then appeared to be more pacified, and asked many questions: all that
she seemed to object to, was the mystery about his family, which at her
request I promised to clear up before any other steps should be taken.
Cautioning her against any violence of language to her niece, I took my
leave.  As I went out I spoke a few words to Clara, informing her of the
_denouement_ which had taken place, and recommending her by no means to
irritate her aunt, but to be very penitent when she was reproved.  Clara
obeyed my injunctions, and the next day, when I called, I found her
sitting by the side of Donna Celia, who was apparently reconciled.  I
motioned Clara out of the room, when Donna Celia informed me that she
had acknowledged her error; and as she had promised for the future to be
regulated by her advice, she had overlooked her indiscretion.  When she
had finished: "Prepare yourself, madam," said I, "for strange tidings--
the ways of Heaven are wonderful.  Last evening I had an explanation
with the young cavalier, Don Pedro, and he proves to be--that son whose
loss you have so much lamented."

"Merciful Heaven!" cried the old lady, and she fainted away.  As soon as
she recovered, she cried out, "Oh where is he! bring him to me--let a
mother's eyes be blessed with his sight--let the yearnings of a mother's
heart be recompensed in his embraces--let the tears of affection be wept
upon his bosom."

"Calm yourself, my dear madam," replied I: "the proofs you have not yet
seen.  First be satisfied, and then indulge in your delightful
anticipation.  When I pressed Don Pedro upon the subject of his family,
I told him candidly that his only chance of success was unlimited
confidence: he acknowledged that he had been sent to the Asylum when an
infant, and that he did not know his parents; that the mystery and
consequent stigma on his birth had been a source of mortification to him
through life.  I asked him if he knew his age, or had a copy of the
register of his reception.  He took it out of a small cabinet; it was on
the 18th of February, in the same year that your child was sent there.
Still as I was not sure, I stated that I would call upon him this
morning, and see what could be done; assuring him that his candid avowal
had created strong interest in his favour.  This morning I repaired to
the Asylum, when I examined the register.  Two children were brought in
on that night: here is the extract, and I feel much mortified, as you
will observe, that no marks are mentioned.  If, therefore, the wart you
spoke of was not still remaining, the uncertainty would have been as
great as ever.  When I returned to him about an hour since, I renewed
the subject, and stated that I thought it was the custom to make a note
of any particular marks upon the children, by which they might be
eventually reclaimed.  He replied that it was customary when they were
indelible, but not otherwise: that he had no indelible mark, although a
large wart had been on the back of his neck as long as he could
remember; `but,' added he, `it is of no use,--all hopes of finding my
parents have long since been abandoned, and I must submit to my
unfortunate destiny.  I have thought upon what has passed, and I feel
that I have acted wrong.  Without family and without name, what right
have I to aspire to the hand of any young lady of good parentage?  I
have made the resolution to conquer my feelings; and before the intimacy
has been carried on to an extent that a rupture would occasion any pangs
to her that I adore, I will retire from Seville, and lament in solitude
my unfortunate condition.'

"`Are you capable of making such a sacrifice, Don Pedro?' said I.  `I
am, Father Anselmo,' replied he: `I will always act as a man of honour
and of family, although I cannot prove my descent.'

"`Then,' said I, `Don Pedro, do me the favour to call upon me this
evening at my convent, and I hope to have some pleasing intelligence to
impart.'  I then left him, to come here and acquaint you with the joyful
discovery."

"But why did you not bring him here immediately?" cried Donna Celia.

"Madam, I have important duties at my convent which will occupy me with
the superior till late at night.  These must be attended to; and it is
not impossible that the affairs of our convent may require my absence
for some time, as there are new leases of our lands to be granted, and I
have reason to expect that the superior may despatch me on that
business.  I will acquaint the young man with what has been discovered,
and will then send him to your arms; but it were advisable that you
allow a few hours to repose after the agitation which you have
undergone, and previous to the affecting scene that will naturally take
place.  I wish I could be present; for it is not often, in this world,
that we can witness the best affections of the heart in their virtuous
action."

I then took my leave, requesting Donna Celia to inform her niece of the
circumstances, as I presumed there would now be no obstacle to the
mutual attachment of the young people.

My reason for an early departure was that I might arrange the story I
should tell, when, as Don Pedro, my new mother would demand from me the
events of my life.  I had also to request leave of absence, which I
obtained in expectation of some property being left to the convent by an
elderly gentleman residing at Alicant, who was expected to die, and from
whom I produced a letter, requesting my presence.  As I was on the best
terms with the superior, and there was a prospect of obtaining money,
his consent was given.  That I should be there in time, I was permitted
to depart that evening.  I took my leave of the superior, and the rest
of the monks, intending never to return, and hastened to my lodgings,
where I threw off my monastic habit, which from that hour has never been
resumed.  I repaired to Donna Celia's house, was admitted and ushered
into a room, to await her arrival.  My person had been set off to the
best advantage.  I had put on a new wig, a splendid velvet cloak, silk
doublet and hose; and as I surveyed myself for a second or two in the
mirror, I felt the impossibility of recognition, mingled with pride at
my handsome contour.  The door opened, and Donna Celia came in,
trembling with anxiety.  I threw myself on my knees, and in a voice
apparently choked with emotion, demanded her blessing.  She tottered to
the sofa overpowered by her feelings; and still remaining on my knees, I
seized her hand, which I covered with kisses.

"It is--it is my child," cried she at last; "all powerful nature would
have told me so, if it had not been proved," and she threw her arms
round my neck, as she bent over me and shed tears of gratitude and
delight.  I do assure your highness that I caught the infection, and
mingled my tears with hers; for I felt then, and I even now firmly
believe, that I was her son.  Although my conscience for a moment
upbraided me, during a scene which brought back virtuous feelings to my
breast, I could not but consider, that a deception which could produce
so much delight and joy, was almost pardonable.  I took my seat beside
her, and she kissed me again and again, as one minute she would hold me
off to look at me, and the next strain me in her embraces.

"You are the image of your father, Pedro," observed she, mournfully,
"but God's will be done.  If he has taken away, he also hath given, and
truly grateful am I for his bounty."  When we had in some degree
recovered our agitation, I intreated her to narrate to me the history of
my father, of whom I had heard but little from the good brother Anselmo,
and she repeated to me those events of her youthful days which she had
communicated before.

"But you have not been introduced to Clara: the naughty girl little
thought that she was carrying on an amour with her own cousin."

When Donna Celia called her down, I made no scruple of pressing the dear
girl to my heart, and implanting a kiss upon her lips: with our eyes
beaming with love and joy, we sat down upon the sofa, I in the centre,
with a hand locked in the hand of each.  "And now, my dear Pedro, I am
anxious to hear the narrative of your life," said Donna Celia: "that it
has been honourable to yourself, I feel convinced."  Thanking her for
her good opinion, which I hoped neither what had passed, or might in
future occur, would be the means of removing, I commenced the history of
my life in the following words...

"Commenced the history of your life?" interrupted the pacha.  "Does the
slave laugh at our beards?  What then is all this you have been telling
us?"

"The truth, your highness," replied the Spaniard.

"What I am about to tell, is the history of my life, which I invented to
deceive the old lady Donna Celia, and which is all false."

"I understand, Mustapha, this kafir is a regular kessehgou [Eastern
story-teller], he makes one story breed another; but it is late; see
that he attends to-morrow afternoon, Bero!  Go, infidel, the muezzin
calls to prayers."

The Spaniard quitted the sublime presence, and in obedience to the call
of the muezzin, the pacha and Mustapha paid their customary evening
devotions--to the bottle.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.

The next day the Spanish slave was summoned to continue his narrative.

"Your sublime highness of course recollects where I left off yesterday
evening," commenced the slave.

"Perfectly well," replied the pacha, "you left off at the beginning of
your story; but I hope you will finish it this evening, as I have
already forgotten a great deal of what you said."

"Your highness may recollect that I was seated--"

"Yes, in our presence," interrupted the pacha; "such was our
condescension to a Giaour.  Now go on with your story."

"With due submission to your highness, I was seated on a sofa, between
my mother Donna Celia and my mistress Donna Clara."

"Very true; I recollect now that you were."

"A hand clasped in the hand of each."

"Exactly," replied the pacha, impatiently.

"And was about to tell a story of my own invention, to deceive the old
lady my mother."

"Anna senna! curses on your mother!" cried the pacha, in an angry tone.
"Sit down and continue your story.  Is a pacha nothing?  Is the lion to
be chafed by a jackal?  Wallah el Nebi!  By God and the Prophet! do you
laugh at our beard?  The story!"

"The story requested by your highness," replied the slave, with great
coolness, "was commenced in the following words."

STORY OF THE MONK.

What occurred during my infancy, my dearest mother, I do not recollect;
but I can retrace to the age of seven years, when I found myself in
company with a number of others, from the squalling infant of a few days
old, up to about my own age.  I also recollect that our fare was
indifferent, and our punishment severe.

"Poor child!" exclaimed Donna Celia, pressing my hand which was still
locked in hers.  I continued there until the age of ten, when an old
lady who came to the asylum, took a fancy to me; for I often heard it
remarked, that I was a very handsome boy, although I have rather grown
out of my good looks lately, Clara.

A pressure of my other hand, and a negative smile, was the answer; and I
proceeded--The old lady Donna Isabella, who was of the noble family of
Guzman, wanted a page, and intended to bring me up in that capacity.
She carried me to her house where I was clad in a fancy dress.  I used
to sit by her side on the carpet, and run upon any message which might
be required; in fact, I was a sort of human bell, calling up every body
and fetching every thing that was wanted; but I was well fed, and very
proud of a little dagger which I wore in my girdle.  The only part of my
education to which I objected, was learning to read and write from a
priest, who was domiciled in the family, and who had himself as great an
aversion to teaching as I had to learning.  Had the affair rested
entirely between us, we might have arranged matters so as to please both
parties; but as the old lady used to prove my acquirements by making me
read to her, as she knotted, we neither of us could help fulfilling our
engagements.  By dint of bullying and beating, at last I was
sufficiently enlightened to be able to read a romance to my mistress, or
answer an invitation-note in the negative or affirmative.  My mistress
had two nieces who lived with her, both nearly grown up when I entered
the family.  They taught me dancing for their own amusement, as well as
many other things; and by their care I improved very much, even in
reading and writing.  Although a child, I had a pleasure in being taught
by two pretty girls.  But it is necessary that I should be more
particular in my description of these two young ladies.  The eldest,
whose name was Donna Emilia, was of a prudent, sedate disposition,
always cheerful, but never boisterous; she constantly smiled, but
seldom, if ever, indulged in a laugh.  The youngest, Donna Teresa, was
very different--joyous and light-hearted, frank and confiding in her
temper, generous in disposition: her faults arose from an excess of
every feeling--a continual running into extremes.  Never were two
sisters more fond of each other--it appeared as if the difference
between their dispositions but added to their attachment.  The serious
character of the elder was roused to playfulness by the vivacity of the
younger, and the extravagance of the younger was kept in due bounds by
the prudence of the elder.  As a child I liked Donna Emilia, but I was
devotedly fond of Donna Teresa.

I had been three years in this situation, when legal business required
the presence of Donna Isabella at Madrid.  The young ladies, who were
both very handsome, and remarkably like each other in person, were much
admired by the cavaliers.  Two had gained the victory over the rival
candidates--Don Perez was the favoured suitor of Donna Emilia, while Don
Florez was proud to wear the chains of the lively Teresa.  Donna
Isabella had, however, no intention that her nieces should quit her for
the present; and aware, by the serenading which took place every night,
that there were pretenders to her nieces' smiles, she hastened back to
Seville sooner than she had intended.

Although I had not been trusted by either, I had an idea of what was
going on; but with more prudence than most boys of my age, I made no
remarks either to my mistress or to the young ladies.  We had returned
to Seville about a month, when Donna Emilia called me aside, and said,
"Pedro, can you keep a secret?"

I told her--"Yes, if I was paid for it."

"And what do you want to induce you to keep it, you little miser?"

I replied--"From her, only a kiss."

She called me a little rogue, gave me the kiss, and then told me, that a
cavalier would be under the window a little after vesper bell, and that
I must give him a billet, which she put into my hand.  Of course, having
received my payment beforehand, I consented.  At the time mentioned I
looked out of the gate, and perceiving a cavalier under the window, I
accosted him, "What ho, senhor, what is it you expect from a fair lady?"

"A billet, my little page," replied he.

"Then here you have it," replied I, pulling it out of my vest.  He put a
doubloon in my hand, and immediately disappeared.

I liked the gold very much, but I preferred the other payment more.  I
put the money into my pocket, and returned into the house.  I had hardly
come into the hall, when Donna Teresa, the other young lady, accosted
me.  "Pedro, I have been looking for you--can you keep a secret?"

"Yes, if I am paid for it," replied I, as before.

"And what must it be that will keep that little tongue of yours from
chattering?"

"From you," replied I, "it must be a kiss."

"Oh! you little manikin--I'll give you twenty;" and she did so, until
she almost took away my breath.  "And now," said she, "there is a senhor
waiting below for a note, which you must take him."  I took the note,
and when I came to the gate, found a cavalier there, as she had
mentioned.  "Oh, senhor," said I, "what are you waiting for, is it a
billet-doux from a sweet lady?"

"It is, my pretty boy," answered he.

