at him now; there he stands, moping all the day long on that
everlasting one leg of his. He turns with disgust from the mouldy corn
before him, and the brackish water in his little trough. He mourns no
doubt his lost companions, literally snatched from him one by one, and
never seen again. But his days of mourning will be few for Mungo, our
black cook, told me yesterday that the word had at last gone forth, and
poor Pedro's fate was sealed. His attenuated body will be laid out upon
the captain's table next Sunday, and long before night will be buried
with all the usual ceremonies beneath that worthy individual's vest. Who
would believe that there could be any one so cruel as to long for the
decapitation of the luckless Pedro; yet the sailors pray every minute,
selfish fellows, that the miserable fowl may be brought to his end. They
say the captain will never point the ship for the land so long as he
has in anticipation a mess of fresh meat. This unhappy bird can alone
furnish it; and when he is once devoured, the captain will come to his
senses. I wish thee no harm, Pedro; but as thou art doomed, sooner or
later, to meet the fate of all thy race; and if putting a period to
thy existence is to be the signal for our deliverance, why--truth to
speak--I wish thy throat cut this very moment; for, oh! how I wish to
see the living earth again! The old ship herself longs to look out upon
the land from her hawse-holes once more, and Jack Lewis said right the
other day when the captain found fault with his steering.

'Why d'ye see, Captain Vangs,' says bold Jack, 'I'm as good a helmsman
as ever put hand to spoke; but none of us can steer the old lady now. We
can't keep her full and bye, sir; watch her ever so close, she will fall
off and then, sir, when I put the helm down so gently, and try like to
coax her to the work, she won't take it kindly, but will fall round off
again; and it's all because she knows the land is under the lee, sir,
and she won't go any more to windward.' Aye, and why should she, Jack?
didn't every one of her stout timbers grow on shore, and hasn't she
sensibilities; as well as we?

Poor old ship! Her very looks denote her desires! how deplorably she
appears! The paint on her sides, burnt up by the scorching sun, is
puffed out and cracked. See the weeds she trails along with her, and
what an unsightly bunch of those horrid barnacles has formed about her
stern-piece; and every time she rises on a sea, she sh