masquerade.  Nor did it promise an especially difficult part to play.  We were of similar size, broad-shouldered, stocky men, with smoothly shaven faces, the difference therein hardly likely to be observed by careless eyes, beneath dimly burning lights.  I knew enough regarding his peculiarities of voice and manner to imitate both fairly well, so only an accident, or some careless slip of the tongue, would be apt to reveal the fraud.  In short, I was armed with audacity, doubting little that I should safely pass the guards.  Anyway, there was nothing else for it; ’twas a moment when one must cast timidity to the winds.

Yet I found it difficult to essay the first step in so desperate an enterprise.  For several moments I waited, hanging back within the shadow of the mast, gathering my wits together for the chances of the play, while endeavoring to pick out details of the situation along those silent, gloomy decks.  Owing to the mass of over-hanging cordage and the high wooden bulwarks on either side, the night appeared even darker than when I was above, perched on the dizzy yard.  Occasionally some deeper shadow, or the noise of voice or footfall, made apparent to me the life on board.  Toward the stern that steady tramping back and forth of the officer on watch continued uninterrupted, as he paced steadily from rail to rail.  I could even distinguish the dim outlines of his lower limbs as he passed and repassed before the single gleaming point of light on board.  I was also assured as to a group of seamen forward, hard against a steeper rise of the deck; once I heard the officer aft call out some unintelligible order, when one of the group detached himself from among those others and passed along the opposite side of the mast from where I lay, yet so close I could have touched him with extended hand.  I felt convinced a sentinel stood beside the hatch, and imagined I could distinguish the faint outlines of another farther back, near the rail.  Trusting to avoid interference from this latter soldier,—­for I sought no risk of accident which might be escaped,—­I crept around upon the opposite side of the deck from where I had been crouching so long.  Getting my new bearings as well as possible amid such confusing darkness, I finally set my teeth to it, rose, and bore directly down upon the hatchway, lurching somewhat heavily and unsteadily upon my feet.

Whatever vestige of doubt lingered as to the nature of my reception on board the “Santa Maria” was quickly out to rest.  In return there came to me, from that first experience, a measure of confidence in my assumed character that enabled me to impersonate my drunken priestly predecessor with a degree of cool perfection that surprised myself.  Faith, ’t is always so; life is like the teetering-board of children, ever up or down.  Evidently the father in his night migrations had passed that way before, as the sentry—­he appeared a burly fellow in the gloom,—­after making certain as to the identity of his unsteady visitor, asked no unpleasant questions, merely contenting himself with gruff, good-natured warning to the padre to be more careful this time and not fall down the ladder.