"Perhaps this will interest you," replied I, handing him the note.  He
snatched it from me, and would have departed.  "Senhor," said I, "I
cannot allow my mistress to be affronted.  Her favours are beyond all
price, but still they are always coupled with gold.  Since you are so
poor, and gold must pass, here is a piece for you," and I offered him
the doubloon which I had received from the other cavalier.

"You are a witty boy," replied he, "and have corrected my negligence,
for it was nothing more, I assure you.  Add this to the other;"--and he
put a quarter-doubloon in my hand, and disappeared.  I returned to the
house; and, as I had been some time away from my mistress, I went into
the saloon--where she was sitting alone.

"Pedro, come hither, child; you know how good I have been to you, and
how carefully I have brought you up.  Now tell me, can you keep a
secret?"

"Yes, madam," replied I, "I can keep yours, for it is my duty."

"That's a good child.  Well then, I have an idea that my two nieces are
followed by some of the gay cavaliers, who saw them at Madrid, and I
wish you to find out if it is true.--Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes, madam," replied I; "I do perfectly."

"Well then, do you watch,--and Pedro, here are two reals for you, to buy
sugar-plums."

Thus did I enter in one day into the real occupation of a page.  I added
the two reals to the gold, and, as you may suppose, meant to serve as I
was paid.  But, as I found out afterwards, I had made a terrible mistake
with the two billets-doux.  That of Donna Emilia I had given to Don
Florez, who was Donna Teresa's admirer; that of Donna Teresa I had given
to Don Perez, who was the lover of Donna Emilia; but I had better
explain to you, before I go on, what did not come to my knowledge until
the _denouement_ took place.  Don Perez, the lover of Emilia, was a
young man who was entitled to large property, at the death of an uncle,
to whom he was heir by entail.  Don Florez, on the contrary, was in
possession of a splendid fortune, and able to choose for himself.

From fear of discovery, the notes were both in a disguised hand, and not
signed by the respective christian names of the ladies.  Donna Emilia's
ran thus:--"I found your note in the spot agreed, but my aunt has taken
away the key of the shrubbery, and is I believe suspicious.--Why are you
so urgent?--I trust your affection, like mine, will but increase from
delay.  It will be impossible to meet you to-night; but I have entered
the page in my service, and will write soon."  That of Donna Teresa,
which I put in the hands of Don Perez, ran as follows:--"I can no longer
refuse your solicitations for an interview.  My aunt has locked up the
shrubbery, but if you have courage enough to scale the garden wall, I
will meet you in the saloon which opens upon the garden; but not a word
must be said, as the servants are continually passing the door--neither
can we have a light--I must trust to your honour."

Don Perez was delighted at Donna Emilia's having at last yielded to his
intreaties for a meeting; and Don Florez, as much annoyed at the
reserved conduct of his mistress, went home accusing her of coquetry.
At the appointed hour, Don Perez met his supposed mistress in the
saloon.  The two sisters were _confidantes_; and, as I was in their
secret, they made no scruple of talking before me.  The next day, when
their aunt left the room, they began arguing upon the personal merits of
the respective cavaliers.  After a good-humoured controversy, they
appealed to me.

"Come, Pedro," said Teresa, "you shall decide.  Which do you think the
handsomest cavalier?"

"Why," answered I, "I think that your senhor is, for a fair man, the
handsomest I ever saw--but still the beautiful dark eyes of the Donna
Emilia's cavalier are equally prepossessing."

"Why, Pedro, you have mistaken the two," said Emilia, "it is Don Perez,
the fair one, who is my admirer, and the dark senhor is Don Florez, who
is in love with my sister."  I perceived that I had made a mistake when
I delivered the notes, and Teresa coloured up.  But I had sense enough
to answer:--"Very true, madam, you are right; I now recollect that I am
confounding the two."

Shortly afterwards the aunt came into the room, and Teresa quitted it,
beckoning me to follow her.  As soon as I had joined her, she said,
"Now, Pedro, tell the truth: did you not make the mistake that you
stated, and deliver my note to the fair cavalier, Don Perez?"

I answered, "that I had, as I had already delivered Emilia's note to the
dark gentleman."  Donna Teresa put her hands over her face, and wept
bitterly,--"Pedro, you must now keep this secret, for it is of the
greatest importance.--My God, what will become of me?" cried she; and
for some time she was in the greatest distress: at last she wiped her
eyes, and after much reflection, she took up paper and wrote a note.
"Pedro, take this note to the direction; recollect it is for the dark
cavalier that it is intended."  Teresa had read the note of Emilia to
Don Perez, which had been received by Don Florez--in consequence her
present note ran thus:--"You may think me harsh for having refused to
see you last night, but I was afraid.  Do not accuse me with trifling
with your feelings, I will meet you in the saloon that leads to the
garden, which was last night occupied; come at ten this evening."

I went out with the note and gave it into the hands of Don Florez.  "My
dear boy, tell Donna Teresa I will not fail; I know now why she could
not receive me last night; I only hope I may be as fortunate as Don
Perez."  He put a doubloon in my hand, and I went away.  I had not
quitted the street when I met Don Perez.

"Ah! my little page, this is indeed lucky; just step to my rooms while I
write a note to Donna Emilia."  I did so, and he gave me a
quarter-doubloon as before.  "I thank you, senhor," replied I; "what
with the doubloons of Don Florez and your quarter-doubloons, I shall
soon be a rich man."

"How say you," replied he, "Don Florez give you doubloons--then he
spoils the market; but I must not allow him to pay you better than I do,
or I shall not be served so faithfully.--Here's a doubloon and a half,
which, with what you have already received, will make the accounts
square."  I made my bow, and with many thanks withdrew.

Young as I was, I had an idea that something had occurred at the
mistaken meeting of last night, which seriously affected Donna Teresa.
As I was much more partial to her than to her sister, I resolved not to
deliver the note of Don Perez to Emilia, until I had consulted Donna
Teresa.  On my return, I beckoned her into her chamber, and told her the
answer of Don Florez, with his observation, "that he hoped he should be
as fortunate as Don Perez was last night."  She coloured with shame and
vexation; and I then told her how I had met Don Perez, and what had
passed.  I then gave her the note, and asked whether I should deliver it
or not.  She hastily tore it open--it ran as follows:--"How can I
sufficiently express my gratitude to my adored Emilia, for her kindness
to me last night?  Tell me, dearest angel, when am I to have the
pleasure of meeting you again in the saloon?  Till you once more grant
me the favour, life will be a blank."

"Pedro," said she, "you have indeed done me a service--you have been my
preserver.  How can I ever repay you?"

"Give me a double allowance of kisses, this time," replied I.

"I will give you a thousand," answered she; and she kissed and blessed
me while tears ran down her cheeks: she then took some paper, and
imitating the hand-writing, wrote as follows:--"I must submit to your
wishes, Donna Emilia; and while your sister blesses Don Florez, must
yield to the severity of your disposition.  Still I hope that you will
relent--I am very miserable; write to me, if you have any love still
remaining for your adorer.--Perez."

"Take this to Emilia, my sweet child.--What can I do to reward you?"

"Why you must take care of my money," said I, "for if my mistress finds
it out, I shall never be able to tell how I came by it."  She smiled
mournfully as she received my doubloons, and locked them up in a
trinket-box.  "I will add to your wealth, Pedro," said she.

"No," replied I, "only kisses from you."  I told her why her aunt gave
me the two reals, and we separated.  I delivered the note to Donna
Emilia, who in the afternoon put an answer into my hand; but I would not
act without Donna Teresa knowing what took place; and it occurred to me,
that it would be very possible to repair the mischief which my mistake
had occasioned.  I therefore took the answers of Donna Emilia to her
lover to Donna Teresa, and told her what I thought.  "My dear Pedro, you
are indeed a treasure to me," replied Teresa.

She opened Emilia's note, which ran as follows:--"You accuse me of
unkindness, which I do not deserve.  Heaven knows my heart is but too
yielding.  I will arrange a meeting as soon as I possibly can; but as I
before said, my aunt is suspicious, and I cannot make up my mind, like
Teresa, to run the risk of discovery."

Teresa tore up this note; and wrote as follows:--"If a woman has the
misfortune to yield too much to the solicitations of her lover, he
becomes arrogant, and claims as a right, what only can be received as a
favour.  I consider that what passes in darkness should remain as secret
in the breast, and as silent in the tongue.  I now tell you candidly,
that I shall consider it as an insult, if ever you refer to the meeting
of last night; and to punish you for your arrogant request of another,
shall treat you with the same reserve as before.  Recollect that the
least intimation of it, however private we may be, will be the signal of
your dismissal.  At the same time, expecting implicit obedience to this
command, I shall punish you no further, if you offend not again.  When I
feel inclined to see you, I will let you know.  Till then, Yours,
etcetera."

I took this note to Don Perez, whom I found at his lodgings drinking in
company with Don Florez, for they had no secrets from each other.  Perez
opened the note, and appeared a little astonished.  "Read this, Florez,"
said he, "and tell me if woman is not a riddle."

"Well, now I like her spirit," replied Florez, "some women would have
been dying with apprehension at your leaving them: she, on the contrary,
considers that you are under greater obligations than before; and
assumes her dominion over you.  I recommend you to comply with her
injunctions, if you wish to retain her love."

"I don't know but what you are right, Florez; and as we are lords and
masters after marriage, it is but fair, that they should hold their
uninterrupted sway before.  I feel more attached to her than ever; and
if she chooses to play the tyrant, why she shall.  It shows her good
sense; for keeping us off, is the only way to induce us to go on."

I returned home, delivering a note from Don Perez to Emilia, stating his
intention to abide by her wishes, and stated to Donna Teresa all that
had passed between the cavaliers.

"Thanks to your prudence and sagacity, my dear little Pedro, all as yet
is well; but it may yet be discovered; for I will now confide to you,
that the tenderness last night, intended for Don Florez, was by your
mistake, and the darkness and silence prescribed at the meeting,
lavished upon my sister's admirer.  But all will I trust be well, and I
shall not suffer for an unintentional misfortune."

That evening Don Florez was received by Teresa in the saloon; and the
next morning, I was sitting as usual by my mistress, when she asked,
"Well, Pedro, have you discovered any thing?"

"Yes, madam," replied I.

"And what is it, child?"

"Why, madam, a gentleman asked me to give a letter, but I would not."

"Who was it for, child?"

"I don't know, madam, for I refused to take it in my hand."

"Well, Pedro, you were right; the next time he offers you a letter take
it, and bring it to me."

"I will, madam," said I.  "Here are two reals for you, child--have you
spent the last I gave you?"

I left the room--when Donna Emilia met me outside, and put a note into
my hand for Don Perez.  I first took it to my friend Teresa, who opened
it:--"At last my affection has borne down my resolution, and I consent
to see you.  There is no other way but in the saloon.  Be careful not to
offend me, or it will be for the last time."

"This may go, Pedro," said Teresa, "and you may call at Don Florez's
lodgings as you pass by."

I delivered the note to Don Perez, and before he had finished it, Don
Florez entered the room.--"Congratulate me, my dear friend," said he.
"I was received as kindly as I could wish."

"And my fair one has not taken long to relent," answered Perez, "for I
have an appointment with her this evening.  Pedro, tell your mistress,
that I do not write, but that I bless her for her kindness, and shall
not fail to meet her.--Do you understand?  Well, what are you waiting
for?  Oh! you little rogue, I understand," and he threw me a
doubloon.--"Florez, you give that boy too much money, and I am obliged
to do the same."  Florez laughed, and I again took my departure.

Thus did I continue in my vocation for some time, when the old lady fell
sick and died.  She divided her fortune between her two nieces, and as
they were now independent, they married their respective lovers; but the
old lady forgot to mention me in her will, and I should have been turned
adrift on the world had it not been for Donna Teresa, who immediately
appointed me as her own attendant.  I was as happy as before, although
no more doubloons fell into my hands, after the marriages took place.
It appears that Don Perez was so much afraid of offending Donna Emilia,
that he never ventured to speak of the meeting, which he supposed he had
with her in the saloon, until after marriage then, feeling himself quite
at liberty, he had laughed at her on the subject.  Donna Emilia was all
astonishment, declared most positively that it had not taken place; and
although he at first ridiculed the idea of her denial, yet recollecting
that he still had her notes in his possession, he brought them out, and
showed her the one in which she had prohibited him from speaking on the
subject.  Donna Emilia protested that it was not her writing, and was
confounded at the apparent mystery.  She stated that Teresa had agreed
to meet Don Florez in the saloon that night.

"On the contrary," replied Don Perez, "he received a letter from Donna
Teresa, refusing him a meeting, at the same time that I received this
from you, giving me the assignation."

Donna Emilia burst into tears.  "I see how it is," replied she, "the
page by mistake has given the note which I wrote you to Don Florez, and
Teresa's note fell into your hands.  You have taken an unworthy
advantage of the circumstance, and have met my sister.  Never make me
believe, Don Perez, that you were not aware of the mistake, when she
received you in the saloon--or that she could not distinguish you from
Don Florez.  Cruel sister, thus to rob me of my happiness!  Treacherous
Don Perez, thus to betray your friend and me!"

