XIII. The Pirate’s Leman…

XIII. The Pirate’s Leman

“When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?”

“The only art her guilt can cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, is to die.”

--Oliver Goldsmith, “Song” From The Vicar Of Wakefield.

“Ay Dios, si sera possible que he ya hallado lugar que pueda servir de escondida sepultura a la carga pesada deste cuerpo, que tan contra mi voluntad sostengo?”

--Don Quixote De La Mancha.

The next morning after breakfast I proceeded to Santiago, and landed at the custom house wharf, where I found everything bustle, dust, and heat; several of the captains of the English vessels were there, who immediately made up to me, and reported how far advanced in their lading they were, and enquired when we were to give them convoy, the latest news from Kingston, &c. At length I saw our friend Ricardo Campana going along one of the neighbouring streets, and I immediately made sail in chase. He at once recognised me, gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and enquired how he could serve me. I produced two letters which I had brought for him, but which had been forgotten in the bustle of the preceding day; they were introductory, and although sealed, I had some reason to conjecture that my friend, Mr Pepperpot Wagtail, had done me much more than justice. Campana, with great kindness, immediately invited me to his house. “We foreigners,” said he, “don’t keep your hours; I am just going home to breakfast.” It was past eleven in the forenoon. I was about excusing myself on the plea of having already breakfasted, when he silenced me. “Why, I guessed as much, Mr Lieutenant, but then you have not lunched; you can call it lunch, you know, if it will ease your conscience.” There was no saying nay to all this civility, so we stumped along the burning streets, through a mile of houses, large massive buildings, but very different in externals from the gay domiciles of Kingston. Aaron Bang afterwards used to say that they looked more like prisons than dwelling-houses, and he was not in this very much out. Most of them were built of brick and plastered over, with large windows, in front of each of which, like the houses in the south of Spain, there was erected a large heavy wooden balcony, projecting far enough from the wall to allow a Spanish chair, such as I have already described, to be placed in it. The front of these verandas was closed in with a row of heavy balustrades at the bottom, of a variety of shapes, and by clumsy carved woodwork above, which effectually prevented you from seeing into the interior. The whole had a Moorish air, and in the upper part of the town there was a Sabbath-- like stillness prevailing, which was only broken now and then by the tinkle of a guitar from one of the aforesaid verandas, or by the rattling of a crazy volante, a sort of covered gig, drawn by a broken kneed and broken winded mule, with a kiln dried old Spaniard or dona in it.

The lower part of the town had been busy enough, and the stir and hum of it rendered the quietude of the upper part of it more striking.

A shovel hatted friar now suddenly accosted us.

“Senor Campana--ese pobre familia de Cangrejo! Lastima! Lastima!” “Cangrejo--Cangrejo!” muttered I; “why, it is the very name attached to the miniature.”

Campana turned to the priest, and they conversed earnestly together for some moments, when he left him, and we again held on our way. I could not help asking him what family that was, whose situation the “padre” seemed so feelingly to bemoan.

“Never mind,” said he, “never mind; they were a proud family once, but that is all over now--come along.”

“But,” said I, “I have a very peculiar cause of interest with regard to this family. You are aware, of course, of the trial and execution of the pirates in Kingston, the most conspicuous of whom was a young man called Federico Cangrejo, from whom....”

“Mr Cringle,” said he, solemnly, “at a fitting time I will hear you regarding that matter; at present I entreat you will not press it.”

Good manners would not allow me to push it farther, and we trudged along together, until we arrived at Don Ricardo Campana’s door. It was a large brick building, plastered over as already described, and whitewashed. There was a projecting stair in front, with a flight of steps to the right and left, with a parapet wall towards the street. There were two large windows, with the wooden veranda or lattice already described, on the first floor, and on the second a range of smaller windows, of the same kind. What answered to our ground floor was used as a warehouse, and filled with dry goods, sugar, coffee, hides, and a vast variety of miscellaneous articles. We ascended the stairs, and entered a lofty room, cool and dark, and paved with large diamond-- shaped bricks, and every way desirable for a West India lounge, all to the furniture, which was meagre enough; three or four chairs, a worm-- eaten old leathern sofa, and a large clumsy hardwood table in the midst.

There were several children playing about, little sallow devils, although, I dare say, they could all of them have been furnished with certificates of white parentage, upon whom one or two negro women were hovering in attendance beyond a large folding door that fronted the entrance.

When we entered, the eldest of the children, a little girl of about eight years old, was sitting in the doorway, playing with a small blue toy that I could make nothing of, until on a nearer inspection I found it to be a live land-crab, which the little lady had manacled with a thread by the foot, the thread being fastened to a nail driven into a seam of the floor.

As an article of food, I was already familiar with this creature, but I had never seen a living one before; it was in every respect like a sea crab, only smaller, the body being at the widest not above three inches across the back. It fed without any apparent fear, and while it pattered over the tiled floor, with its hard claws, it would now and then stop and seize a crum of bread in its forceps, and feed itself like a little monkey. By the time I had exchanged a few words with the little lady, the large door that opened into the hall on the right hand moved, and mine hostess made her appearance; a small woman, dressed in a black gown, very laxly fitted. She was the very converse of our old ship, she never missed stays, although I did cruelly.

“This is my friend, Lieutenant Cringle,” said mine host.

“A las pies de usted, senora,” responded your humble servant.

“I am very glad to see you,” said the lady; “but breakfast is ready; welcome, sir, welcome.”

The food was not amiss, the coffee decidedly good, and the chocolate, wherein, if you had planted a teaspoon, it would have stood upright, was excellent. When we had done with substantials, dulce, that is the fruit of the guava preserved, in small wooden boxes, (like drums of figs,) after being made into a kind of jam, was placed on the table, and mine host and his spouse had eaten a bushel of it apiece, and drank a gallon of that most heathenish beverage, cold clear water, before the repast was considered ended. After a hearty meal and a pint of claret, I felt rather inclined to sit still, and expatiate for an hour or so, but Campana roused me, and asked whether or not I felt inclined to go and look at the town. I had no apology, and although I would much rather have sat still, I rose to accompany him, when in walked Captain Transom and Mr Bang. They were also kindly received by Don Ricardo.

“Clad of the honour of this visit,” said he in French, with a slight lift of the corner of his mouth; “I hope neither you nor your boat’s crew took any harm after the heat of yesterday.”

Transom laughed.

“Why, you did beat us very neatly, Don Ricardo. Pray, where got you that canoe? But a lady Mrs Campana, I presume?--Have the goodness to introduce me.”

The skipper was presented in due form, the lady receiving him without the least mauvaise honte, which, after all, I believe to be indigenous to our island. Aaron was next introduced, who, as he spoke no lingo, as I knows of, to borrow Timotheus Tailtackle’s phraseology but English, was rather posed in the interview.

“I say, Tom, tell her I wish she may live a thousand years. Ah, so, that will do.”

Madama made her conge, and hoped “El Senora Maria un asiento.” “Mucho, mucho,” sung out Bang, who meant by that that he was much obliged.

At length Don Ricardo came to our aid. He had arranged a party into the country for next morning, and invited us all to come back to a tertulia in the evening, and to take beds in his house, he undertaking to provide bestias to carry us.

We therefore strolled out, a good deal puzzled what to make of ourselves until the evening, when we fell in with one of the captains of the English ships then loading, who told us that there was a sort of hotel a little way down the street, where we might dine at two o’clock at the table d’hote. It was as yet only twelve, so we stumbled into this hotel to reconnoitre, and a sorry affair it was. The public room was fitted with rough wooden tables, at which Spaniards, Americans, and Englishmen, sat and smoked, and drank sangaree, hot punch, or cold grog, as best suited them, and committed a vast variety of miscellaneous abominations during their potations. We were about giving up all thoughts of the place, and had turned to go to the door, when in popped our friend Don Ricardo. He saw we were somewhat abroad.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “if I may ask, have you any engagement to dinner?”

“No, we have none.”

“Well, then, will you do me the honour of partaking of my family fare, at three o’clock? I did not venture to invite you before, because I knew you had other letters to deliver, and I wished to leave you masters of your own time.” We gladly accepted his kind offer; he had made his bow, and was cruising amongst the smokers, and punch drinkers, where the blue coated masters of the English merchantmen and American skippers, were hobbing and nobbing with the gingham-coated Dons, for the whole Spanish part of the community were figged out in Glasgow and Paisley ginghams; when the priest, who had attracted our attention in the morning, came up to him, and drew him aside. They talked earnestly together, the clerigo, every now and then, indicating by significant nods and glances towards us, that we formed the burden of his song, whatever that might be. Campana seemed exceedingly unwilling to communicate the message, which we guessed he had been entreated to carry to us, and made one or two attempts to shove the friar in propria persona towards us, that he might himself tell his own story. At length they advanced together to where we stood, when he addressed me.

