“No!” replied Appadocca with much decision.
“Then,” replied the officer, “I shall have nothing farther to do with you; they may hang you, quarter you, and do, G—d knows what else to you.”
“As for that matter,” answered Appadocca, affecting something like the same satire as his friend had used, “you may exercise your own discretion; but is it not a little absurd that, because I am not willing to sanction the mis-use of the authority which you possess on board your father’s ship, in your allowing me, who have been brought here a prisoner, to escape, that I, on that account, should lose your favor, and cease to be deemed worthy of your notice, even if I should happen to be hanged, quartered, and done G—d knows what else to?” and Appadocca smiled good-naturedly.
“This is the second time, Emmanuel, that you have adverted to my authority on board this ship, and reflected on my conduct in endeavouring to befriend you: I hope it may be the last. You must recollect that I am an Englishman, and an English officer, and I consider that I possess as delicate a sense of honor and as great a knowledge of duty as any gentleman whosoever.”
“And I,” replied Appadocca, “I am an animal,—sub-kingdom, vertebrata, genus homo, and species,—‘tropical American;’ naturalists lay my habitat all over the world, and declare me omnivorous. I do not pride myself on possessing merely such an indefinite thing as sense of honor, or great knowledge of duty; but observation has made me acquainted with the universal laws which nature has imposed upon us in order to secure to us contentment and happiness; and your wishing to make your station on board this vessel subservient to my escape is in opposition to one of those laws, the certain precursor of your own unhappiness, I shall not consent to it. Speak to me no more on this subject.”
“If, Emmanuel, I had considered that my good faith was concerned in making an offer of escape to you, you may rely upon it. I should neither have attempted to lower myself in my own estimation, nor should I have subjected myself to the animadversion of your nice and exquisite philosophy. I shall use the same liberty of speech as you have done, and assume the right of telling you, that His Majesty’s ship, which my father has the honour to command, was built, fitted out, and sent to sea, for the purpose of fighting the enemies of England, and not for the purpose of scavenging for pirates and freebooters: my commission was granted for the same purpose. I consider, therefore, that this vessel ought not to be made the lock-up of accused individuals; nor ought my father be obliged to abet and to assist the malice of hard-hearted planters, or interfere in the actions of strangely arguing sons—I therefore consider myself bound by no honour in this affair; and I am, consequently, free to act as I please. I recognize in you my ancient and respected friend, and I offer you my assistance to escape. You may accept it or not—this is Saxon.”
Charles Hamilton spoke this with considerable warmth and seriousness.
“Bravely spoken, Charles,” said Appadocca, “and, although part of your speech may have sounded harsh to ears more unwilling than mine to hear the truth, still I admire you for it. Why did you not speak out in this manner before. You may depend upon it, man, it is always better to express one-self boldly, throw aside expediency, and bring out the truth, which, though harsh and unpleasant, is, nevertheless, the truth, and must be told. What is there to be feared? A proper man has nothing worth keeping, which he should apprehend to lose, save his honour and his spirit of rectitude. What though interest-seekers quake in their coats lest their smoothly-varnished opinions should not draw the approbation of their fastidious patrons: a man, worthy of the name, must follow out the spirit of his manliness, and that is all. Take the furious bull—society, by the horns, and though its lurid eyes shine fire upon you, nay, though it gore you, shout out your truths still higher than its bellowings; and when its madness-fit is over, your truths shall live, nay, ride it even as a broken-spirited ass.
“Men of such boldness there have been, who, Lycurgus-like, have exiled themselves from all to throw their truths into the world. Society may have branded them, starved them, cursed them, and driven them into hovels, there to perish and to rot, but they have ever re-risen in their thoughts, and now their names receive, on the bended knee, the unbounded veneration of mankind.