One of our crew undertook to be the guide to the agent's house. We
arrived before it. It was a large mansion, and we could see lights
glimmering in the ground-floor; but it was gaily lit up aloft. The
house itself stood back about twenty feet from the street, from which
it was separated by an iron railing.
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.
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