Chapter One - Page 2

individual's
vest. Who would believe that there could be any one so cruel as
to long for the decapitation of the luckless Pedro; yet the
sailors pray every minute, selfish fellows, that the miserable
fowl may be brought to his end. They say the captain will never
point the ship for the land so long as he has in anticipation a
mess of fresh meat. This unhappy bird can alone furnish it; and
when he is once devoured, the captain will come to his senses. I
wish thee no harm, Pedro; but as thou art doomed, sooner or
later, to meet the fate of all thy race; and if putting a period
to thy existence is to be the signal for our deliverance,
why--truth to speak--I wish thy throat cut this very moment; for,
oh! how I wish to see the living earth again! The old ship
herself longs to look out upon the land from her hawse-holes once
more, and Jack Lewis said right the other day when the captain
found fault with his steering.

'Why d'ye see, Captain Vangs,' says bold Jack, 'I'm as good a
helmsman as ever put hand to spoke; but none of us can steer the
old lady now. We can't keep her full and bye, sir; watch her
ever so close, she will fall off and then, sir, when I put the
helm down so gently, and try like to coax her to the work, she
won't take it kindly, but will fall round off again; and it's all
because she knows the land is under the lee, sir, and she won't
go any more to windward.' Aye, and why should she, Jack? didn't
every one of her stout timbers grow on shore, and hasn't she
sensibilities; as well as we?

Poor old ship! Her very looks denote her desires! how
deplorably she appears! The paint on her sides, burnt up by the
scorching sun, is puffed out and cracked. See the weeds she
trails along with her, and what an unsightly bunch of those
horrid barnacles has formed about her stern-piece; and every time
she rises on a sea, she shows her copper torn away, or hanging in
jagged strips.

Poor old ship! I say again: for six months she has been rolling
and pitching about, never for one moment at rest. But courage,
old lass, I hope to see thee soon within a biscuit's toss of the
merry land, riding snugly at anchor in some green cove, and
sheltered from the boisterous winds.

. . . . . .

'Hurra, my lads! It's a settled thing; next week we shape our
course to the Marquesas!' The Marquesas! What strange visions
of outlandish things does the very name spirit up! Naked
houris--cannibal banquets--groves of cocoanut--coral
reefs--tattooed chiefs--and bamboo temples; sunny valleys planted
with bread-fruit-trees--carved canoes dancing on the flashing
blue waters--savage woodlands guarded by horrible
idols--HEATHENISH RITES AND HUMAN SACRIFICES.

Such were the strangely