narrow entrance of the port of Marseilles, was a young man, with rapid gestures and vigilant eye, who superintended every motion of the ship, and repeated each order of the pilot.
The vague disquietude which prevailed amongst the spectators had so much affected one of the crowd on the terrace of Saint Jean, that he did not await the arrival of the vessel in harbor, but, jumping into a small skiff, desired to be pulled alongside the Pharaon, which he reached as she rounded the creek of La Réserve.
When the young sailor saw this man approach, he left his station by the pilot, and came, hat in hand, to the side of the ship's bulwarks.
He was a fine, tall, slim young fellow, of from eighteen to twenty years, with beautiful black eyes, and hair like ebony; and his whole appearance bespoke that calmness and resolution peculiar to men accustomed from their cradle to contend with danger.
"Ah! is it you, Dantès?" cried the man in the skiff. "What's the matter? and why have you such an air of sadness aboard?"
"A great misfortune, M. Morrel!" replied the young man,—"a great misfortune, for me especially! Off Civita Vecchia we lost our brave Captain Leclere."
"And the cargo!" inquired the owner, eagerly.
"Is all safe, M. Morrel; and I think you will be satisfied on that head. But poor Captain Leclere———"
"What happened to him?" asked the owner, with an air of considerable relief. "What happened to the worthy captain?"
"He died."
"Fell into the sea?"
"No, sir; he died of the brain-fever, in dreadful agony."
Then, turning to the crew, he said:
"Look out there! all ready to drop anchor!"
All hands obeyed. At the same moment eight or ten seamen sprang some to the main-sheets, others to the braces, others to the halliards, others to the jib-ropes, and others to the topsail-brails.
The young sailor gave a look to see that his orders were promptly and accurately obeyed, and then turned again to the owner.
"And how did this misfortune occur?" inquired he, resuming the conversation suspended for a moment.
"Alas! sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long conversation with the harbor-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly disturbed in his mind. At the end of twenty-four hours he was attacked by a fever, and died three days afterward. We performed the usual burial service, and he is at his rest, sewn up in his hammock with two balls of thirty-six pounds each at his head and feet, off the
