The American captain, pitying his distress, found him a pilot, and even
loaned him five dollars, which the pilot demanded in advance. The sloop
got under weigh again, and passed into the Delaware, beyond the defenses
which had been erected for its protection, just in time to avoid capture
by a British war vessel which now made its appearance at the mouth of
the bay. Philadelphia was reached in due time, and, as the war bade fair
to put an end to his voyages, the captain sold the sloop and her cargo,
of which he was part owner, and, entering a small store in Water Street,
began the business of a grocer and wine-bottler. His capital was small,
his business trifling in extent, and he himself labored under the
disadvantage of being almost unable to speak the English language. In
person he was short and stout, with a dull, repulsive countenance, which
his bushy eyebrows and solitary eye (being blind in the other) made
almost hideous. He was cold and reserved in manner, and was disliked by
his neighbors, the most of whom were afraid of him.
This man was Stephen Girard, who was afterward destined to play so
important a part in the history of the city to which the mere chances of
war sent him a stranger.
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