“Yes, I remember him,” I replied. “But what of that?”
“Why, senhor, you know what a desperate fellow he was then, and he has not altered. Even last night, when we rounded to to prevent your sinking us, he called us all aft, and asking us if we would stick by him, proposed heaving some shot into your gig as you came alongside, knocking you and your people on the head, and while your vessel was looking about to pick up the sinking boat, in the dark to try and slip away from you. He was in a furious rage when we would not consent. Some were afraid of the plan miscarrying, and of being caught notwithstanding, and hung for murder. Others were unwilling to kill you, as you never ill-treat your prisoners, of which number pray rank me, and while he was still urging his project you jumped on board. You had a narrow escape though, senhor, for he was nearly pistolling you as you appeared, to set us the example.”
So I felt, especially when I saw the diabolical-looking little villain soon after appear on deck. I promised the informer that I would not forget him, and would be on my guard, though I did not give him any credit for disinterested motives in mentioning what had occurred. I had no difficulty by daylight in recognising my friend the captain, nor shall I again forget his ugly mug in a hurry. He also saw that he was known, and had the impudence to claim me as an old acquaintance.
Everything being put to rights on board the schooner, I handed her over to a mate and the crew, who were to take her to Sierra Leone. Before leaving her, however, I had all the slaves up on deck, a third at a time, and had them washed and cleaned, as also the hold, as well as circumstances would allow. A great number of the poor wretches died before they reached their port; not on account of bad weather, or the length of the voyage, but from their having been a long time confined in the barracoons previously to their being embarked. The little captain and most of his crew, however, we sent on board the Gadfly, as it would not have been prudent to trust him in the schooner.
With a flowing sheet our first prize stood away for Sierra Leone, and three hearty cheers accompanied her on her course.
“We’ve not made a bad night’s work of it, master,” said I, as I sat down to breakfast with him.
“No,” he answered, “if the prize ever reaches her port.”
“Why should you think she will not?” I asked.
“It’s better not to be too sanguine. There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip,” was the reply.
“Too true an adage,” I felt. “I’m sure I’ve found it so in my course through life.”