A stinging appetite was the natural result of our review, and while the naval guests were whetting it still more, I took the opportunity to slip out of my verandah with orders for our harbor-pilot to report the beach “impracticable for boats,”—a report which no prudent sailor on the coast ever disregards. Meanwhile, I despatched a Krooman with a note to the Bonito’s captain, notifying that personage of the marine hazard that prevented his officers’ immediate return, and fearing they might even find it necessary to tarry over night. This little ruse was an impromptu device to detain my inspectors, and make us better acquainted over the African cuisine, which, by this time was smoking in tureens and dishes flanked by spirited sentinels, in black uniform, of claret and eau de vie.
Our dinner-chat was African all over: slavery, cruisers, prize-money, captures, war, negro-trade, and philanthropy! The surgeon melted enough under the blaze of the bottle to admit, as a philosopher, that Cuffee was happier in the hands of white men than of black, and that he would even support the institution if it could be carried on with a little more humanity and less bloodshed. The lieutenant saw nothing, even through the “Spiritual Medium” of our flagons, save prize-money and obedience to the Admiral; while Don Téodor became rather tart on the service, and confessed that his incredulity of British philanthropy would never cease till England abandoned her Indian wars, her opium smuggling, and her persecution of the Irish!
In truth, these loyal subjects of the King, and the Spanish slaver became most excellent friends before bed-time, and ended the evening by a visit to Prince Freeman, who forthwith got up a negro dance and jollification for our special entertainment.
I have not much recollection after the end of this savage frolic till my “look-out” knocked at the door with the news that our brig was firing for her officers, while a suspicious sail flitted along the horizon.
All good sailors sleep with one eye and ear open, so that in a twinkling the lieutenant was afoot making for the beach, and calling for the surgeon to follow. “A canoe! a canoe! a canoe!” shouted the gallant blade, while he ran to and fro on the edge of the surf, beholding signal after signal from his vessel. But alas! for the British navy,—out of all the Kroo spectators not one stirred hand or foot for the royal officer. Next came the jingle of dollars, and the offer of twenty to the boatmen who would launch their skiff and put them on board. “No savez! No savez! ax Commodore! ax Consul!”
“Curse your Commodore and Consul!” yelled the Lieutenant, as the surgeon came up with the vociferous group: “put us aboard and be paid, or I’ll——?”
“Stop, stop!” interposed my pacific saw-bones, “no swearing and no threats, lieutenant. One’s just as useless as the other. First of all, the Bonito’s off about her business;—and next, my dear fellow, the chase she’s after is one of Canot’s squadron, and, of course, there’s an embargo on every canoe along this beach! The Commodore’s altogether too cute, as the Yankees say, to reinforce his enemy with officers!”
During this charming little episode of my blockade, I was aloft in my bellevieu, watching the progress of the chase; and as both vessels kept steadily northward they soon disappeared behind the land.
By this time it was near breakfast, and, with a good appetite, I descended to the verandah, with as unconcerned an air as if nothing had occurred beyond the ordinary routine of factory life. But, not so, alas! my knight of the single epaulette.