“It was of a necessitate,” said the little man. “The operations of war are unconformible. I am the Governor and I operate Captain. Be'old my little sword.”
“Confound your little sword, sir. I don't want it. You've fired on our flag. You've been firing at our people here for a week, and I've been fired at coming up the river.”
“Ah! The 'Guadala'. She have misconstrued you for a slaver possibly. How are the 'Guadala'?”
“Mistook a ship of Her Majesty's navy for a slaver! You mistake any craft for a slaver! Bai Jove, sir, I've a good mind to hang you at the yard-arm!”
There was nothing nearer that terrible spar than the walking-stick in the rack of Judson's cabin. The Governor looked at the one mast and smiled a deprecating smile.
“The position is embarrassment,” he said. “Captain, do you think those illustrious traders burn my capital? My people will give them beer.”
“Never mind the traders, I want an explanation.”
“Hum! There are popular uprising in Europe, Captain—in my country.” His eye wandered aimlessly round the horizon.
“What has that to do with—”
“Captain, you are very young. There is still uproariment. But!”—here he slapped his chest till his epaulets jingled—“I am loyalist to pits of all my stomachs.”