1‘ .
t .
t
_i "’5-(57.1.-.rv» 1’ ‘T-
, ted cotters.
A i . _, ‘ .
A PARAPI-1 RASE-—rUaLrsnan BY nnqunsr-.
There _is'not in the whole world a pleasure more
sweep‘ _
Than to be one in the circle who socially meet,
With the friends ofmy bosom,the girl of my heart,
And yet oh how paitiful, how painful to‘p'art.
Yet ’twas not that nature had giv’n to the face
A Sfnflolliliess of feature, nor sweetness of grace :
‘Twas not the soft magic ofbeauty or air,
0 no! it was something far more pleasing there.
’Twas that, that the soul and the sentiment spoke,
An indulgence of mirth, with freedom ofjoke,
VVhich knew how the blest charms of nature im-
prove,
VVith a sweet interchange of affection and love.
Sweet circle of friendship l how dearly I pt'iz_e
Thy genuine pleasures, when free from disguise ;
VVhen the cares which we feel in this cold world
shall cease, ‘
And our hearts are reciprocally mingled in peace.
....-=e;....-*--£=. #24 £-=_-_-s_'-re
FROM aLz\cr<woon‘s MAGAZINE.
THE SJ‘/’0.7V S'1'0I£.-»lI.
In Summer there is a betiuty in the wildest
moors of Scotland, and the way-faring man who
"sits down for an hour’s rest beside some little
‘ spring that fiuvvs unheard through the brightened
moss and the water-cresses, feels his weary heart
revived by the silent. serene and solitary prospect
On every sideswret sunny spots of verdut e smile
towards him, from among the melancholy heath-
cr-uucxpectedly in the solitude a stray sheep, it
may be with its lambs, startles half alarmed at his
.moaionless figure-—itisccts large, bright and beau-i
tiful, come ca:-cerrng by him through the desert
air--nor does the Wild ,_ want its own sougsters,
the grey linnet, fond of-the blooming furze, and
DOW and then the latk mounting up to heaven a-
bove the summit of the green pastoral hills.-—
During such a sunshihy hour, the lonely cottage
on till: waste, seems to stand on a paratlisc ; and
as he rises to pursue his journey, the traveller
looks bvck and tilesses it with mingled emotion of
delight and envy. 1 here, thinks he, abide the
children of irinocence and contentment, the two
most benign spirits tl]uE=l\."alCl‘l over human life.
But other lliongjlis may arise, in the mind of
him -.-. he may chance tojourney through the same
_scr.iie'iii the desolation of V‘/inter‘. The cold
bleak sky girdles the moor‘, as with a bolt of ice—
life is frozen in air and on earth. The silence is
not of repose but of extinction--and should a soli-
tary_liumau dwelling catch his eye halfburietl in
the show, he is ‘sad for the sake of them whose
destiny it is to abide far from the cheerful haunts
of men, shrouded up in melancholy, by poverty
held in thrall, or pining away in unvisited or uu.
tended disease. .
But in truth, the heart of human life is but im-
perfectly (llsco\'cl'cd from its countenance ; and
before we can know \'»h;.t't the summer, or what
the winter‘ yields for enjoyment or trial to our
country’s peasantry, we must have cnnversed with
them in the fields and by their fire-sides; and
make ourselves acquainted with the powerful min-
istry of the seasons not over those objects alone
that feed the eye and the imagin-..tion, but over
all the incidents, occupations, and events, that
modify, or constitute the existence of the poor.
{Two cottagers, husband and wife, were sitting
by their cheerful peat fire one winter evening in
afsmall lonely but on the edge ofa wide moor, at
some miles distance from any other habitation.
There had been, at one time, several huts ofthe
same kind erected close together, and inhabited
by families of the poorest class of day-labmrrers,
‘ who found work’ amongst the distant farms and
at night returned to their dwellings, which were
rent free, with their little gardens, won from the
waste.--But one family after another had dw_ind-
led away, and the turf-built huts had all fallen in-
to ruins, except one wbiclt had altvays stood in the
centre.ot' ttrisglittle solitary village, with its suin-
zner walls covered with the richest honey suckles,
and in the midst of the brightest of all the gar-
dens. It now alone sent up its smoke into the
clear sky--arid its little end window, now lighted
_,1.rp, was the only ground star that shunt: towards
the belated traveller, if any such ventured to cross
on a winter night, a scene so dreary and desolate.
