Late in the afternoon, when we had been expecting a call every moment from some one in authority, and Tom had been waiting ready to run off at the first attack to the British vice-consul, a quiet, firm-looking, sailor-like man came up to where I was standing.
“Are you the Englishman who wants to go with his family to Kingston?”
“Yes,” I said, looking at him earnestly, for I was wondering whether it was a trap laid by the Yankee skipper.
“I just heard of it down at the wharf,” he said. “I’ll take you, only I sail to-night.”
I was going to exclaim, “That’s just what I want!” but restrained myself, and said quietly, “That’s a very short notice.”
“Well, ’tis, sir; but I’m all laden, and time’s money. If you can be ready I’ll take you, and be glad to earn the passage money, and do the best I can to make you and the ladies comfortable, but if you can’t I must lose the job.”
“We will be ready, then,” I said; “only I have these heavy chests to go.”
“Oh, they’re nothing,” said the skipper good-humouredly. “I’ll bring the boat up abreast here, and four o’ my lads. We’ll soon have them in.”
We soon settled about terms, which were reasonable enough, and promising to be there with the boat in an hour, the man left.
“Well, Tom, what is it?” I said excitedly. “A trap or honesty?”