist it,” observed Paul Blunt.

The distinction was lost on Mr. Dodge, who turned over to one of his most elaborate strictures on the state of society in France, with all the self-complacency of besotted ignorance and provincial superciliousness. Searching out a place to his mind, this profound observer of men and manners, who had studied a foreign people, whose language when spoken was gibberish to him, by travelling five days in a public coach, and living four weeks in taverns and eating-houses, besides visiting three theatres, in which he did not understand a single word that was uttered, proceeded to lay before his auditors the results of his observations.

“‘The state of female society in France is truly awful,’ he resumed, ‘the French Revolution, as is universally known, having left neither decorum, modesty, nor beauty in the nation. I walk nightly in the galleries of the Palais Royal, where I locate myself, and get every opportunity of observing the peculiarities of ladies of the first taste and fashion in the metropolis of Europe. There is one duchess in particular, whose grace and _embonpoint_ have, I confess, attracted my admiration. This lady, as my _lacquais de_ _place_ informs me, is sometimes termed _la mère du peuple_, from her popularity and affability. The young ladies of France, judging from the specimens I have seen here–which must be of the highest class in the capital, as the spot is under the windows of one of the royal palaces–are by no means observable for that quiet reserve and modest diffidence that distinguish the fair among our own young countrywomen; but it must be admitted they are remarkable for the manner in which, they walk alone, in my judgment a most masculine and unbecoming practice. Woman was not made to live alone, and I shall contend that she was not made to walk alone. At the same time, I confess here is a certain charm in the manner in which these ladies place a hand in each pocket of their aprons, and balance their bodies, as they move like duchesses through the galleries. If I might humbly suggest, the American fair might do worse than imitate this Parisian step; for, as a traveller I feel it a duty to exhibit any superior quality that other nations possess. I would also remark on the general suavity of manners that the ladies of quality’ (this word Mr Dodge pronounced _qua-a-lity_,) ‘observe in their promenades in and about this genteel quarter of Paris.'”

“The French ladies ought to be much flattered with this notice of them,” cried the captain, filling Mr. Dodge’s glass. “In the name of truth and penetration, sir, proceed.”

“‘I have lately been invited to attend a ball in one of the first families of France, which resides in the Rue St. Jaques, or the St. James’ of Paris. The company was select, and composed of many of the first persons in the kingdom of _des Français_. The best possible manners were to be seen here, and the dancing was remarkable for its grace and beauty. The air with which the ladies turned their heads on one side, and inclined their bodies in advancing and retiring, was in the first style of the court of Terpsichore. They were all of the very first families of France. I heard one excuse herself for going away so early, as _Madame la Duchesse_ expected her; and another observed that she was to leave town in the morning with _Madame la Vicomtesse_. The gentlemen, with few exceptions, were in fancy dresses, appearing in coats, some of sky-blue, some green, some scarlet, and some navy-blue, as fancy dictated, and all more or less laced on the seams much in the manner as was the case with the Honourable the King the morning I saw him leave for _Nully_. This entertainment was altogether the best conducted of any I ever attended, the gentlemen being condescending, and without the least pride, and the ladies all grace.'”

“Graces would be more expressive, if you will excuse my suggesting a word, sir,” observed John Effingham, as the other paused to take breath.

“‘I have observed that the people in most monarchies are abject and low-minded in their deportment. Thus the men take off their hats when they enter churches, although the minister be not present; and even the boys take off their hats when they enter private houses. This is commencing servility young. I have even seen men kneeling on the cold pavements of the churches in the most abject manner, and otherwise betraying the feeling naturally created by slavish institutions.”

“Lord help ’em!” exclaimed the captain, “if they begin so young, what a bowing and kneeling set of blackguards they will get to be in time.”

“It is to be presumed that Mr. Dodge has pointed out the consequences in the instance of the abject old men mentioned, who probably commenced their servility by entering houses with their hats off,” said John Effingham.

“Just so, sir,” rejoined the editor. “I throw in these little popular traits because I think they show the differences between nations.”

“From which I infer,” said Mr. Sharp, “that in your part of America boys do not take off their hats when they enter houses, nor men kneel in churches?”

“Certainly not, sir. Our people get their ideas of manliness early; and as for kneeling in churches, we have some superstitious-sects–I do not mention them; but, on the whole, no nation can treat the house of God more rationally than we do in America.”

“That I will vouch for,” rejoined John Effingham; “for the last time I was at home I attended a concert in one of them, where an _artiste_ of singular nasal merit favoured the company with that admirable piece of conjoined sentiment and music entitled ‘Four-and-twenty fiddlers all in a row!'”

“I’ll engage for it,” cried Mr. Dodge, swelling with national pride; “and felt all the time as independent and easy as if he was in a tavern. Oh! superstition is quite extinct in _Ameriky!_ But I have a few remarks on the church in my notes upon England: perhaps you would like to hear them?”

“Let me entreat you to read them,” said the true Sir George Templemore, a little eagerly.

“Now, I protest against any liberality,” added the false Sir George, shaking his finger.

Mr. Dodge disregarded both; but, turning to the place, he read aloud with his usual self-complacency and unction.

“‘To-day, I attended public worship in St.—church, Minories. The congregation was composed of many of the first people of England, among whom were present Sir Solomon Snore, formerly HIGH sheriff of London, a gentleman of the first consideration in the empire, and the celebrated Mr. Shilling, of the firm of Pound, Shilling, and Pence. There was certainly a fine air of polite life in the congregation, but a little too much idolatry. Sir Solomon and Mr. Shilling were both received with distinction, which was very proper, when we remember their elevated rank; but the genuflexions and chaunting met with my very unqualified disapprobation.'”

“Sir Solomon and the other personage you mention were a little _pursy_, perhaps,” observed Mr. Sharp, “which destroyed their grace.”

“I disapprove of all kneeling, on general principles, sir. If we kneel to one, we shall get to kneel to another, and no one can tell where it will end. ‘The exclusive manner in which the congregation were seated in pews, with sides so high that it was difficult to see your nearest neighbour; and these pews’ (Mr. Dodge pronounced this word _poohs_,) ‘have often curtains that completely enclose their owners, a system of selfishness that would not be long tolerated in _Ameriky_.'”

“Do individuals own their pews in America?” inquired Mr. Sharp.

“Often,” returned John Effingham; always, “except in those particular portions of the country where it is deemed invidious, and contrary to the public rights, to be better off than one’s neighbour, by owning any thing that all the community has not a better claim to than its proprietor.”

“And canot the owner of a pew curtain it, with a view to withdrawn into it himself at public worship?”

“America and England are the antipodes of each other in all these things. I dare say, now, that you have come among us with an idea that our liberty is so very licentious, that a man may read a newspaper by himself?”

“I confess, certainly, to that much,” returned Mr. Sharp, smiling.

“We shall teach him better than this, Mr. Dodge, before we let him depart. No, sir, you have very contracted ideas of liberty, I perceive. With us every thing is settled by majorities. We eat when the majority eats; drink, when the majority drinks; sleep, when the majority sleeps; pray, when the majority prays. So far from burying ourselves in deep wells of pews, with curtains round their edges, we have raised the floors, amphitheatre fashion, so that every body can see every body; have taken away the sides of the pews, which we have converted into free and equal seats, and have cut down the side of the pulpit so that we can look at the clergyman; but I understand there is actually a project on foot to put the congregation into the pulpit, and the parson into the aisle, by way of letting the latter see that he is no better than he should be. This would be a capital arrangement, Mr. Dodge, for the ‘Four-and-twenty fiddlers all in a row.'”

The editor of the Active Inquirer was a little distrustful of John Effingham, and he was not sorry to continue his extracts, although he was obliged to bring himself still further under the fire of his assailant.

“‘This morning,’ Mr. Dodge resumed, I stepped into the coffee-room of the ‘Shovel and Tongs,’ public-house, to read the morning paper, and, taking a seat by the side of a gentleman who was reading the ‘Times,’ and drawing to me the leaves of the journal, so that it would be more convenient to peruse, the man insolently and arrogantly demanded of me, ‘What the devil I meant?’ This intolerance in the English character is owing to the narrowness of the institutions, under which men come to fancy liberty applies to persons instead of majorities.'”

