and the delights of robbery
considered as a fine art. Some cynics there are who will tell us that
the only reason we are not all thieves is because we have not pluck
enough; and there must certainly be some fascination, apart from
natural depravity or original sin, to make a man prefer to run
countless risks in an unlawful pursuit sooner than do an honest day's
work. And in this sentence we have the answer: It is precisely the
risk, the uncertainty, the danger, the sense of superior skill and
ingenuity, that attract the adventurous spirit, the passion for sport,
which is implanted in the vast majority of mankind.

Our Moorish robbers had all this, and more, to attract them. Brave and
daring men they had shown themselves often before in their tussles
with the Spaniards, or in their wild sea courses and harryings of
Christian shores, in Sardinia, perhaps, or Provence; but now they
pursued a quest alluring beyond any that had gone before, a righteous
vengeance upon those who had banished them from house and home, and
cast them adrift to find what new anchorage they might in the world--a
Holy War against the slaughterers of their kith and kin, and the
blasphemers of their sacred Faith. What joy more fierce and jubilant
than to run the light brigantine down the beach of Algiers and man her
for a cruise in Spanish waters? The little ship will hold but ten oars
a side, each pulled by a man who knows how to fight as well as to
row--as indeed he must, for there is no room for mere landsmen on
board a _firkata_. But if there be a fair wind off the land, there
will be little rowing; the big lateen sail on her one mast will span
the narrow waters between the African coast and the Balearic Isles,
where a convenient look-out may be kept for Spanish galleons or
perhaps an Italian polacca. Drawing little water, a small squadron of
brigantines could be pushed up almost any creek, or lie hidden behind
a rock, till the enemy hove in sight. Then oars out, and a quick
stroke for a few minutes, and they are alongside their unsuspecting
prey, and pouring in their first volley. Then a scramble on board, a
hand-to-hand scuffle, a last desperate resistance on the poop, under
the captain's canopy, and the prize is taken, the prisoners ironed, a
jury crew sent on board, and all return in triumph to Algiers, where
they are received with acclamations.

Or it might be a descent on the shores of their own beloved Andalusia.
Then the little vessels a