Two persons were to be seen slowly pacing the schooner’s quarter-deck; one, who seemed to be the captain, was tall, with a breadth of shoulders, smallness of waist, and elasticity of motion, that promised an uncommon degree of muscular strength, united with great agility. His dress was simple; an embroidered shirt of fine linen the only upper garment, sailor pants, of white drilling, kept in their place by a sash of crimson silk around the waist; a black silk handkerchief, loosely knotted around his finely formed neck, which, with white stockings and pumps on his feet, and a broad Panama sombrero on his head, comprised the whole of his attire, and, though scant, it accorded well with the heat of the day, and showed to advantage the perfection of his form. His face, when under the influence of pleasant emotions, or lit up by a smile, was eminently handsome, and would at once have been recognized as that of the American who had led captive the heart of Francisca at the governor’s ball. But when excited, as he now seemed to be, by evil passions, there was a fierceness and recklessness in his eye, and an expression of coolness and determination about his mouth, that rendered his countenance fascinatingly fearful. The other was a Spaniard, who held the situation of first officer on board the Maraposa, a stout, seaman-like personage, with nothing remarkable in his appearance, except a look of daring and dogged resolution in his deep-brown eye and square lower jaw. They had been for some time quietly continuing their circumscribed walk, when the silence was broken by the captain in a voice of suppressed anger, addressing his mate with— “It is both foolish and boyish, I know, Mateo, to let the remembrance of that whippersnapping lubber’s words chafe me so; but to have heard him, _he_, who never knew disappointment, unkindness, thwarted exertions, or suspicion; and who, fresh from his lady mother’s drawing-room in London, is as proud of his new ten-gun brig, and first command, as a child of his plaything; to have heard _him_ criticising the character of ‘Charles Willis,’ and branding him with the name of ‘outlaw!’ ‘heathen!’ ‘villain!’ ‘brute!’ and boasting to the ladies at the ball that his course would soon be run; for he, the silk-worm, intended, ere a month was past, to capture his vessel, or blow her out of the water. Caraho! he had better never cross my path—it was as much as I could do to keep my knife out of his heart even then.” “Caramba!” exclaimed Mateo, “he will be likely to meet with disappointments enough, before he has the pleasure of capturing the little Butterfly; and he will probably find our long Tom a match for his ten barkers, even if he perfumes his balls. But, pesté, think no more of the fool, señor capitan; and wishing him ‘buen vega a los infiernos,’[4] is it not time for us to be getting under way?” “Yes; pass the word for all hands up anchor and make sail.”