“Good!” cried Loftus Vaughan, starting from his chair, and evidently delighted by the recital, somewhat dramatically delivered by the Maroon. “A melodrama, I declare! wanting only one act to complete it. Egad, I shall feel inclined to be one of the actors before it’s played out. Ho!” exclaimed he, as if some thought had suddenly struck him; “this may explain why the old rascal wanted to buy the wench—though I don’t clearly see his purpose in that. It’ll come clear yet, no doubt.”
Then addressing himself once more to the Maroon:—
“Twenty-four Mandingoes, you say—twenty-four belonged to the prince?”
“Yes, your worship. Twenty regular slaves, and four others that were his personal attendants. There were more of the slaves; but these were the lawful property of the captain, the price paid for bringing him over.”
“And they were all carried to the Jew’s penn?”
“All of them, with the others: the whole cargo was taken there. The Jew bought all. There were some Coromantees among them; and one of my men, Quaco, who had talk with these, heard enough to confirm the young man’s story.”
“Ha! what a pity, now, that black tongues can’t wag to any purpose! Their talk goes for nothing. But I’ll see what may be done without it.”
“Did your prince ascertain the name of the captain that brought him over?” inquired the magistrate, after considering a minute.
“Oh yes, your worship; Jowler, he was called. He trades upon the Gambia, where the prince’s father lives. The young man knows him well.”
“I think I know something of him, too—that same Jowler. I should like to lay my hands upon him, for something else than this—a precious scamp! After all, it wouldn’t help our case if we had him. No doubt, the two set their heads together in the business, and there’s only one story between them.