for our Food, 'twas mainly Beans, and
in the morning a Mess of boiled Maize they call Couscoussou, with some
villanous Rank Butter, melted, poured over it. And sometimes the Carcass
of a Sheep that had died of Disease was given to us. But whatever we had
was eaten on our benches, and the Cook of the Galleasse passed up and
down the planking to serve out the Rations. We Ate on our benches, we
Slept on our benches, and some of us died on our benches. There were
Ninety-two Christian Slaves on board the Dey's Galleasse, and Twelve on
my Bench. Being Stroke-oar, I was spared the continual contemplation of
a Man's back in front of me, which other Slaves have told me makes you
so mad that you want to Bite him; but 'twas scarcely less Vexatious to
have behind, as I had, a Chattering Fellow of a Frenchman, for ever
jabbering forth his complaints, and not bearing them with the surly
Dignity of a Briton. I could almost _hear_ this fellow grimace; and he
was never tired of bemoaning his bygone happy state as a Hairdresser's
Journeyman in the Rue St. Honore at Paris. "Why did a Vain Ambition
prompt me to journey from Marseilles to Constantinople?" cried he about
Fifty times a day. "Why did I rely on the protection of my Wife's
Cousin, who gave me recommendations to his brother, Cook-in-Chief to the
Ambassador of France at the court of the Antique Byzantium (_l'antique
Byzance_)? Where is my Wife? Where is my Wife's Cousin? They are
drinking the wine of Ramponneau; they are dancing at the Barriers. Oh,
my Cocotte! where is my Cocotte?"

"Hang your Cocotte!" I used to cry out in a rage. "'Tis bad enough to be
mewed up here like a Bear in a pit, without being worried by a
counfounded Barber's Clerk!"

I had been Tugging at the Oar full Six Months, when a change came over
my lamentable Lot. The Dey of Algiers was at this time one Mahomet
Bassa, a very Bold, Fierce, Fighting Man, but of the meanest Extraction,
and one, indeed, that had been no more than a common Soldier, from which
he had sprung to be, by turns, Oda-Bashee or Lieutenant, Bullock-Bashee
or Captain, Tiah-Bashee or Colonel, and Aga or General. For among these
strange people every valiant and aspiring Soldier,--I wish 'twas so in
England,--though taken yesterday from the Plough, may be considered as
Heir-Apparent to the Throne. Nor are they ashamed of the obscurity of
their birth. This Mahomet Bassa, in a dispute he once had with the
Spanish Consul, said: "My mother sold S