The place was filled with sailors, who, far from indulging in the well-known careless gaiety of their class, seemed morose and sulky, talking together in low murmurs, and showing unmistakable signs of discontent and dissatisfaction. The reason was soon apparent; the pressgangs were out to take men off to reinforce the blockading force before Genoa, a service of all others the most distasteful to a seaman. If Santron at first was ready to flatter himself into the notion that very little persuasion would make these fellows take part against England, as he listened longer he saw the grievous error of the opinion, no epithet of insult or contempt being spared by them when talking of France and Frenchmen. Whatever national animosity prevailed at that period, sailors enjoyed a high preeminence in feeling. I have heard that the spirit was encouraged by those in command, and that narratives of French perfidy, treachery, and even cowardice, were the popular traditions of the sea-service. We certainly could not controvert the old adage as to ‘listeners,’ for every observation and every anecdote conveyed a sneer or an insult on our country. There could be no reproach in listening to these unresented, but Santron assumed a most indignant air, and more than once affected to be overcome by a spirit of recrimination. What turn his actions might have taken in this wise I cannot even guess, for suddenly a rush of fellows took place up the ladder, and in less than a minute the whole cellar was cleared, leaving none but the hostess and an old lame waiter along with ourselves in the place. ‘You’ve got a protection, I suppose, sirs,’ said the woman, approaching us; ‘but still I’ll advise you not to trust to it overmuch; they’re in great want of men just now, and they care little for law or justice when once they have them on the high-seas.’ ‘We have no protection,’ said I; ‘we are strangers here, and know no one.’ ‘There they come, sir; that’s the tramp,’ cried the woman; ‘there’s nothing for it now but to stay quiet and hope you ‘ll not be noticed. Take those knives up, will ye,’ said she, flinging a napkin towards me, and speaking in an altered voice, for already two figures were darkening the entrance, and peering down into the depth below, while turning to Santron she motioned him to remove the dishes from the table--a service in which, to do him justice, he exhibited a zeal more flattering to his tact than his spirit of resistance. ‘Tripped their anchors already, Mother Martin?’ said a large-whiskered man, with a black belt round his waist; while, passing round the tables, he crammed into his mouth several fragments of the late feast. ‘You wouldn’t have ‘em wait for you, Captain John,’ said she, laughing.