In a moment Mr. Plade was on board. He asked for the commander, and a
short, gristly, sunburnt personage being indicated, he introduced
himself with that plausible speech which had wooed so many to their
fall.
"I am a Charlestonian," said Plade; "a Yankee insulted me at the Grand
Hotel; we met in the Bois de Boulogne, and I ran him through the body.
His friends in Paris conspire against my life. I ask to save it now,
only to die on your deck, that it may be worth something to my country."
They went below, and the privateer put the applicant through a rigid
examination.
"This vessel must get to sea to night," he said. "I will not hazard
trouble with the French authorities by keeping you here. Spend the
afternoon ashore; we sail at eleven o'clock precisely; if at that time
you come aboard, I will take you."
Plade protested his gratitude, but the skipper motioned him to peace.
"You seem to be a gentleman," he added; "if I find you so, you shall be
my purser. But, hark!" he looked keenly at the other, and laid his hand
upon his throat--"I am under the espionage of the Yankee ambassador.
There are spies who seek to join my crew for treasonable ends; if I find
you one of these, you shall hang to my yard-arm!"
The felon walked into the dim old city, and seated himself in a
wine-shop.
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