The crew were a mixed lot, mostly Norwegians and Dagos, whom the captain had shipped at low wages.  Some of them hardly understood a word of English; and before the week was out the captain almost killed a poor Portuguese by striking him with a belaying-pin because he misunderstood an order while at the wheel.

That night the second-mate talked to Lee during his watch, and asked him how he came to ship.

Lee told him his story.

“Well, my lad, my advice to you is to run away as soon as we reach Havana.  The captain is also part owner, and he will never pay you any wages, if by any chance he can avoid it, while he is likely to do you harm if you cross him.”

“Why do you stop on board?” asked Lee.

“Because he owes me several months’ wages, and I cannot afford to lose it.  But you mind what I tell you, and get away the first chance.”

Among the crew of the Traveler, Lee had found a Cuban lad of about his own age, named Diego, whom Captain Bristol had inveigled into shipping as a cabin-boy, on a previous voyage to Havana.

He had been five or six months on board the vessel, and began to speak English pretty fluently, but in a broken way, and with many sailor expressions.

One evening, at sea, he came up to Lee and said: 

“My name is Diego.  What is your name?”

Lee told him.

[Illustration: 
DIEGO AND LEE LOOKED AT EACH EACH OTHER
AS MUCH AS TO SAY, “WHY WOULDN’T WE DO?”]

“I came from Havana.  Where did you come from?”

Lee related his story in a few words.

“Just the same with me,” said Diego, when he had finished.  “I’ve got no father, no mother; but I’ll not stop here.  The captain treats me like a slave.  When we get to Havana, we go ashore, eh?”

Lee had for some time thought he had better get out of the Traveler, if he could only see his way to do so.  But he said: 

“Where would we go, and what would we do, Diego?  I have to get a living, and would only have to look for another vessel to take me home, and that might not be so easy to get.”

Diego smiled knowingly.

“You see, I’ve got an aunt, and she lives at Regla,” he said.  “She’s a good old woman, but very poor.  We can sleep in her house, though, till we find something to do.”

Lee did not promise, although Diego returned to the subject several times.  But on the morning that the vessel entered Havana the captain gave him a violent blow with his fist, because he was not quick enough in bringing him his spyglass from the cabin, and this determined Lee finally, and he went forward and told Diego he was ready to go at the first chance.

“All right,” replied the Cuban; “I’ll keep my eyes open and mouth shut.”

It was a lovely morning as Lee stood forward and entered the first foreign port in which he had ever been, glancing up at the frowning Morro Castle at the entrance, close to which all vessels must pass, and seeing the great guns pointing at them from the embrasures in the old walls, the quaint turrets or sentry-boxes, painted in red and yellow, with the sentinels pacing up and down, with polished muskets and bayonets, and dressed in uniforms of white linen.