ion were nearly exhausted. I could neither
speak nor strike. The mind's passion had almost produced the body's
paralysis. Tears began to fall from my eyes: but still he laughed! At
length, I suddenly flung wide the cabin doors, and leaping below at a
bound, seized from the rack a loaded musket, with which I rushed upon
deck. As soon as the muzzle appeared above the hatchway, my tormentor
sprang over the ship, and by the time I reached the ladder, I found
him on the wharf, surrounded by a laughing and shouting crowd. I shook
my head menacingly at the group; and shouldering my firelock, mounted
guard at the gangway. It was fully a quarter of an hour that I paraded
(occasionally ramming home my musket's charge, and varying the
amusement by an Italian defiance to the jesters), before the tardy
mate made his appearance on the wharf. But what was my consternation,
when I beheld him advance deferentially to my pestilent visitor, and
taking off his hat, respectfully offer to conduct him on board! This
was a great lesson to me in life on the subject of "appearances." The
shabby old individual was no less a personage than the celebrated
William Gray, of Boston, owner of the Galatea and cargo, and
proprietor of many a richer craft then floating on every sea.

But Mr. Gray was a forgiving enemy. As he left the ship that morning,
he presented me fifty dollars, "in exchange," he said, "for the six
destroyed in protection of his property;" and, on the day of my
discharge, he not only paid the wages of my voyage, but added fifty
dollars more to aid my schooling in scientific navigation.

Four years after, I again met this distinguished merchant at the
Marlborough Hotel, in Boston. I was accompanied, on that occasion, by
an uncle who visited the United States on a commercial tour. When my
relative mentioned my name to Mr. Gray, that gentleman immediately
recollected me, and told my venerable kinsman that he never received
such abuse as I bestowed on him in July, 1820! The sting of my teeth,
he declared, still tingled in his hand, while the kicks I bestowed on
his ankles, occasionally displayed the scars they had left on his
limbs. He seemed particularly annoyed, however, by some caustic
remarks I had made about his protuberant stomach, and forgave the
blows but not the language.

My uncle, who was somewhat of a tart disciplinarian, gave me an
extremely black look, while, in French, he demanded an explanation of
my conduct. I knew Mr.