Don Perez tried all he could to pacify his wife, but in vain.  Her
jealousy, her pride, and her conscientious scruples were roused, and she
would not listen to any reasoning or protestations.  Although he was
almost certain, that the fact was as his wife had stated, he determined
to make sure by referring to me.  He came to Don Florez's house, and
after staying a little while with him and his wife, during which he
appeared so uneasy that they asked him whether he was unwell, he went
away making a sign for me to follow him.  He then entered into all the
particulars, and asked me about the delivery of the notes.  I took it
for granted, that an explanation had taken place between him and his
wife--my only object was to save Donna Teresa.

"Senhor, whether what Donna Emilia says is true, I know not," replied I;
"but, that it was not Donna Teresa who met you, I can certify, for I was
in her room with her that night till she went to bed, playing at piquet
for sugar-plums."

"Then who could it be," observed he.

"I know not, senhor, for I did not go down stairs, where my mistress
was, because she had sent me to bed, and I knew that I should have been
scolded for being up.  Therefore I cannot say whether Donna Emilia was
with you or not."

Don Perez meditated some time, and then came to the conclusion that his
wife was ashamed of having been too indulgent to him in an unguarded
moment, and would not acknowledge it.  Still he was far from being
satisfied.  He returned home, to explain what he had gathered to his
wife but found that she had left the house some time before, without
stating whither she was going.  As soon as Don Perez left the house, I
hastened to my mistress, to acquaint her with what had passed, and what
I had told him.

"I thank you for your kind intention, Pedro, but I am afraid that all
will be discovered.  It is a judgment on me for my folly and
indiscretion."

In the mean time, Donna Emilia, who had taken refuge in a neighbouring
convent, sent for Don Florez.  He found her in the convent-parlour in
tears.  Convinced by jealousy that her sister had an attachment to Don
Perez, and that there had been a mutual understanding, she stated to Don
Florez the whole of the circumstances, and pointing out to him how
treacherously they both had been treated, acquainted him with her
intention of retiring from the world.

Don Florez, stirred to madness by the information, exclaimed--"It was
for this, then, that she put me off on that night, and was kind to me
the next.  Cursed dupe that I have been; but, thank Heaven, it is not
too late to be revenged.  Don Perez, you shall pay dearly for this."  So
saying, he quitted Donna Emilia, uncertain whether he should first wreak
his vengeance upon Don Perez or his wife.  But this point was soon
decided, for at the convent gate he encountered Don Perez, who had been
informed whither his wife had retreated.

"You are the person I have been anxiously wishing to see, Don Perez--
treacherous villain, void of all honour."

"Not so, Don Florez.  I am an unfortunate man, who is half mad by a
cruel mistake which has occurred.  Recall your words, for they are
unjust."

"I do not intend to recall them, but assert the truth with the point of
my rapier.  If you are not as great a coward, as you are a villain, you
will follow me."

"Such language will admit of no reply.  I am at your service," cried Don
Perez.

The two brothers-in-law walked in silence, until they reached a field
hard by, where they threw off their cloaks, and fought with the fury of
demons.  Victory was decided in favour of Don Perez; his sword passed
through the heart of his adversary, who never spoke again.  Don Perez
viewed the body with a stern countenance, wiped his sword, took up his
cloak, and walked straight to the house of Don Florez.  "Donna Teresa,"
said he, (I only was present,) "I call upon you, as you value salvation
in the day of judgment, to tell me the truth.  Was it you, that, by an
unfortunate mistake, I met one night in the saloon; and were those
caresses, intended for Don Florez, bestowed upon me?"

There was a wildness, a ferocity in his air that frightened her; she
stammered out at last:--"for my sins, it is true; but you know, too
well, that I never was false in heart, although when I found out my
mistake, I attempted to conceal my indiscretion."

"Had you, madam, been as virtuous as your sister, all this mischief
would not have happened--and your husband would not now be lying a
corpse, by the hand of his brother."

Donna Teresa fainted at the intelligence, and Don Perez immediately
quitted the house.  I hastened to her assistance, and succeeded in
restoring her to life.

"It is but too true," said she, mournfully; "crime will always meet with
punishment, in this world, or in the next.  By permitting my love to
overcome the dictates of virtue, by being too fond of my husband, I have
murdered him.  Oh God!  I have murdered him and rendered the lives of
two others as much a burden to them as my own will ever be.  My poor,
dear sister, where is she?"

I tried all my powers of consolation, but in vain: all she requested was
that I would find out where her sister was, and let her know.  I set off
upon my melancholy task, and met the people hearing in the body of Don
Florez.  I shuddered as it passed by, when I recollected how principal a
part I had acted in the tragedy.  I soon gained the information, and
brought it to Donna Teresa.  She dressed herself in deep mourning, and,
desiring me to follow her, knocked at the convent gate, and, requesting
to see the superior, was admitted.  The superior came out of the parlour
to receive her, not wishing that any one should enter, while Donna
Emilia was in such a state of misery and despair.

"It is my sister that I come to see, madam, and I must not be refused:
lead me to her, and be witness of the scene, if you please."

The superior, who was not aware that Emilia would have refused to see
Donna Teresa, led the way, and we were ushered into the presence of
Emilia, who, looking up as Donna Teresa entered, turned away from her as
if in abhorrence.

"Emilia," said my mistress, "we are born of the same mother, we have
lived as children, and we have grown up together; never did we have a
secret from each other, till this unfortunate mistake occurred.  On my
knees, I request you to listen to me, and to believe what I say."

"Plead your cause with your husband, Teresa; it is more necessary to
pacify him than me."

"I have no husband, Emilia; he is now pleading his own cause with God--
for he has fallen by the sword of yours."

Donna Emilia started.

"Yes, Emilia, dear, dear sister, it is but too true, and still more
true, that you have caused his death.  Do not kill me too, Emilia, by
refusing to believe what I declare, as I hope for eternal salvation--
that I never was aware of the mistake, until the boy discovered it to
me, on the ensuing day.  If you knew the shame, the vexation, the fear
of discovery which racked my frame, when I was but too sure of it, you
would forgive my having tried to hide a fault, the knowledge of which
would make others miserable, as well as me.  Say you believe me--say you
forgive me, Emilia.  Oh!  Emilia, cannot you forgive a sister?"

Emilia answered not, and Teresa, clinging to her knees, and embracing
them, sobbed hysterically.  At this moment Don Perez, who had obtained
admittance to see his wife, came into the room, and walking up to the
part in which the two unfortunate ladies remained in the attitudes
described, said,--"You, Teresa, who have been the original cause of this
unhappy business, I mean not to reproach again.  Your punishment has
been greater than your offence.  It is to you, madam, I must address
myself; who, by not believing in the words of truth, have caused me to
slay my dearest friend and brother, and, after having unwittingly
wounded him in the tenderest point, add to the injury by taking away his
life.  Are you yet satisfied, madam?  Are you satisfied with having
embittered my days by your injustice and unworthy suspicions--by having
reduced your unfortunate, yet not guilty sister, to the state of an
unhappy, lonely woman, now suing in vain for pardon at your feet; by
having been the occasion of the death of your brother by marriage--her
husband and my friend?  Say, madam, are you yet satisfied, or will you
have more victims to your unbelief?"

Emilia answered not, but continued with her face averted.

"Be it so, then, madam;" replied Don Perez; and, before any one was
aware of his intention, he drew his sword, and fell upon it.  "Now,
Emilia, let the sacrifice of my life be a proof to you of my sincerity.
As I hope for pardon, I have told the truth;" and Don Perez fell on his
back, and was dead.

Emilia started round when he fell, and threw herself down by his side in
horror and amazement.  The film that passion had thrown over her eyes
was removed, as she witnessed the last melancholy result of her
unbelief.  When Don Pedro ceased speaking, she threw herself on his
body, in an agony of grief.--"I do, I do believe--Perez.  I do, I do!
Oh! indeed I do believe--speak to me, Perez--O God, he is dying!--
Sister, Teresa, come, come, he'll speak to you--he's not angry with
you--Sister, sister, speak--O God!  O God!" screamed the unhappy woman,
"he's dead--and I have murdered him!"--and she dashed her head upon the
floor.  Teresa hastened to her sister, and held her in her arms, while
the tears poured fast.  It was some time before reason resumed her seat;
at last, exhausted by the violence of her feelings, she was relieved
with a flood of tears.

"Who is it?--you, Teresa--kind sister, whom I have used so ill--I do
believe you--I do believe, Teresa; God forgive me! kiss me, sister, and
say that you forgive me--for am I not punished?"

"It is all my fault," answered Teresa, bursting into tears: "Oh! how
wicked, how foolish have I been!"

"No, no, sister, your fault is small, compared to mine; you allowed your
passion to overcome you, but it arose from an excess of love, the best
feeling in our nature--the only remnant of heaven left us since our
fall.  I too have allowed my passion to overcome me; but whence has it
arisen?--from hatred and jealousy, feelings which were implanted by
demons, and which create a hell wherever they command.  But it is done,
and repentance comes too late."

The unfortunate sisters embraced each other and mingled their tears
together; and I hardly need say, that the lady abbess and I could not
restrain our meed of pity at the affecting scene.  As the evening
closed, they separated, each to attend to the same mournful duty, of
watching by the bodies of their husbands, and bedewing them with their
tears.  A few days after the interments took place, Emilia sent for her
sister, and after an affectionate interview, took the veil in the
convent to which she had retired--endowing the church with her property.
Donna Teresa did not take the veil; but employed herself in the more
active duties of charity and benevolence; but she gradually wasted
away--her heart was broken.  I stayed with her for three years, when she
died, leaving a considerable sum to me, and the remainder of her wealth
to beneficent institutions.  This is about five years ago; since when I
have been living on the property, which is nearly all expended by my
extravagance.  The stigma on my birth is, however, the only subject
which has weighed upon my spirits--this is providentially removed, and I
trust that I shall not disgrace the mother who has so kindly
acknowledged me, or the dear girl who has honoured this faulty person
with her attachment.

My mother and Clara thanked me when I had concluded my narrative, and we
remained unto a late hour entering upon family affairs, and planning for
the future.  My mother informed me that upon the estates she had only a
life interest, as they were entailed, and would revert to a cousin; but
that she had laid by a considerable sum of money, intending it as a
dowry for my Clara, and that she hoped to increase it before she died.
As I was anxious to quit Seville, where I feared daily discovery, I
proposed that we should retire to the estate near Carthagena, by which
not only a considerable expense would be saved, but I should feel more
happy in the company of Clara and herself.  My mother and my intended
gladly consented to the proposal, not only for the above reasons, but
because she was aware that the questions which might be asked about me
would tend to the injury of her character.  In less than a fortnight the
establishment at Seville was broken up, and we retired to the country,
where I was made happy by the possession of my Clara.  I now considered
myself as secure from any discovery, and although I had led a life of
duplicity, meant by future good conduct to atone for the past.  Whether
Donna Celia was my mother or not, I felt towards her as if she was, and
after some time from habit considered it an established fact.  My Clara
was as kind and endearing as I could desire; and for five years I was as
happy as I could wish.  But it was not to last: I was to be punished for
my deceit.  My marriage with Clara, and the mystery attached to my
birth, which was kept secret, had irritated the heir of the estate, who
had been in hopes, by marrying Clara himself, to secure the personal as
well as the real property.  We occasionally met, but we met with rancour
in our hearts, for I resented his behaviour towards me.  Fearful of
discovery, I had never paid any attention to music since my marriage; I
had always pretended that I could not sing.  Even my wife was not aware
of my talent; and although latterly I had no fear of the kind, yet as I
had always stated my inability, I did not choose to bring forth a
talent, the reason for concealing which I could not explain even to my
wife and mother, without acknowledging the deception of which I had been
guilty.

It happened that one evening at a large party I met my cousin, the heir
of the entailed estates.  We were very joyous and merry, and had drunk a
good deal more than usual.  The wine was powerful, and had taken effect
upon most of us.  Singing was introduced, and the night passed merrily
away, more visitors occasionally dropping in.  My cousin was much elated
with wine, and made several ill-natured remarks, which were meant for
me.  I took no notice for some time, but, as he continued, I answered
with such spirit, as to arouse his indignation.  My own blood boiled;
but the interference of mutual friends pacified us for the time, and we
renewed our applications to the bottle.  My cousin was called upon for a
song; he had a fine voice and considerable execution, and was much
applauded.

"Now then," said he, in an ironical tone, "perhaps Don Pedro will oblige
the company; although perhaps the real way to oblige them will be by not
attempting that of which he is not capable."

Stung with this sarcasm, and flushed with wine, I forgot my prudence.
Snatching the guitar from him, after a prelude which created the
greatest astonishment of all present, I commenced one of my most
successful airs: I sang it in my best style, and it electrified the
whole party.  Shouts proclaimed my victory, and the defeat of my
relative.  Some embraced me in their enthusiasm, and all loudly encored;
but as soon as there was a moment's silence, I heard a voice behind me
observe--"Either that is the monk Anselmo's voice, or the devil's."

