He was six weeks reaching Boston, for even the wind seemed to have had the life beaten out of it.  He had a box of Knox’s books, which he was to return by the Captain; and although he had read them before, he read them again, and wrote commentaries, and so kept his mind occupied for the greater part of the voyage.  But an active brain, inexperienced in the world, and in no need of rest, is always bored at sea, and he grew sick of the sight of that interminable blue waste; of which he had seen too much all his life.  When he had learned all there was to know about a ship, and read all his books, he burned for change of any sort.  The change, when it came, was near to making an end of him:  the ship caught fire, and they were a day and a night conquering the flames and preparing their philosophy to meet death; for the boats were unseaworthy.  Alexander had all the excitement he wanted, for he fought the fire as hard as he had fought the hurricane, and he was delighted when the Captain gave him permission to turn in.  This was his third touch-and-go with death.

He arrived in Boston late in October, and took passage immediately for New York.  There had been no time to announce his coming, and he was obliged to find his own way to the house of Hercules Mulligan, a member of the West Indian firm, to whom Mr. Cruger had given him a warm letter of introduction.  Mr. Mulligan, a good-natured Irishman, received him hospitably, and asked him to stop in his modest house until his plans were made.  Alexander accepted the invitation, then started out in search of his friend, Ned Stevens, but paused frequently to observe the queer, straggling, yet imposing little city, the red splendour of the autumn foliage; above all, to enjoy the keen and frosty air.  All his life he had longed for cold weather.  He had anticipated it daily during his voyage, and, although he had never given way to the natural indolence of the Tropics, he had always been conscious of a languor to fight.  But the moment the sharp air of the North had tingled his skin his very muscles seemed to harden, his blood to quicken, and even his brain to become more alert and eager.  If he had been ambitious and studious in an average temperature of eighty-five degrees, what would happen when the thermometer dropped below zero?  He smiled, but with much contentment.  The vaster the capacity for study, the better; as for his ambitions, they could rest until he had finished his education.  Now that his feet were fairly planted on the wide highway of the future, his impatience was taking its well-earned rest; he would allow no dreams to interfere with the packing of his brain.