On the morning of the day that the above arrangement was made by the parties concerned, Captain Hazard observed that Morton had despatched his breakfast very hastily, and was on deck, waiting for his boat’s crew to finish their meal, long before the Captain and Mr. Coffin had shown any symptoms of pausing in their discussion of salt beef, coffee, and pilot bread.

“What can be the matter with Mr. Morton lately?” said the old seaman to his second officer; “he was never so fond of going ashore anywhere else, and now here he’s off and into his boat, like a struck black-fish.”

“Why, I some expect,” said Coffin, “there’s a petticoat in the wind.”

“The devil! who?”

“Well, I rather guess it’s that pretty blue-eyed, English-looking girl, that came on board with old Don Blow-me-down, when he first came in here.”

“Ah! I recollect her. I thought Morton seemed to take a shine to her.”

“They say she’s Don Strombolo’s niece.”

“They may tell that to the marines; she don’t look no more like the rest on ’em than the devil looks like a parson.”

“I don’t know” said Coffin gravely, “how the devil looks; but they say he can put on the appearance of an angel of light, and I don’t see why ’taint jist as easy for him to put on a black coat, and come the parson over us poor sinners.”

“Well, well; she’s a sweet pretty girl, and looks kind o’ as though she wasn’t over and above in good spirits.”

“Well, now; I some guess I know a little something about that.”

“Why how the d did you come to make yourself busy?”

“Why, you see, there’s an old woman keeps a pulparia close to the old Don’s rookery.”

“Hum! so, Mr. Sam Coffin, when you’re cruising for information, you overhaul the women’s papers first and foremost.”

“Why you see, Captain Hazard, if you ask one of these men here a civil question, all you can get out of the critter is that d d ‘quién sabe,’ and blast the any thing else.”

“Can sarvy! why that sounds like Chinaman’s talk; what does it mean?”

“It means ‘who knows,’ and that’s the way they answer pretty much all questions.”

“Well, what was’t you was going to say about the girl?”

“Well, the old woman told me the girl’s mother was an Englishwoman.”

“I told you she wasn’t clear Spanish and being a girl, so, why she takes altogether after the mother.”

“And the old woman said furdermore, that her mother wasn’t a Catholic; she was a what-d’ye-call-’em.”

“A Protestant, I s’pose you mean.”

“Yes, yes, a Protestant that’s it. Well, you see, her mother did not die till this girl, her darter, was nigh upon sixteen years old, and it’s like the old lady eddicated her arter the same religion she was brought up in herself.”

“Aye, now I begin to see into it all.”

“Well, so you see, as nigh as I can make out, for the old woman wouldn’t talk right out only kept hinting along like.”

“Hum! a woman generally can hint a d d sight more than when she speaks right out.”

“Well, so it seems this Isabella, being half English and whole Protestant, won’t exactly steer by their compass in religious matters.”

“Poor girl! poor innocent little creature!”

“Well, I got a talking ’long with the old woman, and, arter a good deal of trouble, I got hold of pretty much the whole history about this ’ere girl. So she told me, amongst other things, that the girl’s uncle wanted her to marry one of them officers that was aboard that day.”

“Which of them?”

“That thundering cockroach-legged thief, that was copper-fastened with gold lace and brass buttons chock up to his ears, with a thundering great broadsword triced up to his larboard quarter and slung with brass chains.”

“Ah! I recollect him.”

“And so do I, blast his profile. He cut more capers than the third mate of a Guineaman over a dead nigger, and went skylarking about decks like a monkey in a china-shop.”

“I took notice that he looked marline-spikes at Mr. Morton for paying so much attention to the girl.”

“Aye, that he did; but I worked him a traverse in middle latitude, sailing on that tack. I got him and the rest on ’em into the steerage, and Mr. Morton and the girl had a good half hour’s discourse to themselves in the cabin.”

“I should be sorry to have Mr. Morton try to engage the poor girl’s affections; and if I thought he had any improper intentions towards her, I would go ashore immediately, and speak to the old governor about it.”

“Well now, Captain Hazard, I guess there isn’t no danger on that tack. Mr. Morton may go adrift now and then among the girls, and where’s the man that doesn’t? No, no; Charlie Morton isn’t none of them sort that would gain a poor girl’s affections only to ruin her. No no; he’s too honorable and noble-spirited for such a rascally action as that.”

