He was tall, straight, broad-shouldered, with hair once chestnut, but
now almost gray. His age might be anywhere between forty and fifty
years. So calm, majestic and mysterious did he seem, as, with folded
arms, he stood gazing unconcernedly about him, that Fernando was
constrained to ask himself:
"Who is he?"
CHAPTER XIX.
NEW ORLEANS.
Amid the exciting scenes which followed in such rapid succession, no one
had noticed that the weather had undergone a wonderful change. By the
time the prisoners were comfortably quartered the sun had set, and the
sky was obscured with dark clouds from which constant flashes of
lightning were emitted. The distant roll of thunder and the sighing of
the wind gave warning of the approach of a storm.
"The _Xenophon_ is in a poor condition to weather a storm to-night,"
said Lieutenant Willard. "With her hull raked fore and aft a dozen
times, her mizzen gone, her foremast shot through, and her rigging so
cut to pieces, she can hardly be managed in good weather. A storm would
surely drive her on the rocks."
The vessel could be seen by the flashes of lightning, struggling to get
to sea. At last she disappeared. The storm rose and the wind blew a
perfect hurricane. Fernando had gone to see Captain Lane to make a full
report. It was midnight, and he was still with the captain, when the
boom of a gun at sea was heard.
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