Many years passed by. Miranda was over fifty. Yet he had not struck a single blow for Venezuela. He determined to wait no longer for foreign aid. He believed that the time was ripe to declare the Independence of Spanish America. He believed that the people there were waiting eagerly for him to raise Liberty’s standard against Spain. He had no funds, so he pledged his precious library, which, during so many years, he had collected with such pains, industry, and affection. Then, with the money thus raised, he sailed for the City of New York. THE MYSTERY SHIP Hail! the Red, Yellow, and Blue! The Tri-Colour that flew On the winds of the Spanish Main, Striking the heart of Spain, Breaking the Tyrant-chain, With its message of Freedom true! The Red, the Yellow, the Blue! It was early in the year 1806. Near a wharf in Staten Island rode the good ship _Leander_ tugging at her anchor. A crowd of young men, some of them from New York and Long Island, came hurrying onto the wharf. Many were college men, others were working boys. Some were dressed in fashionable clothes; while others, who shouldered their way huskily through the crowd, wore plain homespun and carried kits of tools or bundles of clothes. Among these young men was William Steuben Smith, the grandson of John Adams, ex-President of the United States. With his father’s permission he had left college to sail on the _Leander_; but he had not consulted his grandfather. He and the other young men had signed ship’s papers to sail in the _Leander_, yet few of them knew where they were going. It was to be a mysterious voyage. A number of the men had been told that they would get much gold, and at the same time help to free an unknown suffering people from slavery. Others had been persuaded to join the expedition by being assured that they were going south to guard the Washington mail. Few, if any, had seen their new employer and commander, George Martin. The ship’s boats filled rapidly and rowed out to the _Leander_. All the men were set on board. Then she weighed anchor, and, with sails spread, was soon briskly cutting her way through the waves of the outer bay. And when Sandy Hook was passed, she stood out to sea. Then, there appeared on deck a most romantic figure, in a red robe and slippers. The word went round:-- “It’s our Commander, George Martin.” And George Martin, though the young men did not know it, was Francisco de Miranda. The red robe flapped in the wind around his well-built form. His gray hair, powdered and combed back from his high forehead, was tied behind with a ribbon. While from either ear stood out large, wiry, gray side-whiskers. As he strolled across the deck, examining the young men with his piercing, eager, hazel eyes, he smiled pleasantly, showing handsome white teeth.