CHIEF. Now then! who’s for the free flag and the gold coast? We have already seventy hands, and want a few to make up a hundred. That’s enough of Englishmen to carry any of their goldships, or any Spanish town in the world. We want especially the sons of our brave men who have died in Spanish dungeons, or by fire and faggot! (_Shouts of indignation and hurrah for the General_). CROWD. Here we are, General! We’ll man your guns for you! Hurrah! We’ll pay them off all old scores! 1st SAILOR, (_in a swaggering tone_.) I have searched the whole coast, from Rio de la Hacha to San Juan, have been up the Darien and the Bocco del Torro, I know every creek where a Cruizer can lie like an Alligator for her prey. 2nd SAILOR. And I every coral-reef, from the Windward islands to Bahama. I’ll pilot you, General. CHIEF. Come on then, my Bullies!—To the brave ship El-Dorado! March! _They advance with the Standard singing and stamping in time as sailors do when weighing anchor_; _the crowd following and joining in with excitement_, _as they chant the following doggerel_. Our free born comrades languish. In dungeons, and in pain: We’ll tear them from their anguish, Or take revenge on Spain. (_Cheers_.) Come on ye Tars! we’ll all go, With hearts both true and bold: We’re bound for El-Dorado, And we will have the gold! (_Cheers_. _Exeunt singing_.) We’re bound for El-Dorado And we will have the gold! SPY, (_looking after them_.) A tempting offer! had I not a deeper game upon the die of Fate, and a loftier stake to play for than all the gold of the Indies—the liberty of the world! How many parts I have filled in social life! A bigot and inquisitor in Despotic Rome, I saw fierce Bourbon, called the Constable, rush with hot valour on her wall; I fired the death-shot! saw the Apostate fall! ’Twas vain! The mighty wave swept on resistless. The City of the Caesars and the Popes—the twice Mistress of the world—lay helpless under the ruffian foe, defiling what fierce Vandal and noble Goth majestic in strength and courage spared. No place was sacred. No party safe. The sanctuaries of religion, the sepulchres of the dead, the very tomb of St. Peter rifled for their wealth; Guelph and Ghibeline, Priest and Layman, the vilest trades and callings taxed for contributions when plunder failed;—and when the blood-hound scent for gold came to fault, torture was applied, without respect to rank, or sex, or age, to wring the last scudo from the prostrate people. There was a spoil! ten millions of gold! the garnered harvest of centuries of corruption, the imposts of a taxed world gathered in one stagnant pool. Offerings of pilgrims, gifts of the dying; the orphan’s patrimony; the widow’s dower; extortions of Ecclesiastical Courts; INDULGENCES; the liquidated value of every vice, lust and crime! BRIBES for which Heaven had bartered its joys, and HELL had commuted its