our sole means of making the shore.

"The passengers are hauled up and down in a big barrel," says the
Captain, who has come from the bridge to receive some official from
the settlement. "You're not going ashore, Mrs. Steele!" He fixes a
look of astonishment on my friend in her travelling dress.

"Of course I am."

"Why, there's nothing to see but huts and sand-piles."

"Ve go to Guatemala," says the Baron, giving our wraps to the Chinese
porter.

"You do nothing of the kind." The brusque Captain is nothing if not
unceremonious. "We'll have this Hamburg cargo loaded in a day, and
you can't go and get back in time; and I won't wait--I won't wait a
second for anyone mad enough to go to Guatemala! You'll have to give
it up," he says to Mrs. Steele.

There is a chorus of disappointment from the assembled crowd, but Mrs.
Steele, with evident reluctance, says:

"Of course, it would never do to be left behind; there's yellow fever
in all these ports, I'm told."

"Place is full of it--stay on the ship like sensible people. There's
nothing worth seeing in Guatemala. I hate to be bothered with
passengers going off--" and the Captain walks to the railing to wave
his hand with stiff pomposity to a Mexican who sits in the lighter.

"You air meestake, Captain," says the Baron de Bach; "all dthose
vorkmen say it vill be two days loading dthis cafe."

The Captain, never very good-tempered at the best of times, is
especially peppery to-day.

"Are you runnin' this ship, young man, or am I?" He seems to think he
has made a forcible and irrefutable rejoinder and turns away like one
who has settled something forever.

"I vill spik vidth you inside." The Baron sets down his small valise
and follows the apparently unheeding Captain into the saloon. We
stand undecided, looking down at the lighter shifting about in the
breakers, and watching a stout Mexican get into a huge barrel that has
one side cut down and a seat fitted in--a rope with huge iron hook
attached is lowered from a pulley on the steamer, and the barrel full
of San Jose official is lifted into the air. The barrel twirls about,
the official puts his hand to his eyes, and in a moment he is landed
like a mammoth fish on the deck of the _San Miguel_.

We hear the voices in the saloon rising with anger. Mrs. Steele looks
apprehensive and makes a step towards the door. Out strides the Baron,
looking hot and excited.

"Ladies, ve vill go. I promise you ve vill be back