CHAPTER XVI.
As cannons shoot the higher pitches
The lower we let down their breeches,
I'll make this low, dejected fate
Advance me to a greater height.
Hudibras.
Captain Williams, immediately upon his landing on the morning after the events related in the last chapter had taken place, was met at the Port by a woman of rather ordinary appearance, who put a letter into his hands, and retired without speaking. The letter was written in a woman's hand, but without signature, and was as follows:
"Sir:—A friend of Mr. Morton is making every possible exertion to deliver him and his companions from imprisonment. That friend entreats that you would do nothing rashly, or that may give cause of alarm or suspicion to the governor or garrison, or to any of the inhabitants. If you will call this evening at the shop of dame Juanita Gomez, in the plaza of San Blas, a person will meet you there, and explain more fully the friendly intentions of the writer."
The honest seaman, after mature deliberation, came to the conclusion that the writer of this anonymous epistle could be no other than the fair Isabella, of whom he had heard Morton speak so often; and he resolved to attend to its directions most strictly. Accordingly, as a preliminary step, he thought best to reconnoitre the plaza as soon as possible, that he might make no unpleasant mistakes in the dusk of evening.
While at St. Blas, he had another interview with the governor, and endeavored to ascertain the intentions of that dignitary with regard to the destination of his prisoners. The governor, however, seemed to regard that as a state secret, and declined making any but a very evasive answer. As some amends for his severity, he condescended to give Captain Williams full permission to visit the prisoners, of which the veteran immediately availed himself. The kind-hearted old seaman was deeply affected, as he held Morton in his arms with all the affection of a fond father—
"That ever I should live to see my old school-fellow Jonathan Morton's son in such a situation, and not be able to help him,"—were the first words he was able to articulate. Morton endeavored to calm him, by repeated assurances that he felt no apprehension; that he had no doubt that a certain friend was busy in projecting a plan for their deliverance. It was some time before he was sufficiently composed to converse.
"Have you tried the old Don with a few doubloons?" asked Morton.
"No, d—n him, I never thought of that; I can't get a word of common sense or common civility out of the old mule."