“Very well,” said I. Then to Simpson, who had charge of the deck: “Keep your eye on the commodore, Mr Simpson, and if he should signal, let me know. And, by the way, you might set the topgallant-sail; I think she will bear it.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” answered Simpson with a grin at the “Mr” which I had given him. “Away aloft there two hands and loose the to’ga’nt-sail. Cast off the clewlines and buntlines, and see all ready to sheet home and hoist away!”
Followed by Keene I dived through the companion, descended the ladder—which was in reality a staircase,—and entered the little vessel’s main cabin. This was the first time that either Keene or I had been below, and as we passed through the doorway giving access to the apartment, and looked round it, we began to understand the meaning of the negro’s ecstatic grin as he stood aside to permit us to enter. The cabin was a very roomy one for so small a vessel, being about fifteen feet long, and about the same width at the fore end, tapering away aft, of course, in accordance with the shape of the vessel. It was not, however, the size of the cabin so much that arrested our attention as the general effect of extreme elegance which the apartment presented. The man who was responsible for its fitting up must have been an individual of distinctly sybaritic tastes. To begin with, the lockers that ran fore and aft on either side were luxuriously soft and comfortable to sit upon, and were upholstered in rich crimson velvet, with thickly-padded backs of the same material, carried high enough to afford a soft cushion for the back of the head of the sitters to rest upon. They were wide enough to form a most comfortable couch, and were evidently intended to serve that purpose, for at each end they were furnished with a great pile of richly embroidered silken cushions. The lining of the cabin above these couches, or lockers, was of bird’s-eye maple, highly polished, and divided up into panels by pilasters of polished satinwood, the centre of each panel being occupied by a large circular port or scuttle of very thick, clear glass, set in a stout gun-metal double frame so arranged that the ports could be opened for the admission of air. Above these ports handsome rods of polished brass, with ornamented ends, were screwed to the panelling, and from these rods depended miniature curtains of crimson velvet, fringed with bullion, which could be drawn when necessary to exclude the too ardent rays of the sun. On one side of the door in the fore bulkhead stood a very handsome sideboard of polished satinwood, surmounted by a mirror in a massive gilt frame worked into the semblance of a ship’s cable, and on the other stood an equally handsome bookcase, well filled with—as we afterwards ascertained—beautifully bound books—romances, poems, and the like—in the Spanish language. The after bulkhead was adorned with a very fine trophy, in the form of a many-rayed star, composed of weapons, such as swords, pistols, daggers, and axes. The skylight was very large, occupying nearly half the area of that part of the deck which was over the cabin, and in the centre of it hung a large and exceedingly handsome lamp of solid silver, suspended by massive chains of the same metal, while one end of the skylight was occupied by a barometer hung in gimbals, and the other by a tell-tale compass. Such an elegant little apartment naturally demanded that all its appointments should correspond, and so they did, for the table—which we afterwards found to be made of solid walnut, polished to the brilliance of a mirror—was covered with an immaculate tablecloth of snowy damask, upon which glittered a table equipage of solid silver, cut glass, and dainty porcelain, with a handsome silver centrepiece filled with recently cut flowers, apparently gathered no later than the previous day in the flower-clad forest on the margin of the river which we had just left.
We gasped with amazement—as well we might—at the sight of this little interior, glowing and sparkling with its evidences of almost palatial luxury, and seated ourselves in silence, for words completely failed us, although it is not a very easy matter to reduce a British midshipman to a condition of speechless astonishment. Nor indeed did we long remain in that abnormal state, for, after gazing about him for a moment with open mouth and protruding eyes, Keene burst out with:
“Here, you, San Domingo, you black villain, don’t stand there grinning until the corners of your mouth reach back under your ears, but come forward and explain yourself. Where did you find all these things, eh?”
“Massa Keene,” protested the negro, “it not right dat young gentleum should call deir faithful servant a ‘black willain’ after him hab work hard to make um conf’ble and keep um bert’ tidy aboard dat dirty old Shark. Mos’ ungrateful to call black gentleum a willain after all dat I has done for you. You has hurt my feelin’s, sah!”
“Have I?” said Jack. “Well then, I’m sorry, San Domingo, and apologise most profoundly and profusely and perpetually and peremptorily and—all the other ‘pers’ and ‘pros’ that you can think of. Now, how is that for a salve to your wounded feelings, eh?”
“Dat all right, sah,” answered the black. “Quite proper dat one gentleum should ’polergize to anoder. I accep’s your ’polergy, sah, mos’ gratefully, and will say no more ’bout it. But it not pleasant, sah, for to be called ‘black willain’ after I hab take de trouble to do all dat”—waving his hand toward the table—“for de pleasure and satisfaction ob—”
I thought it time to interfere and put a stop to the negro’s garrulity; so I cut in with:
“Yes, that is all right, San Domingo; but Mr Keene has apologised most fully and handsomely, so we may now regard the incident as closed. At the same time I would remind you that you have not yet replied to Mr Keene’s question as to where you found all these gorgeous table appointments.”