“Ere the cry could go aft Steelkilt was shaking one of the backstays leading far aloft to where two of his comrades were standing their mastheads.  They were both Canallers.

“‘Canallers!’ cried Don Pedro.  ’We have seen many whaleships in our harbors, but never heard of your Canallers.  Pardon:  who and what are they?’

“’Canallers, Don, are the boatmen belonging to our grand Erie Canal.  You must have heard of it.’

“’Nay, Senor; hereabouts in this dull, warm, most lazy, and hereditary land, we know but little of your vigorous North.’

“’Aye?  Well then, Don, refill my cup.  Your chicha’s very fine; and ere proceeding further I will tell ye what our Canallers are; for such information may throw side-light upon my story.’

“For three hundred and sixty miles, gentlemen, through the entire breadth of the state of New York; through numerous populous cities and most thriving villages; through long, dismal, uninhabited swamps, and affluent, cultivated fields, unrivalled for fertility; by billiard-room and bar-room; through the holy-of-holies of great forests; on Roman arches over Indian rivers; through sun and shade; by happy hearts or broken; through all the wide contrasting scenery of those noble Mohawk counties; and especially, by rows of snow-white chapels, whose spires stand almost like milestones, flows one continual stream of Venetianly corrupt and often lawless life.  There’s your true Ashantee, gentlemen; there howl your pagans; where you ever find them, next door to you; under the long-flung shadow, and the snug patronizing lee of churches.  For by some curious fatality, as it is often noted of your metropolitan freebooters that they ever encamp around the halls of justice, so sinners, gentlemen, most abound in holiest vicinities.

“‘Is that a friar passing?’ said Don Pedro, looking downwards into the crowded plazza, with humorous concern.

“’Well for our northern friend, Dame Isabella’s Inquisition wanes in Lima,’ laughed Don Sebastian.  ‘Proceed, Senor.’

“‘A moment!  Pardon!’ cried another of the company.  ’In the name of all us Limeese, I but desire to express to you, sir sailor, that we have by no means overlooked your delicacy in not substituting present Lima for distant Venice in your corrupt comparison.  Oh! do not bow and look surprised:  you know the proverb all along this coast—­“Corrupt as Lima.”  It but bears out your saying, too; churches more plentiful than billiard-tables, and for ever open-and “Corrupt as Lima.”  So, too, Venice; I have been there; the holy city of the blessed evangelist, St. Mark!—­St. Dominic, purge it!  Your cup!  Thanks:  here I refill; now, you pour out again.’