I drew forth a handful of French coins.

“Then run for it, lad!” I exclaimed in some excitement.  “Your master’s life hangs upon your speed—­hold, wait! do you remember that old tumble-down shed we passed on our way here; the one which had once been a farrier’s shop?”

The negro nodded, his eyes filled with awakened interest.

“Good; then first of all bring me a suit of the worst looking old clothes you can scare up in the negro quarters of this town.  Leave them there.  Then go directly to this Dutchman’s, buy every olive he has for sale at any price, load them into a boat—­a common huckster’s boat, mind you, and remain there with them until I come.  Do you understand all that?”

“Yas, Massa; I reckon as how I kin do dat all right ’nough.”  The fellow grinned, every white ivory showing between his thick red lips.

“Don’t stop to speak to any one, black or white.  Now trot along lively, and may the Lord have mercy on you if you fail me, for I pledge you I shall have none.”

I watched him disappear up the street in a sort of swinging dog-trot, took one more glance backward at the huge war-ship, now swinging by her cable silent and mysterious as ever, and turned away from the river front, my brain teeming with a scheme upon the final issue of which hung life or death.

CHAPTER III

A VISIT TO THE FLAG-SHIP

I had seldom assumed disguise, except when wearing Indian garb upon the war-trail.  Yet in boyhood I had occasionally masqueraded as a negro so successfully as to deceive even my own family.  With this in mind the resolve was taken that in no other guise than that of a foolish, huckstering darky could I hope to attain the guarded deck of that Spanish frigate.  This offered only the barest chance of success, yet such chances had previously served me well, and must be trusted now.  Opportunity frequently opens to the push of a venturesome shoulder.

Once determined upon this I set to work, perfecting each detail which might aid in the hazardous undertaking.  Much was to be accomplished, and consequently it was late in the afternoon before the two of us, myself as much a negro to outward appearance as my sable companion, floated anxiously down the broad river in a battered old scow heaped high with every variety of country produce obtainable.  Drifting with the current, I kept the blunt nose pointed directly toward the bulging side of the “Santa Maria,” yet without venturing to glance in that direction, until a sharp challenge of the vigilant sentinel warned us to sheer off.

Slowly shipping the heavy steering oar, finding it difficult even in that moment of suspense to suppress a smile at the expression of terror on Alphonse’s black face, I stood up, awed by the solemn massiveness of the vast bulk towering above me, now barely thirty feet away.  For the first time I realized fully the desperation of my task, and my heart sank.  But the gesticulations of the wrathful guard could no longer be ignored, and, smothering an exclamation of disgust at my momentary weakness, I nerved myself for the play.