a couple of sharks swimming up
and down in front of the town, and every now and then they would come
up and show themselves. They were the first sharks we had ever seen.

Rectus was worked up about the Indians. We had been told that, while a
great many of the chiefs and braves imprisoned here were men known to
have committed crimes, still there were others who had done nothing
wrong, and had been captured and brought here as prisoners, simply
because, in this way, the government would have a good hold on their
tribes.

Rectus thought this was the worst kind of injustice, and I agreed with
him, although I didn't see what we were going to do about it.

On our way home we met Rectus's Minorcan; he was a queer old fellow.

"Hello!" said he, when he saw Rectus. "Have you been out catching
clams?"

We stopped and talked a little while about the sharks, and then the old
man asked Rectus why he wanted to know, that morning, whether he was a
Minorcan or not.

"I just wanted to see one," said Rectus, as if he had been talking of
kangaroos or giraffes. "I've been thinking a good deal about them, and
their bold escape from slavery, and their----"

"Slavery!" sung out the old man. "We were never slaves! What do you mean
by that? Do you take us for niggers?"

He was pretty mad, and I don't wonder, if that was the way he understood
Rectus, for he was just as much a white man as either of us.

"Oh no!" said Rectus. "But I've heard all about you, and that tyrant
Turnbull, and the way you cast off his yoke. I mean your fathers, of
course."

"I reckon you've heard a little too much, young man," said the Minorcan.
"Somebody's been stuffin' you. You'd better get a hook and line, and go
out to catch clams."

"Why, you don't understand me!" cried Rectus. "I honor you for it."

The old man looked at him and then at me, and then he laughed. "All
right, bub," said he. "If ever you want to hire a boat, I've got one. My
name is Menendez. Just ask for my boat at the club-house wharf." And
then he went on.

"That's all you get for your sympathy with oppressed people," said
Rectus. "They call you bub."

"Well, that old fellow isn't oppressed," I said; "and if any of his
ancestors were, I don't suppose he cares about remembering it. We ought
to hire his boat some time."

That evening we took a walk along the sea-wall. It was a beautiful
starlight night, and a great many people were walking about. When we got
down near the fort,--wh