“You must pardon me, Lieutenant; but as the proverb hath it, strange countries, strange manners; my friend here, Padre Carera, brings a message from El Senor Picador Cangrejo, one of our magnates, that he will consider it an especial favour if you will can on him, either this forenoon or tomorrow.”

“Why, who is this Cangrejo, Don Ricardo? if he be not the father of the poor fellow I mentioned, there must be some mystery about him.”

“No mystery,” chimed in the monk; “no mystery, God help us, but mucha, mucha miseria, hijo mio; much misery, sir, and more impending, and none to help save only”--He did not finish the sentence, but taking off his shovel hat, and shewing his finely turned bald head, he looked up to heaven, and crossed himself, the tears trickling down his wrinkled cheeks. “But,” continued he, “you will come, Mr Cringle?”

“Certainly,” said I, “tomorrow I will call, if my friend Don Ricardo will be my guide.” This being fixed, we strolled about until dinnertime, friend Aaron making his remarks regarding the people and their domiciles with great naivety.

“Strange now, Tom, I had expected to see little else amongst the slave population here than misery and starvation; whereas, so far as I can observe, they are all deucedly well cared for, and fat, and contented; and from the enquiries I was making amongst the captains of the merchantmen”--(“Masters,” interjected Captain Transom, “Master of a merchantman, Captain of a man-of-war.”) “Well, captains of merchantmen,--masters, I mean,--I find that the people whom they employ are generally free; and, farther, that the slaves are not more than three to one free person, yet they export a great deal of produce, Captain Transom--must keep my eyes about me.” And so he did, as will be seen by and by. But the dinner hour drew near, and we repaired to Don Ricardo’s, where we found a party of eight assembled, and our appearance was the signal for the repast being ordered in. It was laid out in the entrance hall. The table was of massive mahogany, the chairs of the same material, with stuffed bottoms, covered with a dingy-coloured morocco, which might have been red once. But devil a dish of any kind was on the snow-white table-cloth when we sat down, and our situations, or the places we were expected to fill at the board, were only indicated by a large knife and silver fork and spoon laid down for each person. The company consisted of Don Ricardo Campana, la Senora Campana, and a brother of hers, two dark young men, who were Don Ricardo’s clerks, and three young women, ladies, or senoras, as I ought to have called them, who were sitting so far back into the shade, at the dark end of the room, when we entered, that I could not tell what they were. Our hostess was, although a little woman, a good looking dark Spaniard, not very polished, but very kind; and seeing that our friend Aaron was the most helpless amongst us, she took him under her especial care, and made many a civil speech to him, although her husband did not fail to advertise her, that he understood not one word of Spanish, that is, of all she was saying to him. However, he replied to her kindnesses by his never-failing exclamation of “mucho, mucho,” and they appeared to be getting on extremely well. “Bring dinner,” quoth Don Ricardo, “trae la comida;” and four black female domestics entered, the first with a large dish of pillaffe, or fowls smothered in rice and onions; the second with a nondescript melange, flesh, fish, and fowl apparently, strongly flavoured with garlic; the third bore a dish of jerked beef, cut into long shreds, and swimming in seba or lard; and the fourth bore a large dish full of that indescribable thing known by those who read Don Quixote, as an olla podrida. The sable handmaidens began to circulate round the table, and every one helped himself to the dish that he most fancied. At length they placed them on the board, and brought massive silver salvers, with snow white bread, twisted into strands in the baking, like junks of a cable; and water jars, and yams nicely roasted and wrapped in plantain leaves. These were in like manner handed round, and then deposited on the table, and the domestics vanished.

We all got on cheerily enough, and both the Captain and myself were finishing off with the olla podrida, with which, it so happened, we were familiar, and friend Bang, taking the time from us, took heart of grace and straightway followed our example. There was a pause rather an irksome one from its continuance, so much so indeed, that knocking off from my more immediate business of gorging the aforesaid olla podrida, I looked up, and as it so happened, by accident towards our friend Bang and there he was munching and screwing up his energies to swallow a large mouthful of the mixture, against which his stomach appeared to rebel. “Smollet’s feast after the manner of the ancients,” whispered Transom. At length he made a vigorous effort and straightway sung out “l’eau de vie, Don Ricardibus--some brandy, mon ami--for the love of all the respectable saints in your heathenish calendar.”

Mine host laughed, but the females were most confoundedly posed. The younger ones ran for aromatic salts, while the lady of the house fetched some very peculiar distilled waters. She, in her kindness, filled a glass and helped Bang, but the instant he perceived the flavour, he thrust it away.

“Anniseed--damn anniseed--no, no--obliged--mucho, mucho but brandy plaino, that is simple of itself, if you please--that’s it Lord love you, my dear madam--may you live a thousand years though.”

The pure brandy was administered, and once more the dark beauties reappeared, the first carrying a bottle of vin-de-grave, the second one of vino tinto, or claret, and the third one of l’eau de vie, for Aaron’s peculiar use. These were placed before the landlord, who helped himself to half a pint of claret, which he poured into a large tumbler, and then putting a drop or two of water into it, tasted it, and sent it to his wife. In like manner, he gave a smaller quantity to each of the other Senoras, when the whole female part of the family drank our healths in a volley. But all this time the devil a thing drinkable was there before we males, but goblets of pure cold water. Bang’s “mucho mucho” even failed him, for he had only in his modesty got a thimbleful of brandy to qualify the olla podrida. However, in a twinkling a beautiful long-necked bottle of claret was planted at each of our right hands, and of course we lost no time in returning the unlooked-for civility of the ladies. Until this moment I had not got a proper glimpse of the three Virgins of the Sun, who were seated at table with us. They were very pretty Moorish-looking girls, as like as peas, dark hair, black eyes, clear colourless olive complexion, and no stays; but young and elastic as their figures were, this was no disadvantage. They were all three dressed in black silk petticoats, over a sort of cambric chemise, with large frills hanging down at the bosom, but gown, properly so called, they had none, their arms being unencumbered with any clothing heavier than a shoulder-strap. The eldest was a fine full young woman of about nineteen; the second was more tall and stately, but slighter; and the youngest, was--oh, she was an angel of light--such hair, such eyes, and such a mouth; then her neck and bosom when the wearer is, as in the present case she was, young and beautiful. They all wore a long plain white gauze strap, like a broad ribbon, (little Reefpoint afterwards said they wore boat pennants at their mastheads,) I don’t know what Madam Maradon Carson would call it, in their hair, which fell down from amongst the braids nearly to their heels, and then they replied in their magnificent language, when casually addressed during dinner, with so much naivete. We, the males of the party, had drank little or nothing, a bottle of claret or so apiece, and a dram of brandy, to qualify a little vin-de-grave that we had flirted with during dinner, when our landlord rose, along with his brother-in-law, wished us a good afternoon, and departed to his counting house, saying he would be back by dark, leaving the Captain and I, and friend Bang, to amuse the ladies the best way we could, as the clerks had taken wing along with their master. Don Ricardo’s departure seemed to be the signal for all hands breaking loose, and a regular romping match took place, the girls producing their guitars, and we were all mighty frolicsome and happy, when a couple of padres from the convent of La Merced, in their white flannel gowns, black girdles, and shaven crowns, suddenly entered the hall. We the foreign part of the society, calculated on being pulled up by the clerigos, but deuce a bit; on the contrary, the young females clustered round them, laughing and joking, while the Senora Campana presented them with goblets of claret, in which they drank our healths, once and again, and before long they were gamboling about, all shaven and shorn, like a couple of three-year olds. Bang had a large share of their assiduity, and to see him waltzing with a fine active, and what I fancy to be a rarity, a clean looking priest, with his ever recurring “mucho, mucho,” was rather entertaining.

