The "Yankee" steamed into the beautiful bay, the crew "at quarters," in honor of the English man-of-war "Indefatigable," which lay at anchor there, and we had hardly let down our anchor when a fleet of "bumboats" came chasing out to us.
Though an American warship had never visited this port before, we seemed to be recognized by these enterprising marine storekeepers as easy prey.
The native "bumboat" is a dugout affair very narrow for its length, and seemingly so cranky that we marvelled at the size of the sail carried. They brought fruits of all kinds, and tobacco, so we didn't stop to criticise their rig, but showed plainly that we were right glad to see them.
The boatmen and women were all colored people and, like the race the world over, were most fantastically and gaily clothed. The women wore bright-hued calico dresses, and brighter bandana handkerchiefs on their heads. The men wore flaming neckties, gay shirts, and, in some cases, tall white or gray beaver hats.
The boats were filled with yellow, green, and red fruits and brightly-colored packages of tobacco, the whole making a most vivid and brilliant display of color.
The crew bought eagerly, regardless of price. Limes, oranges, mangoes, bananas, and pineapples came over the side in a steady stream, while an equally steady, though smaller, stream of silver went back to the boats.
It was a harvest day for the Montego Bay "bumboatmen."
Though we bought the fruits without hesitation, we bit into them gingerly, for, to most of us, many of them were strange.
Tom LeValley brought me a mango and said that I could have it if I would sample it and tell what it was like. I accepted, for I had not been lucky enough to get near a boat to buy for myself.
He handed me something that looked like a pear but was of the color of an orange. I was just about to bite into it when I chanced to look up. I saw that I was the target of all eyes. Putting on a bold front, I sunk my teeth in the yellow rind. I found it was pleasant to the taste, but unlike anything that I had ever put in my mouth before. Still the fellows gazed at me. Was it a trick mango I had tackled so recklessly? I determined not to be stumped, and took a good big bite. In a moment, I discovered why I was the "observed of all observers." The last bite loosened a good deal of the peel, and the thing began to ooze. It oozed through my fingers and began to run down my sleeve; it dripped on my trousers and made an ineradicable stain; my face was smeared with it, my hands were sticky with it, my mouth was full of it, and still the blamed thing oozed.