* Blow.

Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not only got my health again, but came to know my companions.  They were a rough lot indeed, as sailors mostly are:  being men rooted out of all the kindly parts of life, and condemned to toss together on the rough seas, with masters no less cruel.  There were some among them that had sailed with the pirates and seen things it would be a shame even to speak of; some were men that had run from the king’s ships, and went with a halter round their necks, of which they made no secret; and all, as the saying goes, were “at a word and a blow” with their best friends.  Yet I had not been many days shut up with them before I began to be ashamed of my first judgment, when I had drawn away from them at the Ferry pier, as though they had been unclean beasts.  No class of man is altogether bad, but each has its own faults and virtues; and these shipmates of mine were no exception to the rule.  Rough they were, sure enough; and bad, I suppose; but they had many virtues.  They were kind when it occurred to them, simple even beyond the simplicity of a country lad like me, and had some glimmerings of honesty.

There was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside for hours and tell me of his wife and child.  He was a fisher that had lost his boat, and thus been driven to the deep-sea voyaging.  Well, it is years ago now:  but I have never forgotten him.  His wife (who was “young by him,” as he often told me) waited in vain to see her man return; he would never again make the fire for her in the morning, nor yet keep the bairn when she was sick.  Indeed, many of these poor fellows (as the event proved) were upon their last cruise; the deep seas and cannibal fish received them; and it is a thankless business to speak ill of the dead.

Among other good deeds that they did, they returned my money, which had been shared among them; and though it was about a third short, I was very glad to get it, and hoped great good from it in the land I was going to.  The ship was bound for the Carolinas; and you must not suppose that I was going to that place merely as an exile.  The trade was even then much depressed; since that, and with the rebellion of the colonies and the formation of the United States, it has, of course, come to an end; but in those days of my youth, white men were still sold into slavery on the plantations, and that was the destiny to which my wicked uncle had condemned me.

The cabin-boy Ransome (from whom I had first heard of these atrocities) came in at times from the round-house, where he berthed and served, now nursing a bruised limb in silent agony, now raving against the cruelty of Mr. Shuan.  It made my heart bleed; but the men had a great respect for the chief mate, who was, as they said, “the only seaman of the whole jing-bang, and none such a bad man when he was sober.”  Indeed, I found there was a strange peculiarity about our two mates:  that Mr. Riach was sullen, unkind, and harsh when he was sober, and Mr. Shuan would not hurt a fly except when he was drinking.  I asked about the captain; but I was told drink made no difference upon that man of iron.