was followed from the play table by two men, witnesses of his good
fortune, who saw that he carried the entire sum on his person; and from
his manner,--a feint I found he often assumed,--they believed him to be
drunk. A row was accordingly organized at the closing of the play, the
lights were extinguished, and a terrible scene of tumult and outrage
ensued, whose sole object was to rob Broughton of his winnings.

After a desperate struggle, in which he received the wound I have
mentioned, he escaped by leaping from a window into the street,--a
feat too daring for his assailants to imitate. The remainder is already
known; and I have only again to ask my reader's indulgent pardon for
this long episode, without which, however, I felt I could not have asked
his companionship on board the "Firefly."

CHAPTER X. THE VOYAGE OUT

The crew of the "Firefly" consisted of twelve persons, natives of almost
as many countries. Indeed, to see them all muster on deck, it was like a
little congress of European rascality,--such a set of hang-dog, sullen,
reckless wretches were they; Halkett, the Englishman, being the only
one whose features were not a criminal indictment, and he, with his
nose split by the slash of a cutlass, was himself no beauty. The most
atrocious of all, however, was a Moorish boy, about thirteen years of
age, called El Jarasch (the fiend), and whose diabolical ugliness did
not belie the family name. His functions on board were to feed and take
care of two young lion whelps which Sir Dudley had brought with him from
an excursion in the interior of Africa. Whether from his blood or the
nature of his occupation, I know not, but I certainly could trace in his
features all the terrible traits of the creatures he tended. The
wide, distended nostrils, the bleared and bloodshot eyes, the large,
full-lipped mouth, drawn back by the strong muscles at its angles, and
the great swollen vessels of the forehead, were developed in him, as
in the wild beasts. He imitated the animals, too, in all his gestures,
which were sudden and abrupt; the very way he ate, tearing his food and
rending it in fragments, like a prey, shewed the type he followed.
His dress was handsome, almost gorgeous; a white tunic of thin muslin
reached to the knees, over which he wore a scarlet cloth jacket,
open, and without sleeves: this was curiously slashed and laced, by a
wonderful tissue of gold thread so delicately traceried as to bear the
most minute