“Well, I am of your opinion. So now, Mr. Coffin, we’ll set up our fore-rigging for a full do; for we must sail Wednesday evening, right or wrong.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

When Morton returned to the ship at night, he hastened to lay before Captain Hazard the history of his love, and his plans for bringing it to a successful crisis, declaring that his intentions were strictly honorable, and that the lady might easily pass upon the crew as a passenger. The old seaman heard him to an end, as he urged his request with all the fervor of youthful eloquence and love; and, having scratched his head for a while, as if to rouse himself, and be convinced that he was awake, replied:

“A queer sort of business this altogether, my son; I don’t exactly know what to make of it what will your father say to your bringing home a young cow-whale, in addition to your share of the oil?”

“Make yourself easy on that score, my dear sir; I know my father wishes to have me quit going to sea, and marry.”

“Yes, but is not a wife, brought into your family in this way, liable to be looked upon as a sort of contraband article run goods like?”

“I am not much afraid of that, on my father’s part,” said Morton; “and if,” he continued, laughing, “if the grave old ladies of my acquaintance find fault, I can quiet them in a moment, by quoting the conduct of the tribe of Benjamin, in a similar situation, by way of precedent.”

“Ah, Charlie! your scheme, I am afraid, is all top-hamper, and no ballast; wont the enemy give chase? I am sure that Don Don what’s his name, that young officer, more than suspects your good standing in the young lady’s affections: wont he alarm the coast, and put the old folks up to rowing guard round her, so that you can’t communicate? Ay, that he will.”

“Trust me for that, sir; if I cannot weather upon any Spaniard that ever went unhanged, either Creole or old Castilian, I’ll agree to go to the mines for life.”

“Don’t be too rash, my dear boy; though the Spaniards are only courageous behind shot-proof walls, and when they number three to one, they are deceitful as well as cruel; and, if their suspicions are once excited, they will murder you at once, and her too, poor girl! and think they are doing God service, because you are both Protestants.”

“I can only repeat, trust to my prudence and management; I have too much at stake to hazard it lightly.”

“Then remember, Charles, we sail Wednesday evening: it will be star-light, but not too dark to see your way. I will defer sailing till eleven o’clock, if that will suit your schemes.”

“It will exactly; or if you sail the moment I return, so much the better.”

With these words, they separated Morton, overjoyed at the completion of his preliminary arrangements, all night, like Peter Pindar’s dog,

“lay winking,
And couldn’t sleep for thinking.”

The appointed day at length arrived; but the destinies, who had hitherto spun the thread of the two lovers’ fate as smooth and even as a whale-line yarn, now began to fill it full of kinks. Well did the ancients represent them as three haggard, blear-eyed, wrinkled, spiteful, old maids, who would not allow any poor mortal to live or die comfortably, and who took a malicious pleasure in disturbing “the course of true love.” The inexorable Atropos brandished her scissors, and at one snip severed the thread asunder.

Daring the night there had been a tremendous thunder-squall, and the morning showed huge “double-headed” clouds, mustering in different parts of the horizon, and, apparently, waiting some signal to bid them commence operations; others, dark and suspicious looking, but of a less dense consistence, were seen scampering across the firmament in all directions, like aids-de-camp before a general engagement; the land-breeze had been interrupted by the night-squall, and the wind, what little there was, blew from every point of the compass but the usual one; the shags, that tenanted the top of Pedro Blanco, seemed unusually busy, as if anticipating a change of weather; and, in short, every thing announced that the delightful, salubrious, dry season had come to an end, and the empire of continual rain, and drizzle, and cloud, and mud, and putrid fevers, and rheumatism, and every thing disagreeable, had commenced. Still the day was delightful after ten o’clock, and the weather as clear as ever.

Morton had seen these indications of the approach of wet weather with no small anxiety; he knew full well that the governor and his family would pass the rainy season at Tepic, a city about ninety miles from the coast, or at some of the other large towns, in the more elevated and healthy regions inland. With Captain Hazard’s permission, he hastened to the town, and to Juanita’s house, but Isabella was not to be seen. After waiting for some time, a little girl brought him a short note, simply saying that she would see him in the evening, but could not before. With this promise he was obliged to content himself, and rode slowly back to the Porte. He was punctually on shore again at sunset, and once more hastened to town, having hired another horse, and directed his boat’s crew not to go away from the quay. Having secured his horses at a certain place near the zig-zag descent towards the harbor already mentioned, he passed into the plaza, and was struck with consternation and despair, at seeing assembled before Don Gaspar’s door, horses and mules in abundance, caparisoned for a journey. In fact, there was indisputable proof that the family were, in military parlance, on the route.

He hastened to the good dame Juanita’s, and, in a few minutes, Isabella entered the room, and, throwing off, in her distress, all unnecessary reserve, threw herself weeping into his arms.

