f resenting some supposed satiric reflection.

"And these others, these Ashantee conjurors here," continued Captain
Delano, rather uneasily eying the brandished steel of the
hatchet-polishers, where, in spots, it had been brought to a shine,
"this seems a curious business they are at, Don Benito?"

"In the gales we met," answered the Spaniard, "what of our general cargo
was not thrown overboard was much damaged by the brine. Since coming
into calm weather, I have had several cases of knives and hatchets daily
brought up for overhauling and cleaning."

"A prudent idea, Don Benito. You are part owner of ship and cargo, I
presume; but none of the slaves, perhaps?"

"I am owner of all you see," impatiently returned Don Benito, "except
the main company of blacks, who belonged to my late friend, Alexandro
Aranda."

As he mentioned this name, his air was heart-broken; his knees shook;
his servant supported him.

Thinking he divined the cause of such unusual emotion, to confirm his
surmise, Captain Delano, after a pause, said: "And may I ask, Don
Benito, whether--since awhile ago you spoke of some cabin
passengers--the friend, whose loss so afflicts you, at the outset of the
voyage accompanied his blacks?"

"Yes."

"But died of the fever?"

"Died of the fever. Oh, could I but--"

Again quivering, the Spaniard paused.

"Pardon me," said Captain Delano, lowly, "but I think that, by a
sympathetic experience, I conjecture, Don Benito, what it is that gives
the keener edge to your grief. It was once my hard fortune to lose, at
sea, a dear friend, my own brother, then supercargo. Assured of the
welfare of his spirit, its departure I could have borne like a man; but
that honest eye, that honest hand--both of which had so often met
mine--and that warm heart; all, all--like scraps to the dogs--to throw
all to the sharks! It was then I vowed never to have for fellow-voyager
a man I loved, unless, unbeknown to him, I had provided every requisite,
in case of a fatality, for embalming his mortal part for interment on
shore. Were your friend's remains now on board this ship, Don Benito,
not thus strangely would the mention of his name affect you."

"On board this ship?" echoed the Spaniard. Then, with horrified
gestures, as directed against some spectre, he unconsciously fell into
the ready arms of his attendant, who, with a silent appeal toward
Captain Delano, seemed beseeching him not again to broach a theme so
unspeakabl