“You perceive, Mr. Sharp,” said John Effingham, “how much more able a stranger is to point out the defects of national character than a native. I dare say that in indulging your individuality, hitherto, you have imagined you were enjoying liberty.”

“I fear I have committed some such weakness–but Mr. Dodge will have the goodness to proceed.”

The editor complied as follows:–“‘Nothing has surprised me more than the grovelling propensities of the English on the subject of names. Thus this very inn, which in America would be styled the ‘Eagle Tavern,’ or the ‘Oriental or Occidental Hotel,’ or the ‘Anglo-Saxon Democratical Coffee-house,’ or some other equally noble or dignified appellation, is called the ‘Shovel and Tongs.’ One tavern, which might very appropriately be termed ‘The Saloon of Peace,’ is very vulgarly called ‘Dolly’s Chop-house.'”

All the gentlemen, not excepting Mr. Sharp, murmured their disgust at so coarse a taste. But most of the party began now to tire of this pretending ignorance and provincial vulgarity, and, one by one, most of them soon after left the table. Captain Truck, however, sent for Mr. Leach, and these two worthies, with Mr. Dodge and the spurious baronet, sat an hour longer, when all retired to their berths.

Chapter XXXII.

I’ll meet thee at Philippi.

SHAKESPEARE.

Happy is the man who arrives on the coast of New York, with the wind at the southward, in the month of November. There are two particular conditions of the weather, in which the stranger receives the most unfavourable impressions of the climate that has been much and unjustly abused, but which two particular conditions warrant all the evil that has been said of it. One is a sweltering day in summer, and the other an autumnal day, in which the dry north wind scarce seems to leave any marrow in the bones.

The passengers of the Montauk escaped both these evils, and now approached the coast with a bland south-west breeze, and a soft sky. The ship had been busy in the night, and when the party assembled on deck in the morning, Captain Truck told them, that in an hour they should have a sight of the long-desired western continent. As the packet was inning in at the rate of nine knots, under topmast and top-gallant studding-sails, being to windward of her port, this was a promise that the gallant vessel seemed likely enough to redeem.

“Toast!” called out the captain, who had dropped into his old habits as naturally as if nothing had occurred, “bring me a coal; and you, master steward, look well to the breakfast this morning. If the wind stands six hours longer, I shall have the grief of parting with this good company, and you the grief of knowing you will never set another meal before them. These are moments to awaken sentiment, and yet I never knew an officer of the pantry that did not begin to grin as he drew near his port.”

“It is usually a cheerful moment with every one, I believe, Captain Truck,” said Eve, “and most of all, should it be one of heartfelt gratitude with us.”

“Ay, ay, my dear young lady; and yet I fancy Mr. Saunders will explain it rather differently. Has no one sung out ‘land,’ yet, from aloft, Mr. Leach? The sands of New Jersey ought to be visible before this.”

“We have seen the haze of the land since daylight, but not land itself.”

“Then, like old Columbus, the flowered doublet is mine–land, ho!”

The mates and the people laughed, and looking ahead, they nodded to each other, and the word “land” passed from mouth to mouth, with the indifference with which mariners first see it in short passages. Not so with the rest. They crowded together, and endeavoured to catch a glimpse of the coveted shore, though, with the exception of Paul, neither could perceive it.

“We must call on you for assistance,” said Eve, who now seldom addressed the handsome young seaman without a flush on her own beautiful face; “for we are all so luberly that none of us can see that which we so earnestly desire.”

“Have the kindness to look over the stock of that anchor,” said Paul, glad of an excuse to place himself nearer to Eve; and you will discover an object on the water.”

“I do,” said Eve, “but is it not a vessel?”

“It is; but a little to the right of that vessel, do you not perceive a hazy object at some elevation above the sea?”

“The cloud, you mean–a dim, ill-defined, dark body of vapour?”

“So it may seem to you, but to me it appears to be the land. That is the bluff-like termination of the celebrated high lands of Navesink. By watching it for half an hour you will perceive its form and surface grow gradually more distinct.”

Eve eagerly pointed out the place to Mademoiselle Vielville and her father, and from that moment, for near an hour, most of the passengers kept it steadily in view. As Paul had said, the blue of this hazy object deepened; then its base became connected with the water, and it ceased to resemble a cloud at all. In twenty more minutes, the faces and angles of the hills became visible, and trees started out of their sides. In the end a pair of twin lights were seen perched on the summit.

But the Montauk edged away from these highlands, and shaped her course towards a long low spit of sand, that lay several miles to the northward of them. In this direction, fifty small sail were gathering into, or diverging from, the pass, their high, gaunt-looking canvas resembling so many church towers on the plains of Lombardy. These were coasters, steering towards their several havens. Two or three outward-bound ships were among them, holding their way in the direction of China, the Pacific Ocean, or Europe.

About nine, the Montauk met a large ship standing on bowline, with every thing set that would draw, and heaping the water under her bows. A few minutes after, Captain Truck, whose attention had been much diverted from the surrounding objects by the care of his ship, came near the group of passengers, and once more entered into conversation.

“Here we are, my dear young lady,” he cried, “within five leagues of Sandy Hook, which lies hereaway, under our lee bow; as pretty a position as heart could wish. The lank, hungry-looking schooner in-shore of us, is a new vessel, and, as soon as she is done with the brig near her we shall have her in chase, when there will be a good opportunity to get rid of all our spare lies. This little fellow to leeward, who is clawing up towards us, is the pilot; after whose arrival, my functions cease, and I shall have little to do but to rattle off Saunders and Toast, and to feed the pigs.”

“And who is this gentleman ahead of us, with his main-topsail to the mast, his courses in the brails, and his helm a-lee?” asked Paul.

“Some chap who has forgotten his knee-buckles, and has been obliged to send a boat up to town to hunt for them,” coolly rejoined the captain, while he sought the focus of the glass, and levelled it at the vessel in question. The look was long and steady, and twice Captain Truck lowered the instrument to wipe the moisture from his own eye. At length, he called out, to the amazement of every body,

“Stand by to in all studding-sails, and to ware to the eastward. Be lively, men, be lively! The eternal Foam, as I am a miserable sinner!”

Paul laid a hand on the arm of Captain Truck, and stopped him, as the other was about to spring towards the forecastle, with a view to aid and encourage his people.

“You forget that we have neither spars nor sails suited to a chase,” said the young man. “If we haul off to sea-ward on any tack we can try, the corvette will be too much for us now, and excuse me if I say that a different course will be advisable.”

The captain had learned to respect the opinion of Paul, and he took the interference kindly.

“What choice remains, but to run down into the very jaws of the lion,” he asked, “or to wear round, and stand to the eastward?”

“We have two alternatives. We may pass unnoticed, the ship being so much altered; or we may haul up on the tack we are on, and get into shallow water.”

“He draws as little as this ship, sir, and would follow. There is no port short of Egg Harbour, and into that I should be bashful about entering with a vessel of this size; whereas, by running to the eastward, and doubling Montauk, which would owe us shelter on account of our name, I might get into the Sound, or New London, at need, and then claim the sweepstakes, as having won the race.”

“This would be impossible, Captain Truck, allow me to say. Dead before the wind, we cannot escape, for the land would fetch us up in a couple of hours; to enter by Sandy Hook, if known, is impossible, on account of the corvette, and, in a chase of a hundred and twenty miles, we should be certain to be overtaken.”

“I fear you are right, my dear sir, I fear you are right. The studding-sails are now in, and. I will haul up for the highlands, and anchor under them, should it be necessary. We can then give this fellow Vattel in large quantities, for I hardly think he will venture to seize us while we have an anchor fast to good American ground.”

“How near dare you stand to the shore?”

“Within a mile ahead of us; but to enter the Hook, the bar must be crossed a league or two off.”

