“Thus pass our gallant lives,
Gallant lives, gallant lives,
Thus pass our gallant lives, Captain Death!
And while the ocean flows, and the driving tempest blows,
We’ll live upon our foes,
Captain Death! Captain Death!
We’ll live upon our foes, Captain Death!”

[CHAP. VI.]
APPEARANCE OF THE AFRICAN COAST.

Zabra had by this time become more familiar to the people of the Albatross, with some of whom his kindness and generosity made him an especial favourite. They had ceased to see any thing supernatural in his large lustrous eyes,—and had forgot that there was any thing mysterious in the dark colour of his complexion. His solitary wanderings about the ship created neither fear nor surprise, and the rich harmonies of his music were listened to with much more admiration than dread. Loop, a boy belonging to the vessel, who was a sister’s son of Hearty, had been attacked with fever, and the attentions of Zabra, during his illness, won not only the heart of the old man, but that of every one on board. He procured for him every kind of nourishing food and refreshing beverage, that the Doctor would allow; took care that he should possess every comfort that the vessel contained; sung to him, played to him, and stayed beside his hammock for hours and hours, seeking to while away the tedious moments of indisposition. Oriel Porphyry having desired that he should be treated by every one as if he was his brother, instead of his attendant, Zabra found his slightest request always promptly attended to; and, though his manner was somewhat proud, as he seemed to possess abundant funds for every purpose, and gave liberally whenever he thought it was requisite, scarcely any one in the ship ever hesitated in joining in his praise.

The boy Loop got well, and he was not ungrateful. As for old Hearty, nothing could exceed his devotion to his nephew’s benefactor. To every listener he could lay hold of, he narrated at length all that he knew of the youth’s history, since he came on board: the people, rescued from the fire-ship, were in due time made familiar with every anecdote concerning him with which the old man was acquainted; and to no one were his details of more interest than to the young Australian, Ardent, who sometimes appeared to forget his own sorrows while attentive to the unpolished eloquence of the honest sailor. From this time Zabra became an object of general interest. Even Captain Compass seemed to look upon him with something like respect; Scrumpydike had ceased to entertain against him any hostile intentions; and Log, the captain’s clerk, was heard to acquiesce in the opinion of his shipmates, with an affirmative repeated with the usual supply of adjectives.

But to Oriel Porphyry the admirable qualities of his page became every day more and more apparent. In the frequent conversations that took place between them, he could not but observe the developement of a mind of the highest order. It was not a mind impregnated with the heavy spirit of bookish learning, but an intelligence of a lighter, a more graceful, and a more original nature, replete with a sweet sympathy, and a lofty enthusiasm for all that was noble, good and beautiful; and throwing over the youthful figure and handsome countenance of its possessor, a poetical and romantic character, that was both a wonder and a charm to his companion. Zabra spoke of Eureka as if he had become acquainted with her most hidden thoughts, and had been constituted their interpreter; but of himself he never spoke. When Oriel seemed desirous of learning something of his history, he appeared uneasy, and immediately attempted to turn the conversation into another channel. This was noticed; but the unwillingness of the young Creole to speak of himself, Oriel attributed to the disinclination usually shown by natural children to allude to their own illegitimacy, knowing the unreasonable and cruel prejudices of society: therefore he ceased to desire from him any information on the subject. Still, his youth,—the singular beauty of his countenance, and the strange interest it often expressed, made him imagine that there was some mystery connected with him.

As he treated Zabra with the utmost confidence, and appreciated the intelligence he evinced, Oriel Porphyry communicated to him the contents of his father’s letter.

“Your father is a noble character,” he exclaimed with fervour; “and the proudest title of which you ought to boast, is that of being his son. I never could have supposed that it was possible for such nobility to reside in a spirit devoted to the mere money-getting purposes of traffic, but I have been educated in an aristocratic school, and with its lofty principles I have imbibed some of its illiberal prejudices. I would my father had been such a one—I should not have been the fugitive I am.”

“Express no regrets, Zabra. Let it be my pleasing task to see that your fortunes are worthy of your merits;” said Oriel Porphyry, affectionately taking in his the hand of his youthful companion. “And although I have not much reason to think well of the proud Philadelphia, for his conduct has not been such as would be likely to inspire me either with affection or respect; when I think of his relationship to her whose genuine worth it is impossible not to appreciate, I cannot regard the unfavourableness of his disposition.”