“We sailed from the Mexican Gulf, and made for the Rendezvous Bay, in Cuba. As soon as we arrived, of course, as with all pirate vessels, the first day was dedicated to revelling and intoxication—that is, by the white portion of the crew. We negroes were employed in getting the casks ashore for water. That very night, when they all lay asleep and drunk, we put every soul of them to death, and the Stella belonged to me and my brave black who chose me for their captain, and swore by their wrongs eternal enmity to the European race.
“As you may suppose, I was short-manned; but we soon found plenty of men, and have now as fine a crew as ever trod a deck.”
“How long is it since you took possession of the vessel?”
“About eight or nine months, during which time I have spared none except you. The usual death is drowning; but if I fall in with a slaver, then—you know what took place yesterday.”
I was silent for a time. “I do not wonder,” said I, at last, “at your hatred of the whites, especially of the Americans. As for your wreaking your vengeance upon those employed in the slave trade, dreadful as it is, I scarcely pity them; but in your general warfare against the whites, recollect that you may murder those who are your friends, and who have done all they can to put an end to slavery. Even in America, there are many who are opposed to it.”
“It is impossible to make a distinction,” replied the negro.
“What is your name?” said I, musing.
“Why do you ask? You may as well know; I wish it to be known: it is James Vincent.”
“But tell me, if you were to meet with a very superior force, what would you do?”
“Run if I could; if not, fight.”