ful, and deciphers on one
the number he is in search of--as also the name "Silvestre," painted on
a piece of tin attached to to the side-post, A survey of the house--
indeed, a single glance at it--convinces him he has come thither to no
purpose. It is a small wooden structure, not much bigger than a
sentry-box, evidently only an office, with no capability of conversion
to a bed-chamber. Still it has room enough to admit of a man's lying at
full length along its floor; and, as already said, he would be glad of
so disposing himself for the night. There may be some one inside,
though the one window--in size corresponding to the shanty itself--looks
black and forbidding.

With no very sanguine hope, he lays hold of the door-handle, and gives
it a twist. Locked, as he might have expected!

The test not satisfying him, he knocks. At first timidly; then a little
bolder and louder; finally, giving a good round rap with his knuckles--
hard as horn. At the same time he hails sailor-fashion:

"Ahoy, there; be there any one within?"

This in English; but, remembering that the ship-agent is a Spaniard, he
follows his first hail with another in the Spanish tongue, adding the
usual formulary:

"_Abre la puerta_!"

Neither to question, nor demand is there any response. Only the echo of
his own voice reverberated along the line of houses, and dying away in
the distance, as it mingles with the sough of the sea.

No use speaking, or knocking again. Undoubtedly, Silvestre's office is
closed for the night; and his clerks, if there be any, have their
sleeping-quarters elsewhere.

Forced to this conclusion, though sadly dissatisfied with it, the
ex-man-o'-war's man turns away from the door, and once more goes
cruising along the streets. But now, having no definite point to steer
for, he makes short tacks and turns, like a ship sailing under an
unfavourable wind--or as one disregarding the guidance of the compass,
without steersman at the wheel.

After beating about for nearly another hour, he discovers himself
contiguous to the water's edge. His instincts have conducted him
thither--as the seal, after a short inland excursion, finds its way back
to the beach. Ah! if he could only swim like a seal!

This thought occurs to him as he stands looking over the sea in the
direction of the _Crusader_. Were it possible to reach the frigate, all
his troubles would soon be forgotten in the cheerful companionship of
his old chum