The affairs of the small household were all arran-
ged for the night. The little rough policy that
had drawn in a sledge, from the heart of the
Black.‘\/loss, the fuel, by whose blaze the cotters
'were now sitting cheer-ily and the little Highland
cow, whose milk enabled them to live, were
standing amicably together, under cover of a rude
shed, of which one side was formed by the peat-
stack, and which was at once byre, stable and hen-
roost. Within, the clock ticked cheerfully as the
fire-light reached its old-wood case, across the
yellow sanded floor—-and a small round table stood
between, covered with a snow-white cloth, on
which were milk and oat-cakes, the morning‘, mid-
day and evening meal of these frugal and conten-
The spades and the rnattocks of the
laborer were collected into one corner and shou -
ed that the succeeding day was the blessed Sab-
bath, while on the wooden chirnhcy-piece wasseen
lying an open Bible, ready for family worship.
' The father and mother were sitting together
without opening their lips, but with their hearts
overflowing’ with happiness, for on this Saturday
night they were, every minute expecting to hear
at the latch, the hand of their only daughter a
maiden of about fifteen years, who was at service
with a farmer over the hills. This dutiful child
was, as they knew to bring home to them, ‘ het-
sair worn penny fee,’ a pittance which, in the
beauty of her girl-hood, she earned singing at her
work, and which in the benignity of that sinless
time, she would pour withtears into the bosoms
she so dearly loved. Forty shillings a year were
all the wages of sweet Hannah Lee ;’but though
she wore at her labour at tortoise-shell comb in
her auburn hair, and though in the kirk none were
more becomingly arrayed than she, one half, at
least, of her earnings were to be reserved for the
holiest of all purposes, and her kind innocent
heart. was gladdened when she looked on the lit-
tle purse that was, on the lung expected Satur-
day-yriignt to be taken from her bosom, and put,
with a blessing, into the hand of her father, now
growing old at his daily toils.
(Jf such a child the -happy ‘cutters, ,\_tge,ge‘»,:;think-
ing in their silence. And wellrnighl ’ihe"'y' cal-
led happy. It is at that swe“’e‘t'se3ason-tlratfillal
' piety is most beautiful. I
Their own Hannah had just‘ outgrown
unthinking gladness of childhood, but had not
reached that time when inevitable-selfishness mix,-
es with the pure current of love. fihe had begun
to think on what her affectionate heart had felt so
long; and when she looked on the pale lace and
bending frame of her mother, on the deepning
wrinkles and whitening hairs of her father, often
would she lie weeping for their sakes on her mid-
night bed-and wish that she was beside them as
she slept, and that she might kneel down and kiss
them, and mention their names over and over a-
gain in her prayer. The parents whom beiore
she had only loved, her expanding heart now also
venerated. \’Vith gushing tenderness was now
mingled holy fear and an awful rerererrce. She
had discerned the relation in which she. an only
child, stood to her poor parents, now that they
were getting old, and there was not a passage in
l‘}ci'lpltll‘€, that spake of parents or children, from
Joseph sold into slavery, to Mary weeping below
the Cross, that was not written, ‘never-to be oblit-
erated, on her nncorrupted heart.
The father rose from his seat, and went to the‘
door to look out into the night.--"'l‘lie stars were
in thousands—and the full moon was risen.--It
was almost light as day, and the snow that seem
ed encrusted with diamonds, was so hardened by
the frost, that his daughter’s homeward fcctwonltl
leave no mark on its surface. He had been toil-
ing all day among the distant Castle-woods. and
stiff and wearicd as he now was, he was almost
tempted to go and meet his child, but his wifc’s
kind voice dissuaded him, and returning to the
fireside, they began to talk of her whose image had
been so long passing before them in their s=letice.
She isgrowing up to be abonny lassie, said her
mother, her long and weary attendance on me dur-
ing my fever last spring, kept her down a while
--but now she is sprouting fast and fair as a liily,
and may the blessing of God be as dew and as
sunshine to our sweet flower all the days she
bloometh upon this earth. Aye, Agnes, replied
the father, ‘ we are not very old yet, though we
are getting older, and a few years will bring her
to u-om-.tn’s estate, and what thing on this earth.
think ye, human or brute, would ever think of in-"
juring her? Why I was speaking about her yes-
terday to the minister as he was riding by, and
he told me that. none answered at the examination
in the kirk so well as Hannah —Poor thing, I well
think she has the Bible by heart-—indeed she has
read but ‘little else—ouly some stories, too true
ones of the blessed martyrs, and some of the auld
songs of Scotland, in which there is nothing but
what is good, and which, to be sure, she sings.
