And so, in truth, they did; for, going to the wharf on the day and at the hour appointed, we found the boatmen in waiting, with eager faces.  But here a new difficulty presented itself;—­the runner of our hotel, a rascal German, whose Cuban life has sharpened his wits and blunted his conscience, insisted that the hiring of boats for the lodgers was one of his (many) perquisites, and that before his sovereign prerogative all other agreements were null and void.—­N.B.  There was always something experimentative about this man’s wickedness.  He felt that he did not know how far men might be gulled, or the point where they would be likely to resist.  This was a fault of youth.  With increasing years and experience he will become bolder and more skilful, and bids fair, we should say, to become one of the most dexterous operators known in his peculiar line.  On the present occasion, he did not heed the piteous pleadings of the disappointed boatmen, nor Sobrina’s explanations, nor Can Grande’s arguments.  But when the whole five of us fixed upon him our mild and scornful eyes, something within him gave way.  He felt a little bit of the moral pressure of Boston, and feebly broke down, saying, “You better do as you like, then,” and so the point was carried.

A pleasant run brought us to the side of the steamer.  It was dusk already as we ascended her steep gangway, and from that to darkness there is, at this season, but the interval of a breath.  Dusk, too, were our thoughts, at parting from Can Grande, the mighty, the vehement, the great fighter.  How were we to miss his deep music, here and at home!  With his assistance we had made a very respectable band; now we were to be only a wandering drum and fife,—­the fife particularly shrill, and the drum particularly solemn.  Well, we went below, and examined the little den where Can Grande was to pass the other seven days of his tropical voyaging.  The berths were arranged the wrong way,—­across, not along, the vessel,—­and we foresaw that his head would go up and his feet down, and vice versa, with every movement of the steamer, and our weak brains reeled at the bare thought of what he was to suffer.  He, good soul, meanwhile, was thinking of his supper, and wondering if he could get tea, coffee, and chocolate, a toasted roll, and the touch of cold ham which an invalid loves.  And we beheld, and they were bringing up the side of the vessel trays of delicious pastry, and festoons of fowls, with more literal butcher’s meat.  And we said, “There will be no famine on board.  Make the most of your supper, Can Grande; for it will be the last of earth to you, for some time to come.”  And now came silence, and tears, and last embraces; we slipped down the gangway into our little craft, and, looking up, saw, bending above us, between the slouched hat and the silver beard, the eyes that we can never forget, that seemed to drop back in the darkness with the solemnity of a last farewell.  We went home, and the drum hung himself gloomily on his peg, and the little fife shut up for the remainder of the evening.