By-and-by says one of those in Barnaby’s boat, in Spanish, “Where shall you go now?”

At this the leader of the expedition appeared suddenly to come back to himself and to find his tongue again.  “Go?” he roared out.  “Go to the devil!  Go?  Go where you choose!  Go?  Go back again—­that’s where well go!” And therewith he fell a-cursing and swearing, frothing at the lips as though he had gone clean crazy, while the black men, bending once more to their oars, rowed back again across the harbor as fast as ever they could lay oars to the water.

They put Barnaby True ashore below the old custom-house, but so bewildered and amazed by all that had happened, and by what he had seen, and by the names he had heard spoken, that he was only half conscious of the familiar things among which he suddenly found himself transported.  The moonlight and the night appeared to have taken upon them a new and singular aspect, and he walked up the street towards his lodging like one drunk or in a dream.  For you must remember that “John Malyoe” was the captain of the Adventure galley—­he who had shot Barnaby’s own grandfather—­and “Abram Dowling,” I must tell you, had been the gunner of the Royal Sovereign—­he who had been shot at the same time that Captain Brand met his tragical end.  And yet these names he had heard spoken—­the one from one boat, and the other from the other, so that he could not but wonder what sort of beings they were among whom he had fallen.

As to that box covered all over with mud, he could only offer a conjecture as to what it contained and as to what the finding of it signified.

But of this our hero said nothing to any one, nor did he tell any one what he suspected, for, though he was so young in years, he possessed a continent disposition inherited from his father (who had been one of ten children born to a poor but worthy Presbyterian minister of Bluefield, Connecticut), so it was that not even to his good friend Mr. Greenfield did Barnaby say a word as to what had happened to him, going about his business the next day as though nothing of moment had occurred.

But he was not destined yet to be done with those beings among whom he had fallen that night; for that which he supposed to be the ending of the whole affair was only the beginning of further adventures that were soon to befall him.

IV

Mr. Greenfield lived in a fine brick house just outside of the town, on the Mona Road.  His family consisted of a wife and two daughters—­ handsome, lively young ladies with very fine, bright teeth that shone whenever they laughed, and with a-plenty to say for themselves.  To this pleasant house Barnaby True was often asked to a family dinner, after which he and his good kind host would maybe sit upon the veranda, looking out towards the mountain, smoking their cigarros while the young ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the guitar and sang.