God bless her, sweeter than any laverock.’ ‘ Aye,
were we both to die this very night, she would be
happy—-not that she would forget us, all the days
of her life. But have you not seen, husband, that
God always makes the orphan happy? None so
little lonesome as they ! They come to make
triends o’ all the bonny and sweet things in the
world around them, and all the kind beams in the
world make friends 0’ them. They come to know
that God is more especially the father 0’ them on
earth whose parents he has taken up to Heaven
and, therelorc, it is that they for whom so many
have lears, fear not at all for tliemselves, but go
dancing and singing along, like children Wllnat‘
parents are both alive! VVoulo it not be so with
our dear Hannah ? So douce and thoughtful a
child—but never sad or uiisr:rablc—-ready it is
true. to shed tears for little, but as ready to dry
them up and break out into smiles! I know not
why it is husbtrnd, but this night my heart warms
towards her beyond usual. The moon and stars
are at this moment looking down upon her, and
she looking up to them, as she is gliding home-
wards over the snow. I wish she was but here.
and taking the comb out 0’ her bonny hair and
letting it fall down in clusters before the fire, to
melt away the craneruch 1’
While the parents were thus speaking oftheit
daughter, aloud sugh of wind came suddenly o-
ver the cottage, and the leafless at-h tree under
whose shelter it stood, creaked and groaned dis-
mally, as it passed by. The l'.tti.er started up and
going again to the door, saw that a sudden change
had come over the face of the night. The moon
had nearly disappeared, and was just visible in a
dim yellow, glimnicring in the sky. All the re-
mote stars were obscured, and only one or two
faintly seemed in the sky. that half an hour before
was perfectly cloudlcss, but that was now driven
with rack, and mist, and sleet, the whole atmos-
phereberng in commotion. He stood for a mo-
ment to observe the direction of this uraforseen
storm, and then hastily asked for his staff. ‘I
thought I had been.mot‘e weather-wise—A storm
is coming down from the .()air'nhraeliaws,artd we
shall lime nothing buta wild night.’ He then
wmstled on his dog—-an old sheep dog too old
for his former labours, and set off to meet his
daughter, in ho might then, for aught he knew, be
crossing the black-rrross.
The mother accompanied her husband to the
door, and took a long it rghtened look at the angry
sky. As she kept gazing it became still more ter-
rible. The last shred ofblue was €XllDgUi$lle(l-~
the wind went whirling in roaring eddies, and
great flakes of snow circled about in the middle
of the air, whether drilled up from the ground,
or driven down from the clouds, the fear-stricken
mother knew not, but she at least knew, that it
seemed a night of danger, despair and death.
‘ ‘ Lord have mercy on as James, what will be-
come of our poor bairn 1’ But her husband heard
not her words, for he was already out of sight in
the snow storm, and she was left to the terror of
her own soul in that lonesome cottage. V’ A
Little Hannah Lee had left her master’s house,
soon as the rim of the great moon was seen by her
eyes, that had been long anxiously watching it
from the window, rising like ajoyful dream over
lhe moufllailwopsg and all by her self she tripped
along beneath the beauty of the silent heaven.
brill as she kept ascending and descending the
knolls that'lay in the bosom ofthe glen, she song
to herself a song, a hymn, or a psalm, without
the acconipanimént of the streams. now all silent
in the frost; and ever and anon she stopped to
try to count the stars that lay in some more beau-
tiful part of the sky, or gazed on the constella-
tions that she knew, and called them in her joy,
by the names they bore 'among'tl’ie shepherds.
"There were none to hear her voiceand see her
smiles, but the ear and eye of Providence._ As
on she glided and took her looks from Heaven,
she Saw her own little fire-side—her parents nail.-
ingfor lite‘ arrival--the bible opened forworslrip--
TV
..~ . .3
its mirror hanging by the window, in which to
braid her hair by the morning light—-her bed
- prepared for her by her mother's hand-—the prim-_
roses in the garden peeping through the snow——
old Tray, who ever welcomed her home with his
dim white eyes--the poney,—..and the cow, friends
all and inmates of that happy household. So step-
ped she along while the snow diamonds, glittered
round her feet and the frost wove a wreath of lu-
cid pearls around her temples. -
She had now reached the edge of the Black-
moss which lay mid-way between her master's and
her father’s dwelling, when she heard a loud
noise coming down Glen-Scrae, and in a few se-
conds, she felt on her face some ‘flakes of snow.
