“The hour for parting has arrived, Dominique, which, three days since, neither you nor I could have anticipated; but so fate wills it. A new and perilous career lies before me, the ocean surface must be my home, and its deeps shall furnish me a grave. England, the land of freedom, is your happier destination. Go, my tried and trusty friend; follow some one of brighter fortunes than him you leave; and may your future fate be what your attachment and fidelity to me so richly merit!” The negro did not speak for a few moments--tears fell first upon the deck--at last, he turned a look of mild inquiry upon my face, and, in a broken voice, asked “in what he had offended me.” I was assuring my sable follower how truly I estimated his worth, and how deeply I felt the necessity that should deprive me of his services, when Captain Raleigh joined us. He held a bag of dollars in his hand. “Here--catch,” he cried, as he tossed the money to me. “And now, ‘to be or not to be, ay, that’s the question.’ There’s Shakespeare for you. Confound the bard of won;’twas he that made a rover of me; and but for Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, I, Harry Jones, had never been Captain Raleigh, but probably, at this blessed hour, a thriving citizen on Ludgate Hill, slicing off lutestring for a dowager, or assuring some pretty girl how beautifully the last new ribbon harmonized with the colour of her hair. Heigh-ho! I might have been happier. Happier! pshaw! nonsense. Yard and shears are only fit for woman’s hand; this is the tool for man’s”--and he touched the hilt of his cutlass. “But what’s the matter with your dark companion? Has he, too, lost some dollars by the accursed visit of the Frenchman?” “I have lost more--far more,” replied the black, “the preserver of my life--the master whom for seven years I followed--my friend--my benefactor--him have I lost. He tells me that I must leave him--leave one from whom I thought death alone should separate me.” “And will you follow his fortunes, and take your chance on board the schooner?” “Follow him!” exclaimed the negro; “oh, were that allowed, Dominique would be too happy.” ^ “Give me that honest fist of yours,” returned the rover. “No matter what the colour of the skin may be; the heart’s the thing for me. Well, you’ll take your chance, and seek new fortunes in the Flambeau?” he continued, addressing me. “I have no other choice,” was my reply. “Come, you have no luggage to remove, I fancy; John Crapo saved you that trouble. Jump in; the boat is ready.” I followed this new director of my destiny; and the whale-boat quitted the vessel’s side, where, but three short days ago, I was owner of thirty thousand dollars, to commence a roving life--a career of criminal adventure--its close--at best an ocean grave--or, what was likelier far, the plank, * the yard-arm, or the gibbet. * A piratical method of drowning.