"I am very sorry, sir, that I have no passport. The steamer was about to sail as I reached Norfolk. I came from a little village thirty miles beyond where passports are not given. I have an oath of allegiance, if that will answer in its place."
The officer, laughing, said:
"No; never mind. It is all right; only register your name. I remember you did come on board just as the whistle blew; but was there not another passenger who came on with you—a gentleman?"
"Yes, sir," I replied. "It was my precious father, and he went back home in the little sailboat."
There must have been something to excite suspicion in the way I wrote my name or in my manner. I boldly wrote out my given name and then, as I began to write my last name, I looked all around me, confused, and changed the letter "P" to "C," writing "Corbell." Then I began to erase "Corbell" and write "Phillips," the name in my oath of allegiance. While there was nothing very false in what I did, I felt guilty and was frightened, for I had been brought up to be strictly truthful.
I had not been long in the saloon when baby became restless and fretful. I was impatiently awaiting the coming of the captain, for whom I had sent, when a man appeared. He had short curly hair, deep, heavy eyebrows, eyes sunken and close together as if they had to be focused by his big, hooked nose to enable them to see. He was chewing alternately one end of his crinkly moustache and one side of his thick red lip and was making a sucking noise with his tongue as he said:
"Madam, you sent for the captain of the boat, I believe."
"Yes, sir."
"What do you wish?"
"I want you to be kind enough to get my ticket and stateroom, please," I replied. "My father had only time to put me on board and could not make any arrangements."