She felt no fears 5 but she ceased.lrer‘ song ; and
had there been a human eye to look upon her
there, it might‘ have seen a shadow on her face.
She continued on her course and felt bolder and’
bolder every step that brought her nearer to her
parents house. But the -snow storm liar] now
reached the Black moss and the broad litre of-light
that had laid in the di.cction of her hoinevvas
soon swallowed up;-..»-and the child was in utter
darkness. She saw no;.hin,; but the flakes of
snow, interminably intermingled‘, and furiously
waited in the air, close-Vt_o_ her head ; she heard
nothing but one rild, fierce, fitftil howl. The
cold became iii1r:Ils(:, and her little feet and hands,
it ere fast be-ting benunbed into itisensibility.
‘ it is a fearful chan,.;e,’ muttered the child to
hetjsell, but s.it5 she did not fi~-ar, for she had been
born in a moorland cottage. and lived all her days
among ihe lrtddsltips of the hills.-— What will be-
come of the poor sheep, thought she--but still
she scarce illotlgllt of her own danger, for inno-
cence, and youth, and joy. are slow to think of
aught evil befalling themselves, and thinking be-
nignly of all living things, forget their own fear
in the pity of other’s $ori‘nw=r.--At last she could
no longer discern a single mark on the snow eith-
er of human steps, or ofsheep-tracks, or the foot
print of a wild fowl. Sttdtienly, too. she felt out
of breath and exlmsisted--at1’tl shedding tears for
herself, at last sunk down in the snow.
It was now that her heart began to quake for
fear. she remembered stories of shepherds lost
in the snt-\~—of a mother and child frozen to
death on this very moor, and in a moment she
knew that she was to die. l-litter-ly did the poor
child weep, for death was terrible to her, \\ ho,
though poor, enjoyed the bright little world of
youth and innocence. The skies ol htaven were
dearer than she knew to her, so were the flowers
of earth. She had been happy at her wt»rk—-hap-
py in her sleep—happy in the kirk on the Sab-
bath. A thousand thoughts had the solitary child.
and in her heart was a spring of happiness pure
and undisturbed as any fouitt that sparkled unseen
all the year through in some _quiet nook among
the pastoral hills. But alas I there was to be an
end of all tlris—-she was to be frozen to death-
and lie dead till the thaw might come; and then
her father uould find her body, and carryit away
to be buried in the kirk-yard.
The tears were frozen on her checks, as soon
as shed—-and scarcely had her little hands strength
enough to clasp themselves together, as the tho’t
of an overwhelming and merciful Lord came a-
cross her heart. Then indeed, the fears of this
religious child were calmed, and she heard with-
out terror. the plovet-’s wailing cry. and deep
boom of the bittern sounding in the moss. ‘ 11
~ ill repeat the Lord’s prayer.’ And drawing her
plaid more closely round her, she whispered be-
heath ifs ineffectual cover; ‘Our father which
all. in heaven, hollowed be thy name--thy king-
dom come—-thy will be done on earth as it is in
heaven.’ Had human aid been within fifty yards.
it could have been of no avail—eyc could not see
iier—-ear could not hear her in that howling dark-—
ness. But that low prayer was heard in the centre
ofeternity; and that little tsinless child was lying in
the snow beneath the all-seeing cye of God.
(CONCLUSION NEXT WEEK.)
-43§®— .
SLAVE TRADE.
[The follotting article is extracted from the
76th Number of the Edinburgh Review, and con-
tains an outline of the information collected by a
committee ofthe House of Commons in May last
on the subject oftlre Slave Trade. The facts here
related have been published bt:foi'e,bul never were
the affecting and blood~chilling scenes presented
in so distressing and mournful a view.]
