“Now, tell me, do you think you were right in being so revengeful, when you were in your own country?” inquired Jack.

“I tink so den, Massa Easy; sometimes when my blood boil, I tink so now—oder time, I no know what to tink—but when a man love very much, he hate very much.”

“But you are now a Christian, Mesty.”

“I hear all that your people say,” replied the negro, “and it make me tink—I no longer believe in fetish, anyhow.”

“Our religion tells us to love our enemies.”

“Yes, I heard parson say dat—but den what we do with our friends, Massa Easy?”

“Love them too.”

“I no understand dat, Massa Easy—I love you, because you good, and treat me well—Mr. Vigors, he bully, and treat me ill—how possible to love him? By de power, I hate him, and wish I had him skull. You tink little Massa Gosset love him?”

“No,” replied Jack, laughing, “I’m afraid that he would like to have his skull as well as you, Mesty—but at all events we must try and forgive those who injure us.”

“Then, Massa Easy, I tink so too—too much revenge very bad—it very easy to hate, but not very easy to forgive—so I tink that if a man forgive, he had more soul in him, he more of a man.”

“After all,” thought Jack, “Mesty is about as good a Christian as most people.”

“What that?” cried Mesty, looking out of the cabin window—“Ah! d—n drunken dogs—they set fire to tent.”

Jack looked, and perceived that the tent on shore was in flames.

“I tink these cold nights cool their courage anyhow,” observed Mesty—“Massa Easy, you see they soon ask permission to come on board.”

Jack thought so too, and was most anxious to be off, for, on looking into the lockers in the state—room, he had found a chart of the Mediterranean, which he had studied very attentively—he had found out the rock of Gibraltar, and had traced the Harpy’s course up to Cape de Gatte, and thence to Tarragona—and, after a while had summoned Mesty to a cabinet council.

“See, Mesty,” said Jack, “I begin to make it out; here is Gibraltar, and Cape de Gatte, and Tarragona—it was hereabout we were when we took the ship, and, if you recollect, we had passed Cape de Gatte two days before we were blown off from the land, so that we had gone about twelve inches, and had only four more to go.”

“Yes, Massa Easy, I see all dat.”

“Well, then, we were blown off shore by the wind, and must of course have come down this way; and here you see are three little islands, called Zaffarine Islands, and with no names of towns upon them, and therefore uninhabited; and you see they lie just like the islands we are anchored among now—we must be at the Zaffarine Islands—and only six inches from Gibraltar.”

“I see, Massa Easy, dat all right—but six debbelish long inches.”