“The average daily number is two, “But to-day just seven have died, Sir,-- “Four men and three women; I wrote the loss “At once in the log as my guide, Sir. “I closely inspected every corpse, “For these rascals have often a notion “To feign themselves dead, in hopes that they “May be thrown away into the ocean. “I took the irons from off the dead, “And according to usual custom “Next morning early into the sea “I bid the sailors thrust ’em. “At once the sharks from out of the waves “Shot up in countless legions; “They love full dearly the niggers’ flesh, “My boarders are they in these regions. “They have follow’d after the track of the ship, “Since we’ve left the land in the distance; “The creatures smell the scent of a corpse “With ravenous snuffling persistence. “In truth ’tis a capital joke to see “How after the bodies they follow; “One takes the head, another a leg, “While the rest the fragments swallow. “Then round the ship contented they roll, “When they’ve finished their eating and crunching “And stare in my face, as if they sought “To thank me for their luncheon.”-- Then spake Van Koek, as he sadly sigh’d, When the Doctor his story had finish’d: “How to lessen the evil? In what way best “Can the rate of the deaths be diminish’d?” The Doctor replied: “Many niggers have died “By their own misconduct stealthy; “Their breath’s so bad, that it poisons the air “In the ship, and makes it unhealthy. “Through lowness of spirits, too, many have died, “And ennui, in this dreary stillness; “I think that air and music and dance “Would soon remove their illness.”-- Then cried Van Koek: “An excellent plan! “Dear Doctor, I utter no slander, “When I say that like Aristotle you’re wise, “The tutor of Alexander. “The Tulip-improvement Society’s head “In the town of Delft may be clever, “But he hasn’t one half of your brains, I’m sure,-- “Your equal I’ve met with never. “Then, music, music! The niggers all “On the deck I’ll see dancing and kicking, “And whosoever won’t join in the fun “Shall receive in reward a good licking.” PART II. On high, from the heaven’s blue canopy, Many thousand stars are gleaming, Like the eyes of fair women, so large and clear, And with locks of yearning beaming. They’re looking down on the ocean below, Whose waves in the distance are curling, In phosphorescent blue vapour all veil’d, While the billows are joyously whirling. Not a sail on the slave-ship is fluttering now, As though without tackle she’s lying; But lanthorns are glimmering high on the decks Where the dance with the music is vying.