“The latter is unlucky; but, by all means, get the vessel in with the land; so near as to leave no doubt as to our being in American waters.”

“We’ll try him, sir, we’ll try him. After having escaped the Arabs, the deuce is in it, if we cannot weather upon John Bull! I beg your pardon, Mr. Sharp; but this is a question that must be settled by some of the niceties of the great authorities.”

The yards were now braced forward, and the ship was brought to the wind, so as to head in a little to the northward of the bathing-houses at Long Branch. But for this sudden change of course, the Montauk would have run down dead upon the corvette, and possibly might have passed her undetected, owing to the change made in her appearance by the spars of the Dane. So long as she continued “bows on,” standing towards them, not a soul on board the Foam suspected her real character, though, now that she acted so strangely, and offered her broadside to view, the truth became known in an instant. The main-yard of the corvette was swung, and her sails were filled on the same course as that on which the packet was steering. The two vessels were about ten miles from the land, the Foam a little ahead, but fully a league to leeward. The latter, however, soon tacked and stood in-shore. This brought the vessels nearly abreast of each other, the corvette a mile or more, dead to leeward, and distant now some six miles from the coast. The great superiority of the corvette’s sailing was soon apparent to all on board both vessels, for she apparently went two feet to the packet’s one.

The history of this meeting, so unexpected to Captain Truck, was very simple. When the gale had abated, the corvette, which had received no damage, hauled up along the African coast, keeping as near as possible to the supposed track of the packet, and failing to fall in with her chase, she had filled away for New York. On making the Hook she took a pilot, and inquired if the Montauk had arrived. From the pilot she learned that the vessel of which she was in quest had not yet made its appearance, and she sent an officer up to the town to communicate with the British Consul. On the return of this officer, the corvette stood away from the land, and commenced cruising in the offing. For a week she had now been thus occupied, it being her practice to run close in, in the morning, and to remain hovering about the bar until near night, when she made sail for an offing. When first seen from the Montauk, she had been lying-to, to take in stores sent from the town, and to communicate with a news-boat.

The passengers of the Montauk had just finished their breakfast, when the mate reported that the ship was fast shoaling her water, and that it would be necessary to alter the course in a few minutes, or to anchor. On repairing to the deck, Captain Truck and his companions perceived the land less than a mile ahead of them, and the corvette about half that distance to the leeward, and nearly abeam.

“That is a bold fellow,” exclaimed the captain, “or he has got a Sandy Hook pilot on board him.”

“Most probably the latter,” said Paul: “he would scarcely be here on this duty, and neglect so simple a precaution.”

“I think this would satisfy Mr. Vattel, sir,” returned Captain Truck, as the man in the chains sung out, ‘and a half hree!’ “Hard up with the helm, and lay the yards square, Mr. Leach.”

“Now we shall soon know the virtue of Vattel,” said John Effingham, “as ten minutes will suffice to raise the question very fairly.”

The Foam put her helm down, and tacked beautifully to the south-east. As soon as the Montauk, which vessel was now running along shore, keeping in about four fathoms water, the sea being as smooth as a pond, was abeam, the corvette wore round, and began to close with her chase, keeping on her eastern, or outer board.

“Were we an enemy, and a match for that sloop,” said Paul, “this smooth water and yard-arm attitude would make quick work.”

“Her captain is in the gangway, taking our measure,” observed Mr. Truck: “here is the glass; I wish you to examine his face, and tell me if you think him a man with whom the law of nations will avail anything. See the anchor clear, Mr. Leach, for I’m determined to bring up all standing, if the gentleman intends to renew the old tricks of John Bull on our coast. What do you make of him, Mr. Blunt?”

Paul did not answer, but laying down the glass, he paced the deck rapidly with the manner of one much disturbed. All observed this sudden change, though no one presumed to comment on it. In the mean time the sloop-of-war came up fast, and in a few minutes her larboard fore-yard-arm was within twenty feet of the starboard main-yard-arm of the Montauk, the two vessels running on parallel lines. The corvette now hauled up her fore-course, and let her top-gallant sails settle on the caps, though a dead silence reigned in her.

“Give me the trumpet,” said Captain Truck, stepping to the rail; “the gentleman is about to give us a piece of his mind.”

The English captain, who was easily known by his two epaulettes, also held a trumpet; but neither of the two commanders used his instrument, the distance being sufficiently near for the natural voice,

“I believe, sir,” commenced the man-of-war’s-man, “that I have the pleasure to see Captain Truck, of the Montauk, London packet?”

“Ay, ay; I’ll warrant you he has my name alongside of John Doe and Richard Roe,” muttered Mr. Truck, “spell as carefully as it could be in a primer.–I am Captain Truck, and this is the Montauk. May I ask the name of your vessel, and your own, sir?”

“This is his Britannic Majesty’s ship, the Foam, Captain Ducie.”

“The Honourable Captain Ducie!” exclaimed Mr. Sharp. “I thought I recognised the voice: I know him intimately well.”

“Will he stand Vattel?” anxiously demanded Mr. Truck.

“Nay, as for that, I must refer you to himself.”

“You appear to have suffered in the gale,” resumed Captain Ducie, whose smile was very visible, as he thus addressed them like an old acquaintance. “We fared better ourselves, for I believe we did not part a ropeyarn.”

“The ship pitched every stick out of her,” returned Captain Truck, “and has given us the trouble of a new outfit.”

“In which you appear to have succeeded admirably. Your spars and sails are a size or two too small; but every thing stands like a church.”

“Ay, ay, now we have got on our new clothes, we are not ashamed to be seen.”

“May I ask if you have been in port to do all this?”

“No, sir; picked them up along-shore.”

The Honourable Captain Ducie thought he was quizzed, and his manner became a little more cold, though it still retained its gentlemanlike tone.

“I wish much to see you in private, sir, on an affair of some magnitude, and I greatly regret it was not in my power to speak you the night you left Portsmouth. I am quite aware you are in your own waters, and I feel a strong reluctance to retain your passengers when so near their port; but I shall feel it as a particular favour if you will permit me to repair on board for a few minutes.”

“With all my heart,” cried Captain Truck: “if you will give me room, I will back my main-topsail, but I wish to lay my head off shore. This gentleman understands Vattel, and we shall have no trouble with him. Keep the anchor clear Mr. Leach, for ‘fair words butter no parsnips.’ Still, he is a gentleman;–and, Saunders, put a bottle of the old Madeira on the cabin table.”

Captain Ducie now left the rigging in which he had stood, and the corvette luffed off to the eastward, to give room to the packet, where she hove-to with her fore-topsail aback. The Montauk followed, taking a position under her lee. A quarter-boat was lowered, and in five minutes its oars were tossed at the packet’s lee-gangway, when the commander of the corvette ascended the ship’s side, followed by a middle-aged man in the dress of a civilian, and a chubby-faced midshipman.

No one could mistake Captain Ducie for anything but a gentleman. He was handsome, well-formed, and about five-and-twenty. The bow he made to Eve, with whose beauty and air he seemed instantly struck, would have become a drawing-room; but he was too much of an officer to permit any further attention to escape him until he had paid his respects to, and received the compliments of, Captain Truck. He then turned to the ladies and Mr. Effingham, and repeated his salutations.

“I fear,” he said, “my duty has made me the unwilling instrument of prolonging your passage, for I believe few ladies love the ocean sufficiently, easily to forgive those who lengthen its disagreeables.”

“We are old travellers, and know how to allow for the obligations of duty,” Mr. Effingham civilly answered.

“That they do, sir,” put in Captain Truck; “and it was never my good fortune to have a more agreeable set of passengers. Mr. Effingham, the Honourable Captain Ducie;–the Honourable Captain Ducie, Mr. Effingham;–Mr. John Effingham, Mam’selle V.A.V.” endeavouring always to imitate Eve’s pronunciation of the name;–“Mr. Dodge, the Honourable Captain Ducie; the Honourable Captain Ducie, Mr. Dodge.”

