were spoken, that indisposed the seaman still more against his would-be
passenger. Again he shook his head, and was about to pass on. The young
man seized his arm.

"_Por el amor de Dios, Capitan_, take me with you. Take my unhappy wife
and my poor children."

"Wife and children!" repeated the captain. "Have you a wife and children?"

The stranger groaned.

"You have committed no crime? you are not flying from the arm of justice?"
asked the American sharply.

"So may God help me, no crime whatever have I committed," replied the
young man, raising his hand towards heaven.

"In that case I will take you. Keep your money till you are on board. In
an hour at furthest I weigh anchor."

The stranger answered nothing, but as if relieved from some dreadful
anxiety, drew a deep breath, and with a grateful look to heaven, hurried
from the spot.

When Captain Ready, of the smart-sailing Baltimore-built schooner, "The
Speedy Tom," returned on board his vessel, and descended into the cabin,
he was met by his new passenger, on whose arm was hanging a lady of
dazzling beauty and grace. She was very plainly dressed, as were also two
beautiful children who accompanied her; but their clothes were of the
finest materials, and the elegance of their appearance contrasted
strangely with the rags and wretchedness of their husband and father.
Lying on a chest, however, Captain Ready saw a pelisse and two children's
cloaks of the shabbiest description, and which the new-comers had
evidently just taken off.

The seaman's suspicions returned at all this disguise and mystery, and a
doubt again arose in his mind as to the propriety of taking passengers who
came on board under such equivocal circumstances. A feeling of compassion,
however, added to the graceful manners and sweet voice of the lady,
decided him to persevere in his original intention; and politely
requesting her to make herself at home in the cabin, he returned on deck.
Ten minutes later the anchor was weighed, and the schooner in motion.

The sun had risen and dissipated the morning mist. Some distance astern of
the now fast-advancing schooner rose the streets and houses of the
Havannah, and the forest of masts occupying its port; to the right frowned
the castle of the Molo, whose threatening embrasures the vessel was
rapidly approaching. The husband and wife stood upon the cabin stairs,
gazing, with breathless anxiety, at the fortress.

As the schooner arrived opposite