The seaman's first movement, and not an unnatural one, considering he was at the Havannah and the day not yet broken, was to half draw his cutlass from its scabbard, but the next moment he let it drop back again. The appearance of the person who addressed him was, if not very prepossessing, at least not much calculated to inspire alarm. He was a young man of handsome and even noble countenance, but pale and sickly-looking, and having the appearance of one bowed down by sorrow and illness. "Are you the captain of the Philadelphia schooner that is on the point of sailing?" enquired he in a trembling, anxious voice. The seaman looked hard in the young man's face, and answered in the affirmative. The stranger's eye sparkled. "Can I have a passage for myself, a friend, and two children?" demanded he. The sailor hesitated before he replied, and again scanned his interlocutor from head to foot with his keen grey eyes. There was something inconsistent, not to say suspicious, in the whole appearance of the stranger. His cloak was stained and shabby, and his words humble; but there was a fire in his eye that flashed forth seemingly in spite of himself, and his voice had that particular tone which the habit of command alone gives. The result of the sailor's scrutiny was apparently unfavourable, and he shook his head negatively. The young man gasped for breath, and drew a well-filled purse from his bosom. "I will pay beforehand," said he, "I will pay whatever you ask." The American started; the contrast was too great between the heavy purse and large offers and the beggarly exterior of the applicant. He shook his head more decidedly than before. The stranger bit his lip till the blood came, his breast heaved, his whole manner was that of one who abandons himself to despair. The sailor felt a touch of compassion. "Young man," said he in Spanish, "you are no merchant. What do you want at Philadelphia?" "I want to go to Philadelphia. Here is my passage money, here my pass. You are captain of the schooner. What do you require more?" There was a wild vehemence in the tone and manner in which these words were spoken, that indisposed the seaman still more against his would-be passenger. Again he shook his head, and was about to pass on. The young man seized his arm. "_Por el amor de Dios, Capitan_, take me with you. Take my unhappy wife and my poor children." "Wife and children!" repeated the captain. "Have you a wife and children?" The stranger groaned. "You have committed no crime? you are not flying from the arm of justice?" asked the American sharply. "So may God help me, no crime whatever have I committed," replied the young man, raising his hand towards heaven. "In that case I will take you. Keep your money till you are on board. In an hour at furthest I weigh anchor." The stranger answered nothing, but as if relieved from some dreadful anxiety, drew a deep breath, and with a grateful look to heaven, hurried from the spot.