The Honourable Captain Ducie and all the others, the editor of the Active Inquirer excepted, smiled slightly, though they respectively bowed and curtseyed; but Mr. Dodge, who conceived himself entitled to be formally introduced to every one he met, and to know all he saw, whether introduced or not, stepped forward promptly, and shook Mr. Ducie very cordially by the hand.

Captain Truck now turned in quest of some one else to introduce; Mr. Sharp stood near the capstan, and Paul had retired as far aft as the hurricane-house.

“I am happy to see you in the Montauk,” added Captain Truck, insensibly leading the other towards the capstan, “and am sorry I had not the satisfaction of meeting you in England. The Honourable Captain Ducie, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Sharp, the Honourable Captain–“

“George Templemore!” exclaimed the commander of the corvette, looking from one to the other.

“Charles Ducie!” exclaimed the _soi-disant_ Mr. Sharp.

“Here then is an end of part of my hopes, and we have been on a wrong scent the whole time.”

“Perhaps not, Ducie: explain yourself.”

“You must have perceived my endeavours to speak you, from the moment you sailed?”

“To _speak_ us!” cried Captain Truck. “Yes, sir, we _did_ observe your endeavours to _speak_ us.”

“It was because I was given to understand that one _calling_ himself Sir George Templemore, an impostor, however, had taken passage in this ship; and here I find that we have been misled, by the real Sir George Templemore’s having chosen to come this way instead of coming by the Liverpool ship. So much for your confounded fashionable caprices, Templemore, which never lets you know in the morning whether you are to shoot yourself or to get married before night.”

“And is this gentleman Sir George Templemore?” pithily demanded Captain Truck.

“For that I can vouch, on the knowledge of my whole life.”

“And we know this to be true, and have known it since the day we sailed,” observed Mr. Effingham.

Captain Truck was accustomed to passengers under false names, but never before had he been so completely mystified.

“And pray, sir,” he inquired of the baronet, “are you a member of Parliament?”

“I have that honour.”

“And Templemore Hall is your residence, and you have come out to look at the Canadas?”

“I am the owner of Templemore Hall, and hope to look at the Canadas before I return.”

“And,” turning to Captain Ducie, “you sailed in quest of another Sir George Templemore–a false one?”

“That is a part of my errand,” returned Captain Ducie, smiling.

“Nothing else?–you are certain, sir, that this is the whole of your errand?”

“I confess to another motive,” rejoined the other, scarce knowing how to take Captain Truck’s question; “but this one will suffice for the present, I hope.”

“This business requires frankness. I mean nothing disrespectful; but I am in American waters, and should be sorry, after all, to be obliged to throw myself on Vattel.”

“Let me act as mediator,” interrupted Sir George Templemore. “Some one has been a defaulter, Ducie; is it not so?”

“This is the simple truth; an unfortunate, but silly young man, of the name of Sandon. He was intrusted with a large sum of the public money, and has absconded with quite forty thousand pounds.”

“And this person, you fancy, did me the honour to travel under my name?”

“Of that we are certain. Mr. Green here,” motioning to the civilian, “comes from the same office, and traced the delinquent, under your name, some distance on the Portsmouth road. When we heard that a Sir George Templemore had actually embarked in the Montauk, the admiral made no scruple in sending me after the packet. This has been an unlucky mistake for me, as it would have been a feather in the cap of so young a commander to catch the rogue.”

“You may choose your feather, sir,” returned Captain Truck, “for you will have a right to wear it. The unfortunate young man you seek is, out of question, in this ship.”

Captain Truck now explained that there was a person below who had been known to him as Sir George Templemore, and who, doubtless, was the unhappy delinquent sought. But Captain Ducie did not betray the attention or satisfaction that one would have expected from this information, his eye being riveted on Paul, who stood beneath the hurricane-house. When the latter saw that he attracted attention he advanced slowly, even reluctantly, upon the quarter-deck. The meeting between these two gentlemen was embarrassed, though each maintained his self-possession.

“Mr. Powis, I believe?” said the officer bowing haughtily

“Captain Ducie, if I am not mistaken?” returned the other, lifting his hat steadily, though his face became flushed.

The manner of the two, however, was but little noticed at the moment, though all heard the words. Captain Truck drew a long “whe–e–e–w!” for this was rather more than even he was accustomed to, in the way of masquerades. His eye was on the two gentlemen as they walked aft together, and alone, when he felt a touch upon his arm. It was the little hand of Eve, between whom and the old seaman there existed a good deal of trifling, blended with the most entire good-will. The young lady laughed with her sweet eyes, shook her fair curls, and said mockingly,

“Mr. Sharp, Mr. Blunt; Mr. Blunt, Mr. Sharp!”

“And were you in the secret all this time, my dear young lady?”

“Every minute of it; from the buoys of Portsmouth to this very spot.”

“I shall be obliged to introduce my passengers all over again!”

“Certainly; and I would recommend that each should show a certificate of baptism, or a passport, before you announce his or her name.”

“_You_ are, at least, the beautiful Miss Effingham, my dear young lady?”

“I’ll not vouch for that, even,” said Eve, blushing and laughing.

“That is Mr. John Effingham, I hope!”

“For that I _can_ vouch. There are not _two_ cousin Jacks on earth.”

“I wish I knew what the other business of this gentleman is! He seems amicably disposed, except as regards Mr. Blunt. They looked coldly and suspiciously at each other.”

Eve thought so too, and she lost all her desire for pleasantry. Just at this moment Captain Ducie quitted his companion, both touching their hats distantly, and returned to the group he had so unceremoniously left a few minutes before.

“I believe, Captain Truck, you now know my errand,” he said, “and can say whether you will consent to my examining the person whom you have mentioned?”

“I know _one_ of your errands, sir; you spoke of having _two_.”

“Both will find their completion in this ship, with your permission.”

“Permission! That sounds well, at least, my dear young lady. Permit me to inquire, Captain Ducie, has either of your errands the flavour of tobacco about it?”

The young man looked surprised, and he began to suspect another mystification.

“The question is so singular that it is not very intelligible.”

“I wish to know, Captain Ducie, if you have anything to say to this ship in the way of smuggling?”

“Certainly not. I am not a custom-house officer, sir, nor on the revenue duty; and I had supposed this vessel a regular packet, whose interest is too plain to enter into such a pursuit.”

“You have supposed nothing but the truth, sir; though we cannot always answer for the honesty or discretion of our people. A single pound of tobacco might forfeit this noble ship; and, observing the perseverance with which you have chased me, I was afraid all was not right with the excise.”

“You have had a needless alarm then, for my two objects in coming to America are completely answered by meeting with Mr. Powis and the Mr. Sandon, who, I have been given to understand, is in his state-room below.”

The party looked at each other, but nothing was said.

“Such being the facts, Captain Ducie, I beg to offer you every facility so far as the hospitality of my ship is concerned.”

“You will permit us to have an interview with Mr. Sandon?”

“Beyond a doubt. I see, sir, you have read Vattel, and understand the rights of neutrals, or of independent nations. As this interview most probably will be interesting, you may desire to have it held in private, and a state-room will be too small for the purpose. My dear young lady, will you have the complaisance to lend us your cabin for half an hour?”

Eve bowed assent, and Captain Truck then invited the two Englishmen below.

“My presence at this interview is of little moment,” observed Captain Ducie; “Mr. Green is master of the whole affair, and I have a matter of importance to arrange with Mr. Powis. If one or two of you gentlemen will have the kindess to be present, and witnesses of what passes between Mr. Sandon and Mr. Green, it would be a great favour. Templemore, I may claim this of you?”

“With all my heart, though it is an unpleasant office to see guilt exposed. Should I presume too much by asking Mr. John Effingham to be of our party?”

“I was about to make the same request,” put in the captain. “We shall then be two Englishmen and two Yankees,–if Mr. John Effingham will allow me so to style him?”

“Until we get within the Hook, Captain Truck, I am a Yankee; once _in_ the country, I belong to the Middle States, if you will allow me the favour to choose.”

