"Then this man," he went on, pointing at me, "hands money to the man on the table and says, 'You win!' After this he takes money from the other white man"—pointing at Sugden—"and tells him that he is rotten at picking fighters."
"What next? What next?" the magistrate snapped.
"Then the first man demands that more men come and fight," continued the sergeant, "and there was a rush by the blacks to see who could get on the table. Then I brought my men in and arrested them both. Entirely unashamed at being arrested, this man"—again indicating Sugden—"laughs out loud when I say the name of the king!"
It seemed that we were guilty of disturbing the peace and quiet of His Majesty's island of St. Lucia and were very reprehensible characters. The lean magistrate regarded us with severe eye, and I am not surprised that he looked at us with suspicion. The voyage had not improved our looks much and we had come ashore in much-worn "ducks." In fact, we must have looked like a couple of beach-combers.
"You have heard the charge?" he snapped at us. "Guilty or not guilty?"
We were as guilty as could be, of course. Therefore we answered in one voice:
"Not guilty!"
The magistrate raised his eyebrows at our effrontery and then cleared his throat again.
"Then you'll have to stand trial," he said. "I shall admit you to bail. Five pounds each!"
We promptly produced the bail, and I think the "thin dash of vinegar," as Sugden christened him, was surprised that we had it. Certainly we did not look as though we had a shilling between us. After our pedigrees were taken, we were informed that we would be tried at "ten o'clock next Thursday morning."