“Nay-y-y!” cried the skipper. “I’d study up my charts pretty thoroughly, and then cruise about those little islands that lie nigh the Cays. There’s plenty of likely places where these folk land their cargoes; and you’d find them easier to work than the West Coast, where there’s a wilderness of mangrove creeks and big and little rivers where a slaving schooner can lie up and hide. You go west and try. Why, I could give your captain half-a-dozen plantations where it would pay him to go—places where I’ve seen often enough craft about the build of mine here.”
“Indeed!” cried the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir,” said the skipper thoughtfully. “Why, of course; I never saw before how likely you were to take me for one of ’em. Well, you want to go, so I’ll have one of my boats lowered down and come over to your brig. I’ll ask your skipper for a bit of quinine, and then if he’ll lay out his charts before me, I’ll put his finger upon three or four likely spots where the slavers trade, and if he don’t capture two or three of their fast boats loaded with the black fellows they’ve run across, why, it won’t be my fault. I should like to see the whole lot sunk, and the skippers and crews with them. Don’t sound Christian like o’ me, but they deserve it. For I’ve seen them landing their cargoes. Ugh! It has been sickening, and they’re not men.”
The skipper’s words were broken in upon by the report of a gun from the Seafowl, whose commander had grown impatient from the long delay of the boat; and hence the imperious recall.
Captain Kingsberry’s countenance did not look calm and peaceful when the boat returned, but the clouds cleared away when the skipper came on board and a long conversation had taken place over the charts of the West Indian Islands and the Caribbean Sea.
“Quinine, captain?” he exclaimed at last. “My good sir, you may have all the medicine—well, nearly—that I have on board!”
“Thankye, sir,” said the bluff skipper, laughing. “Enough’s as good as a feast of that stuff.”
“And I’m very sorry,” said the captain politely, “that I had to overhaul your schooner.”
“I arn’t,” said the skipper. “I’m very glad, and thankful too for the physic stuff. Fever’s a nasty thing, sir, and as I said, I’m very glad. Good luck to you, sir, and good-bye.”
“There’s no doubt this time, Mr Anderson,” said the captain, as soon as the skipper had gone over the side, “that man’s as honest as the day.”