I started at the words, and turned round to the speaker, but he had
mingled with the crowd, and I could not discover who it was.  I
perceived that my relative had followed him on; and I now cursed my own
imprudence.  As soon as I could, I made my escape from the company, and
returned home.  As I afterwards found out, my relative had immediately
communicated with the person who had made the observation.  He was one
of the priests who knew me at Seville.  From him, my cousin gained the
information that brother Anselmo had left the convent about five years
ago, and not having returned, it was thought that an accident had
happened to him.  But a discovery had since been made, which led them to
suppose, that brother Anselmo had, for some time, been carrying on a
system of deception.  You may remember I stated, that when I resumed my
worldly apparel to introduce myself as the son of Donna Celia, I changed
the dress at my lodgings.  I locked up my friar's dress and the false
tonsure in the chest, intending to have returned, and destroyed it; but
I quite forgot it, and left Seville with the key of my lodgings in my
pocket.  The landlord waited until his rent was due, when not hearing
any thing of me, he broke open the door and found the chest.  This he
opened, and discovered the false tonsure and friar's gown.  Knowing the
monastic order to which it belonged, and suspecting some mischief; he
took it to our convent, and all the habits of the monks being numbered
in the inside, it was immediately recognised as mine: the false tonsure
also betrayed that I must have been breaking through the rules of my
order, and the most rigorous search after me was made for some time
without success.  Possessed of this information, my vindictive relative
repaired to Seville to ascertain the exact date of my quitting the
convent, and found that it was about a fortnight previous to Donna Celia
having quitted Seville.  He then repaired to the landlord for further
information.  The landlord stated that the lodgings had been taken by a
monk, for his brother, who had occupied them.  He described the
brother's person, which exactly corresponded with mine; and my relation
was convinced that the monk Anselmo and Don Pedro were one and the same
person.  He immediately gave notice to the Inquisition.  In the mean
time, I was in the greatest consternation.  I felt that I should be
discovered, and reflected upon my conduct.  I had lately abjured all
deceit, and had each day gained a step in the path of virtue.  I
acknowledged with bitterness, that I deserved all that threatened me,
and that, sooner or later, vice will meet with its reward.  Had I at
first made known my situation to Donna Celia, she would have had
interest enough (believing me to be her son), to have obtained a
dispensation of my vows.  I then might have boldly faced the world--but
one act of duplicity required another to support it, and thus had I
entangled myself in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at last.
But it was not for myself that I cared; it was for my wife whom I doted
on--for my mother (or supposed mother), to whom it would be the
bitterness of death.  The thoughts of rendering others miserable as well
as myself drove me to distraction--and how to act I knew not.

After much reflection, I resolved as a last resource, to throw myself
upon the generosity of my adversary; for although inimical to me, he
bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier.  I desired to be informed
the moment that he returned from Seville; and when the intelligence
came, I immediately repaired to his house, and requested an audience.  I
was admitted; when Don Alvarez, for that was his name, addressed me.

"You wish to speak with me, Don Pedro--there are others at your house by
this time who wish to speak with you."

I guessed that he meant the officers of the Inquisition; but pretending
not to understand the remark, I answered him:--"Don Alvarez, the enmity
that you have invariably shown towards me has, I am sure, proceeded from
the affront, which you consider that your noble family has received, by
your cousin having formed an alliance with one of unknown parentage.  I
have long borne with your pointed insults, out of respect for her who
gave me birth; I am now about to throw myself upon your generosity, and
probably when I inform you, that I am the unhappy issue of the early
amour of Donna Celia (which of course you have heard of), I may then
claim your compassion, if not your friendship, from having at least some
of the same noble blood in my veins."

"I was not indeed aware of it," replied Don Alvarez, with agitation; "I
would to Heaven you had confided in me before."

"Perhaps it would have been better," replied I, "but permit me to prove
my assertions."  I then stated my having been the friar Anselmo, the
discovery of my birth by accident, and the steps which I had taken.  "I
am aware," continued I, "that I have been much to blame, but my love for
Donna Clara made me regardless of consequences.  Your unfortunate enmity
induced me, in an unguarded moment, to expose myself; and it will
probably end in my destruction."

"I acknowledge the truth of your remark, and that no power can save you,
I lament it, Don Pedro; but what is done cannot be undone.  Even now the
officers of the Inquisition are at your house."  As he uttered these
words, a loud knocking at the door announced that they had followed me.
"This must not be Don Pedro," said Don Alvarez, "step this way."  He
opened a panel, and desired me to go in--and he hardly had time to shut
it before the officers came into the room.

"You have him here, Don Alvarez, have you not?" inquired the chief.

"No, unfortunately," replied he, "I tried to detain him, but suspecting
some discovery he forced his way out, sword in hand, and has gone I do
not know in what direction; but he cannot be far--saddle all the horses
in my stable and pursue the sacrilegious wretch.  I would sacrifice half
my worldly wealth, that he should not escape my vengeance."

As Don Alvarez was the informant, and uttered these words with the
apparent violence of rage, the inquisitors had no suspicion, but
hastened to comply with his request.  As soon as they had departed, he
opened the panel and let me out.

"So far, Don Pedro, have I proved the sincerity of my assertion; but
now, what remains to be done?"

"But one thing, Don Alvarez, to conceal the truth from my poor wife and
mother.  I could bear it all with firmness, but for them," (and I fell
on a sofa, and burst into tears.)  Don Alvarez was much affected.

"Oh, Don Pedro! it is too late now, or I should say, `What a warning
this ought to be to us--that honesty is the best policy!' had you
communicated to me the mystery of your birth, this never would have
occurred.  Instead of having been your persecutor, I should have been
your friend--What can I do?"

"Kill me, Don Alvarez," replied I, baring my breast, "and I will bless
you for the deed.  My death may afflict them, but they will recover from
their grief in time; but to know that I am murdered by the Inquisition,
as a sacrilegious impostor, will bring them to their grave with shame
and mortification."

"Your observation is correct; but kill you I must not.  I will, however,
so far comply with your wishes, that I will bear the news of your death,
and their hatred of the deed, rather than the family should be
disgraced."  He then went to his scrutoire, and taking out a bag of one
thousand pistoles--"This is all the money that I have at present--it
will serve you for some time.  Put on one of my servant's dresses, and I
will accompany you to a seaport, and secure your safety before I leave
you.  I will then state, that I met you in a fair duel, and will bribe
the officers of the Inquisition to hold their tongues about the
circumstances which have been communicated."

The advice was good, and I agreed to it; following him as a servant, I
arrived safely at Carthagena, whence I took a passage for New Spain.  We
sailed; and before we were clear of the Straits of Gibraltar, we were
attacked by one of the cruisers of the state.  We fought desperately,
but were overpowered by numbers; and they took possession, after we had
lost more than half of our crew.  They brought us into this port; where,
with the rest, I was sold as a slave.

"Such is my history," ended the Spaniard, "which I trust has afforded
some amusement to your sublime highness."

The immediate answer of the pacha was a loud yawn.

"Shukur Allah!  Praise be to God you have done talking.  I do not
understand much about it," continued the pacha, turning round to
Mustapha; "but how can we expect a good story from an unbelieving dog of
a Christian?"

"Wallah thaib!  Well said, by God!" replied Mustapha; "who was Lokman,
that they talk of his wisdom?  Are not these words of more value than
strung pearls?"

"What was the name of the country?" demanded the pacha.

"Spain, your sublime highness; the infidel tribes which you allow to
remain there, are employed in cultivating the olive for true believers."

"Very true," rejoined the pacha; "I remember now.  Let the kafir taste
of our bounty.  Give him two pieces of gold; and allow him to depart."

"May the shadow of your sublime highness never be less," said the
Spaniard.  "I have here a manuscript which I received from an ancient
monk of our order when at the point of death.  At the time of my capture
it was thrown on one side, and I preserved it as curious.  It refers to
the first discovery of an island.  As your highness is pleased to be
amused with stories, it may be worth while to have it translated."  The
Dominican then handed from his breast a discoloured piece of parchment.

"Very good," replied the pacha, rising.  "Mustapha let it be put into
Arabic by the Greek slave, who shall read it to us some evening when we
have no story-tellers."

"Be chesm!  Upon my eyes be it," replied Mustapha, bowing low, as the
pacha retired to his harem.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FIVE.

The pacha had repeated his perambulations for many nights, without
success; and Mustapha, who observed that he was becoming very impatient,
thought it advisable to cater for his amusement.

Among those who used to repair to Mustapha when he exercised his former
profession, was a French renegade, a man of considerable talent and
ready invention, but a most unprincipled scoundrel, who, previous to the
elevation of Mustapha, had gained his livelihood by daring piratical
attempts in an open boat.  He was now in the employ of the vizier,
commanding an armed xebeque which the latter had purchased.  She passed
off as a government cruiser but was in reality a pirate.  Selim, for
that was the name which the renegade had adopted when he abjured his
faith, condemned every vessel that had the misfortune to meet with him,
taking out the cargoes, burning the hull, and throwing the crews
overboard, with the privilege of swimming on shore if they could.  By
this plan he avoided the inconveniences attending any appeals from the
jurisdiction of the High Court of Admiralty, which he had established
upon the seas.

The consequence was, that his cruises were more successful than ever;
and Mustapha, who was not content with pillaging the pacha's subjects on
dry land, was amassing a large fortune at their expense by his maritime
speculations.

Occasionally, bales or packages would be recognised when landed as
having the identical marks and numbers of those which had been shipped
from the quay but a fortnight before; but the renegade could always give
a satisfactory explanation to the vizier; and after a Jew, who could not
bear the idea of parting with his property without remonstrance, had
been impaled, people shrugged up their shoulders and said nothing.

Now it occurred to Mustapha, that Selim might be able to assist his
views.  He talked fast and loud, vaunted his own exploits, curled his
whiskers as he swore to the most improbable assertions, and had become a
general nuisance and terror since he had obtained the vizier's
protection.

Mustapha sent for him; and, as a preliminary question, inquired if ever
he had read the Arabian Nights.

"Yes; vizier," replied the renegade; "many years before I turned Turk."

"Do you recollect the voyages of Sindbad the Sailor?"

"To be sure I do; he is the only man that could ever hold a candle to me
in lying."

"Well, then, his highness the pacha delights in such stories; and it is
my wish that you prepare to recount your own voyages, as Sindbad has
done before you."

"But what am I to get for it?"

"My good-will and protection; besides which, his highness if pleased,
will not fail to order you a handsome present."

"Well," replied Selim, "any man who can produce gold in this world will
always be able to change it for base metal.  I can coin lies in my mint
faster than he can coin sequins in his; and since you wish it, and say
that it will be profitable, why--I am very much at his service."

"Then, Selim, observe my directions, for every thing must appear
accidental."

In pursuance to the orders received from Mustapha, the renegade remained
that evening at the corner of a certain street, through which Mustapha
took care that the pacha should pass in his disguise.  When he perceived
their approach, the renegade exclaimed, "Allah, Allah! when is the happy
time to come, promised in my seventh and last voyage?"

"Who are you; and why do you call upon Heaven for happy times?" inquired
the pacha.

"I am Huckaback the sailor," replied the renegade, "who, after a life of
danger and disaster, am anxiously awaiting the fulfilment of a promise
from the Most High."

"I must see this man to-morrow," observed the pacha:--"Mustapha, as you
value your life, see that he attends."

The vizier bowed; and the pacha returned to the palace without further
adventure.

The next day, as soon as the business of the divan had closed, the
renegade was ordered in.  Prostrating himself before the pacha, he then
rose, and folding his arms over his breast, awaited his commands in
silence.

"I have sent for you, Huckaback, to inquire the meaning of the words you
made use of last night: and to know what was the promise made to you in
your seventh and last voyage; but I will thank you to begin at the
first, as I wish to hear the history of all your voyages."

"May it please your highness, as I live but to obey you, all that has
occurred in my eventful life shall, if you command it, be submitted to
your ear.  It will, however, be necessary that I should revert to my
early days to enable your highness more fully to comprehend the whole."

"Aferin! well said," replied the pacha; "I don't care how long a story
it is, provided that it is a good one:" and Selim having obeyed a sign
from his highness, intimating that he might sit down, commenced as
follows:--

HUCKABACK.

I am a native of Marseilles, your highness, where I was brought up to
the profession of my father; a profession (continued the wily renegade)
which, I have no hesitation to assert, has produced more men of general
information, and more men of talent, than any other--I mean that of a
barber.

"Wallah thaib; well said by Allah!" observed Mustapha.

The pacha nodded his approbation; and the renegade proceeded with his
story.

I was gifted by nature with a ready invention, and some trouble and
expense were bestowed upon my education.  To the profession of a barber
my father added that of bleeding and tooth-drawing.  At ten years old I
could cut hair pretty well.  People did say, that those upon whom I had
operated, looked as if their heads had been gnawed by the rats; but it
was the remark of envy; and, as my father observed, "there must be a
beginning to every thing."

At fifteen, I entered upon the rudiments of shaving; and after having
nearly ruined my father's credit, from the pounds of flesh which I
removed with the hair of my customers, who were again consoled by his
observing, that "there must be a beginning to every thing," I became
quite expert.  I was subsequently initiated into the higher branches of
tooth-drawing and bleeding.  In the former, at first I gave great
dissatisfaction, either from breaking the decayed tooth short off, and
leaving the stump in the socket, or from mistaking the one pointed out,
and drawing a sound engine of mastication in its stead.  In the latter,
I made more serious mistakes, having more than once cut so deep as to
open the artery, while I missed the vein; in consequence of which I was
never afterwards employed, except by a husband to relieve a scolding
wife, or by nephews who were anxious about the health of an everlasting
uncle.  But, as my father wisely observed, "there must be a beginning to
every thing;" and, as I could only practise upon living subjects,
"individuals must suffer for the good of the community at large."  At
the age of twenty I was an accomplished barber.