The last speaker was stopped by a nudge from Captain Truck, who seized an opportunity to whisper,

“Make no such distinction between outside and inside, I beg of you, my dear sir. I hold that the ship is, at this identical moment, in the United States of America in a positive sense, as well as by a legal fiction; and I think Vattel will bear me out in it.”

“Let it pass for that, then. I will be present at your interview with the fugitive. If the case is not clear against him, he shall be protected.”

Things were now soon arranged; it being decided that Mr. Green, who belonged to one of the English offices, accompanied by the gentlemen just named, should descend to the cabin of Miss Effingham, in order to receive the delinquent; while Captain Ducie should have his interview with Paul Powis in the state-room of the latter.

The first party went below immediately; but Captain Ducie remained on deck a minute or two to give an order to the midshipman of his boat, who immediately quitted the Montauk, and pulled to the corvette. During this brief delay Paul approached the ladies, to whom he spoke with a forced indifference, though it was not possible to avoid seeing his concern.

His servant, too, was observed watching his movements with great interest; and when the two gentlemen went below in company, the man shrugged his shoulders, and actually held up his hands, as one is wont to do at the occurrence of any surprising or distressing circumstance.

Chapter XXXIII.

Norfolk, for thee remains a heavy doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce.

SHAKSPEARE.

The history of the unfortunate young man, who, after escaping all the hazards and adventures of the passage was now so unexpectedly overtaken as he was about to reach what he fancied an asylum, was no more than one of those common-place tissue of events that lead, through vanity and weakness, to crime. His father had held an office under the British government. Marrying late, and leaving a son and daughter just issuing into life at the time of his decease, the situation he had himself filled had been given to the first, out of respect to the unwearied toil of a faithful servant.

The young man was one of those who, without principles or high motives, live only for vanity. Of prominent vices he had none, for there were no salient points in his character on which to hang any quality of sufficient boldness to encourage crime of that nature. Perhaps he owed his ruin to the circumstance that he had a tolerable person, and was six feet high, as much as to any one other thing. His father had been a short, solid, square-built little man, whose ambition never towered above his stature, and who, having entered fairly on the path of industry and integrity early in life, had sedulously persevered in it to the end. Not so with the son. He read so much about aristocratic stature, aristocratic ears, aristocratic hands, aristocratic feet, and aristocratic air, that he was delighted to find that in all these high qualities he was not easily to be distinguished from most of the young men of rank he occasionally saw riding in the parks, or met in the streets, and, though he very well knew he was not a lord, he began to fancy it a happiness to be thought one by strangers, for an hour or two in a week.

His passion for trifles and toys was inherent, and it had been increased by reading two or three caricatures of fashionable men in the novels of the day, until his happiness was chiefly centered in its indulgence. This was an expensive foible; and its gratification ere long exhausted his legitimate means. One or two trifling and undetected peculations favoured his folly, until a large sum happening to lie at his sole mercy for a week or two, he made such an inroad on it as compelled a flight. Having made up his mind to quit England, he thought it would be as easy to escape with forty thousand pounds as with the few hundreds he had already appropriated to himself. This capital mistake was the cause of his destruction; for the magnitude of the sum induced the government to take unusual steps to recover it, and was the true cause of its having despatched the cruiser in chase of the Montauk.

The Mr. Green who had been sent to identify the fugitive, was a cold, methodical man, every way resembling the delinquent’s father, whose office-companion he had been, and in whose track of undeviating attention to business and negative honesty he had faithfully followed. He felt the peculation, or robbery, for it scarce deserved a milder term, to be a reproach on the corps to which he belonged, besides leaving a stigma on the name of one to whom he had himself looked up as to a model for his own imitation and government. It will readily be supposed, therefore, that this person was not prepared to meet the delinquent in a very forgiving mood.

“Saunders,” said Captain Truck in the stern tone with which he often hailed a-top, and which implied that instant obedience was a condition of his forbearance, “go to the state-room of the person who has _called_ himself Sir George Templemore–give him my compliments–be very particular, Mr. Saunders–and say Captain Truck’s compliments, and then tell him I expect the honour of his company in this cabin–the _honour_ of his company, remember, in this cabin. If that don’t bring him out of his state-room, I’ll contrive something that shall.”

The steward turned up the white of his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded forthwith on the errand. He found time, however, to stop in the pantry, and to inform Toast that their suspicions were at least in part true.

“This elucidates the circumstance of his having no attendant with him, like other gentlemen on board, and a wariety of other incidents, that much needed dewelopement. Mr. Blunt, I do collect from a few hints on deck, turns out to be a Mr. Powis, a much genteeler name; and as they spoke to some one in the ladies’ cabin as ‘Sir George,’ I should not be overcome with astonishment should Mr. Sharp actually eventuate as the real baronite.”

There was time for no more, and Saunders proceeded to summon the delinquent.

“This is the most unpleasant part of the duty of a packet-master between England and America,” continued Captain Truck, as soon as Saunders was out of sight. “Scarce a ship sails that it has not some runaway or other, either in the steerage or in the cabins, and we are often called on to aid the civil authorities on both sides of the water.”

“America seems to be a favourite country with our English rogues,” observed the office-man, drily. “This is the third that has gone from our own department within as many years.”

“Your department appears to be fruitful of such characters, sir,” returned Captain Truck, pretty much in the spirit in which the first remark had been given.

Mr. Green was as thorough-going an Englishman as any of his class in the island. Methodical, plodding, industrious, and regular in all his habits, he was honest by rule, and had no leisure or inclination for any other opinions than those which were obtained with the smallest effort. In consequence of the limited sphere in which he dwelt, in a moral sense at least, he was a mass of the prejudices that were most prevalent at the period when he first obtained his notions. His hatred of France was unconquerable, for he had early learned to consider her as the fast enemy of England; and as to America, he deemed her to be the general asylum of all the rogues of his own country–the possession of a people who had rebelled against their king because the restraints of law were inherently disagreeable to them. This opinion he had no more wish to proclaim than he felt a desire to go up and down declaring that Satan was the father of sin; but the fact in the one case was just as well established in his mind as in the other. If he occasionally betrayed the existence of these sentiments, it was as a man coughs; not because he particularly wishes to cough, but because he cannot help it. Finding the subject so naturally introduced, therefore, it is no wonder if some of his peculiar notions escaped him in the short dialogue that followed.

“We have our share of bad men, I presume, sir,” he rejoined to the thrust of Captain Truck; “but the thing that has most attracted comment with us, is the fact that they all go to America.”

“And we receive our share of rogues, I presume, sir; and it is the subject of animadversion with _us_ that they all come from England.”

Mr. Green did not feel the force of this retort; but he wiped his spectacles as he quietly composed his features into look of dignified gravity.

“Some of your most considerable men in America, I believe, sir,” he continued, “have been Englishmen, who preferred a residence in the colonies to a residence at home.”

“I never heard of them,” returned the captain; “will you have the goodness to name just one?”

“Why, to begin, there was your Washington. I have often heard my father say that he went to school with him in Warwickshire, and that he was thought anything but very clever, too, while he lived in England.”

“You perceive, then, that we made something of him when we got him over on this side; for he turned out in the end to be a very decent and respectable sort of person. Judging from the language of some of your prints, sir, I should suppose that King William enjoyed the reputation of being a respectable man in your country?”

Although startled to hear his sovereign spoken of in this irreverent manner, Mr. Green answered promptly,—-

“He is a king, sir, and comports himself as a king.”

“And all the better, I dare say, for the thrashing he got when a youngster, from the Vermont tailor.”

Now Captain Truck quite as religiously believed in this vulgar tale concerning the prince in question, as Mr. Green believed that Washington had commenced his career as one no better than he should be, or as implicitly as Mr. Steadfast Dodge gave credit to the ridiculous history of the schoolmaster of Haddonfield; all three of the legends belonging to the same high class of historical truths.

Sir George Templemore looked with surprise at John Effingham, who gravely remarked,—-

“Elegant extracts, sir, from the vulgar rumours of two great nations. We deal largely in these legends, and you are not quite guiltless of them. I dare say, now, if you would be frank, that you yourself have not always been deaf to the reports against America.”

