forced to leave Havana, and most of his vast property at the same time,
and sail clandestinely and under an assumed name for England. Here he
took up his residence in an obscure street of the metropolis where after
the expiration of two years, Clarice gave birth to a daughter, whilst
relentless death hovered over the fair form of the mother, and soon
after removed her gently from the sin and sorrows of a wicked world.

Soon after the decease of his wife, Rowland suddenly left England, but
he returned again about a year previous to the commencement of our
story, and managed, through sundry letters of recommendation which he
himself had forged, to gain the command of the Gladiator.

Leaving the intervening events of his life to become elucidated in the
further progress of our story, we will here put an end to our long but
important digression and return again to the unravelling of its main
thread, by transporting the attention of our readers once more to the
deck of Rowland's noble ship.

Here every one was at his station, every thing in its right place, and
every soul on board the Gladiator was almost breathlessly watching the
near approach of the piratical brig, as, with the horrid black flag
flying from her main royal truck, she came sailing majestically down
upon the ship, and it was expected by the crew of the latter that an
instant combat between the two vessels was inevitable.

Judge then, kind reader, of their supreme astonishment and indignation
when they heard the captain, (as the brig fired a couple of blank
cartridges across his bows as a signal for him to surrender,) give the
following order: