"Pray, sir, are you the master of that vessel?" said the lieutenant.
"No, sir, I am the mate; and I learn you are desirous of a passage to Jamaica." This was spoken with a broad Scotch accent.
"Yes, we do," said I, in very great astonishment; "but we will not sail with the devil; and who ever saw a negro Scotchman before?"
The fellow laughed. "I am black, as you see; so were my father and mother before me. But I was born in the good town of Glasgow, notwithstanding; and many a voyage I have made as cabin-boy and cook with worthy old Jock Hunter. But here comes our captain. Captain Vanderbosh, here are two shipwrecked British officers who wish to be put ashore in Jamaica; will you take them, and what will you charge for their passage?"
The man he spoke to was a sun-burnt, iron-visaged veteran.
"Vy for von hundred thaler I will land dem safe in de bay."
The bargain was ratified, and that same evening we set sail. When off the San Domingo Gate two boats full of men joined us, and our crew was strengthened by about forty as ugly Christians, of all ages and countries, as I ever set eyes on. From the moment they came on board Captain Vanderbosh sank into the petty officer, and the Scottish negro took the command, evincing great coolness, energy, and skill.
When night had fallen the captain made out a sail to windward. Immediately every inch of canvas was close furled, every light carefully extinguished, a hundred and twenty men with cutlasses at quarters, and the ship under bare poles. The strange sail could be seen through the night-glasses; she now burned a blue light--without doubt an old fellow-cruiser of ours, the Spark.
"She is from Santa Martha with a freight of specie, I know," said Williamson. "I will try a brush with her."
"I know the craft," Splinter struck in, "a heavy vessel of her class, and you may depend on hard knocks and small profit if you do take her; while, if she takes you----"