ssed in the fresh greenness of summer, I
confess that my memory and heart were magically carried away into the
heart of Italy, playing sad tricks with my sense of duty, when I was
abruptly restored to consciousness by hearing the heavy footfall of a
stranger on deck.

The intruder--as well as I could see from aloft--seemed to be a stout,
elderly person. I did not delay to descend the ratlins, but slid down
a back-stay, just in time to meet the stranger as he approached our
cabin. My notions of Italian manners did not yet permit me to
appreciate the greater freedom and social liberty with which I have
since become so familiar in America, and it may naturally be supposed
that I was rather peremptory in ordering the inquisitive Bostonian to
leave the ship. I was in command--in my _first_ command; and so
unceremonious a visit was peculiarly annoying. Nor did the conduct of
the intruder lessen my anger, as, quietly smiling at my order, he
continued moving around the ship, and peered into every nook and
corner. Presently he demanded whether I was alone? My self-possession
was quite sufficient to leave the question unanswered; but I ordered
him off again, and, to enforce my command, called a dog that did not
exist. My _ruse_, however, did not succeed. The Yankee still continued
his examination, while I followed closely on his heels, now and then
twitching the long skirts of his surtout to enforce my mandate for his
departure.

During this promenade, my unwelcome guest questioned me about the
captain's health,--about the mate,--as to the cause of his
dismissal,--about our cargo,--and the length of our voyage. Each new
question begot a shorter and more surly answer. I was perfectly
satisfied that he was not only a rogue, but a most impudent one; and
my Franco-Italian temper strained almost to bursting.

By this time, we approached the house which covered the steering-gear
at the ship's stern, and in which were buckets containing a dozen
small turtles, purchased at the island of Ascension, where we stopped
to water after the refusal at St. Helena. The turtle at once attracted
the stranger's notice, and he promptly offered to purchase them. I
stated that only half the lot belonged to me, but that I would sell
the whole, provided he was able to pay. In a moment, my persecutor
drew forth a well-worn pocket-book, and handing me six dollars, asked
whether I was satisfied with the price. The dollars were
unquestionable gleams, if n