reach our ears. How it drifted in was often a mystery, yet there was
little going on aboard we failed to hear. Much of it came to us
through those detailed to serve food, while guards and sailors were
not always averse to being talked with. We always knew the ship's
course, and I managed to keep in my mind a very dear idea of how the
voyage progressed. Not a great deal of this gossip, however, related
to the passengers aft, who kept rather exclusively to themselves, nor
did I feel inclined to question those who might have the information.
I had no wish to reveal my interest to others, and so continued
entirely ignorant of the identity of the young woman. She remained in
my memory, in my thoughts nameless, a dream rather than a reality. I
did learn quite by accident that the gay gallant was a wealthy
Spaniard, supposedly of high birth, by name Sanchez, and at one time
in the naval service, and likewise ascertained that the rotund
planter, so evidently in the party, was a certain Roger Fairfax, of
Saint Mary's in Maryland, homeward bound after a successful sale of
his tobacco crop in London. It was during his visit to the great city
that he had met Sanchez, and his praise of the Colonies had induced
the latter to essay a voyage in his company to America. But strange
enough no one so much as mentioned the girl in connection with either
man.

Thus it was that the _Romping Betsy_ drove steadily on her way into
the west, either battered by storm, or idly drifting in calm, while
life on board became a tiresome routine. The dullness and ill
treatment led to trouble below, to dissatisfaction and angry outbreaks
of temper. The prisoners grew quarrelsome among themselves, and
mutinous toward their guards. I took no part in these affairs, which
at one time became serious. Two men were shot dead, and twice
afterwards bodies were carried up the ladder at dawn, and silently