out again under the same owners[A], I should have all these against me. To
which he added that, if I were to make a point of taking up the cause of
those whom I found complaining of hard usage in this trade, I must take up
that of nearly all who sailed in it; for that he only knew of one captain
from the port in the Slave-trade, who did not deserve long ago to be
hanged. Hence I should get into a labyrinth of expense, and difficulty, and
uneasiness of mind, from whence I should not easily find a clew to guide
me.

[Footnote A: The seamen of the Alfred informed the purser of their ill
usage. Matthew Pyke not only showed him his arm and his back, but
acquainted him with the murder of Charles Horseler, stating that he had the
instrument of his death in his possession. The purser seemed more alive to
this than to any other circumstance, and wished to get it from him. Pyke,
however, had given it to me. Now what will the reader think, when he is
informed that the purser, after all this knowledge of the captain's
cruelty, sent him out again, and that he was the same person, who was
purser of the Brothers, and who had also sent out the captain of that ship
a second time, as has been related, notwithstanding his barbarities in
former voyages!!]

This advice, though it was judicious, and founded on a knowledge of
Law-proceedings, I found it very difficult to adopt. My own disposition was
naturally such, that whatever I engaged in I followed with more than
ordinary warmth. I could not be supposed therefore, affected and interested
as I then was, to be cool and tranquil on this occasion. And yet what would
my worthy friend have said, if in this first instance I had opposed him? I
had a very severe struggle in my own feelings on this account. At length,
though reluctantly, I obeyed. But as the passions, which agitate the human
mind, when it is greatly inflamed, must have a vent somewhere, or must work
off as it were, or in working together must produce some new passion or
effect; so I found the rage, which had been kindling within me, subsiding
into the most determined resolutions of future increased activity and
perseverance. I began now to think that the day was not long enough for me
to labour in. I regretted often the approach of night, which suspended my
work, and I often welcomed that of the morning, which restored me to it.
When I felt myself weary, I became refreshed by the thought of what I was
doing; when disconsolate, I