The French ship Le Rodent‘, oftwo hundred
tons burden. sailed from the Port of Havre forthe
river Calabar on the coast ofAfr ica, where she ar-
rived after a prosperous voyage, and anchored at
Bonny on the fourteenth of March.--Her crew, of
twenty-two men, had enjoyed perfect health ; and
this continued during her stay of three weeks,
while she received on board one hundred and six-
ty negroes, with whom she set sail for Guada-
loupe on the sixth of April. No traces of any e-
pidc-my had been perceived among the natives;
the cargo (as it is called,) no more than the crew,
exhibited any symptoms ofdisease ; and the first
fortnight of the voyage to the \Vest Indies prom-
iseda continuance of all the success which had
seemed to attend the earlier stages of the expedi-
tion. 'l'he vessel had now approached the line,
when a frightful malady broke out. At first the
symptoms were slight, little more thana redness
of the eyes; and this being confined to ‘the ne-
groes. \\ as ascribed to the want of air in the hold.
and the narrow space between the decks, into
which so large a number of these unhappy beings
were crowded, -sonrething, too, was imagined to
arise from the scarcity of water, which had thus
early begun to be felt, and pressed chiefly upon
the slaves ; for they wereallowed onlv eight oun-
ces, which was soon reduced to halfa wine glass
perday. By the surgeon's advice,_ therefore,
they were suffered, for the first time, to breathe
the purer air upon the deck, wlre:-e they were
brought in sticcessioh; but many of these poor
creatures being affected with that mighty desire
of returning to their native country, which is_ so
strong as to form a disease, termed Nostalgia by
the physicians, no sooner found they were at lib-
erry, than they threw themselves into the sea,
l0Cl£t‘(l.lD each otlier_’s arms, in the vain hope,
known to prevail among them, of thus being
swiftly transported again to their homes. VVith
the view of counteracting this propensity, the
Captain ordered several who were stopt in the at-
tempt, to beshot. or hanged in the sight of their
companions ; but this terrible example was una-
vailing to deterithem ; and it became necessary,
-5.7
: own little room kept so iibatly for her, with case more, to eoblirie them entirely to the irolclfé
The disease proved to be a virulent ophthalnr it,
and it now spread with irresistible rapidity amcfrilg
the Africans, all of whom were seized ; but it so pr:
attacked the crew—-and its ravages were attendetd,
perhaps its violence exasperated. by a dysenter '3',
which the use of rain water was found to have pran-
duced. A sailor who slept near the hatch co_r_n-
municating with the hold, was the‘ first who caug ‘ht
it--next day a landsman was taken ill-and tin
three days more the captain and almost all flit"
rest oflhe crew, were infected. The resourctes
of medicine were tried in vain--the sufferings (if
the people,and the number ofthe blind were every‘
day increasing—-and they were in constant expec--r
ration that the negroes,_laking advantage oftheir’
numbers, would rise and destroy them. From,
this danger they were only saved by the mtrtuat
hatred of the tribes to which these, unfortunate be-j:
ings-_ belonged, and which it as so fierce and inex'..
ringuishable. that, even under the load of chains
and sickness, they were ready every instant, in
their fury, to tear one another in pieces. But cl.
no-ther alarm now seized the Frenchman--one on,
ly of. their numb: r had escaped-the disease-—an,d
if he too should be stricken blind, they could no
longer hope ever to reach the shore. It had far-
ed so with a Spanish ship_which they had met on
the voyage-—every one of her crew had lost his
eyes--and having thus been obliged to abandm;
all direction of their course, they had pitifully-
entrcated help ofthe French, who could neither
spare any one to their assistancr, nor make room
for them on board their own vessel. , _ .
The consternation now became general and host.
rid—.but it did not preclude calc'tila_tion--for thirty‘
six ofthe negroes having become quite blind, mgr;
2/zrorwn into :/re sea and _drowm=d, in order to s-are
the expense of supporting slates rerrdered unsales -
able, and to obtain grounds for a claim aggainslr
the underwriters. The survivors at length reach.
ed Guadaloupe in the most wretched condition.-
'l‘birty-uine of the negroes had become perfectly
blind-—twelve had lost an eye-—anrJ fourteen were
blemished in a greater or less degree, Of thg
crew-,_ttvelre, including the surgeon, wholly 105,, r
their si-ght—tlre captain and four others became‘
blind of one eye——and_ four were partiallj. injured‘.
Early in the following year the vessel was again
commissioned--and the command being agailn
intrustcd to the same captain, she was once mo ,3
sent to ravage the urrrzffending hamlets of Afrirza,
unappalled by the signal vengeance wihere\vi[.h
Providence had so lately visited these enormous
transgressions. * ”" I -ll‘
In March I820, the Tartar, commanded by S ;j,.