The director of the postoffice, and a man who was called the “Corregidor de Tabaco,” literally the “corrector of tobacco,” dropped in about this time, and one or two ladies, relatives of Mrs Campana, and Don Ricardo returning soon after, we had sweet meats and liqueurs, and coffee, and chocolate, and a game at monte, and maco, and were, in fact, very happy. But the happiest day, as well as the most miserable, must have an end, and the merry party dropped off, one after another, until we were left all alone with our host’s family. Madama soon after took her departure, wishing us a goodnight. She had no sooner gone, than Bang began to shoot out his horns a bit. “I say, Tom, ask the Don to let us have a drop of something hot, will you, a tumbler of hot brandy and water after the waltzing, eh? I don’t see the bedroom candles yet.” Nor would he, if we had sat there till doomsday. Campana seemed to have understood Bang, the brandy was immediately forthcoming, and we drew in to the table to enjoy ourselves, Bang waxing talkative. “Now what odd names,-- why, what a strange office it must be for his Majesty of Spain to employ at every port a corrector of tobacco; that his liege subjects may not be imposed on, I suppose--what capital cigars this same corrector must have, eh?”

I suppose it is scarcely necessary to mention, that throughout all the Spanish American possessions, tobacco is a royal monopoly, and that the officer above alluded to is the functionary who has the management of it. Don Ricardo, hearing something about cigars, took the hint, and immediately produced a straw case from his pocket, and handed it to Bang.

“Mucho, mucho,” quoth Bang; “capital, real Havannah.”

So now, since we had all gotten fairly into the clouds, there was no saying how long we should have remained in the seventh heaven much would have depended upon the continuance of the supply of brandy--but two female slaves presently made their appearance, each carrying a quatre. I believe I have already described this easily rigged couch somewhere; it is a hard-wood frame, like what supports the loose top of a laundry table, with canvass stretched over the top of it, but in such a manner that it can be folded up flat, and laid against the wall when not in use, while a bed can be immediately constructed by simply opening it and stretching the canvass. The handmaidens accordingly set to work to arrange two beds, or quatres, one on each side of the table where we were sitting, while Bang sat eyeing them askance, in a kind of wonderment as to the object of the preparations, which were by no means new either to the Captain or me, who, looking on them as matters of course, continued in close confabulation with Don Ricardo during the operations.

“I say, Tom,” at length quoth Bang, “are you to be laid out on one of those outlandish pieces of machinery--eh?”

“Why, I suppose so; and comfortable enough beds they are, I can assure you.”

“Don’t fancy them much, however,” said Bang; “rather flimsy the framework.”

The servants now very unceremoniously, no leave asked, began to clear away all the glasses and tumblers on the table.

“Hillo!” said the skipper, casting an enquiring glance at Campana, who, however, did not return it, but, as a matter of course apparently, rose, and taking a chair to the other end of the room, close by the door of an apartment which opened from it, began in cold blood to unlace and disburden himself of all his apparel, even unto his shirt.

This surprised us all a good deal, but our wonderment was lost on the Don, who got up from his seat, and in his linen garment, which was deucedly laconic, made his formal bow, wished us goodnight, and presenting the reverse of his medal, which was extremely picturesque, he vanished through the door. By this, the ebony ladies had cleared the table of the crystal, and had capped it with a yellow leather mattrass, with pillows of the same, both embossed with large tufts of red silk; on this they placed one sheet, and leaving a silver apparatus at the head, they disappeared--“Buenos noches, senores--las camas estan listas.”

Bang had been unable to speak from excess of astonishment; but the skipper and I, finding there was no help for it, had followed Campana’s example, and kept pace with him in our peeling, so that by the time he disappeared, we were ready to topple into our quatres, which we accordingly did, and by this time we were both at full length, with our heads cased each in one of Don Ricardo’s silk nightcaps, contemplating Bang’s appearance, as he sat in disconsolate mood in his chair at the head of the table, with the fag-end of a cigar in the corner of his cheek.

“Now, Bang,” said Transom, “turn in, and let us have a snooze, will ye?”

Bang did not seem to like it much.

“Zounds, Transom, did you ever hear of a gentleman being put to bed on a table? Why, it must be a quiz. Only fancy me dished out and served up like a great calipi in the shell! However, here goes--But surely this is in sorry taste; we had our chocolate a couple of hours ago--capital it was by the by--in vulgar Staffordshire china, and now they give us silver....”

“Be decent, Bang,” cut in the skipper, who was by this time more than half asleep. “Be decent, and go to bed--that’s a good fellow.”

“Ah, well” Aaron undressed himself, and lay down; and there he was laid out, with a candle on each side of his head, his red face surmounted by a redder handkerchief tied round his head, sticking out above the white sheet; and supported by Captain Transom and myself, one on each side. All was now quiet. I got up and put out the candles, and as I fell asleep, I could hear Aaron laughing to himself “Dished, and served up, deuced like Saint Barts. I was intended for a doctor, Tom, you must know. I hope the Don is not a medical amateur; I trust he won’t have a touch at me before morning. Rum subject I should make. Possibly he may want to practice cutting for the stone--he! he!” All was silent for some time.

“Hillo--what is that?” said Aaron again, as if suddenly aroused from his slumbers--“I say, none of your fun, Transom.”

A large bat was flaffing about, and I could hear him occasionally whir near our faces.

“Oh, a bat--hate bats--how the skipper snores! I hope there be no resurrection-men in St Jago, or I shall be stolen away to a certainty before morning. How should I look as a skeleton in a glass-case, eh?”

I heard no more, until, it might be, about midnight, when I was awakened, and frightened out of my wits, by Bang rolling off the table on to my quatre, which he broke in his fall, and then we both rolled over and over on the floor.

“Murder!” roared Bang. “I am bewitched and bedevilled. Murder! a scorpion has dropped from the roof into my mouth, and stung me on the nose. Murder! Tom--Tom Cringle--Captain--Transom, my dear fellows, awake and send for the doctor. Oh my wig--oh dear oh dear.”

At this uproar I could hear Don Ricardo striking a light, and presently he appeared with a candle in his hand, more than half naked, with la senora peering through the half-opened door behind him.

“Ave Maria purissima--what is the matter? Where is el Senior Bang?”

“Mucho, mucho,” shouted Bang from below the table. “Send for a doctoribus, Senor Richarsum. I am dead and t’other thing help!--help!”

“Dios guardo usted,” again ejaculated Campana. “What has befallen him?” addressing the skipper, who was by this time on his head’s antipodes in bed, rubbing his eyes, and in great amazement.

“Tell him, my dear Transom, that a scorpion fell from the roof, and stung me on the nose.”

“What says he?” enquired the Spaniard.

Poor Transom’s intellect was at this time none of the clearest, being more than half asleep, and not quite so sober as a hermit is wont to be; besides, he must needs speak Spanish, of which he was by no means master, which led to a very comical blunder. Alacran, in Spanish, means scorpion, and Cayman, an alligator, not very similar in sound certainly, but the termination being the same, he selected in the hurry the wrong phrase.

“He says,” replied Transom in bad Spanish, “that he has swallowed an alligator, or something of that sort, sir.” Then a loud yawn.

“Swallowed a what?” rejoined Campana, greatly astonished.

“No, no,” snorted the captain--“I am wrong--he says he has been stung by an alligator.”

“Stung by an alligator!--impossible.”

“Why, then,” persisted the skipper, “if he be not stung by an alligator, or if he has not really swallowed one, at all events an alligator has either stung or swallowed him--so make the most of it, Don Ricardo.”

“Why this is absurd, with all submission,” continued Campana; “how the deuce could he swallow an alligator, or an alligator get into my house to annoy him?”

“D--n it,” said Transom, half tipsy and very sleepy, “that’s his look out. You are very unreasonable, Don Ricardo; all that is the affair of friend Bang and the alligator; my purpose is solely to convey his meaning faithfully”--a loud snore.

“Oh,” said Campana, laughing, “I see, I see; I left your friend sobre mesa, [on the table,] but now I see he is sub rosa.”

“Help, good people, help!” roared Bang--“help, or my nose will reach from this to the Moro Castle--Help!”

We got him out, and were I to live a thousand years, which would be a tolerably good spell, I don’t think I could forget his appearance. His nose, usually the smallest article of the kind that I ever saw, was now swollen as large as my fist, and as purple as a mulberry--the distension of the skin, from the venomous sting of the reptile--for stung he had been by a scorpion--made it semi--transparent, so that it looked like a large blob of currant jelly hung on a peg in the middle of his face, or a gigantic leech, gorged with blood, giving his visage the semblance of some grotesque old-fashioned dial, with a fantastic gnomon.

“A poultice--a poultice--a poultice, good people, or I shall presently be all nose together,”--and a poultice was promptly manufactured from mashed pumpkin, and he was put to bed, with his face covered up with it, as if an Italian artist had been taking a cast of his beauties in plaster of Paris.

