e away. He realized that he was the objective
point.

It was a British cruiser, and he realized that he was to be forced upon
the beach or captured.

Girard was not a praying man, but he prayed now for a friendly cove or
bay, or the mouth of a river. The fog rolled away to the west, the
shore-line showed sharp and clear--and there a half-mile away was the
inviting mouth of Chesapeake Bay. At least Girard thought it was, but it
proved to be the mouth of the Delaware. Girard crowded on all sail--the
cruiser did the same.

Night settled down.

Before morning Girard's little craft was safe under the frowning forts
of the Delaware, and the cruiser had turned back seeking fresh prey.

* * * * *

On one of his trips to the West Indies, the ship of which Stephen Girard
was mate stopped at the Isle of Martinique.

The captain and mate went ashore, and were invited to dine at the house
of a merchant and planter up on the hillside overlooking the sea. The
sugar with which the ship was loaded belonged to this planter, hence the
courtesies to the seafaring men. Of that seemingly uneventful day one
incident stood out in the mind of Girard to the day of his death. It
seems the merchant and planter had a niece who lived in his household.
This girl sat at the table next to Girard. She was only a child, about
twelve years of age. But women mature young in that climate, and her
presence caused the little first mate to lose all appetite. However,
nothing worse happened than the spilling of a dish of soup in his lap
when the girl tried to pass the plate to him, which was surely more
polite than to spill it in hers.

After dinner the young lady accompanied the party to the wharf. Going
down the hill she talked a good deal, but Girard could only say it was a
fine day and looked as if there was going to be a storm.

The girl was tall, angular and strong. She climbed the rigging to the
lookout, and then was scolded by her uncle, who was really proud of her
and chuckled at her performance. Her features were rather coarse, but
her lustrous eyes and bubbling vitality caused the one sound peeper of
Girard to follow her in awe and reverence.

She came into the cabin and looked at his books; this pleased Girard. He
asked her if she could read, and she loftily wrote her name for him,
thus: Marie Josephine Rose Tascher de la Pagerie. She handed him the
slip of paper and remarked, "You could never remember my n