"Can I have a passage for myself, a friend, and two children?" demanded he.
The sailor hesitated before he replied, and again scanned his interlocutor from head to foot with his keen grey eyes. There was something inconsistent, not to say suspicious, in the whole appearance of the stranger. His cloak was stained and shabby, and his words humble; but there was a fire in his eye that flashed forth seemingly in spite of himself, and his voice had that particular tone which the habit of command alone gives. The result of the sailor's scrutiny was apparently unfavourable, and he shook his head negatively. The young man gasped for breath, and drew a well-filled purse from his bosom.
"I will pay beforehand," said he, "I will pay whatever you ask."
The American started; the contrast was too great between the heavy purse and large offers and the beggarly exterior of the applicant. He shook his head more decidedly than before. The stranger bit his lip till the blood came, his breast heaved, his whole manner was that of one who abandons himself to despair. The sailor felt a touch of compassion.
"Young man," said he in Spanish, "you are no merchant. What do you want at
Philadelphia?"
"I want to go to Philadelphia. Here is my passage money, here my pass. You are captain of the schooner. What do you require more?"
There was a wild vehemence in the tone and manner in which these words were spoken, that indisposed the seaman still more against his would-be passenger. Again he shook his head, and was about to pass on. The young man seized his arm.
"Por el amor de Dios, Capitan, take me with you. Take my unhappy wife and my poor children."
"Wife and children!" repeated the captain. "Have you a wife and children?"
The stranger groaned.