But rapid as was my career, I was not fated to continue in it long.
Like the shot propelled from the mouth of the cannon, which, in its
extreme velocity, is turned from the direction which has been given it
by glancing along the weakest substance, so was my course of life
changed from its direction by meeting with a woman.

My father had a good customer; he had shaved him every morning for
years, had extracted every tooth in his head, and was now winding up his
long account by bleeding him daily, under the direction of an ignorant
apothecary.  I was often at the house,--not to bleed him, for my father
either thought him too valuable, or was too grateful for past favours to
trust him in my hands;--but I held the basin, procured water, and
arranged the bandages.  He had a daughter, a lovely girl, whom I adored
in secret; but her rank in life was too far above mine to allow me to
express my feelings.  I was then a handsome young man, although Time has
since exerted his utmost, through jealousy, to make me appear almost as
old and ill-favoured as himself.  The young lady took a fancy to me,
complained of the tooth-ache, and asked for remedies.  I offered to
extract the tooth; but either having heard of my reputation, or not
wishing to remove the excuse for our interviews, or, what is still more
probable, having no tooth-ache whatever, she would not consent.

The death of her mother, which had taken place when she was a child, had
left her without guidance,--and the helpless situation of her father,
without protection.  Naturally of a warm temperament, and yielding to
the impulse of her feelings, she carried on an intimacy which could only
end in her disgrace; and, at the expiration of a year, her situation
could no longer be concealed.  I was now in a dilemma.  She had two
brothers in the army, who were returning home, and I dreaded their
vengeance.

I loved her very much, but I loved myself more; so, one evening, I
packed up all that I could call my own, and all that I could lay my
hands on belonging to my honoured parent, and shipped on board a Genoese
vessel, which was then standing out of the harbour.  She was a large
ship, mounting twelve long guns, with a complement of sixty men; being
what is termed in European countries a "letter of marque."  This implies
that she fights her way without convoy, capturing any of the enemy's
vessels she may happen to fall in with, who are not strong enough to
resist her.  We had cleared out for Genoa with a cargo of lead, which
lay at the bottom of the hold, and which merely served for ballast.

I soon found out, by the conversation of the crew, that we were not to
proceed to Genoa direct; in fact, your highness, she was a pirate,
manned by a most desperate set of men.  As soon as my qualifications
were made known, I had the honour to remove the beards of sixty of the
greatest villains that ever were permitted to exist, receiving nothing
but blows and curses for my trouble.  I certainly improved very much in
my profession; for it was as much as my life was worth to draw blood,
although they made no scruple of carrying on a conversation during the
whole time of the operation.  We had taken the cargoes out of several
vessels, all of which were added to the "manifest" by our correct
captain; when one day, we were chased by an English frigate.  I never
met the English on shore, but I must say that, afloat, they are the most
impertinent people that swim on the seas.  They cannot be content with
minding their own business, although they have plenty on their hands,
but they must interfere in that of others.  They board you, and insist
upon knowing where you come from, whither you are bound and what you
have on board; examining you with as much scrutiny as if they had been
the delegated custom-house officers of the whole world.

Now it did not exactly suit our captain to submit to such a rigorous
search; he therefore made all sail for an island about seven miles
distant, and anchored under the protection of a battery.  Austria--the
nation to whom the island belonged--was not at war with England; she was
preserving what is called an "armed neutrality."

"Pray what is the meaning of an armed neutrality?" demanded the pacha.

"It varies according to circumstances, your highness, but, generally
speaking, it means a charge of bayonets."

The frigate followed; and being prevented by the shallowness of the
water from approaching sufficiently near to us herself, sent her boats
to examine us: but as there were six of them full of men, and each
mounting a gun at her bow, our captain thought it advisable to refuse
them permission to come on board.  As a hint that he disapproved of
their measures, he poured his whole broadside of round and grape into
them, when they were about a quarter of a mile distant: upon which they
gave three cheers, and were obstinate enough to pull faster towards us
than ever.

We received them with all the honours of war, in the shape of cutlasses,
pistols, and boarding pikes but they were very determined.  As soon as
one was knocked down, another jumped up in his place; and somehow or
another they had possession of the ship in less time than I have been
telling the story.  I was on the poop when an English sailor, with a
pigtail as thick as a cable, made a cut at me; I ran back to avoid the
blow, and, in so doing, came with such force against another of their
men, that we both tumbled overboard together.  I lost my cutlass, but he
had not parted with his; and as soon as we rose to the surface, he
seized me by the collar, and presented the point to my breast.  It
seemed to be all the same to him whether he fought on the deck or in the
water.  Fortunately I shifted a little on one side, and he only drove it
through my jacket.  I recollected that I had my razor in my pocket,
which I took out under the water unperceived, and, closing with him
before he could repeat his thrust, I cut his throat from ear to ear, and
then made for the shore as fast as I could.  As I swam remarkably well,
I had no great difficulty in reaching it.  As soon as I landed, I looked
back, and observing that the English boats were towing our vessel out, I
made all the haste I could to the fort, which was close at hand.  There
I was hospitably received; and we sat up till past midnight, drinking,
smoking, and abusing the English.

The next morning, a felucca anchored to procure some water; and, as she
was proceeding to Toulon, I requested a passage.  We sailed with a fine
breeze; but a heavy gale came on, which tossed us about for many days,
and the master of the vessel had no idea to where she had been driven.
He consoled us, however, by asserting that we could never go to the
bottom, as there was a lady of great sanctity passenger in the cabin,
who had been sent for to assume the office of lady abbess of a convent
near Marseilles, and whom the saints would indubitably preserve.

This was some comfort, although fine weather would have been greater.
The gale continued; and the next morning we thought that we descried
land on the lee beam.  The following night we were certain of our
conjectures having been correct, for the vessel was thrown on shore, and
in a few minutes went to pieces.  I had the good fortune to save myself
upon a part of the wreck, and lay half-dead upon the beach until the
morning.  When the day broke, I looked around me: there were the
fragments of the vessel strewed upon the beach, or tossed in mockery by
the surge; and close to me lay the dead body of the lady, whose sanctity
the captain had assured us would be a safeguard to us all.  I then
turned from the beach to look at the inland country, and perceived, to
my astonishment, that I was not three miles from my native city,
Marseilles.  This was a horrid discovery; for I knew that I should
receive no mercy, and could not proceed a mile without being recognised.
What to do was now the subject of my thoughts; and at last, as I viewed
the body of the dead lady, it occurred to me that I might pass myself
off for her.

I stripped it of its outer garment; and having then hauled my own
clothes upon the corpse, and covered it over with sea-weed, I dressed
myself in the religious habit which she had worn, and sat down awaiting
the arrival of the people, which I knew must soon take place.  I was
then without a symptom of beard; and from the hardship and ill-treatment
which I had received on board of the Genoese, was thin and sallow in the
face.  It was easy in a nun's dress to mistake me for a woman of
thirty-five years of age, who had been secluded in a cloister.  In the
pockets of her clothes I found letters, which gave me the necessary clue
to my story, and I resolved to pass myself off as La Soeur Eustasie,
rather than he put in prison, or run through the body.

I had scarcely time to finish reading these documents when a party,
attracted by the fragments on the beach, came up to me.  I narrated the
loss of the vessel, the death of the whole crew, my name and condition,
my having come over at the request of the bishop to assume the guidance
of the convent of St. Therese; and added, that I had called upon the
Virgin in my distress, who had come to my aid, and floated me on shore
with as much care and comfort as if I had been reposing on cushions of
down.  The report was spread, and credited; for the circumstance of a
helpless woman being the sole survivor of a whole crew was miracle
enough in itself.

The bishop's carriage was sent for me, and I was conducted into the
town, followed by a concourse of priests, monks and common people, who
were anxious to kiss even the ground that had been trod upon by a
personage so especially under the protection of Heaven.  I was conducted
to the bishop's palace, where I held a sort of court, being visited by
deputations from the official bodies, the governor, and all the people
of consequence.  After a sojourn of three days, I removed to the convent
of which I was the supposed abbess, and was enthusiastically received by
the nuns, who flocked round me with mingled veneration and delight.

On the second day of my establishment as abbess, the two elder sisters,
who could with difficulty he got rid of even when I retired to bed the
night before, introduced the whole of the nuns in rotation, beginning
with the elder, and ending with those who last took the vow of chastity.
I felt little interest, I must confess, at the commencement of my
levee; but as it came near to a close, many beautiful countenances
attracted my attention, and I gave the kiss of peace with more zest than
prudence would have justified.  The last of the sisterhood came forward,
and was introduced as Soeur Marie.  Gracious Heaven! it was the poor
girl whom I had deserted.  I started when I saw her advance: her eyes
were bent upon the ground, as if in reverence to my acknowledged
sanctity.  As she knelt before me to receive the kiss, she raised them
up.  Love can pierce through all disguises.--At the moment, she thought
that she beheld her fugitive lover, and caught her breath in amazement--
but recollection pointed out to her the utter impossibility of the fact,
and she sighed at the uncommon likeness, as she received the kiss from
those lips which had indeed been so often pressed to hers before.

When the ceremony had been gone through I complained of fatigue, and
requested to be left alone.

I wished to reflect upon what had passed, and determine how I was to
act: to escape the danger which threatened me, I had placed myself in a
situation of still greater difficulty.  Where could it end?  After a
long reverie, I decided that I would make Marie my _confidante_, and
trust to circumstances to guide my future conduct.  I rang the bell,
and, requesting the presence of the elder sister of the convent,
commenced an inquiry into the different characters of the nuns who had
been presented.

Flattered by the confidence demanded, there was no end to the loquacity
and the ill-natured remarks of the old beldame: she held her list in her
hand, and ran over the families and private history of each.  It was two
hours before she had finished, which she did with Marie, of whose
history she gave me a most minute detail; and if she was as correct in
her reports of all the others, I certainly had no reason to compliment
myself upon being abbess, so far as the previous characters of the nuns
under my surveillance were concerned.  "Good sister," replied I, "I
thank you for your information, which I shall not fail to profit by in
my plans for the improvement of the morality of those under my charge.
I have always made it a rule, that one of the sisterhood should remain
in my room every night, to watch and do penance.  I have found that when
coupled with my seasonable exhortations, it has produced an excellent
effect.  Of course I allude not to sage and devout women like you; I
refer to those who in their folly and their flow of youthful passions,
have not yet humbled themselves sufficiently by abstinence and
mortification.  Who would you propose to watch here this night?"

The old beldame, who I had perceived by the violence of her manner had a
dislike to Marie, immediately mentioned her as one to whom severe
penance would be of especial benefit.  I conversed with her for another
half-hour; then, wishing her good night, prepared for bed, and requested
that Marie might be summoned to attend.

Marie entered with her book of _Prieres_ in her hand, and, bowing humbly
to me as she passed, sat down near to the lamp which was lighted before
an image of the Virgin, at the farther end of the room, and commenced
her task of watching and of prayer.

"Marie," said I, as I stood by the bed: she uttered a faint scream as
she heard my voice for the first time, and throwing herself down upon
her knees before the image of the Virgin, covered her face with her
hands, and appeared to be in silent but earnest supplication.

"Marie," again said I, "come here."  She rose, and came trembling to the
foot of the bed.  "To you, and to you alone, do I intrust a secret
which, if discovered, would subject me to a painful and ignominious
death.  You were not deceived, when you started at the face beneath the
nun's attire! and you must now be certain, from the voice which you have
heard, that I am indeed Francois.  How I became the lady abbess of this
convent you have yet to learn."  I then narrated what I have already
done to your highness.  "By what means," continued I, "I am to deliver
myself from this dangerous situation, I know not; I have, however, one
consolation, in finding myself once more in company with the object of
my love.  Come hither, Marie; it is indeed your own Francois."

Marie remained at the foot of the bed, but advanced not; and I perceived
that the tears fell fast, as she cast her eyes to heaven.

"Speak to me, Marie, if ever you loved me."

"That I loved you, Francois, you know full well: not even your unkind
desertion could affect that love, which was unchangeable.  I dared all
for your sake; my brothers, my father, could not extort the secret from
me, and their suspicions although directed towards you, could never be
confirmed.  I bore the offspring of my guilt in solitary anguish,
afterwards loaded with reproaches when I needed comfort and consolation,
and stunned with imprecations when I required soothing and repose.  I
buried it with shame and sorrow and contumely.  You had abandoned me,
and I felt that all ties to this world were over.  I took the veil; and
never was the world quitted by so willing a votary as myself.  I have
since been peaceful, if not happy."

"And now, Marie, you shall be happy," cried I, stretching out my arms to
her.  "Come to me, I will explain my motives for leaving Marseilles, and
what my future intentions were, if they had not been frustrated by
unforeseen events.  All shall yet be well."

"Francois, all is well.  I have taken a solemn vow--it is registered in
Heaven.  You have by fraud and imposition entered into a holy place, and
assumed a holy character.  Add not to your crime by even harbouring the
idea of impropriety, and add not to my humiliation by supposing for a
moment that I am capable of being a participator.

"Holy Virgin," cried she, falling on her knees, "I demand thy powerful
aid in this conflict of worldly passions and holy wishes.  Oh! make me
dead to all but thee, and to the spouse whom I have accepted at thy
hands."

