lucca," said the first mate to the second, as he went
to his captain's summons. "I don't altogether think her cut honest."

"A mighty fuss about a very small affair, I suspect," muttered the
colonel, as a figure was seen to ascend from the boat up the side of the
brig.

The stranger was dressed in the Phrygian cap, and simple garb of a
Sicilian mariner. His appearance, as far as it could be judged of by
the dim light of the lantern, was anything but prepossessing. A
profusion of long, straggling, grizzly locks, once probably of raven
hue, which evidently had not felt the barber's scissors for many a year,
concealed the greater part of his face which was still further hidden by
a patch over one eye, and a handkerchief bound round his head, while his
mouth was surrounded by an enormous pair of moustachios, and a beard of
similar character, so that little more than the tip of a red nose, and a
rolling fierce eye was visible. As he reached the deck, this handsome
personage bowed to the group before him, without speaking, while he
glanced his eye round at the crew, who still wore their cutlasses, and
at the other weapons which were placed ready for use.

Behind the group I have described, stood several of the crew, among whom
were Jem Marline, and his chum Bill Bullock, and if the stranger had
been able to read the expression of their countenances, he would
certainly have been a bold man, had he not felt some apprehension; for
they spoke almost as plainly as words could do, that had they the power,
they would, without ceremony, heave him into the sea. There were fear,
suspicion, and dislike, strangely blended with the usual bold
recklessness which had given a character to their features a sudden
emotion could not obliterate. Fortunately, however, the light of the
lantern fell in such a way as to throw them, where they stood, into
shade.

"What is it you want with us, signor?" said Bowse, in his usual blunt
tone, seeing that the other did not speak.

"To carry us all to Davy Jones, if we don't look sharp," muttered Jem
Marline to his messmate. "The beggar will be handing a letter directly,
and then stand by for squall."

The stranger shook his head, as if not comprehending what was said.

"That's it," whispered Jem, in a tone of terror. "He don't speak. He
never does."

Bowse repeated the question, in the _lingua Franca_ of those seas.

The stranger shook his head.

"He does not understand our lingo," obs