It was precisely as if a prosperous merchant, engaged in what he considered an honorable, legitimate business, were exchanging trade politeness with another merchant in a somewhat similar line.
"We're not long out," replied Captain Avery. "We've done fairly well, though. We sunk a West India picaroon to-day."
"Did you? That's a good thing to do. Glad you did," said the slaver, heartily. "Those chaps annoy even us African traders. They stopped me twice last year, and took away dozens of my best pieces, men and women. The rascals said they were collecting their import duties. Sink 'em all!"
He was so near, by this time, that the bright moonlight gave them a pretty good view of him. He did not seem to be by any means a bad-looking fellow, and it was only too evident that he was either an American or Englishman of good education. He asked for the latest news politely, and then he declared concerning the existing difficulties between King George Third and his American colonies:—
"You chaps have more interest in that affair than I have. If you're not all shot or hung, you'll make fortunes out of it, if it goes on long enough. Privateering sometimes pays better than slaving. All you need be afraid of, except the king's cruisers, is too sudden an end of the war. That would ruin all your business at once. The war hasn't hurt us, to speak of. Our market is as good as ever it was; we can sell all we can bring over."
The Noank was sweeping on and there could be no more exchange of news or opinions with Captain Liscomb.
He was evidently a man without the prejudices of other men. He could see only the money side of the war for American independence, and he took it for granted that a privateersman would look at it in precisely that way. At least one of the crew of the Noank was not in agreement with him, for Coco was as furious as ever.
"Ole Coco stuck in slaver hold, once," he snarled tigerishly. "No water. Iron on hand, on foot. Hot like oven. Most of 'em die. Some go bline. Some get kill. Not many left. Sell Coco in Cuba. Whip him. Burn him. Make him work hard. Ole brack man got away, though. Big fire 'bout that time. Planter lose he house. Kidd men better'n slaver men. All the same, anyhow."
"Isn't that awful!" was all that Guert could think or say.
"Boy fool!" growled Coco. "Captain Avery all wrong. He let 'em go. Better take 'em."