n-of-war, for example, the Quaker sees a chance of boarding, and,
coming up to Singleton, says very calmly, 'Friend, what dost thou mean?
why dost thou not visit thy neighbour in the ship, the door being open
for thee?' This ingenious gentleman always preserves as much humanity as
is compatible with his peculiar position, and even prevents certain
negroes from being tortured into confession, on the unanswerable ground
that, as neither party understands a word of the other's language, the
confession will not be to much purpose. 'It is no compliment to my
moderation,' says Singleton, 'to say, I was convinced by these reasons;
and yet we had all much ado to keep our second lieutenant from murdering
some of them to make them tell.'

Now, this humane pirate takes up pretty much the position which De Foe's
villains generally occupy in good earnest. They do very objectionable
things; but they always speak like steady, respectable Englishmen, with
an eye to the main chance. It is true that there is nothing more
difficult than to make a villain tell his own story naturally; in a way,
that is, so as to show at once the badness of the motive and the excuse
by which the actor reconciles it to his own mind. De Foe is entirely
deficient in this capacity of appreciating a character different from
his own. His actors are merely so many repetitions of himself placed
under different circumstances and committing crimes in the way of
business, as De Foe might himself have carried out a commercial
transaction. From the outside they are perfect; they are evidently
copied from the life; and Captain Singleton is himself a repetition of
the celebrated Captain Kidd, who indeed is mentioned in the novel. But
of the state of mind which leads a man to be a pirate, and of the
effects which it produces upon his morals, De Foe has either no notion,
or is, at least, totally incapable of giving us a representation. All
which goes by the name of psychological analysis in modern fiction is
totally alien to his art. He could, as we have said, show such dramatic
power as may be implied in transporting himself to a different position,
and looking at matters even from his adversary's point of view; but of
the further power of appreciating his adversary's character he shows not
the slightest trace. He looks at his actors from the outside, and gives
us with wonderful minuteness all the details of their lives; but he
never seems to remember that within the mechan