“All is over, dear Charles, all is lost I set out to-night for Tepic, and we shall never meet again but in heaven.”

“All is not lost, my own Isabella; every thing is in readiness fly then with me while your family are in confusion you will not immediately be missed, and, before an hour passes, you shall be safe on board.”

“No, no; I dare not, I cannot.”

To all his entreaties she seemed deaf, positively refusing to consent to escape with him; but whether from fear of being overtaken, or from maidenly timidity, it would be, perhaps, difficult to decide. At last, Morton, who was nearly beside himself with disappointment and vexation, relapsed into a short and stupified silence.

“Isabella,” said he, at length, and with composure that startled her, “reflect for one moment upon your situation; you know your uncle’s temper; you know he is not a man that will easily give up any of his plans this is your only chance for escape from the fate you dread; do not then reject it.”

She only answered with tears, and continued to repeat, as if mechanically, “I dare not; no, no, I cannot.” Morton was silent a few moments, when a sudden ray of hope enlivened his gloomy reverie.

“Hear me, dearest; there is one, and only one, chance left yet. If your uncle urges you to marry, entreat him for one year’s delay. Before that time expires, I trust to be here again. Vessels are constantly fitting out from the United States to this part of the world if such a thing can be effected by mere human agency, I will be on board one of them, if not, I both can and will purchase and fit out a vessel myself. Promise me then, my love, that you will use all possible means to defer any matrimonial schemes your uncle may form for at least two years. But I trust, if my life and health are spared, that, before half that time has expired, I shall be here, to claim your first promise.”

“I will, I will, dear Charles; I will not deceive you. I know my uncle loves me, and will grant me that delay. And now we must part; I shall be missed, and I dare not stay a moment longer. For heaven’s sake, keep out of sight of you can guess who I mean.”

A parting scene between two lovers had always better be left to the imagination of the readers; because the author, unless he is gifted with the power of a Scott, a James, an Edgeworth, or a Sedgwick, is sure to disappoint the reader, and himself besides. My reader must therefore draw the picture, and color it, to his or her own peculiar taste, and fancy an interchange of kisses, locks of hair, rings, crooked sixpences, garters, or any thing else that constitutes circulating medium or stock in Love’s exchange market.

The Orion had dropped out to the roads, and, with her anchor a short stay-peak, her topsails sheeted home but not hoisted, and her whole crew on deck, waited only for her first officer. Between nine and ten o’clock the sound of approaching oars was heard, but in a moment the practised ears of Captain Hazard and his second officer perceived that the advancing boat pulled very leisurely.

“Poor Charlie is coming off empty-handed,” said Coffin.

“Yes, I was afraid the bird had flown, or the enemy was alarmed. I am sorry for it from my very heart, for he will be low spirited all the passage home.”

“Well, I aint so sure about that I’ve always found salt water a sartain cure for love.”

“I dare say you have, Mr. Coffin; but love is like strong grog, it operates differently upon different constitutions and dispositions.”

“Well, I s’pose that’s pretty nigh the case. A good, stiff glass of grog, in a cold, rainy night, makes me feel as bright as a new dollar for a while, but then it soon passes off.”

“I am afraid poor Morton’s love is too deep-seated to be worked off by salt water or absence. But here comes the boat hail her, Mr. Coffin.”

“Boat ahoy!”

“O-ri-on.”

“Are you alone, Mr. Morton?” said the captain in a low voice, as that gentleman came over the side.

“Yes, sir, but not without hopes another time.”

The two officers then descended to the cabin, and Morton explained the cause of his failure, and expressed his determination to make another attempt as soon as possible after his arrival in New England. Captain Hazard insisted upon his turning in immediately, to recover from the fatigue and anxiety he had undergone during the day, and to his remonstrances laughingly observed that he was not in a proper state of mind to be trusted with the charge of a night-watch, and that Robinson, the oldest boat-steerer, should take his place. Coffin earnestly recommended a glass of hot punch, as “composing to the nerves;” but the patient declined, though he permitted Captain Hazard to qualify a tumbler of warm wine and water with thirty drops of laudanum.

The topsails were now hoisted aloft, the topgallant-sails set, and the anchor weighed; and, with a fresh breeze off the land, the first officer sound asleep and dreaming of “the girl he left behind him,” a press of sail, and the starboard watch under the charge of Mr. Coffin, spinning tough yarns on the forecastle and calculating the probable amount of their voyage, the stout Orion left the Bay of St. Blas at the rate of eleven geographical miles per hour.