It consisted of a few fishing-huts, and except an old man and his son who were busy in towing their bark to shore, all its inhabitants were gone to rest. There was just light enough for these men to see in the hand of Sebastian, a heap of sequins, with which he tempted them to put off immediately for any port on the opposite coast: they hesitated only a short time; his ardent intreaties and persuasive manner, but above all, his gold, decided them to incur any risks, they once more hoisted their sail, he leaped into the bark, and in a few minutes they were far out at sea. Is there a heart to which liberty is sacred, to which a country and a home are dear, that does not throb with anxiety for Sebastian? and if that heart has known the bitterness of long and hopeless exile from these blessings, will it not paint his feelings only too faithfully?-- As the little boat flew direct before the wind, and the waves roared and foamed round its slender keel, the King of Portugal sat motionless, like one stunned; his eyes indeed moved; they roved over every object again and again, to impress their reality upon his mind with that assurance he felt it needed: doubtfully he hearkened to the splashing of the sea, mistrusting the evidence of every sense, and unable to steady or to compose his thoughts. Assuredly joy overcomes us more frequently than sorrow: perhaps it is because we arm ourselves against the latter, and abandon ourselves to the former without reserve. While myriads of bright visions were passing and repassing through Sebastian’s entranced imagination, the fisherman and his son were shifting their sail and tacking about with plodding indifference; they neither observed nor shared their royal companion’s emotion. The wind continued favorable, the coast of Africa receded, and the fertile mountains of Grenada and Andalusia advanced from the horizon: the vessel now ran into a creek, and disembarked her crew. The moment Sebastian’s foot pressed Christian ground, he threw himself down and embraced it; gratitude and adoration locked up the powers of speech; so much pain and pleasure melted his heart, that it was too big for utterance, and he wept. His companions did not long allow him an indulgence of this honorable weakness, their voices made him start from the earth, he flung them their reward, and then they hastened away. CHAP. IV. Day was just breaking over the high tops of an olive ground, beneath which stood a solitary cottage; Sebastian approached, and unwillingly roused its inhabitants: they were a simple good couple, and finding that their disturber was a Portuguese escaped from Barbary, they brought him in, forced refreshment on him, half-wearied him with questions, and at length resigned to him the only bed their habitation afforded.