She then rose, and continued--"How you will be able to leave this
convent, Francois, I know not; but your secret is safe with me, provided
that you do not again request my presence, as you have this night.  My
prayers shall ever be for you; but we must meet no more!" and Marie
waved her hand mournfully, and quitted the apartment.

Although I had always a great contempt for the Catholic religion, of
which I at that period was a member, I was awed by the beauty of virtue
as it appeared in Marie, and I passed the night in melancholy
reflections.  I felt more love for her than ever, and determined upon
persuading her to quit the convent and become my wife.  The next morning
I sent for her.

"Marie, you gave yourself to heaven, when you imagined that you had no
tie upon earth.  You were deceived; there was one whom you still loved,
and who still adored you.  Vows made in delusion are not registered.
Leave this convent with me, become my wife, and you will do your duty
better towards heaven than by pining between these walls, which contain
nothing but envy, hatred, and remorse."

"Francois, you have had my answer.  What has been done, cannot be
undone.  Save yourself, and leave me to my unhappy fate," answered
Marie: then bursting into tears, "O Francois, why, why did you leave me
without one word?  Had you but pointed out your danger to me, I should
have been the first to have insisted upon your absence, and all, all
would have been borne with patience, if not with pleasure, for your
sake.  If what you now say is truth, all would have been well; but now I
have nought to cheer me in my lonely pilgrimage, and nought to wish but
that it soon may come unto its close.  I forgive you, Francois; but pity
me, for I deserve your pity."

"Once more, Marie, I intreat you to consent to my proposal."

"Never, Francois; I will not be less faithful to my God than I was to
you: he will not desert me; and if I suffer now, will reward me for it
hereafter."  And Marie again quitted my apartment.

My situation in the nunnery now became insupportable, and I determined
to escape.  I pleaded ill-health, and kept my bed.  The physician of a
neighbouring convent, who had a great reputation, was sent for against
my wishes.  When I heard of his arrival, I dressed to receive him for I
was fearful of some scrutiny.  He inquired what ailed me: I answered
that I had no pain, but that I was convinced I should soon depart.  He
felt my pulse, and, not being able to discover symptoms of disease, took
his leave.

To the elder sisters who visited me, I spoke in enigmas, and told them
that I had a summons, that they must expect soon to find me gone: and
the sanctity of my reputation made them receive my innuendoes as
inspired remarks.  One night, I complained of being much worse, and
requested their early retiring: they would have sent for the physician,
but I forbad it, telling them I was beyond a physician's cure: kissing
them all, and pronouncing over them a solemn blessing, I dismissed them.
As soon as it was dark, I threw off my nun's attire, leaving it in my
bed, as if I had slipped out of it; and as the windows of my apartment,
which looked into the convent garden, were not barred, unclothed as I
was I dropped down, and reached the ground in safety.  I took the
precaution, when I was outside, to shut the window, that my having
escaped should not enter their ideas, and climbing a tree which overhung
the wall of the garden, dropped from a bough on the other side, and
found myself at liberty.  As I knew that the farther I was from the
nunnery, the less chance I had of being supposed an impostor, I gained
the high road, and ran as fast as I could in the direction from
Marseilles to Toulouse.

I had proceeded several miles without encountering any body at that
still hour of the night, occasionally alarmed at the barking of some
snarling cur, as I passed through the small villages in my route,--when,
worn out with fatigue and cold, I sat down under a hedge to screen
myself from the cold "mistral" which blew.  As the wind lulled, I heard
sounds of voices in lamentation, which appeared to proceed from the road
at a short distance.  I rose, and continued my route, when I stumbled
over the body of a man.  I examined him by the faint light that was
emitted from the stars.  He was quite dead; and it immediately occurred
to me that a robbery had been committed, and the lamentations which I
had heard proceeded from those who had escaped with their lives.  The
cloak of the dead man was lying underneath him; it was a capote, such as
are worn by officers.  I unclasped it from his neck, round which it was
fastened with two bear's-paws chased in silver, and, wrapping it round
my benumbed limbs, proceeded further on to where I now occasionally
heard voices much plainer than before.  I again fell in with two more
prostrate bodies, and, as the day had now begun to break, perceived that
they were clothed like people of low condition.  Passing my hand over
their faces, I felt that they were quite dead and stiff.  Afraid that if
found close to the spot, and unable to give any account of myself, I
should be accused of murder, I thought of immediate flight; but the
plaintive voice of a woman met my ears, and it was an appeal that I
could not resist.  I proceeded a few yards further, and perceived a
carriage, the horses of which lay dead in their traces, with the driver
beside them.  To the hind wheels were secured with ropes an elderly man
and a young woman.

"God be praised, my dear father, help is at hand!" said the young woman,
as I approached; and as I came close to them, she cried out, "Oh, I know
him by his cloak; it's the gentleman who defended us so gallantly, and
whom we supposed to have been killed.  Are you much hurt, sir?"

Aware that I had better be any body than myself; with my usual invention
and presence of mind I replied, "Not much, madam, thanks be to Heaven!
I was stunned, and they left me for dead: I am happy that I am still
alive, to be of service to you:" and I immediately proceeded to cast
loose the ropes by which the father and daughter (as by their
conversation they appeared to be) had been confined to the wheels.  The
robbers had stripped them both nearly to the skin, and they were so
numbed with the cold that they could scarcely stand when they were
unbound,--the poor girl especially, who shivered as if suffering under a
tertian ague.  I proposed that they should enter the carriage as the
best shelter they could receive from the bitter keen wind which blew,
and they agreed to the prudence of my suggestion.

"If I am not requesting too great a favour, sir," said the old
gentleman, "I wish you would lend my poor daughter that cloak, for she
is perishing with the cold."

"I will with pleasure, sir, as soon as you are both in the carriage,"
replied I; for I had made up my mind how to proceed.  I assisted them
in, and, shutting the door, slipped off the cloak and put it in at the
window, saying, "Believe me, madam, I should have offered it to you
before, but the fact is, the rascals served me, as I lay stunned, in the
same manner as they have you; and I must now go in search of something
to cover myself."  I then went off at a quick pace, hearing the young
woman exclaim, "Oh, my father, he has stripped himself to cover me."  I
immediately returned to the body of the gentleman whose cloak I had
borrowed, and for whom I had no doubt that I had been mistaken.  I
stripped off all the clothes from his rigid limbs, and put them on: they
fitted me exactly, and, what was more fortunate, were not stained with
blood, as he had received his death-wound from a bullet in the brain.  I
then dragged the body to the other side of the hedge, where I threw it
into a ditch, and covered it with long grass, that it might not be
discovered.  Daylight had made its appearance before I had completed my
toilet; and when I came back to the carriage, the old gentleman was loud
in his thanks.  I told him that in returning to strip one of the other
bodies I had found my own clothes in a bundle, which the robbers had
left in their haste to escape from pursuit.

The young lady said nothing, but sat shrouded up in the cloak, in one
corner of the carriage.  I now entered into conversation with the old
gentleman, who explained to me how the attack began, before I had come
to their assistance: and from the information I received from him, I was
enabled to form a very good idea of the story that I was to tell.  I
found that I had been on horseback with my servant, when I rode to their
assistance; that we had been both supposed to be killed, and that we
were about five miles from any post town.

By this time it was broad daylight, and I made another discovery, which
was, that I was wearing an officer's undress.  Anxious to gratify my
curiosity by a sight of the young lady, I turned to her as she lay
muffled up in the cloak, and expressed a hope that she did not feel
cold.  She put her head out, and answered in the negative with such a
sweet smile, upon such a sweet face as I never had before witnessed.  I
looked at her as if transfixed, and did not take my eyes off until she
blushed, and again sank back as before.

This brought me to my recollection; I offered to go for assistance, and
my services were thankfully accepted.  I passed by the men who had been
killed, as I went on my mission: one was habited in a livery similar to
the coach-man who lay dead by his horses; the other was in that of a
groom, and I took it for granted that he had been my servant.  I
searched in his pockets for information; and, collecting the contents,
commenced reading them as I walked along.

By his memoranda I found out that I had come from Aix.  By letters and
papers in my own pockets I ascertained who I was, who my father was, to
what regiment I belonged, that I was on leave of absence, and that I had
a brother, whose affectionate letter I read carefully for further
information.  I had not time to count a considerable sum of money, which
was in my purse, before I fell in with a countryman, who was leading his
horses to the plough.  Briefly narrating the circumstances, I offered
him a handsome remuneration, if he would mount one of his horses, and
procure immediate assistance.  Having seen him off in a hand-gallop, I
returned to the carriage to try if it were possible to have one more
view of that face which had so enchanted me.  I stated the good fortune
I had met with, and my hopes of a speedy deliverance from their trouble.
I answered the old gentleman's inquiry of the name and condition of the
person to whom he and his daughter had been so much indebted; talked of
my father the Comte de Rouille, of my regiment; and then requested a
similar confidence.

He was le Marquis de Tonseca, and the young lady was his daughter; they
were proceeding to their chateau about seven miles distant, where he
hoped I would accompany them, and allow him an opportunity of showing
his gratitude.

I hesitated, talked of engagements--not that I intended to refuse the
invitation, but because the young lady had not joined in the request.
My plan had the desired effect; again the lovely face appeared from
under the cloak, and the sweetest voice in the world expressed a wish
that I would not refuse her father's invitation.  I blushed, and
stammered consent.  Pleased at her victory, she smiled, and again was
folded up in the cloak, which I could have torn to pieces for its
envious concealment.

Assistance had now arrived; a crowd of people, headed by an officer to
take the _proces verbal_, and two pair of post-horses came up; the
deposition of the marquis and myself were briefly taken; his, as to what
he had seen, and mine "to the best of my knowledge and belief."  The
papers were signed, the dead bodies were carried off, the horses put to;
and, at the request of the marquis, I took my seat in the carriage
between him and his daughter, and we proceeded to the chateau.

In two hours we arrived at a magnificent pile, which bespoke the wealth
and ancestry of the owner; and I had the pleasure of carrying in my
arms, up the long flight of steps by which we ascended to the entrance,
the beautiful girl, muffled up as she was in the cloak.  As soon as I
had laid her down upon a sofa, I left her to the care of the females who
were in attendance, and quitted the room.  The marquis had retired to
his own apartment, to supply the deficiencies in his attire, and for a
short time I was left alone to my own reflections.  What is to be the
result of all this? thought I.  Is there to be no end of my assumption
of the clothes and titles of other people,--this continual
transmigration before death?  Yet how much more has it depended upon
circumstances than upon myself!

After much reflection, I determined upon letting things take their own
course, trusting to my own ready invention and good fortune for the
issue.  I felt it to be impossible to tear myself from the sweet
creature whose personal charms had already fascinated me, and I vowed
that there was no risk, no danger, that I would not brave to obtain her
love.

In an hour we met at the breakfast-table, and I was more than ever
enchanted;--but I will not detain your highness by dwelling too long
upon the subject.

"No, don't, yaha bibi, my friend," said the pacha, yawning, "your story
gets very dry already.  We'll suppose the cypress waist, the stag's
eyes, and full moon of her face.  We Musselmen don't talk so much about
women; but I suppose as you were a Frenchman, and very young then, you
knew no better.  Why you talk of women as if they had souls!"  The
renegade did not think it advisable to express his opinion in
contradiction to that of his highness, and the assertions of the
Prophet.  "It cannot be said that I behaved to them as if they had,"
replied he; "and before I changed my religion, I was often smitten with
remorse for my selfish and unfeeling conduct towards Marie; but all that
is passed, I am now a Turk;" and the renegade passed his hand over his
brow; for some long, smothered feelings of virtue had been conjured up
by remorse, as he was reminded of the career of guilt which he had run
through, and which he had climaxed by the denial of his Redeemer.  After
a short pause he continued--

For a week I remained in the society of the marquis and his daughter,
daily ingratiating myself more and more with both.  I had not declared
my passion to his daughter, for there was something that irresistibly
prevented me; yet I knew that I was not viewed with indifference.  Our
party was then increased by the appearance of the Bishop of Toulouse,
the brother of the marquis, who came to congratulate him and his niece
upon their fortunate escape.  I was presented as the gentleman who had
so materially assisted.  The bishop stared at me with surprise.

"It is strange," observed he, "that a body has been found in a ditch,
near to where the robbery occurred, and has been recognised to be that
of the very young officer to whom you now introduce me.  How can this
be?"

The marquis and his daughter appeared astonished at the intelligence
(and in truth so was I), but it was only for a second.  "How say you,
sir," exclaimed I, with trepidation, "a body recognised as the son of
the Comte de Rouille?  My poor, poor brother! my dear Victor have you
then perished? what injustice have I done you!"

Throwing myself on the fauteuil, I covered my face with my handkerchief,
as if overpowered with grief; but, in reality, I was reflecting what I
should say next.

"Your brother!" exclaimed the marquis in surprise.

"Yes, marquis, my brother.  I will now state the circumstances which
induced me to conceal from you that he was in my company at the time of
the attack.  When I galloped to your assistance, I was followed by my
brother, who was riding with me to Marseilles, and of whom you recollect
I have spoken; but after the first discharge of fire-arms I found that
he was not at my side, and I imagined that he had deserted me from fear.
I could not bear that such a disgrace upon the family should be known,
and I therefore made no mention of him when I came back.  Little did I
think, that while I was accusing him in my heart of cowardice, he was
dead, and his heart's blood had been poured out in my defence.  Victor,
my dear Victor!" continued I, "how great has been my injustice, and what
can repay me for your loss?" and I threw myself down on the sofa, as if
frantic with grief.

