lf-suppressed cry of terror.

At last nature asserted herself, and he slept, sitting on the floor and
leaning partly against the vessel's side, partly against the bulkhead.
But horrible dreams disturbed him. The corpse became visible, the eyes
glared at him, the blood-stained face worked convulsively, and he awoke
with a shriek, followed immediately by a sigh of relief on finding that
it was all a dream. Then the horror came again, as he suddenly
remembered that the dead man was still there, a terrible reality!

At last pure exhaustion threw him into a dreamless and profound slumber.
The plunging of the little craft as it flew southward before a stiff
breeze did not disturb him, and he did not awake until some one rudely
seized his arm late on the following day. Then, in the firm belief that
his dream had come true at last, he uttered a tremendous yell and
struggled to rise, but a powerful hand held him down, and a dark lantern
revealed a coal-black face gazing at him.

"Hallo! massa, hold on. I did tink you mus' be gone dead, for I
holler'd in at you 'nuff to bust de kittle-drum ob your ear--if you hab
one!"

"Look there, Peter," said Foster, pointing to the recumbent figure,
while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Ah! poor feller. He gone de way ob all flesh; but he hoed sooner dan
dere was any occasion for--tanks to de captain."

As he spoke he held the lantern over the dead man and revealed the face
of a youth in Eastern garb, on whose head there was a terrible
sword-cut. As they looked at the sad spectacle, and endeavoured to
arrange the corpse, the negro explained that the poor fellow had been a
Greek captive who to save his life had joined the pirates and become a
Mussulman; but, on thinking over it, had returned to the Christian faith
and refused to take part in the bloody work which they were required to
do. It was his refusal to fight on the occasion of the recent attack on
the merchantman that had induced the captain to cut him down. He had
been put into the prison in the hold, and carelessly left there to bleed
to death.

"Now, you come along, massa," said the negro, taking up the lantern,
"we's all goin' on shore."

"On shore! Where have we got to?"

"To Algiers, de city ob pirits; de hotbed ob wickedness; de home ob de
Moors an' Turks an' Cabyles, and de cuss ob de whole wurld."

Poor Foster's heart sank on hearing this, for he had heard of the
hopeless slavery to which thousa