“Yes, I heard parson say dat—but den what we do with our friends, Massy Easy?”
“Love them too.”
“I no understand dat, Massa Easy—I love you, because you good, and treat me well—Mr Vigors, he bully, and treat me ill—how possible to love him? By de power, I hate him, and wish I had him skull. You tink little Massa Gossett love him?”
“No,” replied Jack, laughing, “I’m afraid that he would like to have his skull as well as you, Mesty—but at all events we must try and forgive those who injure us.”
“Then, Massa Easy, I tink so too—too much revenge very bad—it very easy to hate, but not very easy to forgive—so I tink that if a man forgive he hab more soul in him, he more of a man.”
“After all,” thought Jack, “Mesty is about as good a Christian as most people.”
“What that?” cried Mesty, looking out of the cabin window—“Ah! damn drunken dogs—they set fire to tent.”
Jack looked, and perceived that the tent on shore was in flames.
“I tink these cold nights cool their courage any how,” observed Mesty—“Massa Easy, you see they soon ask permission to come on board.”
Jack thought so too, and was most anxious to be off, for, on looking into the lockers in the state-room, he had found a chart of the Mediterranean, which he had studied very attentively—he had found out the rock of Gibraltar, and had traced the Harpy’s course up to Cape de Gatte, and thence to Tarragona—and, after a while, had summoned Mesty to a cabinet council.