"Huckaback," observed the pacha, "it appears to me that in your younger
days you were a great scoundrel."

"I acknowledge it," replied the renegade; "but, in extenuation, your
highness must call to mind that at that time I was a Christian."

"By the beard of the Prophet, that is well said, and very true!" replied
the pacha.

The marquis and his brother were shocked at having so unintentionally
plunged me into affliction.  They offered consolation; but finding their
endeavours fruitless, quitted the room, thinking it advisable to leave
me to myself.  Cerise, for that was the name of the daughter, remained,
and after a short pause came to me, and in her silvery voice, as she
laid her hand upon my shoulder, addressed me:--

"Console yourself, my dear Felix;" but I made no answer.  "How unhappy I
am!" said she: "it was in my defence that he lost his life: it was to
your courage that I am indebted for my preservation:--he is dead, and
you are miserable.  Can nothing repay you for the loss of your
brother?--Nothing, Felix?"

I raised my head; her eyes were swimming with tears, and beaming with
love.  As I resumed my seat upon the sofa, I drew her gently towards me.
She offered no resistance, and in a moment she had sunk down by my
side, as my arms entwined her beauteous form.

"Yes," murmured I, "Cerise, I am repaid."  Smiling through her blushes,
she disengaged herself, and rose to depart.  Returning once more at my
request, I imprinted a kiss upon her brow: she waved her hand, and
hastened out of the room.

"That was a very nice girl, by your description," interrupted the pacha:
"pray what might you pay for such a girl in your country?"

"She was beyond all price," replied the renegade, with an absent air, as
if communing with times past.  "Love is not to be bought.  The Moslem
purchases the slave and blind submission to his will, but he makes not
love."

"No, he buys it ready made," replied the pacha; "and I must say I wish
you had done the same; for, with all this love-making, you get on but
slowly with your story.  Proceed."

I remained another week, when the bishop, who had not yet taken his
departure, one morning drove over to Marseilles, and returned to dinner.
"I was sent for," observed he, as we sat down to table, "to consult as
to the propriety of requesting from the Pope the canonisation of the
Soeur Eustasie, of whom you have heard so much, and whose disappearance
has been attributed to miraculous agency: but during our consultation, a
piece of information was sent in, which has very much changed the
opinion of parties as to her reputed sanctity.  It appears that near the
spot where the vessel was wrecked they have discovered the body of a
woman dressed in man's clothes; and it is now supposed that some
miscreant has personified her at the convent, and has subsequently
escaped.  The officers of justice are making the strictest search; and
if the individual is found, he will be sent to Rome to be disposed of by
the Inquisition."

As your highness may imagine, this was not very agreeable news: I almost
started from my chair when I heard it; but I had sufficient mastery over
myself to conceal my feelings, although every morsel that I put into my
mouth nearly choked me.

But before dinner was over the plot thickened; a letter was brought to
the marquis from my adopted father, the Comte de Rouille, stating that
such contradictory reports had been received, that he could not
ascertain the truth.  From one he heard that his eldest son was alive,
and at the chateau; from others that he had been murdered; others
congratulated him in their letters upon the escape of one of his sons.
He requested the marquis to inform him of the real state of affairs, and
to let him know by the bearer whether his eldest son was with him, or
whether he had met with the unfortunate death that was reported; and as
his youngest son was at home, and had been there for some months, he
could not but imagine, as both of them were mentioned in the reports,
that there might be some imposture in the business.

I perceived by the change of countenance in the marquis that affairs
were not going well, and was to a certain degree prepared, when he
gravely handed the letter to the bishop; who; having read it, passed it
over to me, saying, with a stern look, "This concerns you, sir."  I read
it with a composed countenance, and, returning it to the marquis, I
observed with a sigh, "There is no kindness in such deception; the blow
will only fall heavier upon the old man when it does come.  You are
aware, sir, I mentioned, it to you (or rather, I believe, it was to
Mademoiselle Cerise), that my father is blind, and has been so for the
last two years.  They have been afraid to tell him the truth, and have
made him believe that Victor is there.  You must know, sir, that it was
clandestinely that my dear brother quitted his father's house to
accompany me.  Unhappy hour when I yielded to his intreaties!  But,
monsieur le marquis, I perceive that it is now imperative that I should
go to my father; he will need the assurance of my existence to support
him in his grief.  I will therefore, with your permission, write a few
lines by the bearer of this communication, and to-morrow morning at
daylight must unwillingly tear myself away from your charming society."

The cool and confident air with which I answered, removed suspicion; and
having written a few lines to the comte, and requested from the marquis
the loan of his seal, I applied the wax, and desired the servant to
deliver it as an answer to the messenger, whom I was not sorry to see
galloping by the window.  "Oh," cried I, "'tis Pierre: had I known that,
I should have asked him some questions."

This well-timed exclamation of mine, I perceived, did not fail to have
its weight.  We again sat down to table, and I was treated with more
than usual kindness by the marquis and his brother, as if in
compensation for their having, for a moment, harboured a suspicion of my
honesty.  But I was ill at ease; and I felt that I never had acted with
more prudence than in proposing my early departure.

In the evening I was alone with Cerise.  Since the news of my brother's
death, and the scene that followed, we had sworn unalterable love; and
in that instance only was I sincere.  I loved her to desperation, and I
dote on her memory now, though years have rolled away, and she has long
been mingled with the dead.  Yes, Cerise, if from the regions of bliss,
where thy pure spirit dwells, thou canst look down upon a wretch so
loaded with guilt as I am, oh, turn not away with horror, but view with
pity one who loved as fondly as man could love, and hereafter will care
little for all that Paradise can offer if thy fair spirit must not bid
him welcome!

"I wish, Huckaback," observed the pacha, angrily, "that you would go on
with your story: you are talking to a dead woman, instead of a live
pacha."

"I intreat your pardon," replied the renegade; "but to amuse your
highness, I have entered into scenes which long have been dismissed from
my memory and the feelings attending them will rise up, and cannot well
be checked.  I will be more careful as I proceed."

Cerise was melancholy at the idea of my departure.  I kissed the tears
away, and the time flew rapidly.  I persuaded her to allow me an
interview after the family had retired, as I had much to say to her.

"Well, well, we'll suppose all that," observed the pacha, impatiently:
"now go on; you remember you were to set off in the morning."

"Yes, yes, your highness," replied the renegade, somewhat displeased.

And I did set off in the morning upon one of the marquis's horses, and
rode as hard as I could to Toulon.  I determined again to try my fortune
at sea, as I was afraid that I should be discovered if I remained on
shore.  I purchased a small venture with the money in my purse, and
having made my agreement with the captain of a vessel bound to St.
Domingo, exchanged my dress for a jacket and trousers; and was again at
the mercy of the waves.

"Such, your highness, is the history of my First Voyage, and the
incidents which resulted from it."

"Well," said the pacha, rising, "there was too much love, and too little
sea in it; but, I suppose, if you had left the first out it would not
have been so long.  Mustapha, give him five pieces of gold, and we will
have his Second Voyage to-morrow."

As soon as the pacha had retired, the renegade growled out, "If I am to
tell any more stories, I must not be checked and dictated to.  I could
have talked for an hour after I had met Cerise, if I had not been
interrupted: as it was I cut the matter short."

"But, Selim," replied Mustapha, "the pacha is not fond of these sort of
adventures: he likes something much more marvellous.  Could you not
embellish a little?"

"How do you mean?"

"Holy Prophet! what do I mean!--Why, tell a few lies,--not adhere quite
so much to matter of fact."

"Adhere to matter of fact, vizier!--why, I have not stated a single fact
yet!"

"What! is not all this true?"

"Not one word of it, as I hope to go to Heaven!"

"Bismillah!--what not about Marie and the convent--and Cerise?"

"All lies from beginning to end."

"And were you never a barber?"

"Never in my life."

"Then why did you make such long apostrophes to the dead Cerise, when
you observed that the pacha was impatient?"

"Merely because I was at fault, vizier, and wished to gain time, to
consider what I should say next."

"Selim," replied Mustapha, "you have great talent; but mind that your
next voyage is more wonderful; I presume it will make no difference to
you."

"None whatever; but the pacha is not a man of taste.  Now give me my
five pieces, and I'll be off: I'm choked with thirst, and shall not be
comfortable till I have drunk at least a gallon of wine."

"Holy Prophet! what a Turk!" exclaimed the vizier; lifting up his hands.
"Here is your money, kafir;--don't forget to be here to-morrow."

"Never fear me, vizier; your slave lives but to obey you, we Turks say."

"We Turks!" muttered the vizier, as he cast his eyes upon the retiring
figure of the renegade.  "Well of all the scoundrels--"

"Well," muttered the renegade, who was now out of hearing, "of all the
scoundrels--"

Whom they were referring to in their separate soliloquies must be left
to the reader's imagination; for caution prevented either of the parties
from giving vent to the remainder of their thoughts.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER SIX.

"Mashallah!  How wonderful is God!  Did the caliph Haroun ever hear such
stories?" observed the pacha, taking the pipe from his mouth, as he was
indulging in company with Mustapha: "that infidel tells strange
histories of strange countries--What will his mouth open to next?"

"The Shaitan bacheh, for a son of the devil he still is, although he
wears the turban and bows to Allah, will prove a treasury of amusement
to your sublime highness," replied Mustapha: "but what are the words of
the sage?--`If thou hast gold in thy hazneh, keep it locked, and add
thereto; thus shalt thou become rich.'"

"They are the words of wisdom," replied the pacha.

"Then may I advise your highness to walk out this evening in search of
more, and not exhaust that which is in your possession?"

"Wallah thaib!  It is well said!" answered the pacha, rising from his
musnud or carpet of state: "the moon is up--when all is ready we will
proceed."

In a quarter of an hour the pacha, attended by Mustapha and the armed
slaves as before, again set out upon their perambulations through the
city of Cairo.

They had not walked more than half an hour when they observed two men
sitting at the door of a fruit-shop, at high words with each other.  The
pacha held up his finger to Mustapha, as a sign to stop, that he might
overhear their discourse.

"I tell you, Ali, that it is impossible to hear those long stories of
yours without losing one's temper."

"Long stories!" whispered the pacha to Mustapha with delight: "the very
thing!--Shukur Allah!  Thanks be to God!"

"And I tell you in reply, Hussan, that yours are ten times worse.  You
never have spoken for ten minutes without my feeling an inclination to
salute your mouth with the heel of my slipper.  I wish there was any one
who would hear us both, and decide the point."

"That I will," said the pacha, going up to them: "to-morrow I will hear
both your stories, and decide upon the merits of each."

"And who are you?" observed one of the men with surprise.

"His highness the pacha," replied Mustapha, coming forward.  Both the
men prostrated themselves, while the pacha directed Mustapha that they
should be brought before him on the following day; and the vizier,
having given them in charge to the slaves who had followed at a
distance, returned home with the pacha, who was delighted at the rich
harvest which he expected to reap from the two people who accused each
other of telling such long stories.

When the divan of the following day had closed, the two men were
summoned into the presence of the pacha.

"I shall now decide upon the merits of your stories," observed he.  "Sit
down there both of you, and agree between yourselves which of you will
begin."

"May it please your highness, you will never be able to listen to this
man Ali," observed Hussan: "you had better send him away."

"Allah preserve your highness from all evil," replied Ali, "but more
especially from the talking of Hussan, which is as oppressive as the hot
wind of the desert."

"I have not sent for you to hear you dispute in my presence, but to hear
your stories.  Ali, do you begin."

"I do assure your highness," interrupted Hussan, "that you will not
listen to him three minutes."

"I do assure you," retorted the pacha, "that if you say one word more,
until you are ordered, you will be rewarded with the bastinado for your
trouble.  Ali, begin your story."

"Well, your highness, it was about thirty years ago, _you know_, that I
was a little boy, _you know_."

Here Hussan lifted up his hands, and, smiled.

"Well your highness, _you know_--"

"I don't know, Ali: how can I know until you tell me," observed the
pacha.

"Well then, your highness must know, that ever since I was born I have
lived in the same street where your highness saw us seated last night,
and thirty years, _you know_, is a long period in a man's life.  My
father was a gardener, and people of his condition, _you know_, are
obliged to get up early, that they may be in time for the market, where,
_you know_, they bring their vegetables for sale."

"This is all very true, I dare say," observed the pacha, "but you will
oblige me by leaving out all those _you knows_, which I agree with your
comrade Hussan to be very tedious."

"That's what I have already told him, your highness: `Ali,' _says I_,
`if you can only leave out your _you knows_,' _says I_, `your story
might be amusing, but,' _says I_--"

"Silence with your _says I's_," observed the pacha; "have you forgotten
the bastinado? there seems to be a pair of you.  Ali, go on with the
story, and remember my injunction; the felek and ferashes are at hand."

"Well, your highness, one morning he rose earlier than usual, as he was
anxious to be first in the market with some onions, which, _you know_,
are very plentiful; and having laden his ass, he set off at a good round
pace for the city.  There, _you know_, he arrived at the market-place a
little after the day had dawned, when, _you know_--"

"Did you not receive my orders to leave out _you know_.  Am I to be
obeyed or not?  Now go on, and if you offend again you shall have the
bastinado till your nails drop off."

