THE scene of the following tale opens in the month of September,
1827, at that period when the Colombian revolution was
creating no little sensation in the world, and especially in
the United States,—a nation ever foremost to extend its sympathy to
a people struggling for political freedom. As the infant Republic
had few resources, and no navy, of any force, vessels were fitted out
in some of the ports of the States for the purpose of aiding the Colombians
in their efforts to establish their Independence. One or
two of these ships were purchased by the Colombian government
and volunteers for the service were called for, with offers of large
pay and an abundance of prize money.

There were, however, vessels of a different description, fitted out
for this enterprise. They were privateers, so far as a commission

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of letter of marque went, but pirates in fact; for their crews did not
contain one Colombian; being chiefly composed of unprincipled
American seamen, and sailors of all nations. These vessels were
usually commanded by adventurous Sea Captains, who had too
lawless a reputation to get ships in the merchant-service to command,
or by officers who had been degraded from the naval service
for some misdemeanors.

At the time our story opens, there had been a vessel lying for
some days, in the harbor of Boston, preparing for sea. She was a
large top-sail schooner of nearly two hundred tons burden. She
was pierced for twelve guns, and had a very warlike and saucy
appearance. She was one of the handsomest craft that had been
seen afloat in Boston harbor for many years. The spring of her
head, as it swelled from the raking stern, was enough to gladden an
old tar's eye, with its nautical grace, and the air of lightness which
it threw over the whole bow. The view of her trail-boards, navelhoods,
and head-knees, embraced in one sweep of the eye, was very
fine. The bow was very sharp, and flared gently from the bends up
to the covering board, from, whence it assumed a bolder, and more
dashy spring, which it carried upward to the rail.

Her shear was so nicely graduated, that although her sides were
handsomely rounded, one viewing her broadside on would suppose
her almost straight. Her run was clear fore and aft, and the stern
extremely light and graceful. Outside she was painted black, with
a white streak upon the bead beneath the ports, which were lined
with bright scarlet. Forward she had a top-gallant forecastle, the
height of the rail extending aft to the windlass. She carried pole
top-gallant masts, and royal masts fore and aft; but set to carry
skysails rather than royals. Her masts and spars were of the
most beautiful proportions; and her rigging was set with the nicest
nautical precision.

This beautiful schooner had the week before come into port, and
anchored off Central wharf. She showed Colombian colors; and
it was soon understood that she had come in to ship men for the
Colombian service. No one, however, knew whence she came; nor
was her commander known to any person, that any one could find
out.

The schooner had been eight days at her anchorage, quietly
shipping such adventurers as chose to embark on the service for
which she was said to be destined; but her captain had not yet
been seen. On the evening of the eighth day, while it was still

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twilight, a young man wrapped to the eyes in a cloak emerged from
an obscure alley near Ann street, and took his way rapidly, and as
if not desiring to be recognized, towards the harbor. He threaded
the street along the dock until he came to Central wharf, when
taking the rear or upper walk, he pursued his course at a quick
step till he reached the extremity of the pier. It was by this time
night. The stars sparkled in the bosom of the harbor, and dark
shadows enveloped the shipping and distant islands. Here and
there a boat passing from the wharf to some vessel in the stream;
or some belated fisherman coming in from the outer bay in his
light skiff, only broke the quiet of the limpid water. Directly opposite
to him lay the beautiful Colombian schooner, her graceful
proportions still clear and distinct in the waning twilight.

“Boatman,” called the young man, addressing a man who was
seated in the stern of a small boat fastened to the steps of the pier,
and smoking a pipe as if enjoying the luxury of repose after the labors
of the day.

“Yer honor!” responded the man springing to his feet. “Do you
want to go off, sir?”

“Yes. Take me on board the schooner.”

“That I'll do in a jiffy, sir. Plase to step in, sir. The sate is
clane, sir.”

The young man stepped into the little boat, and seating himself in
the stern-sheets, spoke not until the boat came under the schooner's
gangway.

“Boat ahoy!” challenged the sentry at his post.

“A shore boat. I would come on board,” answered the young
man.

“The orders are not to let any boat come alongside after sun-down!”

“I have business with the commander.”

“The captain is not on board,” answered an officer coming to the
side. “What do you wish?”

“Are you in present command of the vessel?”

“Yes.”

“Then, perhaps, my business may be made known to you!”

“Pull alongside, boatman,” ordered the lieutenant. The man
obeyed; and the next moment the person whom he had brought to
the schooner stood upon her deck.

“Can I speak with you, sir?” he asked of the officer.

“Yes, if you words must be private.”

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He then turned and led the way into the cabin, which was an
apartment furnished with elegance and taste.

“Now, sir, we are alone,” remarked the officer, fixing a keen glance
upon the visitor, who still concealed his features by his cap and cloak.

“I am told this is a Colombian vessel, and that she sails in a day
or two for the gulf.”

“Yes, we expect to get away by the day after to morrow,” answered
the lieutenant, bluffly.

“Is it possible to have an interview with her captain?” asked
the young man, dropping the cloak from his face, and pushing back
his cap, as if there was nothing to be feared from recognition while
on board the schooner.

