was speaking in the boat, now bearing another name, and a common sailor of
our ship. He told me his real name; and I heard, afterwards, that, when
drunk, he had confessed the murder to one of his messmates.

This incident illustrates what I have often thought, that the private
history of a man-of-war's crew, if truly told, would be full of high
romance, varied with stirring incident, and too often darkened with, deep
and deadly crime. Many go to sea with the old Robinson Crusoe spirit,
seeking adventure for its own sake; many, to escape the punishment of
guilt, which has made them outlaws of the land; some, to drown the memory
of slighted love; while others flee from the wreck of their broken
fortunes ashore, to hazard another shipwreck on the deep. The jacket of
the common sailor often covers a figure that has walked Broadway in a
fashionable coat. An officer sometimes sees his old school-fellow and
playmate taken to the gangway and flogged. Many a blackguard on board has
been bred in luxury; and many a good seaman has been a slaver and a
pirate. It is well for the ship's company, that the sins of individuals do
not, as in the days of Jonas, stir up tempests that threaten the
destruction of the whole.

The island of Grand Canary is one of the most interesting of the group at
which we have now arrived. The population of its capital, the city of Las
Palmas, is variously estimated at from nine thousand inhabitants, to twice
that number. The streets, however, have none of the bustle and animation
that would enliven an American town, of similar size. Around the city
there is an aspect of great fertility; fields of corn and grain,
palm-trees, and vineyards, occupy the valleys among the hills, and extend
along the shores, twining a glad green wreath about the circuit of the
island. The vines of Canary produce a wine which, two or three centuries
ago, was held in higher estimation than at present, and is supposed by