"I shall observe your highness's wishes," replied Ali.--"A little after
the day had dawned, _you_--no, he, I mean, observed an old woman sitting
near one of the fruit-stalls, with her head covered up in an old
dark-blue capote; and as he passed by, _you_--she, I mean, held out one
of her fingers, and said, `Ali Baba,' for that was my father's name,
`Listen to good advice; leave your laden beast and follow me.'  Now my
father, _you know_, not being inclined to pay any attention to such an
old woman, replied, _you know_--"

"Holy Allah!" exclaimed the pacha in a rage to Mustapha, "what does this
man deserve?"

"The punishment due to those who dare to disobey your highness's
commands."

"And he shall have it; take him out; give him one hundred blows of the
bastinado; put him on an ass, with his face turned towards the tail; and
let the officer who conducts him through the town proclaim, `Such is the
punishment awarded by the pacha to him who presumes to say that his
highness knows, when in fact, he knows nothing.'"

The guards seized upon the unfortunate Ali, to put in execution the will
of the pacha; and as he was dragged away, Hussan cried out, "I told you
so; but you would not believe me."

"Well," replied Ali, "I've one comfort, your story's not told yet.  His
highness has yet to decide which is the best."

After a few minutes' pause, to recover himself from the ruffling of his
temper, the pacha addressed the other man--"Now, Hussan, you will begin
your story; and observe that I am rather in an ill-humour."

"How can your highness be otherwise, after the annoyance of that bore
Ali?  I said so; `Ali,' _says I_--"

"Go on with your story," repeated the pacha angrily.

"It was about two years ago, your highness, when I was sitting at the
door of the fruit-shop, which your highness might have observed when you
saw us last night, that a young female, who seemed above the common
class, came in, followed by a porter.  `I want some melons,' says she.
`I have very fine ones, so walk in,' _says I_, and I handed down from
the upper shelf, where they were placed, four or five musk, and four or
five water-melons.

"`Now,' _says I_, `young woman, you'll observe that these are much finer
melons,' _says I_, `than you usually can procure; therefore the lowest
price that I can take,' _says I_, `is--'"

"Why your _says I's_ are much worse than Ali's _you knows_; leave them
out, if you please, and proceed with your story," cried the pacha, with
increased ill-humour.

"I will obey, your highness, if possible.  I stated the lowest price,
and she lifted up her veil--`I have an idea,' said she, as she allowed
me to look upon one of the prettiest faces in the world, `that they are
to be had cheaper.'

"I was so struck with her beauty that I was quite speechless.  `Am I not
right?' said she, smiling.  `From you, madam,' _says I_, `I can take
nothing; put as many in the basket of your porter as you please.'  She
thanked me, and put into the basket all that I had handed down.

"`Now,' _says she_, `I want some dates, the best and finest that you
have.'  I handed some down, that would have been admired by the ladies
of your highness's harem.  `These, madam,' _says I_, `are the best dates
that are to be found in Cairo.'  She tasted them, and asked the price: I
mentioned it.  `They are dear,' replied she, `but I must have them
cheaper,' and again she lifted her veil.  `Madam,' _says I_, `these
dates are much too cheap at the price which I have mentioned; it really
is impossible to take one para less; observe, madam,' _says I_, `the
beauty of them, feel the weight, and taste them,' _says I_, `and you
must acknowledge,' _says I_, `that they are offered to you at a price
which,' _says I_--"

"Holy Prophet!" cried the pacha in a rage; "I will hear no more of your
_says I's_: if you cannot tell your story without them, you shall fare
worse than Ali."

"May it please your highness, how will it be possible for you to know
what I said, unless I point out to you what I did say?  I cannot tell my
story without it."

"I'll see that," replied the pacha, in a savage tone; and making a sign,
the executioner made his appearance.  "Now, then, go on with your story;
and, executioner, after he has repeated _says I_ three times, off with
his head!  Go on."

"I shall never be able to go on, your highness; consider one moment how
harmless my _says I's_ are to the detestable _you knows_ of Ali.  That's
what I always told him `Ali,' _says I_, `if you only knew,' _says I_,
`how annoying you are!  Why there,' _says I_--"

At this moment the blow of the scimitar fell, and the head of Hussan
rolled upon the floor; the lips, from the force of habit, still
quivering in their convulsions with the motioning which would have
produced _says I_, if the channel of sound had not been so effectually
interrupted.

"That story's ended!" observed the pacha in a rage.  "Of all the
nuisances I ever encountered, these two men have beat them all.  Allah
forbid that I should again meet with a _says I_, or _you know_!"

"Your highness is all wisdom," observed Mustapha; "may such ever be the
fate of those who cannot tell their stories without saying what they
said."  The pacha, irritated at his disappointment, and little soothed
by the remark of Mustapha, without making any answer to it was about to
retire to his harem, when Mustapha, with a low salaam, informed him that
the renegade was in attendance to relate his Second Voyage, if he might
be permitted to kiss the dust in his presence.  "Khoda shefa midehed--
God gives relief," replied the pacha, as he resumed his seat: "let him
approach."

The renegade entered; and having paid the customary obeisance, took his
seat, and commenced the narrative of his Second Voyage:--

May it please your most sublime highness, the day after I embarked we
sailed with a fair wind; and having cleared the Straits, flattered
ourselves with the prospect of a successful voyage; but we were
miserably disappointed, for three days afterwards we fell in with a
small brig under English colours.  As she was evidently a merchant
vessel we paid no attention to her running down to us, supposing that
she was out of her reckoning, and wished to know her exact position on
the chart.  But as soon as she was close to us, instead of passing under
our stern, as we expected, she rounded to, and laid us by the board.
Taken by surprise and having no arms, we were beaten down below; and in
a few minutes the vessel remained in the possession of our assailants.
They held a short consultation, and then opening the hatches, a
boatswain pulled out his whistle, and in a tremendous voice roared out,
"_All hands ahoy_!" which was followed by his crying out, "_Tumble up
there, tumble up_!"  As we understood this to be a signal for our
appearance on deck, we obeyed the summons.  When we all came up, we
found out that if we had had any idea that they were enemies, we might
have beaten them off, as they were only fifteen in number while we
mustered sixteen.  But it was too late: we were unarmed, and they had
each of them a cutlass, with two pistols stuck in their girdles.  As
soon as we were all on deck, they bound our arms behind us with ropes
and ranged us in a line.  Having inquired of each of us our respective
ranks and professions, they held a short consultation, and the boatswain
addressing me, said: "Thank Heaven, you scoundrel, that you were brought
up as a barber, for it has saved your life!"

He then cut loose the cords which bound me, and I remained at liberty.
"Now then, my lads!" continued the boatswain, "_Come, every man his
bird_!" and, so saying, he seized upon the captain of the vessel, and
leading him to the gangway, passed his sword through his body, and
tossed him into the sea.

In the same manner each of the murderous villains led forward the man he
had selected, and putting an end to his life, either by the sword or
pistol, launched the corpse into the waves.

My blood curdled as I beheld the scene, but I said nothing.  I
considered myself too fortunate to escape with life.  When it was all
over, the boatswain roared out, "_That job's done_!  Now, Mr Barber,
swab up all this here blood, and be damned to you! and recollect that
you are one of us."  I obeyed in fear and silence, and then returned to
my former station near the taffrail.

The people who had captured us, as I afterwards found out, were part of
the crew of an English Guinea-man, who had murdered the master and mate,
and had taken possession of the vessel.  As our brig was a much finer
craft in every respect, they determined upon retaining her and scuttling
their own.  Before night they had made all their arrangements, and were
standing to the westward with a fine breeze.

But exactly as the bell struck eight for midnight, a tremendous voice
was heard at the hatchway, if possible more than a hunched times louder
than the boatswain's, roaring out "_All hands ahoy_!"

The concussion of the air was so great, that the ship trembled as if she
had been struck by a thunderbolt; and as soon as the motion had
subsided, the water was heard to rush into every part of the hold.
Every body ran on deck astonished with the sound, expecting the vessel
immediately to go down, and looking at each other with horror as they
stood trembling in their shirts.  The water continued to rush into the
vessel until it reached the orlop beams; then as suddenly it stopped.

When the panic had to a certain degree subsided, and they perceived that
the water did not increase, all hands applied to the pumps, and by eight
o'clock in the morning the vessel was free.  Still the unaccountable
circumstance weighed heavy on the minds of the seamen, who walked the
deck without speaking to each other, or paying any attention to the
ship's course; and as no one took the command, no one was ordered to the
helm.

For my own part, I thought it a judgment upon them for their cruelty;
and, expecting that worse would happen, I had made up my mind to my
fate.  I thought of Marie, and hoping for pardon yet fearing the worst,
I vowed if I escaped that I would amend my life.

At night we again retired to our hammocks, but no one slept, so afraid
were we of a second visitation.  The bell was not struck by the men, but
it struck itself, louder than I ever heard it before; and again the
dreadful voice was heard, "_All hands ahoy_!" again the water rushed in,
and again we ran on deck.  As before, it mounted as high as the orlop
beams; it then stopped, and was pumped out again by eight o'clock on the
ensuing morning.

For a month, during which time we never saw land, for we had lost all
reckoning, and no one cared to steer--the same dreadful visitation took
place.  Habit had, to a degree, hardened the men; they now swore and got
drunk as before, and even made a jest of the _boatswain of the middle
watch_, as they called him, but at the same time they were worn out with
constant fatigue; and one night they declared that they would pump no
longer.  The water remained in the vessel all that day, and we retired
to our hammocks as usual, when at midnight the same voice was again
heard at the hatchway, not followed by the rush of water, but by a
shriek of "_Tumble up there, tumble up_!"

We all started at the summons, and hastened on deck; there was something
that impelled us in spite of ourselves.  Never shall I forget the horrid
sight which presented itself: stretched in a row on the deck of the
vessel lay the fifteen bloody corpses of my shipmates who had been
murdered.  We stood aghast; the hair rose straight up from our heads, as
we viewed the supernatural reappearances.  After a pause of about five
minutes, during which we never spoke or even moved, one of the corpses
cried out in a sepulchral voice, "_Come, every man his bird_!" and held
up its arms as it lay.

The man, whose office it had been to take the living body to the
gangway, and after killing it to throw it overboard, advanced towards
it; he was evidently impelled by a supernatural power, for never shall I
forget the look of horror, the faint scream of agony, which escaped him
as he obeyed the summons.  Like the trembling bird fascinated by the
snake, he fell into the arms of the dead body; which grasping him tight,
rolled over and over in convolutions like a serpent, until it gained the
break of the gangway, and then tumbled into the sea with its murderer
entwined in its embraces.  A flash of lightning succeeded, which blinded
us for several minutes; and when we recovered our vision, the remainder
of the bodies had disappeared.

The effect upon the guilty wretches was dreadful; there they lay, each
man on the deck where he had crouched down, when the lightning had
flashed upon him: the sun rose upon them, yet they moved not; he poured
his beams on their naked bodies when at his meridian height, yet they
still remained: the evening closed in, and found them in the same
positions.  As soon as it was dark, as if released from a spell, they
crawled below, and went into their hammocks: at midnight again the bell
struck; again the voice was heard, followed by the shriek; again they
repaired on deck: the fourteen remaining bodies lay in a row: another of
the murderers was summoned, obeyed, and disappeared: again the flash of
lightning burst upon us, and all had vanished: and thus it continued
every night, until the boatswain, who was reserved for the last, was
dragged overboard after the rest by the corpse of the captain; and then
a tremendous voice from the maintop, followed by exulting laughter,
cried out, "_That job's done_."  Immediately after which, the water
rushed out of the bottom of the vessel, and she was clear as before.

Returning thanks to Heaven that I was not a party sufferer with the
rest, I lay down, and for the first time for many weeks fell into a
sound sleep.  How long I slept, I know not: it may have been days; but I
awoke at last by the sound of voices, and found that the people on board
of a vessel bound from Mexico to the South of Spain, perceiving the brig
lying with her sails torn, and her yards not trimmed, had sent a boat to
ascertain whether there was any body remaining in her.  I was afraid
that if I told them what had happened, they either would not believe me,
or else would refuse to take on board a person who had been in company
with such examples of divine vengeance.  I therefore stated that we had
been attacked by dysentery about six weeks before, and all had died
except myself, who was supercargo of the brig.

As their vessel was but half full, the cargo, consisting chiefly of
cochineal and copper, which is stowed in small space, the captain
offered to take as many of my goods as he could stow, provided I would
allow him the freight.  This I willingly consented to, and examining the
manifest, selected the most valuable, which were removed to the Spanish
vessel.

We had a favourable wind; and having run through the Straits, expected
in a day or two we should anchor at Valencia, to which port she was
bound; but a violent gale came on from the N.E., which lasted many days,
and drove us over to the African shore.  To increase our misfortunes,
the ship sprung a-leak, and made so much water that we could scarcely
keep her free.

The Spaniards are but indifferent sailors, your highness, and in a storm
are more inclined to pray than to work: they became frightened, gave
over pumping, and having lighted a candle before the image of St.
Antonio, which was fixed on the stern of the vessel, began to call upon
him for assistance.  Not immediately obtaining their request, they took
the image out of the shrine, abused it, called it every vile name that
they could think of, and ended with tying it against the mainmast, and
beating it with ropes.

In the mean time the vessel filled more and more; whereas, if instead of