In the application of this said poultice, however, we had nearly extinguished poor Aaron amongst us, by suffocating him outright; for the skipper, who was the operating surgeon in the first instance, with me for his mate, clapped a whole ladleful over his mouth and nose, which, besides being scalding hot, sealed those orifices effectually, and indeed about a couple of tablespoonfuls had actually been forced down his gullet, notwithstanding his struggles, and exclamations of “Pumpkin bad--softened with castor oil--d----n it, skipper, you’ll choke me” spurt--sputter--sputter--“choke me, man.”

“Cuidado,” said Don Ricardo; “let me manage”--and he got a small tube of wild cane, which he stuck into Bang’s mouth, through a hole in the poultice-cloth, and set a negro servant to watch that it did not sink into his gullet, as he fell asleep, and with instructions to take the poultice off whenever the pain abated; and there he lay on his back, whistling through this artificial beak, like a sick snipe.

At length, however, all hands of us seemed to have fallen asleep, but towards the dawning I was awakened by repeated bursts of suppressed laughter, and upon looking in the direction from whence the sounds proceeded, I was surprised beyond all measure to observe Transom in a corner of the room in his trowsers and shirt, squatted like a tailor on his hams, with one of the sable damsels on her knees beside him holding a candle, while his Majesty’s Post Captain was plying his needle in a style and with a dexterity that would have charmed our friend Stultze exceedingly, and every now and then bending double over his work, and swinging his body backwards and forwards with the water welling from his eyes, laughing all the while like to choke himself. As for his bronze candlestick, I thought she would have expired on the spot, with her white teeth glancing like ivory, and the tears running down her cheeks, as she every now and then clapped a handkerchief on her mouth to smother the uncontrollable uproariousness of her mirth.

“Why, captain, what spree is this?” said I.

“Never you mind, but come here. I say, Mr Cringle, do you see him piping away there”--and there he was, sure enough, still gurgling through the wild cane--with his black guardian, whose province it was to have removed the poultice, sound asleep, snoring in the huge chair at Bang’s head, wherein he had established himself, while the candle at his patient’s cheek was flickering in the socket.

My superior was evidently bent on wickedness.

“Get up and put on your trowsers, man.”

I did so.

“Now wait a bit till I cooper him--Here, my darling”--to the sable virgin who was now on the qui vive, bustling about--“here,” said the captain, sticking out a leg of Bang’s trowsers, “hold you there, my dear.”

She happened to be a native of Haiti, and comprehended his French.

“Now hold you that, Mr Cringle.”

I took hold of the other leg, and held it in a fitting position, while Transom deliberately sewed them both up.

“Now for the coat sleeves”

We sealed them in a similar manner.

“So--now for his shirt.”

We sewed up the stem, and then the stern, converting it into an outlandish-looking pillow-case, and finally both sleeves; and last of all, we got two live land-crabs from the servants, by dint of persuasion and a little plata, and clapped one into each stocking foot.

We then dressed ourselves, and when all was ready, we got a piece of tape for a landyard, and made one end fast to the handle of a large earthen water-jar, full to the brim, which we placed on Bangs pillow, and passed the other end round the neck of the sleeping negro.

“Now get you to bed,” said the captain to the dingy handmaiden, “and stand by to be off, Mr Cringle.”

He stepped to Don Ricardo’s bedroom door, and tapped loudly.

“Hillo!” quoth the Don. On this hint, like men springing a mine, the last who leave the sap, we sprang into the street, when the skipper turned, and taking aim with a large custard apple which he had armed himself with (I have formerly described this fruit as resembling a russet bag of cold pudding), he let fly. Spin flew the apple--bash on the blackamoor’s obtuse snout. He started back, and in his terror and astonishment threw a somersault over the back of his chair--gush poured the water--smash fell the pipkin--“murder” roared Bang, dashing off the poultice--cast, with such fury that it lighted in the street--and away we raced at the top of our speed.

We ran as fast as our legs could carry us for two hundred yards, and then turning, walked deliberately home again, as if we had been out taking a walk in the cool morning air.

As we approached, we heard the yells of a negro, and Bang high in oath.

“You black rascal, nothing must serve your turn but practising your John Canoe tricks upon a gentleman--take that, you villain, as a small recompense for floating me out of my bed--or rather off the table,” and the ludicrousness of his couch seemed to come over the worthy fellow once more, and he laughed loud and long--“Poor devil, I hope I have not hurt you? here, Quashi, there’s a pistole, go buy a plaster for your broken pate.”

By this we had returned in front of the house, and as we ascended the front stairs, we again heard a loud racketing within; but blackie’s voice was now wanting in the row, wherein the Spaniard and our friend appeared to be the dramatis personae--and sure enough there was Don Ricardo and Bang at it, tooth and nail.

“Allow me to assist you,” quoth the Don.

“Oh no--mucho--mucho,” quoth Bang, who was spinning round and round in his shirt on one leg, trying to thrust his foot into his trowsers; but the garment was impervious; and after emulating Noblet in a pirouette, he sat down in despair. We appeared--“Ah, Transom, glad to see you some evil spirit has bewitched me, I believe--overnight I was stung to death by a scorpion--half an hour ago I was deluged by an invisible spirit--and just now when I got up, and began to pull on my stockings, Lord! a land crab was in the toe part, and see how he has scarified me” forking up his peg--“I then tried my trowsers,” he continued in a most doleful tone--“and lo! the legs are sealed. And look at my face, saw you ever such an unfortunate? But the devil take you, Transom, I see through your tricks now, and will pay you off for this yet, take my word for it.”

The truth is, that our amigo Aaron had gotten an awful fright on his first awakening after his cold bath, for he had given the poor black fellow an ugly blow upon the face, before he had gathered his senses well about him, and the next moment seeing the blood streaming from his nose, and mixing with the custard-like pulp of the fruit with which his face was plastered, he took it into his noodle that he had knocked the man’s brains out. However, we righted the worthy fellow the best way we could, and shortly afterwards coffee, was brought, and Bang having got himself shaven and dressed began to forget all his botherations. But before we left the house, madama, Don Ricardo’s better-half, insisted on anointing his nose with some mixture famous for reptile-bites. His natural good-breeding made him submit to the application, which was neither more nor less than an infusion of indigo and ginger, with which the worthy lady painted our friend’s face and muzzle in a most ludicrous manner--it was heads and tails between him and an ancient Briton. Reefpoint at this moment appeared at the door with a letter from the merchant captains, which had been sent down to the corvette, regarding the time of sailing, and acquainting us when they would be ready. While Captain Transom was perusing it, Bang was practising Spanish at the expense of Don Ricardo, whom he had boxed into a corner; but all his Spanish seemed to be scraps of schoolboy Latin, and I noticed that Campana had the greatest difficulty in keeping his countenance. At length Don Ricardo approached us--“Gentlemen, I have laid out a little plan for the dav; it is my wife’s saint’s day, and a holyday in the family, so we propose going to a coffee property of mine about ten miles from Santiago, and staying till morning--What say you?”

I chimed in--“I fear, sir, that I shall be unable to accompany you, even if Captain Transom should be good enough to give me leave, as I have an errand to do for that unhappy young fellow that we spoke about last evening--some trinkets which I promised to deliver here they are”--and I produced the miniature and crucifix.

Campana winced--“Unpleasant, certainly, Lieutenant”--said he.

“I know it will be so myself, but I have promised”

“Then far be it from me to induce you to break your promise,” said the worthy man. “My son,” said he, gravely, “the friar you saw yesterday is confessor to Don Picador Cangrejo’s family; his reason for asking to obtain an interview with you was from its being known that you were active in capturing the unfortunate men with whom young Federico Cangrejo, his only son, was leagued. Oh that poor, poor boy! Had you known him, gentlemen, as I knew him, poor, poor Federico!”

“He was an awful villain, however, you must allow,” said the Captain.

“Granted in the fullest sense, my dear sir,” rejoined Campana; “but we are all frail, erring creatures, and he was hardly dealt by. He is now gone to his heavy, heavy account, and I may as well tell you the poor boy’s sad story at once. Had you but seen him in his prattling infancy, in his sunny boyhood!”