“You surely do not imagine that I am so ignorant of the career of Washington?”

“Of that I fully acquit you; nor do I exactly suppose that your present monarch was flogged by a tailor in Vermont, or that Louis Phillipe kept school in New Jersey. Our position in the world raises us beyond these elegancies; but do you not fancy some hard things of America, more especially concerning her disposition to harbour rogues, if they come with full pockets.”

The baronet laughed, but he coloured. He wished to be liberal, for he well knew that liberality distinguishes the man of the world, and was an indispensable requisite for a gentleman; but it is very hard for an Englishman to manifest true liberality towards the _ci-devant_ colonies, and this he felt in the whole of his moral system, notwithstanding every effort to the contrary.

“I will confess that case of Stephenson made an unfavourable impression in England,” he said with some reluctance.

“You mean the absconding member of Parliament,” returned John Effingham, with emphasis on the four last words. “You cannot mean to reproach us with his selection of a place of refuge; for he was picked up at sea by a foreign ship that was accidentally bound to America.”

“Certainly not with that circumstance, which, as you say, was purely an accident. But was there not something extraordinary in his liberation from arrest!”

“Sir George Templemore, there are few Englishmen with whom I would dwell an instant on this subject,” said John Effingham gravely; “but you are one of those who have taught me to respect you, and I feel a strong regret whenever I trace any of these mistaken notions in a man of your really generous disposition. A moment’s reflection will show you that no civilized society could exist with the disposition you hint at; and as for the particular case you have mentioned, the man did not bring money of any moment with him, and was liberated from arrest on a principle common to all law, where law is stronger than political power, and which principle we derive directly from Great Britain. Depend on it, so far from there being a desire to receive rich rogues in America from other countries, there is a growing indisposition to receive emigrants at all; for their number is getting to be inconvenient to the native population.”

“Why does not America pass reciprocal laws with us then, for the mutual delivery of criminals.”

“One insuperable objection to such a reciprocity arises from the nature of our government, as a confederation, since there is no identity in our own criminal jurisprudence: but a chief reason is the exceedingly artificial condition of your society, which is the very opposite of our own, and indisposes the American to visit trifling crimes with so heavy punishments. The American, who has a voice in this matter, you will remember, is not prepared to hang a half-starved wretch for a theft, or to send a man to Botany Bay for poaching. The facility with which men obtain a livelihood in America has hitherto converted most rogues into comparatively honest men when they get there; though I think the day is near, now your own police is so much improved, when we shall find it necessary in self-defence to change our policy. The common language, as I am told, induces many knaves, who now find England too hot to hold them, to migrate to America.”

“Captain Ducie is anxious to know whether Mr. Truck will quietly permit this criminal to be transferred to the Foam.”

“I do not think he will permit it at all without being overpowered, if the request be urged in any manner as a right. In that case, he will very properly think that the maintenance of his national character is of more importance than the escape of a dozen rogues. _You_ may put a harsh construction on his course; but _I_ shall think him right in resisting an unjust and an illegal invasion of his rights. I had thought Captain Ducie, however, more peaceably disposed from what has passed.”

“Perhaps I have expressed myself too strongly. I know he would wish to take back the criminal; but I scarce think that he meditates more than persuasion. Ducie is a fine fellow, and every way a gentleman.”

“He appears to have found an acquaintance in our young friend, Powis.”

“The meeting between these two gentlemen has surprised me, for it can scarcely be termed amicable: and yet it seems to occupy more of Ducie’s thoughts just now than the affair of the runaway.”

Both now became silent and thoughtful, for John Effingham had too many unpleasant suspicions to wish to speak, and the baronet was too generous to suggest a doubt concerning one whom he felt to be his rival, and whom, in truth, he had begun sincerely to respect, as well as to like. In the mean time, a discussion, which had gradually been growing more dogged and sullen on the part of Mr. Green and more biting and caustic on that of Captain Truck, was suddenly terminated by the reluctant and tardy appearance of Mr. Sandon.

Guilt, that powerful vindicator of the justice of Providence, as it proves the existence of the inward monitor, conscience, was painfully impressed on a countenance that, in general, expressed little beyond a vacant vanity. Although of a tall and athletic person, his limbs trembled in a way to refuse to support him, and when he saw the well-known face of Mr. Green, the unhappy young man sank into a seat from a real inability to stand. The other regarded him sternly through his spectacles, for more than a minute.

“This is a melancholy picture, Henry Sandon!” he at length said. “I am, at least, glad that you do not affect to brazen out your crime, but that you show a proper sense of its enormity. What would your upright and painstaking father have said, had he lived to see his only son in this situation?”

“He is dead!” returned the young man, hoarsely. “He is dead, and never can know any thing about it.”

The unhappy delinquent experienced a sense of frightful pleasure as he uttered these words.

“It is true, he is dead; but there are others to suffer by your misconduct. Your innocent sister is living, and feels all your disgrace.”

“She will marry Jones, and forget it all. I gave her a thousand pounds, and she is married before this.”

“In that you are mistaken. She has returned the money, for she is, indeed, John Sandon’s daughter, and Mr. Jones refuses to marry the sister of a thief.”

The delinquent was vain and unreflecting, rather than selfish, and he had a natural attachment to his sister, the only other child of his parents. The blow, therefore, fell on his conscience with double force, coming from this quarter.

“Julia can compel him to marry her,” said the startled brother; “he is bound by a solemn engagement, and the law will protect her.”

“No law can make a man marry against his will, and your poor unfortunate sister is too tender of your feelings whatever you may havee been of hers, to wish to give Mr. Jones an opportunity of defending himself by exposing your crime. But this is wasting words, Mr. Sandon, for I am wanted in the office, where I have left things in the hands of an inexperienced substitute. Of course you are not prepared to defend an act, that your conscience must tell you is inexcusable.”

“I am afraid, Mr. Green, I have been a little thoughtless or, perhaps, it would be better to say, unlucky.”

Mr. Sandon had fallen into the general and delusive mistake of those who err, in supposing himself unfortunate rather than criminal. With an ingenuity, that, exercised in a better cause, would have made him a respectable man, he had been endeavouring to excuse his crime to himself, on various pleas of necessity, and he had even got at last to justify his act, by fancying that some trifling wrong he had received, or which he fancied he had received in the settlement of his own private account, in some measure excused his fraud, although his own denied claim amounted merely to the sum of twenty pounds, and that which he had taken was so large. It was under the influence of such feelings that he made the answer just given.

“A little thoughtless! unlucky! And is this the way Henry Sandon, that you name a crime that might almost raise your upright father from his grave? But I wilt speak no more of feelings that you do not seem to understand. You confess to have taken forty thousand pounds of the public money, to which you have no right or claim?”

“I certainly have in my hands some money, which I do not deny belongs to government.”

“It is well; and here is my authority to receive it from you. Gentlemen, will you have the kindness to see that my powers are regular and authentic?”

John Effingham and others cast their eyes over the papers, which seemed to be in rule, and they said as much.

“Now, sir,” resumed Mr. Green, “in the first place, I demand the bills you received in London for this money, and your regular endorsement in my favour.”

The culprit appeared to have made up his mind to this demand, and, with the same recklessness with which he had appropriated the money to his own use, he was now ready to restore it, without proposing a condition for his own safety The bills were in his pocket, and seating himself at a table, he made the required endorsement, and handed them to Mr Green.

“Here are bills for thirty-eight thousand pounds,” said that methodical person, after he had examined the drafts, one by one, and counted their amount; “and you are known to have taken forty thousand. I demand the remainder.”

“Would you leave me in a strange country penniless?” exclaimed the culprit, in a tone of reproach.

“Strange country! penniless!” repeated Mr. Green, looking over his spectacles, first at Mr. Truck, and then at Mr. Sandon. “That to which you have no claim must be restored, though it strip you to the skin. Every pound you have belongs to the public, and to no one else.”

“Your pardon, Mr. Green, and green enough you are, if you lay down that doctrine,” interrupted Captain Truck, “in which neither Vattel, nor the revised statutes will bear you out. A passenger cannot remove his effects from a ship, until his passage be first paid.”

