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- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.843Z
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- At last, the emigrants began to think, that the ship had played them
false; and that she was bound for the East Indies, or some other remote
place; and one night, Jackson set a report going among them, that Riga
purposed taking them to Barbary, and selling them all for slaves; but
though some of the old women almost believed it, and a great weeping
ensued among the children, yet the men knew better than to believe such
a ridiculous tale.
Of all the emigrants, my Italian boy Carlo, seemed most at his ease. He
would lie all day in a dreamy mood, sunning himself in the long boat,
and gazing out on the sea. At night, he would bring up his organ, and
play for several hours; much to the delight of his fellow voyagers, who
blessed him and his organ again and again; and paid him for his music
by furnishing him his meals. Sometimes, the steward would come forward,
when it happened to be very much of a moonlight, with a message from
the cabin, for Carlo to repair to the quarterdeck, and entertain the
gentlemen and ladies.
There was a fiddler on board, as will presently be seen; and sometimes,
by urgent entreaties, he was induced to unite his music with Carlo’s,
for the benefit of the cabin occupants; but this was only twice or
thrice: for this fiddler deemed himself considerably elevated above the
other steerage-passengers; and did not much fancy the idea of fiddling
to strangers; and thus wear out his elbow, while persons, entirely
unknown to him, and in whose welfare he felt not the slightest
interest, were curveting about in famous high spirits. So for the most
part, the gentlemen and ladies were fain to dance as well as they could
to my little Italian’s organ.
It was the most accommodating organ in the world; for it could play any
tune that was called for; Carlo pulling in and out the ivory knobs at
one side, and so manufacturing melody at pleasure.
True, some censorious gentlemen cabin-passengers protested, that such
or such an air, was not precisely according to Handel or Mozart; and
some ladies, whom I overheard talking about throwing their nosegays to
Malibran at Covent Garden, assured the attentive Captain Riga, that
Carlo’s organ was a most wretched affair, and made a horrible din.
“Yes, ladies,” said the captain, bowing, “by your leave, I think
Carlo’s organ must have lost its mother, for it squeals like a pig
running after its dam.”
Harry was incensed at these criticisms; and yet these cabin-people were
all ready enough to dance to poor Carlo’s music.
“Carlo”—said I, one night, as he was marching forward from the
quarter-deck, after one of these sea-quadrilles, which took place
during my watch on deck:—“Carlo”—said I, “what do the gentlemen and
ladies give you for playing?”
“Look!”—and he showed me three copper medals of Britannia and her
shield—three English pennies.
Now, whenever we discover a dislike in us, toward any one, we should
ever be a little suspicious of ourselves. It may be, therefore, that
the natural antipathy with which almost all seamen and
steerage-passengers, regard the inmates of the cabin, was one cause at
least, of my not feeling very charitably disposed toward them, myself.
Yes: that might have been; but nevertheless, I will let nature have her
own way for once; and here declare roundly, that, however it was, I
cherished a feeling toward these cabin-passengers, akin to contempt.
Not because they happened to be cabin-passengers: not at all: but only
because they seemed the most finical, miserly, mean men and women, that
ever stepped over the Atlantic.
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