He listened therefore intently the whole time, and although the Coromantee’s jargon was often unintelligible, managed to gather quite enough of its meaning to assure him that some gross outrage was in preparation, of which a white lady and her daughter were to be the victims. Now it is not only on the boards of a seaport theatre that the British sailor vindicates his character for generous courage on behalf of the conventional “female in distress.” The stage is, after all, a representation, however extravagant, of real life, and the caricature must not be exaggerated out of all likeness to its original. Coarse in his language, rough in his bearing, reckless and riotous from the very nature of his calling, there is yet in the thorough-going English seaman a leavening of tenderness, simplicity, and self-sacrifice, which, combined with his dauntless bravery, affords no ignoble type of manhood. He is a child in his fancies, his credulity, his affections; a lion in his defiance of peril and his sovereign contempt for pain. With regard to women, whatever may be his practice, his creed is pure, exalted, and utterly opposed to his own experience; while his instincts prompt him on all occasions, and against any odds, to take part with the weaker side. Compared with the landsman, he is always a little behind the times in worldly knowledge, possessing the faults and virtues of an earlier age. With both of these in some excess, his chivalry is unimpeachable, and a sense of honour that would not disgrace the noblest chapters of knighthood is to be found nerving the blue-streaked arms and swelling the brawny chests that man the forecastle. Slap-Jack knew enough of his late-discovered mother’s position to be familiar with the name of the Marquise and the situation of Montmirail West. As he was the only seaman belonging to ‘The Bashful Maid’ who had been tempted beyond the precincts of the port, this knowledge was shared by none of his shipmates. Captain George himself, postponing his shore-going from hour to hour, while he had work in hand, little dreamed he was within two leagues of Cerise. Beaudésir had never repeated his visit to the town; and every other man in the brigantine was too much occupied by duty or pleasure—meaning anchor-watch on board, alternated by rum and fiddlers ashore—to think of extending his cruise a yard further inland than the nearest drinking-house.