“Free!  Not half so free as that slave boy who stands behind your chair.  Why, he is a merchant; and whether he lives upon a scale of princely expenditure, whether wholesale or retail, banker, or proprietor of a chandler’s shop, he is a speculator.  Anxious days and sleepless nights await upon speculation.  A man with his capital embarked, who may be a beggar on the ensuing day, cannot lie down upon roses:  he is the slave of Mammon.  Who are greater slaves than sailors?  So are soldiers, and all who hold employ under government.  So are politicians:  they are slaves to their tongues; for opinions once expressed, and parties once joined, at an age when reason is borne down by enthusiasm, and they are fixed for life against their conscience, and are unable to follow its dictates without blasting their characters.  Courtiers are slaves, you must acknowledge.”

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Kingston, “but I perceive that you make no distinction between those enthralled by their own consent, and against it.”

“It is a distinction without a difference,” replied the planter, “even if it were so, which it is not, but in particular cases.  The fact is, society enthrals us all.  We are forced to obey laws, to regard customs, to follow the fashion of the day, to support the worthless by poor-rates, to pay taxes, and the interest of a debt which others have contracted, or we must go to prison.”

“And the princes and rulers of the land—­do you include them?” inquired Newton.

“They are the greatest of all; for the meanest peasant has an advantage over the prince in the point on which we most desire to be free—­that of the choice in his partner in life.  He has none, but must submit to the wishes of his people, and trammelled by custom, must take to his bed one whom he cannot take to his heart.”

“Well, by your account, there is nobody free, unless it be Liberty herself.”

“Why, sir,” rejoined the planter, “to prove to you that I was correct when I asserted that there was no such thing in this world as liberty, paradoxical as it may appear, Liberty is but Liberty when in bondage.  Release her, and she ceases to exist; she has changed her nature and character; for Liberty unrestrained becomes Licentiousness.”

“Well,” said Mr Kingston, laughing with the rest at this curious remark, “as you have now arrived at your climax, with your leave we will go to bed.”

“Have I convinced you?” demanded the planter, taking the tumbler from his lips.

“At least you have silenced us.  Now, if you please, we will put on our coats and retire to our apartments.”

“Yes—­do,” replied the other, who was not very steady; “do—­or you may check the perspiration.  Boy Jack, where are the lights?  Good-night, gentlemen.”

The negro led the way to a large room with two beds in it, for Newton and the master of the brig.  Having first pointed out to them that there was a jug of sangoree, “suppose gentlemen thirsty,” he wished them good-night, and left the room.