to the stairs. Of the three persons it contained, two
sailors, who had been rowing, remained in it; the third, whose dress and
appearance were those of the master of a merchant vessel, sprang on shore,
and walked in the direction of the town. As he passed before the logwood,
the stranger stepped out and accosted him.

The seaman's first movement, and not an unnatural one, considering he was
at the Havannah and the day not yet broken, was to half draw his cutlass
from its scabbard, but the next moment he let it drop back again. The
appearance of the person who addressed him was, if not very prepossessing,
at least not much calculated to inspire alarm. He was a young man of
handsome and even noble countenance, but pale and sickly-looking, and
having the appearance of one bowed down by sorrow and illness.

"Are you the captain of the Philadelphia schooner that is on the point of
sailing?" enquired he in a trembling, anxious voice.

The seaman looked hard in the young man's face, and answered in the
affirmative. The stranger's eye sparkled.

"Can I have a passage for myself, a friend, and two children?" demanded
he.

The sailor hesitated before he replied, and again scanned his interlocutor
from head to foot with his keen grey eyes. There was something
inconsistent, not to say suspicious, in the whole appearance of the
stranger. His cloak was stained and shabby, and his words humble; but
there was a fire in his eye that flashed forth seemingly in spite of
himself, and his voice had that particular tone which the habit of command
alone gives. The result of the sailor's scrutiny was apparently
unfavourable, and he shook his head negatively. The young man gasped for
breath, and drew a well-filled purse from his bosom.

"I will pay beforehand," said he, "I will pay whatever you ask."

The American started; the contrast was too great between the heavy purse
and large offers and the beggarly exterior of the applicant. He shook his
head more decidedly than before. The stranger bit his lip till the blood
came, his breast heaved, his whole manner was that of one who abandons
himself to despair. The sailor felt a touch of compassion.

"Young man," said he in Spanish, "you are no merchant. What do you want at
Philadelphia?"

"I want to go to Philadelphia. Here is my passage money, here my pass. You
are captain of the schooner. What do you require more?"

There was a wild vehemence in the tone and manner in which these words