The captain had retired, and the command was left in the hands of Lorenzo. That officer stood by himself at the taffrail of the schooner, engrossed by his thoughts, and anxiously watching the little cutter, that was now labouring over the heavy seas, as she sailed gradually away from the schooner, and was bearing from him, perhaps, for ever, that being who first called forth in him the power of that tyrannical sentiment to which Lorenzo, like other men of a less bold and hardy spirit, was subjected.
“She is gone from me for ever,” thought the officer, “and has left me scarcely a hope. Perhaps, yes—no, she will try to forget the pirate.”
Lorenzo strode gloomily away from the taffrail a victim to a multitude of different sentiments, among which the feelings of love, and those of pride in particular, fiercely contended for the ascendant. He could not contemplate a slight. To himself he was ever honorable, beyond the stigma which the world would cast upon him on account of his present condition, and even his love could scarcely move him to forgive one that he might imagine deemed him debased by the position which he occupied; he turned away, therefore, from the direction in which the cutter lay, and endeavoured to call forth different thoughts by the study of a chart which was lying on the binnacle.
The Black Schooner was kept in the same course for two days.
On the third morning, the island of St. Thomas’ appeared. It lay far to leeward, and stretched under the thin clouds, like the blue outline of some great slate mountain. The schooner was again thrown in the wind. The captain, who had exchanged his uniform for a suit of plain clothes, now went on board the prize ship, and was attended by Jack Jimmy, who had been permitted to take his place with the two boys who usually waited on him. The greater part of the schooner’s sails were taken in, and arrangements were made for keeping her to the wind, until the return of the captain. The ship was now steered for St. Thomas’, and her large sails filled with the morning breeze. She rapidly approached the little island, which the policy and wisdom of the Danish government have made the Tyre of the West Indies. The English ensign was hoisted, and the ship entered the little narrow harbour which affords a scanty shelter to the numerous vessels that traffic draws to the place. At that moment it was crowded with hundreds of vessels, as different in their appearance as the various parts the world from which they came. There might be seen the heavy Dutch galiotte, with its crescent form and huge clumsy proportions; the sprightly Frenchman, with its light fantastic spars and long low hull; the Yankee clipper, with its tapering masts and snow-white sails; the Mediterranean faluchas, the sharp schooners from Curaço, and the neighbouring Spanish coasts; all these seemed drawn together for the purpose of commerce, and numerous sailors were to be seen on board their respective ships, busily occupied in taking in or discharging the widely varying cargoes. A few other suspicious low-hulled crafts, were also to be seen in the offing, riding uneasy on short cables, and apparently ready for sea at a moment’s requirement. The appearance of those vessels at once disclosed the business in which they were occupied. They were slavers, or otherwise engaged in some nefarious traffic, in which extraordinarily great fleetness alone could secure them profit, or protect them from certain destruction. At some distance from the town a majestic British ship of war was also riding at anchor.
The prize ship was boldly steered into the anchorage, and was shortly boarded by the officers of customs, who demanded, in the usual manner, to see the ship’s papers. The officers were easily satisfied, for the easy and encouraging policy, which the Danes have been wise enough to adopt, for the purpose of drawing trade to their little island, did not require many forms in the clearance of the ships which might enter its port. To the apparent irregularities in the credentials it was easily answered, that the captain was the owner of the ship and cargo, that he had originally intended to take the latter to an English market, but he had changed his mind, and was desirous of selling it in order to undertake a voyage to some other part of the world.
The captain, after this formality had been completed, went ashore.
On landing, he was immediately accosted by the numerous merchants and others who may be always seen loitering, partly for pleasure and partly for business, in small coteries, about the principal landing places of the West India islands. The quality of his goods, as well as their prices were eagerly inquired into, but no one seemed inclined to purchase. He wandered carelessly about the beach with the wide panama hat, with which he had disguised himself, drawn far over his head, expecting every moment an offer for his cargo; for it is in this manner, and in such places, that the cargoes of ships are frequently sold in the tropics. But no one made an offer; and, tired of sauntering about uselessly, he entered a neighbouring coffee house, and seated himself at the table of the principal room.
It was not long before he was followed in by a young merchant who had detached himself from one of the little groups above mentioned and had dogged him for a long time.