“He was the only son of a rich old father, an honest worldly man, and of a most peevish, irascible temper. Poor Federico, and his sister Francisca, his only sister, were often cruelly used; and his orphan cousin, my sweet god-daughter, Maria Olivera, their playmate, was, if any thing, more harshly treated; for although his mother was and is a most excellent woman, and always stood between them and the old man’s ill temper, yet at the time I speak of she had returned to Spain, where a long period of ill health detained her for upwards of three years. Federico by this time was nineteen years of age, tall, handsome, and accomplished beyond all the youth of his rank and time of life in Cuba: But you have seen him, gentlemen--in his extremity; it is true--yet, fallen as he was, I mistake if you thought him a common man or good, or for evil, my heart told me he would be conspicuous, and I was, alas the day! too true a prophet. His attachment to his cousin, who, on the death of her mother, had become an inmate of Don Picador’s house, had been evident to all but the purblind old man for a long time; and when he did discover it, he imperatively forbade all intercourse between them, as, forsooth, he had projected a richer match for him, and shut Maria up in a corner of his large mansion, Federico, haughty and proud, could not stomach this. He ceased to reside at his father’s estate, which had been confided to his management, and began to frequent the billiard table, and monte-tables, and taverns, and in a thousand ways gave, from less to more, such unendurable offence, that his father at length shut his door against him, and turned him, with twenty doubloons in his pocket, into the street.”

“Friends interceded, for the feud soon became public, and, amongst others, I essayed to heal it; and with the fond, although passionate father, I easily succeeded; but how true it is, ‘that evil communication corrupts good manners!’ I found Federico, by this time, linked in bands of steel with a junto of desperadoes, whose calling was any thing but equivocal; and implacable to a degree, that, knowing him as I had known him, I had believed impossible. But, alas, the human heart is indeed desperately wicked. I struggled long with the excellent Father Carera to bring about a reconciliation, and thought we had succeeded, as Federico was induced to return to his father’s house once more, and for many days and weeks we all flattered ourselves that he had reformed; until one morning, about four months ago, he was discovered coming out of his cousin’s room about the dawning by his father, who immediately charged him with seducing his ward. High words ensued. Poor Maria rushed out and threw herself at her uncle’s feet. The old man, in a transport of fury, kicked her on the face as she lay prostrate; whereupon, God help me, he was felled to the earth by his own flesh, and bone, and blood--by his abandoned son.”

‘What rein can hold licentious wickedness, When down the hill he holds his fierce career?’

“The rest is soon told;--he joined the pirate vessels at Puerto Escondido, and, from his daring and reckless intrepidity, soon rose to command amongst them, and was proceeding in his infernal career, when the God whom he had so fearfully defied at length sent him to expiate his crimes on the scaffold.”

“But the priest”--said I, much excited.

“True,” continued Don Ricardo, “Padre Carera brought a joint message from his poor mother, and sister, and--and, oh my darling god-child, my heart--dear Maria!”. And the kind old man wept bitterly. I was much moved.

“Why, Mr Cringle,” said Transom, “if you have promised to deliver the trinkets in propria persona, there’s an end, take leave--nothing doing down yonder--send Tailtackle for clothes. Mr Reefpoint, go to the boat and send up Tailtackle; so go you must to these unfortunates, and we shall then start on our cruise to the Coffee Estate with our worthy host.”

“Why,” said Campana; “the family are in the country; they live about four miles from Santiago, on the very road to my property, and we shall call on our way; but I don’t much admire these interviews there will be a scene, I fear.”

“Not on my part,” said I; “but call I must, for I solemnly promised,” and presented the miniature to Don Ricardo.

Campana looked at it. It was exquisitely finished, and represented a most beautiful girl, a dark, large-eyed, sparkling, Spanish beauty. “Oh, my dear, dear child,” murmured Don Ricardo, “how like this was to what you were; how changed you are now from what it is--alas! alas! But come, gentlemen, my wife is ready, and my two nieces,” the pretty girls who were of our party the previous evening--“and here are the horses.”

At this moment the little midshipman, Master Reefpoint, a great favourite of mine, by the by, reappeared, with Tailtackle behind him, carrying my bundle. I was regularly caught, as the clothes, on the chance of a lark, had been brought from the ship, although stowed out of sight under the stern-sheets of the boat.

“Here are your clothes, Mr Cringle,” quoth middy.

“Devil confound your civility,” internally murmured I.

The captain twigged, and smiled. Upon which little Reefy stole up to me “Lord, Mr Cringle, could you but get me leave to go, it would be such a....”

“Hold your tongue, boy, how can I....”

Transom struck in--“Master Reefpoint, I see what you are driving at; but how shall the Firebrand be taken care of when you are away, eh? besides, you have no clothes, and we shall be away a couple of days most probably.”

“Oh, yes, sir, I have clothes; I have a hair-brush and a tooth-brush, and two shirt collars, in my waistcoat pocket.”

“Very well, can we venture to lumber our kind friends with this giant, Mr Cringle, and can we really leave the ship without him?” Little Reefy was now all alive. “Tailtackle, go on board--say we shall be back to dinner the day after tomorrow,” said the Captain.

We now made ready for the start, and certainly the cavalcade was rather a remarkable one. First, there was an old lumbering family volante, a sort of gig, with four posts or uprights supporting a canopy covered with leather, and with a high dash-iron or splashboard in front. There were curtains depending from this canopy, which on occasion could be let down, so as to cover in the sides and front. The whole was of the most clumsy workmanship that can be imagined, and hung by untanned leather straps in a square wooden frame, from the front of which again protruded two shafts, straight as Corinthian pillars, and equally substantial, embracing an uncommonly fine mule, one of the largest and handsomest of the species which I had seen. The harnessing partook of the same kind of unwieldy strength and solidity, and was richly embossed with silver and dirt. Astride on this mulo sat a household negro, with a huge thong of bullock’s hide in one hand, and the reins in the other. In this voiture were ensconced La Senora Campana, a portly concern, as already mentioned, two of her bright black-eyed laughing nieces, and Master Reefpoint, invisible as he lay smothered amongst the ladies, all to his little glazed cocked hat, and jabbering away in a most unintelligible fashion, so far as the young ladies, and eke the old one, were concerned. However, they appeared all mightily tickled by little Reefy, either mentally or physically, for off they trundled, laughing and skirting loud above the noise and creaking of the volante. Then came three small, ambling, stoutish long-tailed ponies, the biggest not above fourteen hands high; these were the barbs intended for mine host, the skipper, and myself, caparisoned with high demipique old-fashioned Spanish saddles, mounted with silver stirrups, and clumsy bridles, with a ton of rusty iron in each poor brute’s mouth for a bit, and curbs like a piece of our chain cable, all very rich, and, as before mentioned with regard to the volante, far from clean. Their pace was a fast run, a compound of walk, trot, and canter, or rather of a trot and a canter, the latter broken down and frittered away through the instrumentality of a ferocious Mameluke bit, but as easy as an armchair; and this was, I speak it feelingly, a great convenience, as a sailor is not a Centaur, not altogether of a piece with his horse, as it were; yet both Captain Transom and myself were rather goodish horsemen for nauticals, although rather apt to go over the bows upon broaching-to suddenly. Don Ricardo’s costume would have been thought a little out of the way in Leicestershire; most people put on their boots when they do a riding go, but he chose to mount in shoes and white cotton stockings, and white jean small-clothes, with a flowing yellow-striped gingham coat, the skirts of which fluttered in the breeze behind him, his withered face shaded by a huge Panama hat, and--with enormous silver spurs on his heels, the rowels two inches in diameter.

Away lumbered the volante, and away we pranced after it. For the first two miles the scenery was tame enough; but after that, the gently swelling eminences on each side of the road rose abruptly into rugged mountains; and the dell between them, which had hitherto been verdant with waving guinea grass, became covered with large trees, under the dark shade of which we lost sight of the sun, and the contrast made every thing around us for a time almost undistinguishable. The forest continued to overshadow the high-road for two miles further, only broken by a small cleared patch now and then, where the sharp-spiked limestone rocks shot up like minarets, and the fire scathed stumps of the felled trees stood out amongst the rotten earth in the crevices, from which, however, sprang yams and cocoas, and peas of all kinds, and granadillos, and a profusion of herbs and roots, with the greatest luxuriance.

At length we came suddenly upon a cleared space; a most beautiful spot of ground, where, in the centre of a green plot of velvet grass, intersected with numberless small walks, gravelled from a neighbouring rivulet, stood a large one-story wooden edifice, built in the form of a square, with a court-yard in the centre. From the moistness of the atmosphere, the outside of the unpainted weatherboarding had a green damp appearance, and so far as the house itself was concerned, there was an air of great discomfort about the place. A large open balcony ran round the whole house on the outside; and fronting us there was a clumsy wooden porch supported on pillars, with the open door yawning behind it.

The hills on both sides were cleared, and planted with most luxuriant coffee-bushes, and provision grounds, while the house was shaded by several splendid star-apple and kennip-trees, and there was a border of rich flowering shrubs surrounding it on all sides. The hand of woman had been there!

