“Well, Captain, he’s little, but he’s first-rate blood, and a genuine sprig of the chivalry.  He’s a devil of a secessionist, sir.  If ye were to hear that fellow make a stump speech on States’ rights, you’d think him a Samson on Government.  His father is the head of a good mercantile house here; ’twouldn’t be a bad idea to consign to him.  But I must bid you good-night, Captain; I’ll call and see you to-morrow,” said the pilot, leaving for his home.

The Janson was hauled well up the dock, and grounded on the ebb-tide.  Manuel prepared supper for the officers and crew, while the Captain awaited the return of his new acquaintance.  “Captain,” said Manuel, “I should like to go ashore to-night and take a walk, for my bones are sore, and I’m full of pains.  I think it will do me good.  You don’t think anybody will trouble me, if I walk peaceably along?”

“Nobody would trouble you if they knew you, Manuel; but I am afraid they will mistake you in the night.  You had better keep ship until morning; take a good rest, and to-morrow will be a fine day—­you can then take some exercise.”

Manuel looked at the Captain as if he read something doubtful in his countenance, and turned away with a pitiful look of dissatisfaction.  It seems that through his imperfect knowledge of English, he had misconceived the position of the celebrated Thomas Norman Gadsden, whom he imagined to be something like an infernal machine, made and provided by the good citizens of Charleston to catch bad niggers.  “Nora-ma Gazine no catch-e me, Cap-i-tan, if me go ashore, ’case me no make trouble in no part de world where me sail, Oh! no, Cap-i-tan, Manuel know how to mine dis bisness,” said he returning again to the Captain.

“Yes, yes, Manuel, but we can’t let the crew go ashore ’till we get through the custom-house; you must content yourself to-night, and in the morning ’twill be all right.  I’m afraid you’ll get sick again-the night-air is very bad in this climate; old Gadsden won’t trouble you.  He don’t walk about at night.”

Manuel walked forward, not very well satisfied with the manner in which the Captain put him off.  The latter felt the necessity of caution, fearing he might infringe upon some of the municipal regulations that the pilot had given him an account of, which accounted for his refusal Manuel sat upon the main-hatch fondling Tommy, and telling him what good things they would have in the morning for breakfast, and how happy they ought to be that they were not lost during the gales, little thinking that he was to be the victim of a merciless law, which would confine him within the iron grates of a prison before the breakfast hour in the morning.  “I like Charleston, Tommy,” said Manuel; “it looks like one of our old English towns, and the houses have such pretty gardens, and the people they say are all so rich and live so fine.  Tommy, we’ll have a long walk and look all around it, so that we can tell the folks when we get home.  The ship, owes me eleven pounds, and I mean to take some good things home for presents, to show what they have in South Carolina.”