George Collier, boarded a French vessel, calls.‘-d
La Jeune Estelle, ‘of Martinique, after a lo -rig
chase. The_captain admitted that he had be an
engaged in the slave trade, but denied that be is laid
any slaves on board, declaring that he had-been
plundered of his cargo. The English ollice rs,
liowevrr, observed that all the "French seanncn
appeared agitaterl_and alarmed ; and this led to ‘an
examination oflhe hold. Nothing, however, m’.
f<'tu‘Dd 3 and they would havevdcparted with tthe
belief that the captain’s story was a true one, find
not a sailor happened to strike a cash, and hear,
or fancy he heard, a faint voice issue from with.
in.—-The cask was opened, and two negroe girls
were found crowded into it, and in the last stage
of stiffocation. Being brought upon the deck of
the 'l‘artsr, they were recognised by a person who
had before seen them in the possegsion of an A.
mertcan who had died on the coast. An investi.
gation now took place; and it was ascertained
that they formed part ofa cargo of fourteen slaves,
whom the French captain had carried off by an
attack which he and his crew made on the Amer.
1can’s property after his dccease. Still there were
no traces of those (Welt-eslaves--aiitl the French
captain persisted in his story, that he had beer-1‘
plundered bya Spanish pirate, Bu, sudden], 3’,
most horrible idea darted across the minds of ihe
Er.-glish officers and ‘m..,,_..,t,,,. ,-cc,,jp.c,ed mat’
when the chase began, they had seen several cagkg
flwllllg P3-it lhtme whichsfll the time, they could
not account for-—but now, alter the examination
Of (ht: 0'36 which remained on board the Jenner
Estelle,little doubt could be entertained that those .
casks contained the wretched’ slaves. whom the
infernal monster had thus thrown overboard. us '
prevent the detection that would have ensued,
either upon their being found in his ship, or by
their bodies, floating exposed on the sea.
. [The intimate connexion between slave-trad-
ing, and all the atrocities of apiratical life, has
been remarked in every stage of the history of’
Africa. 'l'hese papers furnish recent instances?
of this which but too plainly proves, that met}
are still inured through it, to alfthe worst habitis
of violence and contempt of human life whiclh
marked its earlier periods.]—.S/zeczator.
In the month of September last, the Sielir
Lemoine, master and owner of the schooner l’Ils--
poir, or the Bamboche, left the Mauritius uniier
English colours, shaping his course towards ‘the
eoasts of Madagascar and of the Mozambique..------
He fell in with a Portugueseflvessel, laden t-‘with
"°8"_’e3 alld g°ld‘dU3l. All eagerness and tl';iir'st
of gain seized upon his soul——he run alongsidge of
the Portuguese vessel, and immediately killed
the mate by a musket shot--having boarded,‘ her
he soon obtained possession of the vessel tum;
attacked--and his first questions were addressed
to a Portuguese Colonel, aged 50, ofwhom l,’,, in.
quired where the money and gold dust we,-cl; dg.
posited. After this short interrogatory, Lemoine-
PUl‘P03¢lY Stepped aside. and a man named Rei-
neur, who was behind him, with apistol, lglew.
out the unfortunate Colonel’s b-rains. But tliese.
cr1mes_were not enough to satify their savagel:in-
hl1ma|lllY- '1rhe master of the captured vesieel.
alarmed by the rapid succession of these massa-
cres, threw himsell'overb‘oard, in order to esc.tp.,.
a more immediate death. Vain hope! the my
of Lcmoine and his accomplices was not Vega]-
laY“d- V ‘be? _pLl='sued him in a boat, and having
soon overtaken him, they cut him on the héad.
with asabre. The unfortunate man,-feeling him-
self wounded, caught. hold in order to support
himself, of the boat in which his murderers were,
who, profiting by this last effort of despair, lied‘
the dastard cruelty to run a sword into his thrdgr,
the point of which came out at the side ofthe neck
of their victim ; the bodyidisappeared, and they
returned on board fatigued, but not satiated with
murders! They shut up in the hold the rcinlairifi
ing.I’ortuguese_sailors;-and after having taken-
off the rich cargo, they scuttled the ship, and sue"?
her with the crew-’ they had thus shut up. 1
Norwalk Chronicler