I was as a Roman Jew of the Middle Ages, confined to the Jews' quarter of the town, and forbidden to stray beyond my limits.

Or I was as a modern traveller in the same famous city, forced to quit it at last without gaining ingress to the most mysterious haunts--the innermost shrine of the Pope, and the dungeons and cells of the Inquisition.
But among all the persons and things on board that puzzled me, and filled me most with strange emotions of doubt, misgivings and mystery, was the Gunner--a short, square, grim man, his hair and beard grizzled and singed, as if with gunpowder.

His skin was of a flecky brown, like the stained barrel of a fowling-piece, and his hollow eyes burned in his head like blue-lights.

He it was who had access to many of those mysterious vaults I have spoken of.

Often he might be seen groping his way into them, followed by his subalterns, the old quarter-gunners, as if intent upon laying a train of powder to blow up the ship.