A few half-naked negroes were lounging about, and on hearing our approach they immediately came up and stared wildly at us.

“All fresh from the ship these,” quoth Bang.

“Can’t be,” said Transom. “Try and see.”

I spoke some of the commonest Spanish expressions to them, but they neither understood them, nor could they answer me. But Bang was more successful in Eboe and Mandingo, both of which he spoke fluently accomplishments which I ought to have expected, by the by, when I declared he was little skilled in any tongue but English.

Large herds of cattle were grazing on the skirts of the wood, and about one hundred mules were scrambling and picking their food in a rocky river-course which bisected the valley. The hills, tree-covered, rose around this solitary residence in all directions, as if it had been situated in the bottom of a punch-bowl; while a small waterfall, about thirty feet high, fell so near one of the corners of the building, that when the wind set that way, as I afterwards found, the spray moistened my hair through the open window in my sleeping apartment. We proceeded to the door and dismounted, following the example of our host, and proceeded to help the gentlewomen to alight from the volante. When we were all accounted for in the porch, Don Ricardo began to shout, “Criados, criados, ven aca-pendejos, ven aca!” the call was for some time unattended to; at length, two tall, good-looking, decently-- dressed negroes made their appearance, and took charge of our bestias and carriage; but all this time there was no appearance by any living creature belonging to the family.

The dark hall, into which the porch opened was paved with the usual diamond-shaped bricks or tiles, but was not ceiled, the rafters of the roof being exposed; there was little or no furniture in it, that we could see, except a clumsy table in the centre of the room, and one or two of the leather-backed reclining chairs, such as Whiffle used to patronize. Several doors opened from this comfortless saloon, which was innocent of paint, into other apartments, one of which was ajar.

“Estrailo,” murmured Don Ricardo, “muy estrailo!”

“Coolish reception this, Tom.” quoth Aaron Bang.

“Deucedly so,” said the skipper.

But Campana, hooking his little fat wife under his arm, while we did the agreeable to the nieces, now addressed himself to enter, with the constant preliminary ejaculation of all well-bred Spaniards in crossing a friend’s threshold, “Ave Maria purissima,” when we were checked by a loud tearing fit of coughing, which seemed almost to suffocate the patient, and female voices in great alarm, proceeding from the room beyond.

Presently a little anatomy of a man presented himself at the door of the apartment, wringing his hands, and apparently in great misery. Campana and his wife, with all the alacrity of kind hearted people, immediately went up to him, and said something which I did not overhear, but the poor creature to whom they spoke appeared quite bewildered. “What is it, Don Picador?” at length we could hear Campana say,--“what is it? Is it my poor dear Maria who is worse, or what--speak, man--may my wife enter?”

“Si, si--yes, yes,” said the afflicted Don Picador--“yes, yes, let her go in--send--for I am unable to think or act--send one of my people back post to Santiago for the doctor--haste, haste. Sangre--hecha sangre por la boca.”

“Good God, why did you not say so before?” rejoined Campana.

Here his wife called loudly to her husband, “Ricardo, Ricardo, por amor de su alma, manda por el medico, she has burst a blood vessel Maria is dying!”

“Let me mount myself; I will go myself.”--And the excellent man rushed for the door, when the poor heart-broken Picador clung to his knees.

“No, no, don’t leave me. Send some one else”

“Take care, man, let me go”

Transom and I volunteered in a breath--“No, no, I will go myself,” continued Don Ricardo; “let go, man--God help me, the old creature is crazed,--el viejo no vale.”

“Here, here! help, Don Ricardo!” cried his wife.

Off started Transom for the doctor, and into the room rushed Don Picador and Campana, and, from the sounds in the sick-chamber, all seemed bustle and confusion; at length the former appeared to be endeavouring to lift the poor sufferer, so as to enable her to sit up in bed; in the meantime her coughing had gradually abated into a low suffocating convulsive gasp.

“So, so, Ii ft her up, man,’ we could hear Campana say; ‘lift her up quick--or she will be suffocated.”

At length, in a moment of great irritation, excited on the one hand by his intense interest in the poor suffering girl, and anger at the peevish, helpless Don Picador, Don Ricardo, to our unutterable surprise, rapped out, in gude broad Scotch, as he brushed away Senor Cangrejo from the bedside with a violence that spun him out of the door--“God--the auld doited deevil is as fusionless as a docken.”

My jaw dropped--I was thunderstruck--Bang’s eye met mine “Murder!” quoth Bang, so soon as his astonishment let him collect breath enough, “and here I have been for two whole days practising Spanish, to my great improvement no doubt, upon a Scotchman how Edified he must have been!”

“But the docken, man,” said I--“fusionless as a docken--how classic! what an exclamation to proceed from the mouth of a solemn Don!”

“No gibes regarding the docken,” promptly chimed in Bang; “it is a highly respectable vegetable, let me tell you, and useful on occasion, which is more.”

The noise in the room ceased, and presently Campana joined us. “We must proceed,” said he, “it will never do for you to deliver the jewels now, Mr Cringle; she is too much excited already, even from seeing me.”

But it was more easy to determine on proceeding than to put it in execution, for a heavy cloud, that had been overhanging the small valley the whole morning, had by this time spread out and covered the entire face of nature like a sable pall; the birds of the air flew low, and seemed perfectly gorged with the superabundance of flies, which were thickly betaking themselves for shelter under the evergreen leaves of the bushes. All the winged creation, great and small, were fast hastening to the cover of the leaves and branches of the trees. The cattle were speeding to the hollows under the impending rocks; negroes, men, women, and children, were hurrying with their hoes on their shoulders past the windows to their huts. Several large bloodhounds had ventured into the hall, and were crouching with a low whine at our feet. The huge carrion crows were the only living things which seemed to brave the approaching chubasco, and were soaring high up in the heavens, appearing to touch the black agitated fringe of the lowering thunderclouds. All other kinds of winged creatures, parrots, and pigeons, and cranes, had vanished by this time under the thickest trees, and into the deepest coverts, and the wild-ducks were shooting past in long lines, piercing the thick air with outstretched neck and clanging wing.

Suddenly the wind fell, and the sound of the waterfall increased, and grew rough and loud, and the undefinable rushing noise that precedes a heavy fall of rain in the tropics, the voice of the wilderness, moaned through the high woods, until at length the clouds sank upon the valley in boiling mists, rolling halfway down the surrounding hills; and the water of the stream, whose scanty rill but an instant before hissed over the precipice, in a small transparent ribbon of clear glass-green, sprinkled with white foam, and then threaded its way round the large rocks in its capacious channel, like a silver eel twisting through a dry desert, now changed in a moment to a dark turgid chocolate colour; and even as we stood and looked, lo! a column of water from the mountains pitched in thunder over the face of the precipice, making the earth tremble, and driving up from the rugged face of the everlasting rocks in smoke, and forcing the air into eddies and sudden blasts which tossed the branches of the trees that overhung it, as they were dimly seen through clouds of drizzle, as if they had been shaken by a tempest, although there was not a breath stirring elsewhere out of heaven; while little wavering spiral wreaths of mist rose up thick from the surface of the boiling pool at the bottom of the cataract, like miniature water spouts, until they were dispersed by the agitation of the air above.

At length the swollen torrent rolled roaring down the narrow valley, filling the whole water-course, about fifty yards wide, and advancing with a solid front a fathom high--a fathom deep does not convey the idea like a stream of lava, or as one may conceive of the Red Sea, when, at the stretching forth of the hand of the prophet of the Lord, its mighty waters rolled back and stood heaped up as a wall to the host of Israel. The channel of the stream, which but a minute before I could have leaped across, was the next instant filled, and utterly impassable.

“You can’t possibly move,” said Don Picador; “you can neither go on nor retreat; you must stay until the river subsides.” And the rain now began pattering in large drops, like scattering shots preceding an engagement, on the wooden shingles with which the house was roofed, gradually increasing to a loud rushing noise, which, as the rooms were not ceiled, prevented a word being heard.

Don Ricardo began to fret and fidget most awfully,--“Beginning of the seasons--why, we may not get away for a week and all the ships will be kept back in their loading.”

All this time, the poor sufferer’s tearing cough was heard in the lulls of the rain; but it gradually became less and less severe, and the lady of the house, and Senora Campana, and Don Picador’s daughter, at length slid into the room on tiptoe, leaving one of Don Ricardo’s nieces in the room with the sick person.

