Fernando went to the fore part of the boat and sat by Sukey.

For a few moments both were silent.  Fernando was first to speak.

“Sukey, how is all this to end?” he asked with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” Sukey answered, in his peculiar, drawling way.  “We needn’t complain, though; because we came out best so far.”

“But it was terrible, shooting at him.  I might have killed him.”

“He might have killed you, and that would have been worse.”

“I never thought of that.”

“No doubt he did.”

“I wish we were back in the college; but I greatly fear we will be expelled in disgrace.  It would kill our mothers.”

“No; I think they would get over it; but I tell you, Fernando, my opinion is, it don’t make much difference.”

“Why?”

“The United States and England are going to fight.  I got a paper last night, and it was chock full of fight, and as for your shootin’ the lieutenant, I am sure everybody, even your mother and the faculty, will be glad of it.  I only blame you for one thing.”

“What is that, Sukey?”

“When you had such a good chance, why didn’t you aim higher?”

The expression on Sukey’s face was too ludicrous for even the young duelist, and he laughed in spite of himself.

“Helloa, there’s the town,” cried Sukey, as they rounded a headland and entered the mouth of a broad bay, standing in toward a beautiful village.  This village has wholly disappeared.  Railroads shunned it, and the water traffic being too small to support it, it degenerated into a village of fishermen, which, in 1837, was totally destroyed by fire, and has never been rebuilt.  Before the war of 1812, it was a neat, flourishing little town.

“Is this the town you were spakin’ about?” asked Terrence of the boatman.

“Yes, zur.”

“What place is it?”

“Mariana.”

“Mariana,” repeated Fernando, “I have heard that name before.  Where was it?  Mariana,—­Mariana.”

Terrence came forward to his companions and said: 

“Now, lads, like as not the frinds of Matson may be afther following us.  Lave it all to me.  We’ll change our names and go up to the tavern, where we’ll hire rooms and be gintlemen traveling for pleasure.”

“Would they dare follow us on shore?”

“No; I think not; but if they should, my plan will answer.”

When they ran into shore, Terrence paid the boatman and discharged him.  Terrence was the son of a rich Irish merchant in Philadelphia, who kept his son liberally supplied with money, who, with corresponding liberality, spent it.

Terrence felt that this was his scrape, and he resolved to bear the expenses.

With his friends, he went to the tavern, where they engaged rooms.  Fernando and Sukey retired to their rooms, while Terrence remained in the tap-room, where there was a crowd of Marylanders.  He began telling them a most horrible story of the impressment of himself and his friends by a British vessel and of their recent escape.  He stated that they had been closely pursued, and he would not be surprised if the Britishers sent a boat on shore to take them away.