tepped up to him and whispered something. Approaching the
Spaniard for the second time, Ready invited him to partake of a slight
refreshment in his cabin, a courtesy which it is usual for the captains
of merchant vessels to pay to the visiting officer. The Spaniard
accepted, and they went below.

The steward was busy covering the cabin table with plates of Boston
crackers, olives, and almonds, and he then uncorked a bottle of fine old
Madeira that looked like liquid gold as it gurgled into the glasses.
Captain Ready seemed quite a different person in the cabin and on deck.
Throwing aside his dry say-little manner, he was good-humour and civility
personified, as he lavished on his guest all those obliging attentions
which no one better knows the use of than a Yankee when he wishes to
administer a dose of what he would call "soft sawder." Ready soon
persuaded the officer of his entire guiltlessness in the unpleasant affair
that had just occurred, and the Spaniard told him by no means to make
himself uneasy, that the pass had been given for another person, and that
the prisoner was a man of great importance, whom he considered himself
excessively lucky to have been able to recapture.

Most Spaniards like a glass of Madeira, particularly when olives serve as
the whet. The American's wine was first-rate, and the other seemed to find
himself particularly comfortable in the cabin. He did not forget, however,
to desire that the prisoner's baggage might be placed in the boat, and,
with a courteous apology for leaving him a moment, Captain Ready hastened
to give the necessary orders.

When the captain reached the deck, a heart-rending scene presented itself
to him. His unfortunate passenger was seated on one of the hatchways,
despair legibly written on his pale features. The eldest child had climbed
up on his knee, and looked wistfully into its father's face, and his wife
hung round his neck sobbing audibly. A young negress, who had come on
board with them, held the other child, an infant a few months old, in her
arms. Ready took the prisoner's hand.

"I hate tyranny," said he, "as every American must. Had you confided your
position to me a few hours sooner, I would have got you safe off. But now
I see nothing to be done. We are under the cannon of the fort, that could
sink us in ten seconds. Who and what are you? Say quickly, for time is
precious."

"I am a Columbian by birth," replied the young man, "an officer in the
patr