hrow up my cap in the
air and cry '_Vive la Republique!_' just to witness the scene that would
follow.' With all these boastings, it was not very difficult to restrain
my friend's ardour, and to induce him to defer his invasion of England
to a more fitting occasion, so that at last he was fain to content
himself with a sneering commentary on all around him; and in this
amiable spirit we descended into a very dirty cellar to eat our first
dinner on shore.

The place was filled with sailors, who, far from indulging in the
well-known careless gaiety of their class, seemed morose and sulky,
talking together in low murmurs, and showing unmistakable signs of
discontent and dissatisfaction. The reason was soon apparent; the
pressgangs were out to take men off to reinforce the blockading force
before Genoa, a service of all others the most distasteful to a seaman.
If Santron at first was ready to flatter himself into the notion that
very little persuasion would make these fellows take part against
England, as he listened longer he saw the grievous error of the opinion,
no epithet of insult or contempt being spared by them when talking of
France and Frenchmen. Whatever national animosity prevailed at that
period, sailors enjoyed a high preeminence in feeling. I have heard that
the spirit was encouraged by those in command, and that narratives
of French perfidy, treachery, and even cowardice, were the popular
traditions of the sea-service. We certainly could not controvert the
old adage as to 'listeners,' for every observation and every anecdote
conveyed a sneer or an insult on our country. There could be no reproach
in listening to these unresented, but Santron assumed a most indignant
air, and more than once affected to be overcome by a spirit of
recrimination. What turn his actions might have taken in this wise I
cannot even guess, for suddenly a rush of fellows took place up the
ladder, and in less than a minute the whole cellar was cleared, leaving
none but the hostess and an old lame waiter along with ourselves in the
place.

'You've got a protection, I suppose, sirs,' said the woman, approaching
us; 'but still I'll advise you not to trust to it overmuch; they're in
great want of men just now, and they care little for law or justice when
once they have them on the high-seas.'

'We have no protection,' said I; 'we are strangers here, and know no
one.'

'There they come, sir; that's the tramp,' cried the woman; 'there's