“The captain is on shore. He does not stay on board,” answered
the officer, looking at the features of the stranger with admiration,
combined with curiosity. His visitor was a young man, not more
than five-and-twenty, tall and well formed, with a very handsome,
manly face. He had blue eyes and a clear florid complexion, with
wavy light brown hair. His mouth was very fine, and his whole
face decidedly noble in its aspect; yet it was stamped with an air of
sadness that struck the officer with feelings akin to sympathy. He
at once became interested in him.

The stranger regarded the lieutenant for an instant with a fixed
gaze, as if deliberating whether to confide to him his object in visiting
the schooner. There was an air of nautical frankness in the
officer's countenance that invited confidence; yet he hesitated.

“If you are particularly desirous to see the captain, I think I can
place you in the way of it,” said the lieutenant, who observed his
embarrassment.

“I should be obliged to you.”

“I think I can trust you. The captain, to tell you the truth, don't
care to be seen here in Boston. He, however, may not object to
your seeing him, if you have business that concerns him.”

“It does not so much concern him as myself.”

“Do you know him?”

“I have never seen him!”

“Then you are not his enemy!”

“No!”

“You shall see him!”

As the lieutenant, who had the air of a bold, frank, reckless fellow,
spoke, he wrote a few words upon a slip of paper and handed them
to his guest.

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“Take this to the house named on it, and ask of a man you will
see there, who has but one eye and a scar on his lip, to conduct you
to Captain Lightfoot!”

The young man took the card with many expressions of thanks,
and left the schooner for the shore-boat. He soon reached the pier
from which he had embarked, and took his way up the wharf. As
he went, he took the same precautions as before against being recognised.
After reaching the head of the wharf, he took his way along
India-street, through Merchants' Row to Ann. He entered this close
and winding thoroughfare, and traversed its crowded walks until he
came to a tavern, over the door of which was hung a gilded anchor.

“This is the place—`The Gold Anchor,' ” he said, glancing at his
card.

He made his way through a crowd of sailors and women, who
were congregated about the door smoking, drinking, singing, and
fighting, and found himself in an ill-lighted room, dark with the
clouds of tobacco smoke that floated in it.

“Hulloah, shipmate, in the long togs,” said an old man-of-war's
man to him, as he slightly jostled him, “don't spread so much canvass,
or else mind your helm a little better!”

“What does the blasted land-lubber want in these cruisings?”
growled another. “I say, shore-purser treat us all round, or we'll
take three reefs in your main-sail!”

“Stop that talk there, lads! Can't a gentleman come into my
house but you must pay off your talk-tackle, as if the world shouldn't
have nobody on it but old salts!”

“That's the way it should be, Blinker. If I had the say, I'd have
all sailors and pretty lasses!” answered the tar.

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” asked the landlord, civilly, of
the stranger, whose entrance into his tap-room had drawn upon him
the notice of his regular customers.

“I want to see the person whose name is on this paper.”

The host took the paper from him, and placing it close to the light,
began closely, with his one eye, to examine the writing. Finding he
could not make it out by legitimate reading, he proceeded to spell
letter by letter, when the bearer interrupted him.

“It is Captain Lightfoot I wish to see.”

“Oh, yes, I see it is! So you want to see the captain?” he demanded,
bending a sharp glance upon him. “Who did this paper
come from?”

“His lieutenant on board the schooner.”

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“Oh, aye, Westwood. Confound him, he can't write a hand a
christian can make head or tail of. He must have been tipsy when
he wrote this, for the writing looks as drunk as a fiddler!”

The young gentleman smiled, for to his eyes the writing was very
fair and legible, indeed rather an unusually good specimen of penmanship.
But Blinker, doubtless, had forgotten his schooling.

“Can I see the captain?”

“I will go and ask him. What name?”

“That is of no consequence!”

“Well, I will let him know you are here, and what your signals
are!”

With this, he called to an old man-o'-war's man to mind the “tap,”
and then quitted the room by a door that led to a flight of stairs. He
had been absent about three minutes, when he returned and made a
gesture for the young man to follow him.

They passed through the door and up the stairs into a sort of hall
or lumber room, through which they went into an entry, at the extremity
of which was another flight of stairs which descended.
Taking these, they came to a door at the foot, which was ajar, and
from which came the sounds of mirth, of song, and the uproar of
loud voices.

“Go in through this and the door beyond, and you will find him,”
said the host. “I must now return to the tap.”

With these words he departed, taking the light with him, and leaving
the young man in darkness, save a glimmer from the distant door
to which Blinker had directed his attention, and from which came
the sound of revelry.

He stood where he was for a few seconds irresolute. He was
uncertain whether he ought to advance or retire, for he by no means
liked the position in which he found himself placed. He was, however,
not deficient in courage. But the character of the place in
which he had been directed to find the captain of the schooner, the
mysterious manner in which he had been directed to it, and the
sounds of riotous indulgence that now assailed his ears, as he stood
alone in the darkness of the strange place, naturally awakened suspicion
and called for wariness.

“Is it possible this captain is revelling with his crew,” he said to
himself, as the words of a popular seaman's song reached him, accompanied
with an uproarious chorus. “If I find him in yonder
scene, the chief spirit of it, I shall find in him some rough and brutal
officer, to whom I shall not care to commit my destiny. Yet I will

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not shrink! To advance is my only alternative. Infamy, death are
behind me. I have no safety—no shelter from the laws or from my
self, but this which is now held out to me!”

As he spoke he advanced with a firm step towards the door.

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