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“Why, my sole-leather trunk, of co’se; or perhaps that English hat-box–no, stop, Jack, come to think, it is in the small valise. Here, take my keys,” said the major, straightening his back, squeezing his fat hand into the pocket of his skin-tight trousers, and fishing up with his fore-finger a small bunch of keys. “Right on top, Jack; you can’t miss it.”

“Isn’t he just too lovely for anything?” said Jack to me, when we reached the upper deck,–I had followed him out. “He’s wearing now the only decent suit of clothes he owns, and the rest of his wardrobe you could stuff into a bandbox. English sole-leather trunk! Here, put your thumb on that catch,” and he drew out the major’s bag,–the one, of course, that Jefferson unpacked, with the galvanized-iron clasps and paper-leather sides.

The bag seemed more rotund, and heavier, and more important looking than when I handled it that afternoon in front of Delmonico’s, presenting a well-fed, even a bloated, appearance. The clasps, too, appeared to have all they could do to keep its mouth shut, while the hinges bulged in an ominous way.

I started one clasp, the other gave way with a burst, and the next instant, to my horror, the major’s wardrobe littered the deck. First the books, then a package of tobacco, then the one shirt, porcelain-finished collars, and the other necessaries, including a pair of slippers and a comb. Next, three bundles loosely wrapped, one containing two wax dolls, the others some small toys, and a cheap Noah’s ark, and last of all, wrapped up in coarse, yellow butcher’s paper, stained and moist, a freshly cut porter-house steak.

Jack roared with laughter as he replaced the contents. “Yes; toys for the little children–he never goes back without something for them if it takes his last dollar; tobacco for his old cook, Rachel; not a thing for himself, you see–and this steak! Who do you suppose he bought that for?”

“Did you find it?” called out the major, as we reentered the cabin.

“Yes; but it wasn’t in the English trunk,” said Jack, handing back the keys, grave as a judge, not a smile on his face.

“Of co’se not; didn’t I tell you it was in the small bag? Now, gentlemen, listen!” turning the leaves. “Here is a man who has the impertinence to say that our industries are paralyzed. It is not our industries; it is our people. Robbed of their patrimony, their fields laid waste, their estates confiscated by a system of foreclosure lackin’ every vestige of decency and co’tesy,–Shylocks wantin’ their pound of flesh on the very hour and day,–why shouldn’t they be paralyzed?” He laughed heartily. “Jack, you know Colonel Dorsey Kent, don’t you?”

Jack did not, but the owners of several names on the passenger-list did, and hitched their camp-stools closer.

“Well, Kent was the only man I ever knew who ever held out against the damnable oligarchy.”

Here an old fellow in a butternut suit, with a half-moon of white whiskers tied under his chin, leaned forward in rapt attention.

The major braced himself, and continued: “Kent, gentlemen, as many of you know, lived with his maiden sister over on Tinker Neck, on the same piece of ground where he was bo’n. She had a life interest in the house and property, and it was so nominated in the bond. Well, when it got down to hog and hominy, and very little of that, she told Kent she was goin’ to let the place to a strawberry-planter from Philadelphia, and go to Baltimo’ to teach school. She was sorry to break up the home, but there was nothin’ else to do. Well, it hurt Kent to think she had to leave home and work for her living, for he was a very tender-hearted man.

“‘You don’t say so, Jane,’ said he, ‘and you raised here! Isn’t that very sudden?’ She told him it was, and asked him what he was going to do for a home when the place was rented?