Bill declared he should get very drunk at once on the wine he had heard so much about but never had tasted, and Martin declared he would do anything a true Christian sailor might be expected to do. His chum, Anderson, was surly and fierce, on account of his recent ill-treatment aboard, and talked openly of killing any one of our officers he might meet on the beach. Watkins had gone in the captain’s gig to attend to getting fresh provisions for the after-guard, and the black Doctor came with us, for it was to be our last run ashore, as we would clear at once. The signal had been set and a gun fired for the crew on the Desertas, and all was ready again for our voyage. The goats’ and hogs’ meat would be ready to be pickled, and would be stowed at sea.
We landed on the beach, and a crowd of the strangely dressed natives offered to pilot us around to see the town of Funchal. The men wore tight knee-breeches, and their thin, bare legs sticking out of enormous boots looked remarkably queer. A pair of them insisted on joining us, in spite of Martin’s threat and the Doctor’s pugnacity, and, after a scuffle or two, we let them lead the way to town. Our other boats had rowed up.
Hawkson had detained only Jorg and a couple of Swedes aboard, and I wondered vaguely if it were well to be so short-handed should a British man-of-war rise above the horizon. I did not know whether or not we could be taken, for, although English built, we were evidently under Yankee Dan’s charter. Still there must certainly be considerable treasure aboard, in order to do the trading, and, if searched and captured, there was a strong probability of losing it.
We finally reached the sailors’ harbour, that is, a wine-shop, and because I had not forgotten the effects of the last carouse I had in Nassau, I refused to drink. The swinish crew insisted, and the Doctor wished to know why I would not drink with him.
“Disha nigger’s as good as any white man, an’, if I am a slave, I belong to er man wat’s er m-a-an, an’ he’s done quit drinkin’ milk. I never did think much of you nohow, an’ I kin lick yo’ fur tuppence, dat I kin,” said he, advancing and showing his ugly, sharp teeth.
There was no earthly use of starting a fight, and there was little glory in handling a man who was bound by law to submit to the white man’s will. I therefore left the crowd and went alone through the town, hoping to see something besides debauch.
I strolled through the quaint streets, attracting more or less attention, and somehow I found myself straying in the direction of the inn where Yankee Dan and his daughter were staying. Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of my appearance, for, although I rated a gunner, and therefore a petty officer, I was dressed but little better than an average sailor, and my linen, though put on fresh for the beach, was not what I wished it to be. I soon recognized the place, and looked to see Mr. Curtis around, but he was evidently with the captain and Dan, making a settlement for the spars we had shipped, and fixing the barque’s papers.
I caught sight of the flutter of a dress on the broad loggia, and then saw Miss Allen sitting there in the breeze. An unaccountable impulse made me stop and head directly toward her, for she was the only thing that relieved the coarseness and roughness of the life I had led aboard the barque.
“Good evening, Miss Allen,” I said, stopping just in front of her.
“Good evening, John,” she answered, kindly, as if addressing an old servant, and she smiled and laid aside her book.