By this time, he had shoved Massa Manuel into an arm-chair, whether he would or no, close to one of the wooden pillars of the balcony, and, getting behind him, he, with one hand, threw a towel over his face; then twisted a handkerchief round his neck, and the pillar also, with the other, until he had nearly strangled the poor creature; holding forth all the while, "There is the real garrote for you--a thousand times more genteel than hanging.--See, Brail, you sit down on your chair thus, quite comfortable--and the Spanish Jack Ketch, after covering your face with the graceful drapery of a shawl--you may even choose your pattern, they tell me, instead of dragging a tight nightcap over your beautiful snout, through which every wry mouth you make is seen--with one turn of his arm, so!"--Here, as he suited the action to the word, the half-choked Manuel spurred with all his might with his feet, and struggled with his hands, as if he had really been in the agonies of death, and I am not sure that he was far from them. At length he made a bolt from the chair, cast off the handkerchief that had been wrung round his neck, and rushed out of the room, never once looking behind him. "Now, there! did you ever see such an uncivil ould savage, to stop me just in the middle of my elegant illustration. However, we shall both go and see this arch scoundrel, Adderfang, _garroteadoed_ yet--and there I have rigged you now complete--not a bad looking little fellow, I declare, after your togs are fittingly donned.--So, good by, Brail, I will go home and see about breakfast"--and away he tumbled with his usual reckless shamble. He had left the room, and was drawing the door to after him, when in came honest Dick Lanyard--"Ah, Don Ricardo," shouted the Irishman--"glad to see you--now I can leave our friend with a safe conscience; but he is not quite the thing yet here"--and the villain pointed to his forehead. He vanished, but again returned suddenly, as if he had forgotten something, and banging the door open with greater noise than ever, re-entered, with all the _sang froid_ imaginable, dragging at a large parcel that was stuffed into his coat pocket, which he had considerable difficulty in extricating, apparently. At last, tearing it away, lining and all, he presented it to me, still sticking in the disruptured pouch. "Now, there, if I have not torn out the very entrails of my coat skirt with your cursed parcel--but beg pardon, Benjie, really I had forgotten it; although, if the truth must be told, it was the main object of my coming here. Ah so--and here is another packet for you too, Don Ricardo"--chucking a large letter on service to the lieutenant, who eagerly opened it. It contained, amongst others, the following from the commodore:-- "_H.M.S Gazelle, Port-Royal, Jamaica._ "_Such a date._