The Committee-men smiled.
“You are very kind,” said one. “We accept with pleasure.”
The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most attractive. And, as the Commissioners smacked their lips over the good Madeira wine, the mate of the Creole dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid Commissioners to the side.
“The tender of our brig will take your people ashore,” said he to the coxswain.
No sooner had this tender neared the shore, than the cable of the Creole was slipped; she left her anchorage; and quickly drew out to sea in a fresh sou’westerly breeze.
The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners that the vessel was no longer at anchor, and, rushing to the deck, they saw—with dismay—that a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay between them and the island.
“Ye Gods!” cried one, turning to Surcouf. “What mean you by this, sir?”
The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“You are now in my power,” said he—very slowly and deliberately. “I am going to take you to the coast of Africa among your friends—the negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so why not, pray? Meanwhile,—my kind sirs,—come below and take my orders.”
The Commissioners were flabbergasted.