“‘No,’ said I, ‘tell me what you mean. There’s plenty of time for sleep, and, besides, it’s too hot, anyhow.’
“‘Well,’ said he, ‘there’s just one thing I think about every time I come to this spot, and that is the fight which took place a couple of miles off shore, abreast this clump of palmettoes.’
“‘What kind of fight?’ I asked. ‘I never heard of any fight taking place off here.’
“He looked at me sharply, and I fancied the hard lines in his weather-beaten face relaxed into the faintest suspicion of a smile.
“‘Quite likely not,’ he answered, ‘but there was one off here a long time ago. It isn’t likely many people remember much about it, for the men who took part in it probably died years ago. It was between two schooners.
“‘There was one that carried fruit from Havana, and she started down the coast one night from St. Augustine, homeward bound, but without any lights. This was probably an oversight, or, perhaps, a desire on the part of her skipper to save oil.
“‘There was another schooner coming up the coast that evening, and she didn’t have any lights because she was all the way from the Guinea Coast loaded with ebony.’
“‘I don’t see why a vessel carrying ebony shouldn’t carry lights,’ I interrupted.
“Old Alvarez’s face showed a net-work of lines and wrinkles and the stumps of his yellow teeth shone bright in the moonlight.
“‘There isn’t any real reason why they shouldn’t,’ said he; ‘but there used to be a prejudice against the trade. As for me, I don’t see why people considered it in such a bad light, for shipping the article not only paid the owners but improved the ebony—after they got it ashore.’