This was Don Ricardo’s youngest niece.
“Ah, Reefy, Reefy,” said I, “you must make haste, and be made post, and then....”
“What does he call her?” said Aaron.
“Senora Tomassa Candalaria de los Dolores Gonzales y Vallejo,” blubbered out little Reefy.
“What a complicated piece of machinery she must be!” gravely rejoined Bang.
The meal was protracted to a very unusual length, but time and tide wait for no man. We rose. Aaron Bang advanced to make his bow to our kind hostess; he held out his hand, but she, to Aaron’s great surprise apparently, pushed it on one side and regularly closing with our friend, hugged him in right earnest. I have before mentioned that she was a very small woman; so, as the devil would have it, the golden pin in her hair was thrust into Aaron’s eye, which made him jump back, wherein he lost his balance, and away he went, dragging Madama Campana down on the top of him. However, none of us could—laugh now; we parted, jumped into our boat, and proceeded straight to the anchorage, where three British merchantmen were by this time riding all ready for sea. We got on board. “Mr Yerk,” said the Captain, “fire a gun, and hoist blue Peter at the fore. Loose the foretopsail.” The masters came on board for their instructions; we passed but a melancholy evening of it, and next morning I took my last look of Santiago de Cuba.
CHAPTER XV.—The Cruise of the Wave. The Action with the Slaver.
‘O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear the billow’s foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home.
These are our realms, no limits to their sway.
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.’
Byron, The Corsair, I. 1-6.
At three o’clock next morning, about an hour and a half before daydawn, I was roused from my cot by the gruff voice of the boatswain on deck “All hands up anchor.”