The Receiver called me to him and asked after a matter which we had spoken of before.  Then he made me known to his companion, who was a Mr. Fairweather, a merchant out of Boston.

“The Lord hath given thee a pleasant dwelling, friend,” said the stranger, snuffling a little through his nose.

From his speech I knew that Mr. Fairweather was of the sect of the Quakers, a peaceable race that Virginia had long ill-treated.

“The land is none so bad,” said the Receiver, “but the people are a perverse generation.  Their hearts are set on vanity, and puffed up with pride.  I could wish, Mr. Fairweather, that my lines had fallen among your folk in the north, where, I am told, true religion yet flourisheth.  Here we have nothing but the cold harangues of the Commissary, who seeketh after the knowledge that perisheth rather than the wisdom which is eternal life.”

“Patience, friend,” said the stranger.  “Thee is not alone in thy crosses.  The Lord hath many people up Boston way, but they are sore beset by the tribulations of Zion.  On land there is war and rumour of war, and on the sea the ships of the godly are snatched by every manner of ocean thief.  Likewise we have dissension among ourselves, and a constant strife with the froward human heart.  Still is Jerusalem troubled, and there is no peace within her bulwarks.”

“Do the pirates afflict you much in the north?” asked the Receiver with keen interest.  The stranger turned his large spectacles upon him, and then looked blandly at me.  Suddenly I had a notion that I had seen that turn of the neck and poise of the head before.

“Woe is me,” he cried in a stricken voice.  “The French have two fair vessels of mine since March, and a third is missing.  Some say it ran for a Virginian port, and I am here to seek it.  Heard thee ever, friend, of a strange ship in the James or the Potomac?”

“There be many strange ships,” said the Receiver, “for this dominion is the goal for all the wandering merchantmen of the earth.  What was the name of yours?”

“A square-rigged schooner out of Bristol, painted green, with a white figurehead of a winged heathen god.”

“And the name?”

“The name is a strange one.  It is called The Horn of Diarmaid, but I seek to prevail on the captain to change it to The Horn of Mercy.”

“No such name is known to me,” and the Receiver shook his head.  “But I will remember it, and send you news.”

I hope I did not betray my surprise, but for all that it was staggering.  Of all disguises and of all companies this was the most comic and the most hazardous.  I stared across the river till I had mastered my countenance, and when I looked again at the two they were soberly discussing the harbour dues of Boston.

Presently the Receiver’s sloop arrived to carry him to Point Comfort.  He nodded to me, and took an affectionate farewell of the Boston man.  I heard some good mouth-filling texts exchanged between them.