steward and I had to busy ourselves again in
the galley, the _Denver City_ was covered with, a regular pyramid of
canvas, that seemed to extend from the truck to the deck, while she was
racing through the water at a rate of ten knots or more, with a clear
sky above and a moderate sea below, and a steady nor'-nor'-west wind
after us.

At noon, when the captain took the sun and told us forward to "make it
eight bells," we learnt that we were in longitude 8 degrees 15 minutes
West, and latitude 49 degrees 20 minutes North, or well to the westward
of the Scilly Islands, and so really out at sea and entered on our long
voyage to California.

This fact appeared to give no little satisfaction to the crew, who
raised a chorus whenever a rope had to be pulled or a brace taughtened,
the fine weather and brighter surroundings making the sailors apparently
forget, with that sort of happy knack for which seafaring folk are
generally distinguished, all the rough time we had coming down Saint
George's Channel, when off the Tuskar, and the terrible events of the
preceding day.

That very afternoon, indeed, the last act that was to blot out poor Sam
Jedfoot's memory from the minds of all the hands took place, the skipper
ordering the usual auction of the dead man's effects to be held on the
fo'c's'le; when, such is the comedy of life, the very men who were so
indignant about the captain shooting him a few hours before now cut
jokes about the poverty of the darkey's kit, when his sea-chest was
opened and its contents put up for sale to the highest bidder!

Sam's banjo led to a spirited competition, Hiram Bangs finally
succeeding in becoming its purchaser for five dollars, which Captain
Snaggs was authorised to deduct from the American sailor's wages--
crediting it to the cook's account, should the dead man's heirs or
assigns apply for any balance due to the poor darkey when the ship
arrived in port.

The rest of the things only fetched a trifle; and, with the disposal of
his goods and chattels, all recollection of the light-hearted Sam, who
was once the life of the fo'c's'le, passed out of everyone's mind.
Hiram stowed the banjo away in his box, for he could not play it, and
had only bought it from its association with its late owner, who used to
make him, he said, merry and sad, `jest as the durned nigger liked,'
with the melody he drew from the now silent strings.

And yet, somehow or other, it seemed destined that Sam should n