“That, sir, I dispute, in a question affecting the king’s revenues. The claims of government precede all others, and the money that has once belonged to the crown, and which has not been regularly paid away by the crown, is the crown’s still.”

“Crowns and coronations! Perhaps, Master Green, you think you are in Somerset House at this present speaking?”

Now Mr. Green was so completely a star of a confined orbit, that his ideas seldom described a tangent to their ordinary revolutions. He was so much accustomed to hear of England ruling colonies, the East and the West, Canada, the Cape, and New South Wales, that it was not an easy matter for him to conceive himself to be without the influence of the British laws. Had he quitted home with the intention to emigrate, or even to travel, it is probable that his mind would have kept a more equal pace with his body, but summoned in haste from his desk, and with the office spectacles on his nose, it is not so much a matter of wonder that he hardly realized the truths of his present situation. The man-of-war, in which everything was His Majesty’s, sustained this feeling, and it was too sudden a change to expect such a man to abandon all his most cherished notions at a moment’s warning. The irreverent exclamation of Captain Truck shocked him, and he did not fail to show as much by the disgust pictured in his countenance.

“I am in one of His Majesty’s packets, sir, I presume, where, you will permit me to say, a greater deference for the high ceremonies of the kingdom ought to be found.”

“This would make even old Joe Bunk laugh. You are in a New York liner, sir, over which no majesty has any control, but their majesties John Griswold and Co. Why, my good sir, the sea has unsettled your brain!”

Now, Mr. Green did know that the United States of America had obtained their independence, but the whole proceeding was so mixed up with rebellion, and a French alliance, in his mind, that he always doubted whether the new republic had a legal existence at all, and he had been heard to express his surprise that the twelve judges had not long since decided this state of things to be unconstitutional, and overturned the American government by _mandamus._ His disgust increased, accordingly, as Captain Truck’s irreverence manifested itself in stronger terms, and there was great danger that the harmony, which had hitherto prevailed between the parties, would be brought to a violent termination.

“The respect for the crown in a truly loyal subject, sir,” Mr. Green returned sharply, “is not to be unsettled by the sea; not in my case, at least, whatever it might have been, in your own.”

“My own! why, the devil, sir, do you take me for a _subject_?”

“A truant one, I fear, though you may have been born in London itself.”

“Why, my dear sir,” said Captain Truck, taking the other by a button, as if he pitied his hallucination, “you don’t breed such men in London. I came from the river, which never had a subject in it, or any other majesty, than that of the Saybrook Platform. I begin to understand you, at last: you are one of those well-meaning men who fancy the earth but a casing to the island of Great Britain. Well, I suppose it is more the fault of your education than of your nature, and one must overlook the mistake. May I ask what is your farther wish, in reference to this unhappy young man?”

“He must refund every pound of the public money that remains in his possession.”

“That is just, and I say yea.”

“And all who have received from him any portion of this money, under whatever pretences, must restore it to the crown.”

“My good sir, you can have no notion of the quantity of champaigne and other good things this unfortunate young man has consumed in this ship. Although but a sham baronet, he has fared like a real lord; and you cannot have the heart to exact from the owners the keeping of your rogues.”

“Government makes no distinction, sir, and always claims its own.”

“Nay, Mr. Green,” interrupted Sir George Templemore, “I much question if government would assert a right to money that a peculator or a defaulter fairly spends, even in England; much less does it seem to me it can pretend to the few pounds that Captain Truck has lawfully earned.”

“The money has not been lawfully earned, sir. It is contrary to law to assist a felon to quit the kingdom, and I am not certain there are no penalties for that act alone; and as for the public money, it can never legally quit the Treasury without the proper office forms.”

“My dear Sir George,” put in the captain, “leave me to settle this with Mr. Green, who, no doubt, is authorized to give a receipt in full. What is to be done with the delinquent, sir, now that you are in possession of his money?”

“Of course he will be carried back in the Foam, and, I mourn to be compelled to say, that he must be left in the hands of the law.”

“What, with or without my permission?”

Mr. Green stared, for his mind was precisely one of those which would conceive it to be a high act of audacity in a _ci-devant_ colonist to claim the rights of an old country, even did he really understand the legality and completeness of the separation.

“He has committed forgery, sir, to conceal his peculation. It is an awful crime; but they that commit it cannot hope to escape the consequences.”

“Miserable impostor! is this true!” Captain Truck sternly demanded of the trembling culprit.

“He calls an oversight forgery, sir,” returned the latter huskily. “I have done nothing to affect my life or liberty.”

At this moment Captain Ducie, accompanied by Paul Powis, entered the cabin, their faces flushed, and their manner to each other a little disturbed, though it was formally courteous. At the same instant, Mr. Dodge, who had been dying to be present at the secret conference, watched his opportunity to slip in also.

“I am glad you have come, sir,” said Mr. Green, “for here may be occasion for the services of his Majesty’s officers. Mr. Sandon has given up these bills, but two thousand pounds remain unaccounted for, and I have traced thirty-five, quite clearly, to the master of this ship, who has received it in the way of passage-money.”

“Yes, sir, the fact is as plain as the highlands of Navesink from the deck,” drily added Captain Truck.

“One thousand of this money has been returned by the defaulter’s sister,” observed Captain Ducie.

“Very true, sir; I had forgotten to give him credit for that.”

“The remainder has probably been wasted in those silly trifles of which you have told me the unhappy man was so fond, and for which he has bartered respectability and peace of mind. As for the money paid this ship for the passage, it has been fairly earned, nor do I know that government has any power to reclaim it.”

Mr. Green heard this opinion with still greater disgust than he had felt towards the language of Captain Truck; nor could he very well prevent his feelings escaping, him in words.

“We truly live in perilous times,” he muttered, speaking more particularly to John Effingham, out of respect to his appearance, “when the scions of the nobility entertain notions so loose. We have vainly fancied in England that the enormities of the French revolution were neutralized by Billy Pitt; but, sir, we still live in perilous times, for the disease has fairly reached the higher classes. I hear that designs are seriously entertained against the wigs of the judges and bishops, and the next thing will be the throne! All our venerable institutions are in danger.”

“I should think the throne might indeed be in danger, sir,” returned John Effingham, gravely, “if it reposes on wigs.”

“It is my duty, Captain Truck,” continued Captain Ducie, who was a man so very different from his associate that he scarcely seemed to belong to the same species, “to request you will deliver to us the person of the culprit, with his effects, when we can relieve you and your passengers from the pain of witnessing any more of this unpleasant scene.”

At the sound of the delivery of his person, all the danger of his situation rushed forcibly before the imagination of the culprit. His face flushed and became pale, and his legs refused to support him, though he made a desperate effort to rise.

After an instant of silence, he turned to the commander of the corvette, and, in piteous accents, appealed to him for mercy.

“I have been punished severely already,” he continued, as his voice returned, “for the savage Arabs robbed me of everything I had of any value. These gentlemen know that they took my dressing-case, several other curious and valuable articles for the toilet, and nearly all my clothes.”

“This man is scarcely a responsible being,” said John Effingham, “for a childish vanity supplies the place of principles, self-respect, and duty. With a sister scorned on account of his crimes, conviction beyond denial, and a dread punishment staring him in the face, his thoughts still run on trifles.”

Captain Ducie gave a look of pity at the miserable young man, and, by his countenance, it was plain to see that he felt no relish for his duty. Still he felt himself bound to urge on Captain Truck a compliance with his request. The master of the packet was a good deal divided by an inherent dislike of seeming to yield anything to a British naval officer, a class of men whom he learned in early life most heartily to dislike; his kind feelings towards this particular specimen of the class; a reluctance to give a man up to a probable death, or some other severe punishment; and a distaste to being thought desirous of harbouring a rogue. In this dilemma, therefore, he addressed himself to John Effingham for counsel.

“I should be pleased to hear your opinion, sir, on this matter,” he said, looking at the gentleman just named, “for I own myself to be in a category. Ought we, or not, to deliver up the culprit?”

