But the noiseless entry of the turnkey established the fact of mortal agency. And his fetters being unlocked, he once more was comparatively free. With deep feelings of gratitude and love toward Francisca, for her noble conduct, he left his cell, and in silence followed the unechoing steps of his former jailor, through many long passages and winding ways that led at last to a small private door, built in the outer wall, opening toward the harbor. Here Willis paused, to bid his conductor good-night, and thank him. But the man said his life would not be worth an hour’s purchase if he were found there in the morning, and he had been paid well enough to leave his situation, and that if el Señor Capitan had no objection, he would go with him. Willis of course could not have refused; but he had no such intention; and knowing the sparseness of his crew, was very glad thus to obtain another able-bodied man. Much pleased at the captain’s ready acquiescence, the obliging turnkey locked the door on the outside, and put the key in his pocket, saying he never liked to part with old friends, and it might be of use to him again. Quietly continuing their way, Willis and his quondam jailor walked out to the extremity of the nearest quay, where, in a boat laying close in the shadow of the wharf, he found Mateo and the remnant of his former crew. Brief, but cordial, were the greetings that passed between the slavers and their recovered captain, who, telling them how much he was indebted to his companion, stepped with him into the boat. The night was dark; thick clouds of misty vapor obscuring the light of the stars; and every thing seemed to be slumbering; even the “alerto sentinelo” of the guards on the castle, and in the city, as it broke the silence, had a sleepy sound; and the safety with which the boat shoved off and pulled into the basin proved they were not very wide awake. The tall masts of the Maraposa were dimly seen by Willis, as his boat, slowly and with muffled oars, made toward her, and the ebb tide was running out with all its force by the time he was alongside. “Who comes there?” some one hailed, in a stifled voice, from the schooner, as the bow of the boat slightly touched her side. “Friends!” was Willis’s reply, and with the celerity and noiseless tread of Indian warriors, he and his boat’s crew transferred themselves to the deck of the schooner. As the foot of Willis once more pressed his own quarter-deck he seemed a new being, and felt as if he were already safe, but a glance at the dark pile of the Moro, and the black hull of the Scorpion, just visible in the haze behind him, reminded him of the dangers still to be overcome. “Silently! silently, men! on your lives!” he whispered; “put the helm hard a-port, one of you! and, Mateo, forward and slip the cable.”