“She is asleep--hush.” The weather continued as bad as ever, and we passed a very comfortless forenoon of it, Picador, Campana, Bang, and myself, perambulating the large dark hall, while the ladies were clustered together in a corner with their work. At length the weather cleared, and I could get a glimpse of mine hostess and her fair daughter. The former was a very handsome woman, about forty; she was tall, and finely formed; her ample figure set off by the very simple, yet, to my taste, very elegant dress formerly described: it was neither more nor less than the plain black silk petticoat over a chemise, made full at the bosom, with a great quantity of lace frills; her dark glossy hair was gathered on the crown of her head in one long braid, twisted round and round, and rising up like a small turret. Over all she wore a loose shawl of yellow silk crape. But the daughter, I never shall forget her! Tall and full, and magnificently shaped--every motion was instinct with grace. Her beautiful black hair hung a yard down her back, long and glossy, in three distinct braids, while it was shaded, Madonna-like, off her high and commanding forehead; her eyebrows--to use little Reefy’s simile--looked as if cut out of a mouse’s skin; and her eyes themselves, large, dark, and soft, yet brilliant and sparkling at the same time, however contradictory this may, read; her nose was straight, and her cheeks firm and oval, and her mouth, her full lips, her ivory teeth, her neck and bosom, were perfect, the latter if any giving promise of too matronly a womanhood; but at the time I saw her, nothing could have been more beautiful; and, above all, there was an inexpressible charm in the clear transparent darkness of her colourless skin, into which you thought you could look; her shoulders, and the upper part of her arms, were peculiarly beautiful. Nothing is so exquisitely lovely as the upper part of a beautiful woman’s arm, and yet we have lived to see this admirable feature shrouded and lost in those abominable gigots.--Why won’t you, Master Kit North, lend a hand, and originate a crusade against those vile appendages? I will lead into action if you like--“Woe unto the women that sew pillows to all armholes,” Ezekiel, xiii. 18. May I venture on such a quotation in such a place?--She was extremely like her brother; and her fine face was overspread with the pale cast of thought a settled melancholy, like the shadow of a cloud in a calm day on a summer landscape, mantled over her fine features; and although she moved with the air of a princess, and was possessed of that natural politeness which far surpasses all artificial polish, yet the heaviness of her heart was apparent in every motion, as well as in all she said.

Many people labour under an unaccountable delusion, imagining, in their hallucination, that a Frenchwoman, for instance, or even an Englishwoman nay, some in their madness have been heard to say that a Scotchwoman has been known to walk. Egregious errors all! An Irishwoman of the true Milesian descent can walk a step or two sometimes, but all other women, fair or brown, short or tall, stout or thin, only stump, shuffle, jig, or amble--none but a Spaniard can walk.

Once or twice she tried to enter into conversation with me on indifferent subjects; but there was a constant tendency to approach (against her own prearranged determination) the one, all-absorbing one, the fate of her poor brother. “Oh, had you but known him, Mr Cringle had you but known him in his boyhood, before bad company had corrupted him!” exclaimed she, after having asked me if he died penitent and she turned away and wept. “Francisca,” said a low hoarse female voice from the other room; “Francisca, ven aca, mi querida hermana.” The sweet girl rose, and sped across the floor with the grace of Taglioni, (oh, the legs Taglionis! as poor dear Bang would have ventured to have said, if the sylphide had then been known,) and presently returning, whispered something to her mother, who rose and drew Don Picador aside. The waspish old man shook himself clear of his wife, as he said with indecent asperity--“No, no, she will but make a fool of herself.”

His wife drew herself up.

“She never made a fool of herself, Don Picador, but once; and God forgive those who were the cause of it. It is not kind of you, it is not kind.”

“Well, well,” rejoined the querulous old man, “do as you will, do as you will,--always crossing me, always crossing.”

His wife took no farther notice, but stepped across the room to me, “Our poor dying Maria knows you are here; and probably you are not aware that he wrote to her after his”--her voice quavered after his condemnation, the night before he suffered, that you were the only one who shewed him kindness; and she has also read the newspapers giving an account of the trial. She wishes to see you will you pleasure her? Senora Campana has made her acquainted that you are the bearer of some trinkets belonging to him, from which she infers you witnessed his last moments, as one of them, she was told, was her picture, poor dear girl; and she knew that must have grown to his heart till the last. But it will be too agitating. I will try and dissuade her from the interview until the doctor comes, at all events.’

The worthy lady stepped again into Maria’s apartment, and I could not avoid hearing what passed.

“My dear Maria, Mr Cringle has no objection to wait on you; but after your severe attack this morning, I don’t think it will be wise. Delay it until Dr Bergara comes--at any rate, until the evening, Maria.”

“Mother,” she said, in a weak, plaintive voice, although husky from the phlegm which was fast coagulating in her throat--“Mother, I already have ceased to be of this world; I am dying, dearest mother, fast dying; and oh, thou All-good and All-merciful Being, against whom I have fearfully sinned, would that the last struggle were now o’er, and that my weary spirit were released, and my shame hidden in the silent tomb, and my sufferings and very name forgotten!” She paused and gasped for breath; I thought it was all over with her; but she rallied again and proceeded “Time is rapidly ebbing from me, dearest mother,--for mother I must call you, more than a mother have you been to me--and the ocean of eternity is opening to my view. If I am to see him at all, I must see him now; I shall be more agitated by the expectation of the interview than by seeing him at once. Oh! let me see him now, let me look on one who witnessed his last moments.”

I could see Senora Cangrejo where she stood. She crossed her hands on her bosom, and looked up towards heaven, and then turned mournfully towards me, and beckoned me to approach. I entered the small room, which had been fitted up by the poor girl with some taste; the furniture was better than any I had seen in a Spanish house before, and there was a mat on the floor, and some exquisite miniatures and small landscapes on the walls. It was her boudoir, opening apparently into a bedroom beyond. It was lighted by a large open unglazed window, with a row of wooden balustrades beyond it, forming part of a small balcony. A Carmelite friar, a venerable old man, with the hot tears fast falling from his old eyes over his wrinkled cheeks, whom I presently found to be the excellent Padre Carera, sat in a large chair by the bedside, with a silver cup in his hand, beside which lay a large crucifix of the same metal; he had just administered extreme unction, and the viaticum, he fondly hoped, would prove a passport for his dear child to another and a better world. As I entered he rose, held out his hand to me, and moved round to the bottom of the bed.

The shutters had been opened, and, with a suddenness which no one can comprehend who has not lived in these climates, the sun now shone brightly on the flowers and garden plants which grew in a range of pots on the balcony, and lighted up the pale features of a lovely girl, lovely even in the jaws of death, as she lay with her face towards the light, supported in a reclining position on cushions, on a red morocco mattrass, laid on a sort of frame or bed.

“Light was her form, and darkly delicate, that brow, whereon her native sun had sat, but had not marr’d.”

She was tall, so far as I could judge, but oh, how attenuated! Her lower limbs absolutely made no impression on the mattrass, to which her frame appeared to cling, giving a ghastly conspicuousness to the oedematoust swelling of her feet, and to her person, for, alas! She was in a way to have become a mother.

The offspring of his wayward youth, When he betrayed Bianca’s truth; The maid whose folly could confide In him, who made her not his bride.

Her hand, grasping her pocket-handkerchief, drenched, alas, with blood, hung over the side of the bed, thin and pale, with her long taper fingers as transparent as if they had been fresh cut alabaster, with the blue veins winding through her wrists, and her bosom wasted and shrunk, and her neck no thicker than her arm, with the pulsations of the large arteries as plain and evident as if the skin had been a film, and her beautiful features, although now sharpened by the near approaching death agony, her lovely mouth, her straight nose, her arched eyebrows, black, like pencilled jet lines, and her small ears,--and oh, who can describe her rich black raven hair, lying combed out, and spread all over the bed and pillow? She was dressed in a long loose gown of white crape; it looked like a winding-sheet; but the fire of her eyes--I have purposely not ventured to describe them--the unearthly brilliancy of her large, full, swimming eye!

When I entered, I bowed, and remained standing near the door. She said something, but in so low a voice that I could not catch the words; and when I stepped nearer, on purpose to hear more distinctly, all at once the blood mantled in her cheeks and forehead and throat, like the last gleam of the setting sun; but it faded as rapidly, and once more she lay pale as her smock.

“Yet not such blush, as mounts when health would show, All the heart’s hue in that delightful glow; But ‘twas a hectic tint of secret care, That for a burning moment fever’d there; And the wild sparkle of her eye seemd caught From high, and lighten’d with electric thought; Though its black orb these long low lashes fringe, Had temper’d with a melancholy tinge.”