“_Fiat justitia ruat coelum_” answered John Effingham, who never fancied any one could be ignorant of the meaning of these familiar words.

“That I believe indeed to be Vattel,” said Captain Truck; “but exceptions alter rules. This young man has some claims on us on account of his conduct when in front of the Arabs.”

“He fought for himself, sir, and has the merit of preferring liberty in a ship to slavery in the desert.”

“I think with Mr. John Effingham,” observed Mr. Dodge, “and can see no redeeming quality in his conduct on that occasion. He did what we all did, or, as Mr. John Effingham has so pithily expressed it, he preferred liberty in our company to being an Arab’s slave.”

“You will not deliver me up, Captain Truck!” exclaimed the delinquent. “They will hang me, if once in their power. Oh I you will not have the heart to let them hang me!”

Captain Truck was startled at this appeal, but he sternly reminded the culprit that it was too late to remember the punishment, when the crime was committed.

“Never fear, Mr. Sandon,” said the office-man with a sneer; “these gentlemen will take you to New York, for the sake of the thousand pounds, if they can. A rogue is pretty certain of a kind reception in America, I hear.”

“Then, sir,” exclaimed Captain Truck, “you had better go in with us.”

“Mr Green, Mr. Green, this is indiscreet, to call it by no worse a term,” interposed Captain Ducie, who, while he was not free from a good deal of the prejudices of his companion, was infinitely better bred, and more in the habit of commanding himself.

“Mr. John Effingham, you have heard this wanton insult,” continued Captain Truck, suppressing his wrath as well as he could: “in what mariner ought it to be resented?”

“Command the offender to quit your ship instantly,” said John Effingham firmly.

Captain Ducie started, and his face flushed; but disregarding him altogether, Captain Truck walked deliberately up to Mr. Green, and ordered him to go into the corvette’s boat.

“I shall allow of neither parley nor delay,” added the exasperated old seaman, struggling to appear cool and dignified, though his vocation was little for the latter. “Do me the favour, sir, to permit me to see you into your boat, sir. Saunders, go on deck, and tell Mr. Leach to have the side manned–with _three_ side boys, Saunders;–and now I ask it as the greatest possible favour, that you will walk on deck with me, or–or–damn me, but I’ll drag you there, neck and heels!”

It was too much for Captain Truck to seem calm when he was in a towering passion, and the outbreak at the close of this speech was accompanied by a gesture with a hand which was open, it is true, but from which none of the arts of his more polite days could erase the knobs and hue that had been acquired in early life.

“This is strong language, sir, to use to a British officer, under the guns of a British cruiser,” exclaimed the commander of the corvette.

“And his was strong language to use to a man in his own country and in his own ship. To you, Captain Ducie I have nothing to say, unless it be to say you are welcome. But your companion has indulged in a coarse insult on my country, and damn me if I submit to it, if I never see St. Catherine’s Docks again. I had too much of this when a young man, to wish to find it repeated while an old one.”

Captain Ducie bit his lip, and he looked exceedingly vexed. Although he had himself blindly imbibed the notion that America would gladly receive the devil himself if he came with a full pocket, he was shocked with the coarseness that would throw such an innuendo into the very faces of the people of the country. On the other hand, his pride as an officer was hurt at the menace of Captain Truck, and all the former harmony of the scene was threatened with a sudden termination. Captain Ducie had been struck with the gentlemanlike appearance of both the Effinghams, to say nothing of Eve, the instant his foot touched the deck of the Montauk, and he now turned with a manner of reproach to John Effingham, and said,

“Surely, sir, _you_ cannot sustain Mr. Truck in his extraordinary conduct!”

“You will pardon me if I say I do. The man has been permitted to remain longer in the ship than I would have suffered.”

“And, Mr. Powis, what is your opinion?”

“I fear,” said Paul, smiling coldly, “that I should have knocked him down on the spot.”

“Templemore, are you, too, of this way of thinking?”

“I fear the speech of Mr. Green has been without sufficient thought. On reflection he will recall it.”

But Mr. Green would sooner part with life than part with a prejudice, and he shook his head in the negative in a way to show that his mind was made up.

“This is trifling,” added Captain Truck. “Saunders, go on deck, and tell Mr. Leach to send down through the skylight a single whip, that we may whip this polite personage on deck; and, harkee, Saunders, let there be another on the yard, that we may send him into his boat like an anker of gin!”

“This is proceeding too far,” said Captain Ducie. “Mr Green, you will oblige me by retiring; there can be no suspicion cast on a vessel of war for conceding a little to an unarmed ship.”

“A vessel of war should not insult an unarmed ship, sir!” rejoined Captain Truck, pithily.

Captain Ducie again coloured; but as he had decided on his course, he had the prudence to remain silent. In the mean time Mr. Green sullenly took his hat and papers, and withdrew into the boat; though, on his return to London he did not fail to give such a version of the affair as went altogether to corroborate all his own, and his friends’ previous notions of America; and, what is equally singular, he religiously believed all he had said on the occasion.

“What is now to be done with this unhappy man?” inquired Captain Ducie when order was a little restored.

The misunderstanding was an unfortunate affair for the culprit. Captain Truck felt a strong reluctance to deliver him up to justice after all they had gone through together, but the gentlemanlike conduct of the English commander, the consciousness of having triumphed in the late conflict, and a deep regard for the law, united on the other hand to urge him to yield the unfortunate and weak-minded offender to his own authorities.

“You do not claim a right to take him out of an American ship by violence, if I understand you, Captain Ducie?”

“I do not. My instructions are merely to demand him.”

“That is according to Vattel. By demand you mean, to request, to ask for him?”

“I mean to request, to ask for him,” returned the Englishman, smiling.

“Then take him, of God’s name; and may your laws be more merciful to the wretch than he has been to himself, or to his kin.”

Mr. Sandon shrieked, and he threw himself abjectly on his knees between the two captains, grasping the legs of both.

“Oh! hear me! hear me!” he exclaimed in a tone of anguish. “I have given up the money, I will give it all up! all to the last shilling, if you will let me go! You, Captain Truck, by whose side I have fought and toiled, you will not have the heart to abandon me to these murderers!”

“It’s d–d hard!” muttered the captain, actually wiping his eyes; “but it is what you have drawn upon yourself, I fear. Get a good lawyer, my poor fellow, as soon as you arrive; and it’s an even chance, after all, that you go free!”

“Miserable wretch!” said Mr. Dodge, confronting the still kneeling and agonized delinquent, “Wretch! these are the penalties of guilt. You have forged and stolen, acts that meet with my most unqualified disapprobation, and you are unfit for respectable society.–I saw from the very first what you truly were, and permitted myself to associate with you, merely to detect and expose you, in order that you might not bring disgrace on our beloved country. An impostor has no chance in America; and you are fortunate in being taken back to your own hemisphere.”

Mr. Dodge belonged to a tolerably numerous class, that is quaintly described as being “law honest;” that is to say, he neither committed murder nor petty larceny. When he was guilty of moral slander, he took great care that it should not be legal slander; and, although his whole life was a tissue of mean and baneful vices, he was quite innocent of all those enormities that usually occupy the attention of a panel of twelve men. This, in his eyes, raised him so far above less prudent sinners as to give him a right to address his quondam associate as has been just related. But the agony of the culprit was past receiving an increase from this brutal attack; he merely motioned the coarse-minded sycophant and demagogue away, and continued his appeals to the two captains for mercy. At this moment Paul Powis stepped up to the editor, and in a low but firm voice ordered him to quit the cabin.

“I will pray for you–be your slave–do all you ask, if you will not give me up!” continued the culprit, fairly writhing in his agony. “Oh! Captain Ducie, as an English nobleman, have mercy on me.”

“I must transfer the duty to subordinates,” said the English commander, a tear actually standing in his eye. “Will you permit a party of armed marines to take this unhappy being from your ship, sir.”

“Perhaps this will be the best course, as he will yield only to a show of force. I see no objection to this, Mr John Effingham?”