It was merely a weary little land-bird (blown out of its course, as the
learned in such matters supposed); and it perched on one of the yards
to rest and recover itself after its long flight.

The instant the creature was discovered, the insatiable Anglo-Saxon
delight in killing birds, from the majestic eagle to the contemptible
sparrow, displayed itself in its full frenzy. The crew ran about the
decks, the passengers rushed into their cabins, eager to seize the
first gun and to have the first shot. An old quarter-master of the
_Aquila_ was the enviable man, who first found the means of destruction
ready to his hand. He lifted the gun to his shoulder, he had his finger
on the trigger, when he was suddenly pounced upon by one of the
passengers--a young, slim, sunburnt, active man--who snatched away the
gun, discharged it over the side of the vessel, and turned furiously on
the quarter-master. "You wretch! would you kill the poor weary bird
that trusts our hospitality, and only asks us to give it a rest? That
little harmless thing is as much one of God's creatures as you are. I'm
ashamed of you--I'm horrified at you--you've got bird-murder in your
face; I hate the sight of you!"

The quarter-master--a large grave fat man, slow alike in his bodily and
his mental movements--listened to this extraordinary remonstrance with
a fixed stare of amazement, and an open mouth from which the unspat
tobacco-juice tricked in little brown streams. When the impetuous young
gentleman paused (not for want of words, merely for want of breath),
the quarter-master turned about, and addressed himself to the audience
gathered round. "Gentlemen," he said, with a Roman brevity, "this young
fellow is mad."

The captain's voice checked the general outbreak of laughter. "That