le on board, they would most likely
be down in the cabin, from the dead-lights of which, mischief might
be done to the Chamois.

It was then, that my comrade observed, that the brigantine had no
boats, a circumstance most unusual in any sort of a vessel at sea.
But marking this, I was exceedingly gratified. It seemed to indicate,
as I had opined, that from some cause or other, she must have been
abandoned of her crew. And in a good measure this dispelled my fears
of foul play, and the apprehension of contagion. Encouraged by these
reflections, I now resolved to descend, and explore the cabin, though
sorely against Jarl's counsel. To be sure, as he earnestly said, this
step might have been deferred till daylight; but it seemed too
wearisome to wait. So bethinking me of our tinder-box and candles, I
sent him into the boat for them. Presently, two candles were lit; one
of which the Skyeman tied up and down the barbed end of his harpoon;
so that upon going below, the keen steel might not be far off,
should the light be blown out by a dastard.

Unfastening the cabin scuttle, we stepped downward into the smallest
and murkiest den in the world. The altar-like transom, surmounted by
the closed dead-lights in the stem, together with the dim little sky-
light overhead, and the somber aspect of every thing around, gave the
place the air of some subterranean oratory, say a Prayer Room of
Peter the Hermit. But coils of rigging, bolts of canvas, articles of
clothing, and disorderly heaps of rubbish, harmonized not with this
impression. Two doors, one on each side, led into wee little state-
rooms, the berths of which also were littered. Among other things,
was a large box, sheathed with iron and stoutly clamped, containing a
keg partly filled with powder, the half of an old cutlass, a pouch of
bullets, and a case for a sextant--a brass plate on the lid, with the
maker's name. London. The broken blade of the cutlass was very rusty
and stained; and the iron hilt bent in. It looked so tragical that I
thrust it out of sight.

Removing a small trap-door, opening into the space beneath, called
the "run," we lighted upon sundry cutlasses and muskets, lying
together at sixes and sevens, as if pitched down in a hurry.

Casting round a hasty glance, and satisfying ourselves, that through
the bulkhead of the cabin, there was no passage to the forward part
of the hold, we caught up the muskets and cutlasses, the powder keg
and the pouch of