“I never liked this sailing among barbarous nations; they've no respect for any flag, and would just as lief imprison an Englishman or an American as they would a dog. They're a set of wild barbarians, and if they kill a fellow, there's no responsibility for it. It's like a parcel of wolves chasing a lamb, and there's no finding them after they've killed it. But they give a fellow his rights in Old England and the States. A man's a man there, rich or poor, and his feelings are just as much his own as anybody's. It's a glorious thing, this civilization, and if the world keeps on, there'll be no danger of a fellow's being imprisoned and killed among these savages. They're a cowardly set, for nobody but cowards are afraid of their own actions. Men neither imprison nor kill strangers, that don't fear the injustice of their own acts. You may smoke that in your pipe, Manuel, for I've heard great men say so. But you'd been done making dough-nuts then, Manuel, if they'd got hold o' you.” “Never catch Manuel among Patagonians, again; they not know what the flag be, nor they can't read de registrum ticket, if they know'd where England was,” said Manuel; and just as he was concluding the story of his adventure, the little sailor-boy put his arm around Manuel's waist, and, laying his head on his breast, fondled about him with an affectionate attachment. The little fellow had been a shipmate with Manuel on several voyages, and, through the kindness he had received at his hands, naturally formed an ardent attachment to him. Taking advantage of the good treatment, he knew how to direct his attention to the steward whenever he wanted a snack from the cabin-locker of that which was not allowed in the forecastle. After holding him for a minute, encircling his arm around the little fellow's shoulder, he arose, and saying, “I know what you want, Tommy,” proceeded to the cabin and brought him several little eatables that had been left at the captain's table. The wind now began to veer and increase, her sails kept filling aback; and as often as the man at the helm kept her off, the wind would baffle him, until finding it would be necessary to go on the other tack, or make some change of course, he called the Captain. The moment the latter put his foot upon deck, he found his previous predictions were about to be verified. The rustling noise of the gulf, mingling its solemn sounds with the petrel-like music of that foreboding wind that “whistles through the shrouds,” awakened the more superstitious sensations of a sailor's heart. The clouds had gathered their sombre folds into potent conclaves, while the sparkling brine in her wake, seemed like a fiery stream, rolling its troubled foam upon the dark waters. “Brace the yards up sharp-hard a-starboard!--and trim aft the sheets,” ordered the Captain, who had previously given the order, “All hands on deck!”