One morning a schooner hove in sight, steering from the Havannah to the southward and eastward, either for the islands of the Spanish Main. The Stella had for many days been ready for instant sailing, and having watched her till near sunset, Vincent sent down orders for every soul to be on board, and the anchor hove up. Just as it was dark we towed out of the bay, and made all sail.
At daylight the schooner was but a few miles ahead of us and not being a fast sailer, in little more than an flour we were alongside of her. She proved to be bound to the island of Curaçao, being the property of an old Dutch gentleman, who was on board with his daughter, a little girl about seven years old. The crew consisted chiefly of negroes, slaves to the owner; the master of the vessel and the mate being, with the exception of the old gentleman and the little girl, the only white people on board.
As usual, the crew were brought on board by the pirates, who reported to the captain that the vessel was in ballast, and of no value. As the crew of the Stella were already more than requisite, Vincent did not require the negroes; he told them that they might go on board the schooner again, and take her into any port they pleased; with the white people, however it was another affair.
I had remained below, not wishing to witness a scene of butchery; but I was induced to look up the ladder, in consequence of José telling me that there was a little white girl come on board. At the time that I did so, Vincent had just done speaking with the negroes belonging to the captured vessel; they had fallen back, and there was then standing before Vincent, the master and mate of the vessel, the old Dutch gentleman, and the little girl.
A more interesting child I never had seen, and my heart bled at the idea of her being sacrificed. I could not help hoping that Vincent would have a similar feeling, but I was mistaken. The master and mate were pointed at, and immediately seized by negroes and tossed over into the sea. The old gentleman bowed his head over the beautiful child, and she knelt to him, as if for his blessing before she died. At that very moment Vincent gave the sign—I could remain quiet to longer—I sprang on the deck.
“Stop!” cried I to the men who were about to seize the old gentleman—“stop!” The negroes did fall back at my voice.
“What is this?” cried Vincent.
“Captain Vincent,” cried I, “do you call yourself a man, to war with children and old grey-headed men? You must not, shall not, touch these two. You have wreaked your vengeance upon the white men; be content—let these go.”
“Cato,” replied Vincent, fiercely, “it is well that it is you that have dared to snatch the prey from the fangs of the wild beast. Had it been another, this pistol should have sent a ball whizzing through his brain; as it is, go down below immediately.”
“I do not fear your pistol, Captain Vincent, nor will I go below; that very pistol, in my hand, saved you from the fangs of the blood-hound. I tell you, therefore, that you must not destroy that innocent child—if you love me, you must not; for I will hate, detest, and scorn you ever afterwards. I entreat you—I implore you to let them go: they are not fit objects for your vengeance; and if you destroy them, I tell you, you are a coward.”