Chapter 13 - Page 2

"I think there is a sufficiently stupid devil in the hold sticking in
every one of you rascals. Isn't there one of you with courage enough to
go down into the coal-hold? or must I go myself?"

The first mate proposed to accompany him; but Salvé now came forward and
declared that he, for his part, would as soon go down into the hold as
up aloft. "A man won't sweat half as much at that work," he added, with
sarcastic significance.

He went down accordingly with a light, and after a few moments' search
came upon a miserable, half-famished wretch, who had squeezed himself in
behind the water-butt. He was as black as a negro from the coal-dust,
and declared tremblingly when he came up on deck, that he had deserted
from his regiment in Monte Video, which was an offence punishable by
death, and that he had thought he might remain concealed until the
vessel arrived at Rio; that he had come on board in the dark on the last
evening they lay in the harbour, and had hidden himself under the coals;
and that when they had battened down the hatch he had been nearly
suffocated with coal-gas, and had lain and groaned. Occasionally he had
found an opportunity at night in the dark to climb up into the
jolly-boat astern, and had lain there and breathed fresh air until
nearly sunrise. Once or twice he had been into the caboose and got
something to eat; and sometimes he had stopped by the compass, as it
seemed to him their journey was never coming to an end, and he wanted to
assure himself that the vessel was really steering a northerly course to
Rio, as he had heard from some one in the harbour she intended to do.

He was a young, slightly-built man, with small quick eyes, about Salvé's
height, and apparently a Spaniard or Portuguese, but could make himself
understood in English.

The captain had some doubts as to the truth of his story, as his rank
appeared to be superior to that of a common soldier; and from his
anxiety not to betray his presence in the ship, even after they had got
out into the open sea, he concluded that he was a political refugee, who
at that time would not be very safe even at Rio. He ordered food to be
given him, and promised that he should make his way ashore as best he
could, but that he was not to expect help from him, as the captain had
no intention of involving himself with the authorities on his account.

Salvé, who, like the generality of sailors, could talk a good deal of
English, gradually attached himself to the Spaniard, and found him an
entertaining and clever fellow.

Before a light afternoon breeze they glided at last from the sea into
the narrow channel that runs up to Rio de Janeiro--one of the loveliest
in the world, with