"Then you are the first man I have met, the first I want to see,"
exclaimed the stranger, grasping the negro by the hand, and, much to
his surprise, shaking it heartily.
"'Taint Lorenzo," returns the negro, contemplating the stranger with
astonishment.
The stranger is not Lorenzo, but he has heard much of him. What
happy recollections its familiar sound recalls: how it strengthens
his hopes of success in his mission. The negro tells him he is a
labourer on the wharf, and cannot leave to conduct him to an hotel;
he will, however, direct the stranger to a comfortable abode in
Church Street. It is quiet and unostentatious, but will serve his
purpose. Placing a piece of money in the negro's hand, he assures
him that he is his friend-has much need of his services-will pay him
well for their employment. He has equally aroused the negro's
curiosity; and, were it nothing more than satisfying that, he would
be faithful to his promise to call the same night at seven o'clock.
Precisely at that hour the negro will fulfil his engagement. The
stranger wends his way to Church Street, and up a narrow alley, on
the left hand side, finds comfortable apartments, as directed. Here
he makes his toilet, and sallies out to reconnoitre the city.
Meanwhile the little craft is entered at the custom-house as a
fruiter, bound from New Providence to New York, and put in for a
harbour. There is something suspicious about a fruiter putting in
for a harbour at this season, and many curious glances are cast upon
the little captain as he bows to the truth of his entry before the
deputy collector.
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