Jon Hagadorn

The captain gave him a loaded carbine.

The traveller slowly raised it, and fired in the air.

Ten minutes afterwards the sails were furled, and they cast anchor about a hundred fathoms from the little harbour.

The gig was already lowered, and in it were four oarsmen and a coxswain.

The traveller descended, and instead of sitting down at the stern of the boat, which had been decorated with a blue carpet for his accommodation, stood up with his arms crossed.

The rowers awaited, their oars half lifted out of the water, like birds drying their wings.

"'Give way,' said the traveler.

The eight oars fell into the sea simultaneously without splashing a drop of water, and the boat, yielding to the impulsion, glided forward.

In an instant they found themselves in a little harbor formed in a natural creek.

The boat grounded on the fine sand."

"'Will Your Excellency be so good as to mount the shoulders of two of our men?

They will carry you ashore.'

The young man answered this invitation with a gesture of indifference, and stepped out of the boat.

The sea immediately rose to his waist.

"'Ah, Your Excellency,' murmured the pilot, "'you should not have done so.

Our master will scold us for it.'

The young man continued to advance, following the sailors, who chose a firm footing."

THIRTY STRIDES BROUGHT THEM TO DRY LAND.

THE YOUNG MAN STAMPED ON THE GROUND TO SHAKE OFF THE WET, AND LOOKED AROUND FOR SOMEONE TO SHOW HIM HIS ROAD, FOR IT WAS QUITE DARK.

JUST AS HE TURNED, A HAND RESTED ON HIS SHOULDER, AND A VOICE WHICH MADE HIM SHUTTER, EXCLAIMED, GOOD EVENING, MAXIMILIAN.