streak alongst it! Well, I thinks, liberty's sweet, an' I'm blessed if a man's able to cruise much to windward o' right-down slavery, thinks I, if he's black! Howsomever, thinks I, I'll jest hold on a _bit_ longer. "'Well, next day, the black king had the blue-devils with drinking rum, an' he couldn't sleep nohow, 'cause, as I made out, he'd killed his uncle, they said--I doesn't know but he'd eaten him, too--anyhow, I see'd him eat as much of a fat hog, raw, as ud sarve out half the watch--so the fittish-man tells him there's nought for it but to please the fittish. What that wor, blowed if I knew; but no sooner sundown nor they hauls me out o' my hut, claps me in a stinking hole as dark as pitch, and leaves me till mornin', as I thought. Jist about the end o' the mid-watch, there kicks up a rumpus like close-reef taups'ls in a hurricane--smash goes the sticks over me; I seed the stars, and a whole lot o' strange blacks with long spears, a-fightin', yellin', tramplin', an' twistin' in the midst of the huts--and off I'm hoisted in the gang, on some feller's back or other, at five knots the hour, through the woods--till down we all comes in a drove, plash amongst the very swamps close by the river, where, lo an' behold! I makes out a schooner afloat at her anchor. The next thing I feels a red-hot iron come hiss across my shoulders, so I jumped up and sang out like blazes, in course. But, my flippers bein' all fast, 'twas no use; I got one shove as sent me head-foremost into a long canoe, with thirty or forty niggers stowed away like cattle, and out the men pulls for the schooner. A big bright fire there was ashore, astarn of us, I mind, where they heated the irons, with a chap in a straw hat sarvin' out rum to the wild blacks from a cask; and ye saw the pitch-black woods behind, with the branches shoved out red in the light on it, and a bloody-like patch on the water under a clump o' sooty mangroves. An', Jack, if I didn't feel the life sick in me, that time--for, d' ye see, I hears nothin' spoke round me but cussed French, Portingeese, an' nigger tongue--'specially when it jist lighthens on me what sort on a case I were in; an' thinks I, "I'm took for a _slave_, arter all!--an' be hanged, but I left that 'ere 'farnal mushroom a-lying under that there tree yonder!" I begins for to think o' matters an' things, an' about Bristol quay, an' my old mother, an' my sister as was at school--mind ye, mate, all atwixt shovin' off the mangroves an' coming bump agen the schooner's side--an' blow me if I doesn't turn to, an' nigh-hand commences for to blubber--when jist then what does I catch sight on, by the lantern over the side, but that 'ere villain of a fittish-man, an' what's more, King Chimbey hisself, both hauled in the net. And with that I gives a chuckle, as ye may suppose, an' no mistake; for thinks I, so far as consarns myself, this here can't last long, blow me, for sooner or later I'll find some un to speak to,