But I took a liking to the priest for all that,
and could not help respecting him for the feeling
manner in which he spoke of his tawny
parishioners, his "poor shorn sheep," for whose
sake he had gone abroad as a clerical mendicant.
And I readily promised to use my utmost
endeavours to obtain for him the small boon
he craved. The priest's eyes filled with tears
when I spoke kindly to him. He thrust his
hand into the pocket of his threadbare black
soutane, drew out a tin snuff-box, and held it
to me, open, with a little humble bow and a
French grin of thankfulness. I do not like
snuff, and it makes me sneeze, but I remembered
Sterne and the Franciscan monk at Calais, with
his little horn box, and I took a pinch as
cordially as I could. And just then a louder tap
came to the door, and in bounced Captain Harrison.

The Saucy Jane's captain had come to give
me some final instructions on the subject of
embarking. We were on no account to come
off before dusk from the shore, for though the
Federal cruiser had met with some damage to
her machinery, and was in harbour and under
repairs, a suspicious steamer had been espied to
seaward, and it was rumoured that the San
Jacinto was off the coast. Seeing that I was
not alone, the skipper would have retired, but I
begged him to stay, and introduced the padre,
with a brief statement of the latter's misfortunes,
and a hint that it would be a charitable
act to carry him safely across to the mainland.

Harrison knit his brows at first, and keenly
inspected the appearance of this petitioner for a
free passage, but before long the young sailor's
frown relaxed, and it was with a good-humoured
smile that he said he would talk the matter over
with his steward, and, if a berth could be found
for the priest, he would send me word before
sunset. In truth, a much more suspicious
person than the skipper must have been
disarmed by a survey of worthy M. Duchochois,
as he stood, the picture of piteous eagerness,
with his horn-rimmed spectacles pushed up to
his forehead, and with the marks of snuffy tears
very visible on his sallow cheeks, his iron grey
hair hanging down over the collar of his shabby
soutane. Indeed, so childlike and simple was
the poor old curé's anxiety to have his boon
granted him, that neither Harrison nor I could
resist his wistful look, and my exclamation of,
"Upon my word, captain, the poor old gentleman
must be one of us, if I pay the fare myself,"
was simultaneously uttered with Harrison's more
genial, "Cheer up, Monsieur le Curé, or
whatever you call yourself. You shall be very
welcome to a passage aboard us, you and your
black boy, and we'll answer for it you shan't
have lost flesh by the time we drop anchor in
Charleston——Hilloa! what on earth is the man
about?"

For the padre, vehement in his gratitude,
had caught hold of Harrison's hand and insisted
on kissing it in sign of thankfulness, while his
polyglot blessings fell thickly on us both. With
some difficulty the ecclesiastic was induced to
calm his transports of joy, and he left the hotel
to return, as he said, to the poor lodging in
which he had left his servant, and what few
necessaries he still possessed, with the
understanding that he was to return at sundown,
when he could embark with the rest of the
party.

"One word," cried Harrison, as if a sudden
thought had occurred to him, while the padre's
hand was still upon the handle of the door,
"monsieur, pas un mot, keep it dark, will you,
about your appointment this evening, do you
understand?" But the padre looked as blinkingly
unapprehensive of our commander's meaning
as an owl in the daylight.

"Plait-il, M. le Capitaine?" he asked timidly,
and off came the shovel-hat again. I was obliged
to explain in French that the skipper had reasons
for wishing the curé to keep his approaching
departure a secret from any acquaintances the
latter might have formed in the little town, and
this M. Duchochois readily and humbly agreed
to do, though with no gleam of intelligence in
his round black eyes.

"May I go now, messieurs?" said the priest,
with another bow, and we exchanged
salutations, and parted.

"That parson will never set the Thames on
fire, poor old boy!" laughed Harrison, as the
curé's footfall died away in the distance. The
skipper only stayed to give me some parting
instructions as to the particular part of the wharf
where we were to embark, rather a more secluded
spot than the quay in front of the hotel. Thither
our baggage was to be conveyed through the
network of narrow lanes behind the wharves, so
as to avoid unfriendly observation. And, once
past the point where the San Jacinto lay watching
for prey, the captain of the Saucy Jane had
few fears of a successful termination to the
voyage.

How I watched the sun go down on that
evening, suffusing the sea with rainbow tints
that presently merged into rose colour, deep
crimson, and blood-red of the darkest hue, and
so abruptly faded out, and left the surface of
the water as dusky as indigo. There was very
little moon, and though the stars shone out
white and brilliant, fog-wreaths came curling
over the waters as the land-breeze began to sigh
through the rigging of the ships in the bay. As
we were cautiously rowed out to where the
Saucy Jane lay, with her brailed-up canvas
shaking loosely on boom and yard, every flash
of the oars elicited a phosphorescent gleam from
the gently heaving water. The passengers and
their baggage filled two large boats and a dory,
and we were among the occupants of the first
boat. By we, I mean Mrs. Bolton and her
little girls, myself, and the padre and his Indian
boy. The last mentioned, a spare copper-
skinned lad, dressed in blue cotton, and with a
yellow silk handkerchief tied tightly round his
lank black hair, like the fillet worn by horse-
riders in a circus, sat impassive behind his
master, and looked more like a bronze statue