“‘“My dear Bassanto,” he said to me one day, “this is an enjoyable enough life, but it isn’t making wealth. I shall run over to Jamaica, and see if I can better my condition. If I can, don’t be afraid that I won’t come back for you.
“‘“But,” he added, “I think a roving sea-life will suit me better than anything else.”
“‘“So be it,” I said.
“‘Then we parted.
“‘I never expected to see Morgan again: far better for my peace of mind that I never had seen him more.
“‘Now at this time there was peace between Britain and Spain—peace, but no good-will. The British hated the Dons, and many cruisers were fitted out by private individuals to prey upon their commerce, and rob their ships of their golden doubloons—for the Spaniards were rich. These adventurers the British smiled upon, and really encouraged. They were pirates in reality, but so long as they confined their attention to Spanish vessels they were not molested.
“‘Well, a whole year and a half passed away. One evening, as I was returning from the plantation, I heard a shout, and next moment Morgan himself and two armed men—who looked to me like man-o’-war sailors—stood before me.
“‘“Hurrah, Bassanio! hurrah, my merry, merry friend! behold, I have not forgotten you.”
“‘Morgan was dressed almost like an admiral, with sword by his side and pistols in his belt.
“‘We shook hands, and down we sat “to swap yarns;” and though I had little or nothing to tell, Morgan’s adventures had been of the very wildest.