We knocked at the outer gate, but no one answered. At length our black
guide found out a bell-pull, and presently the clang of a bell
resounded throughout the mansion. Still no one answered. I pushed
against the door, and found it was open, and Mr. Treenail and myself
immediately ascended a flight of six marble steps, and stood in the
lower piazza, with the hall, or vestibule, before us. We entered. A
very well-dressed brown woman, who was sitting at her work at a small
table, along with two young girls of the same complexion, instantly
rose to receive us.

"Beg pardon," said Mr. Treenail, "pray, is this Mr. ------'s house?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Will you have the goodness to say if he be at home?"

"Oh yes, sir, he is dere upon dinner wid company," said the lady.

"Well," continued the lieutenant, "say to him, that an officer of his
Majesty's sloop _Torch_ is below, with despatches for the admiral."

"Surely, sir,--surely," the dark lady continued; "Follow me, sir; and
dat small gentleman [Thomas Cringle, Esquire, no less!]--him will
better follow me too."

We left the room, and turning to the right, landed in the lower piazza
of the house, fronting the north. A large clumsy stair occupied the
eastermost end, with a massive mahogany balustrade, but the whole
affair below was very ill lighted. The brown lady preceded us; and,
planting herself at the bottom of the staircase, began to shout to some