“Without doubt, my lord, since it was from the hackman that took her ladyship from —— street to the ship, and from the drayman who conveyed her ladyship’s baggage to the wharf, and from the porters who assisted in its transportation to the vessel—all of whom I hunted down and questioned, my lord.” “You have done your duty well, and I thank you, Gridley. Did you, by the way, happen to hear of any other vessel soon to sail for the West Indies?” “No, my lord.” “Hand me the evening paper.” Gridley gave his master the “News.” Lord Montressor turned to the Marine Intelligence, and ran his eye down the list, muttering: “For Liverpool, um—For Havre, um—um—For New Orleans, um—um—um—For Havanna—here we have it! For Havanna, the Petrel, Brande master, to sail on the first of October. This is the twenty-fifth of September. Gridley, we sail for Havanna in a week—be ready.” “Yes, my lord.” CHAPTER XVII. CAPTAIN BARBARA’S FIRST VOYAGE. “How gloriously her gallant course she goes! Her white wings flying—never from her foes; She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife. Who would not brave the ocean storm, the wreck, To move the monarch of her bounding deck!”—_Byron._ Early the next morning, Lord Montressor went down to the wharf to inquire for the Petrel. A trim, tight-looking little clipper, standing a cable’s length down the river, was pointed out to him. He called a boat, got into it, and directed to be rowed to the Petrel. On arriving alongside the vessel, Lord Montressor found himself in the midst of a busy scene. Many other boats, heavily laden, were around the clipper, the crew of which, seeming to consist of four negroes, were engaged in taking in freight. Lord Montressor directed his boat to be pulled up to the starboard gangway, and forthwith went on board, where, besides the four black sailors, who were engaged in hauling up heavy bales from the boats on the larboard, he found two manly boys of about ten and twelve standing on the deck. “Can you direct me to the Captain?” asked Lord Montressor. The darkies suspended their labors for an instant to look at each other and grin. “The Captain, my good fellows—the Captain—where is he?” again asked Lord Montressor, thinking they had not understood the first question. “The gentleman asks for the Captin! My eyes, Sam! I reckon he’s bound for Point No-Point,” said one of the men; and all, negro-like, slackened their ropes and left off work, to gaze, grin, or gossip, as opportunity might offer. But before Lord Montressor had time to reiterate his question, he was startled by a clear, ringing, sonorous voice, shouting: “Ahoy there! What are you about men! look alive! look alive! bear a hand! bear a hand! so——!”