y brought us
here to witness the scene, but this he insisted was not the case,
declaring that the presence of the slaver was a surprise to him. Be
that as it may, it was clear that a cargo of negroes was about to be
landed, and certain rapid signals had been exchanged by flags from a
neighboring hut ever since the mist lifted. Repulsive as the idea was
to a Northerner, still it would do no good to avoid the sight, and so
we resolved to witness the disembarkation. Our friend, though a
slaveholder, was so more by force of circumstances than through his
own choice; he did not defend the institution at all. His solemn
convictions were entirely against slavery, and he more than once said
he heartily wished that some means might be devised which should
gradually and effectually relieve the planters from the entire system
and its many troubles. Don Herero now lies in one of the tombs in the
Campo Santo, near Havana, but were he living he would doubtless
rejoice at the present manner of solving a question which was so
involved in perplexity during the last of his days.

While we were exchanging some remarks upon the subject, our attention
was suddenly drawn towards another striking object upon the waters of
the bay.

Nearly a league beyond the slaver, looming up above the mist, we could
now make out three topmasts, clearly defined, the stately set of
which, with their firm and substantial rig, betrayed the fact that
there floated beneath them the hull of a French or an English
man-of-war, such as was commissioned at that time to cruise in these
waters for the purpose of intercepting and capturing the vessels
engaged in the African slave trade.

"A cruiser has scented the brigantine," said Don Herero.

"It certainly appears so," we affirmed.

"Unless there be sharp eyes on board the little craft, the cruiser
will be down upon her before her people even suspect their danger."

"The brigantine can hardly escape, at any rate," we suggested.

"Don't be too sure," said Don Herero.

It was impossible for our friend to suppress the nervous anxiety which
so manifestly actuated him as he viewed the new phase of affairs.

"Look! Look!" he exclaimed.

While he spoke, a drapery of snow-white canvas fell like magic from
the spars of the slaver, ready to catch the first breath of the breeze
which the stranger was bringing down with him, though the larger
vessel was still partially wrapped in a thin bank or cloud of fog. A
couple