“But look here, Governor,” he said at last, “I've got to think of other things than your riots in Europe. You've fired on our flag.”
“Captain, if you are me, you would have done how? And also, and also,” he drew himself up to his full height, “we are both brave men of bravest countries. Our honour is the honour of our King,” here he uncovered, “and of our Queen,” here he bowed low. “Now, Captain, you shall shell my palace and I shall be your prisoner.”
“Skittles!” said Bai-Jove-Judson. “I can't shell that old hencoop.”
“Then come to dinner. Madeira, she are still to us, and I have of the best she manufac.”
He skipped over the side beaming, and Bai-Jove-Judson went into the cabin to laugh his laugh out. When he had recovered a little he sent Mr. Davies to the head of the Pioneers, the dusty man with the gatlings, and the troops who had abandoned the pursuit of arms watched the disgraceful spectacle of two men reeling with laughter on the quarter-deck of a gunboat.
“I'll put my men to build him a custom-house,” said the head of the Pioneers, gasping. “We'll make him one decent road at least. That Governor ought to be knighted. I'm glad now that we didn't fight 'em in the open, or we'd have killed some of them. So he's won great battles, has he? Give him the compliments of the victims, and tell him I'm coming to dinner. You haven't such a thing as a dress-suit, have you? I haven't seen one for six months.”
That evening there was a dinner in the village—a general and enthusiastic dinner, whose head was in the Governor's house, and whose tail threshed at large throughout all the streets. The Madeira was everything that the Governor had said, and more, and it was tested against two or three bottles of Bai-Jove-Judson's best Vanderhum, which is Cape brandy ten years in the bottle, flavoured with orange-peel and spices. Before the coffee was removed (by the lady who had made the flag of truce) the Governor had sold the whole of his governorship and its appurtenances, once to Bai-Jove-Judson for services rendered by Judson's grandfather in the Peninsular War, and once to the head of the Pioneers, in consideration of that gentleman's good friendship. After the negotiation he retreated for a while into an inner apartment, and there evolved a true and complete account of the defeat of the British arms, which he read with his cocked hat over one eye to Judson and his companion. It was Judson who suggested the sinking of the flat-iron with all hands, and the head of the Pioneers who supplied the list of killed and wounded (not more than two hundred) in his command.
“Gentlemen,” said the Governor from under his cocked hat, “the peace of Europe are saved by this raporta. You shall all be Knights of the Golden Hide. She shall go by the 'Guadala'.”
“Great Heavens!” said Bai-Jove Judson, flushed but composed, “that reminds me I've left that boat stuck on her broadside down the river. I must go down and soothe the commandante. He'll be blue with rage. Governor, let us go a sail on the river to cool our heads. A picnic, you understand.”
“Ya—as, everything I understand. Ho! A picnica! You are all my prisoner, but I am good gaoler. We shall picnic on the river, and we shall take all the girls. Come on, my prisoners.”