Her voice was becoming more and more weak, she said, so she must be prompt. “You have some trinkets for me, Mr Cringle?” I presented them. She kissed the crucifix fervently, and then looked mournfully on her own miniature. “This was thought like once, Mr Cringle.--Are the newspaper accounts of his trial correct?” she next asked. I answered, that in the main facts they were. “And do you believe in the commission of all these alleged atrocities by him?” I remained silent. “Yes, they are but too true. Hush, hush,” said she “look there.”

I did as she requested. There, glancing bright in the sunshine, a most beautiful butterfly fluttered in the air, in the very middle of the open window. When we first saw it, it was flitting gaily and happily amongst the plants and flowers that were blooming in the balcony, but it gradually became more and more slow on the wing, and at last poised itself so unusually steadily for an insect of its class, that even had Maria not spoken, it would have attracted my attention. Below it, on the window sill, near the wall, with head erect, and its little basilisk eyes upturned towards the lovely fly, crouched a camelion lizard; its beautiful body, when I first looked at it, was a bright sea-green. It moved into the sunshine, a little away from the shade of the laurel bush, which grew on the side it first appeared on, and suddenly the back became transparent amber, the legs and belly continuing green. From its breast under the chin, it every now and then shot out a semicircular film of a bright scarlet colour, like a leaf of a tulip stretched vertically, or the pectoral fin of a fish.

This was evidently a decoy, and the poor fly was by degrees drawn down towards it, either under the impression of its being in reality a flower, or impelled by some impulse which it could not resist. It gradually fluttered nearer and more near, the reptile remaining all the while steady as a stone, until it made a sudden spring, and in the next moment the small meally wings were quivering on each side of the camelion’s tiny jaws. While in the act of gorging its prey, a little fork, like a wire, was projected from the opposite corner of the window; presently a small round black snout, with a pair of little fiery blasting eyes, appeared, and a thin black neck glanced in the sun. The lizard saw it. I could fancy it trembled. Its body became of a dark blue, then ashy pale; the imitation of the flower, the gaudy fin was withdrawn, it appeared to shrink back as far as it could, but it was nailed or fascinated to the window sill, for its feet did not move. The head of the snake approached, with its long forked tongue shooting out and shortening, and with a low hissing noise. By this time about two feet of its body was visible, lying with its white belly on the wooden beam, moving forward with a small horizontal wavy motion, the head and six inches of the neck being a little raised. I shrunk back from the serpent, but no one else seemed to have any dread of it; indeed, I afterwards learned, that this kind being good mousers, and otherwise quite harmless, were, if any thing, encouraged about houses in the country. I looked again; its open mouth was now within an inch of the lizard, which by this time seemed utterly paralysed and motionless; the next instant its head was drawn into the snake’s mouth, and by degrees the whole body disappeared, as the reptile gorged it, and I could perceive from the lump which gradually moved down the snake’s neck, that it had been sucked into its stomach. Involuntarily I raised my hand, when the whole suddenly disappeared.

I turned, I could scarcely tell why, to look at the dying girl. A transient flush had again lit up her pale wasted face. She was evidently greatly excited. “Can you read me that riddle, Mr Cringle? Does no analogy present itself to you between what you have seen, between the mysterious power possessed by these subtle reptiles, and Look--look again.”

A large and still more lovely butterfly suddenly rose from beneath where the snake had vanished, all glittering in the dazzling sunshine, and after fluttering for a moment, floated steadily up into the air, and disappeared in the blue sky. My eye followed it as long as it was visible, and when it once more declined to where we had seen the snake, I saw a most splendid dragonfly, about three inches long, like a golden bodkin, with its gauze-like wings moving so quickly, as it hung steadily poised in mid air, like a hawk preparing to stoop, that the body seemed to be surrounded by silver tissue, or a bright halo, while it glanced in the sunbeam.

“Can you not read it yet, Mr Cringle? can you not read my story in the fate of the first beautiful fly, and the miserable end of my Federico, in that of the lizard? And oh, may the last appearance of the ethereal thing, which but now rose, and melted into the lovely sky, be a true type of what I shall be! But that poor insect, that remains there suspended between heaven and earth, shall I say hell, what am I to think of it?”

The dragonfly was still there. She continued--“En purgatorio, ah Dios, tu quedas en purgatorio,” as if the fly had represented the unhappy young pirate’s soul in limbo. Oh, let no one smile at the quaintness of the dying fancy of the poor heart-crushed girl. The weather began to lower again, the wind came past us moaningly--the sun was obscured large drops of rain fell heavily into the room--a sudden dazzling flash of lightning took place, and the dragonfly was no longer there. A long low wild cry was heard. I started, and my flesh creeped. The cry was repeated. “Es el--el mismo, y ningun otro. Me venga, Federico; me venga, mi querido!” shrieked poor Maria, with a supernatural energy, and with such piercing distinctness that it was heard shrill even above the rolling thunder.

I turned to look at Maria--another flash. It glanced on the crucifix which the old priest had elevated at the foot of the bed, full in her view. It was nearer, the thunder was louder. “Is that the rain-drops which are falling heavily on the floor through the open window?” Oh God! Oh God! it is her warm heart’s-blood, which was bubbling from her mouth like a crimson fountain. Her pale fingers were clasped on her bosom in the attitude of prayer--a gentle quiver of her frame and the poor broken hearted girl, and her unborn babe, “sleeped the sleep that knows no waking.”

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XIV. Scenes in Cuba

Ariel.--Safely in harbour, Is the king’s ship; in the deep nook, where, once, Thou call’dst me up at midnight to fetch dew, From the still--vexed Bermoothes--there she’s hid.

The Tempest, I. ii 227--29.

The spirit had indeed fled--the ethereal essence had departed--and the poor wasted and blood-stained husk which lay before us, could no longer be moved by our sorrows, or gratified by our sympathy. Yet I stood riveted to the spot, until I was aroused by the deep-toned voice of Padre Carera, who, lifting up his hands towards heaven, addressed the Almighty in extempore prayer, beseeching his mercy to our erring sister who had just departed. The unusualness of this startled me.--“As the tree falls, so must it lie,” had been the creed of my forefathers, and was mine; but now for the first time I heard a clergyman wrestling in mental agony, and interceding with the God who hath said, “Repent before the night cometh, in which no man can work,” for a sinful creature, whose worn-out frame was now as a clod of the valley. But I had little time for consideration, as presently all the negro servants of the establishment set up a loud howl, as if they had lost their nearest and dearest. “Oh, our poor dear young mistress is dead! She has gone to the bosom of the Virgin! She is gone to be happy!”--“Then why the deuce make such a yelling?” quoth Bang in the other room, when this had been translated to him. Clad to leave the chamber of death, I entered the large hall, where I had left our friend.

“I say, Tom--awful work. Hear how the rain pours, and murder--such a flash! Why, in Jamaica, we don’t startle greatly at lightning, but absolutely I heard it hiss--there, again”--the noise of the thunder stopped further colloquy, and the wind now burst down the valley with a loud roar.

Don Ricardo joined us. “My good friends--we are in a scrape here--what is to be done?--a melancholy affair altogether.”--Bang’s curiosity here fairly got the better of him.

“I say, Don Ricardibus--do--beg pardon, though--do give over this humbugging outlandish lingo of yours--speak like a Christian, in your mother tongue, and leave off your Spanish, which now, since I know it is all a bam, seems to sit as strangely on you as my grandmother’s toupe would on Tom Cringle’s Mary.”

“Now do pray, Mr Bang,” said I, when Don Ricardo broke in “Why, Mr Bang, I am, as you now know, a Scotchman.”

“How do I know any such thing--that is, for a certainty--while you keep cruising amongst so many lingoes, as Tom there says?”

“The docken, man,” said I.--Don Ricardo smiled.

“I am a Scotchman, my dear sir; and the same person who, in his youth, was neither more nor less than wee Richy Cloche, in the long town of Kirkaldy, and in his old age Don Ricardo Campana of St Jago de Cuba. But more of this anon,--at present we are in the house of mourning, and alas the day! that it should be so.”

By this time the storm had increased most fearfully, and as Don Ricardo, Aaron, and myself, sat in the dark damp corner of the large gloomy hall, we could scarcely see each other, for the lightning had now ceased, and the darkness was so thick, that had it not been for the light from the large funeral wax tapers, which had been instantly lit upon poor Maria’s death, in the room where she lay, that streamed through the open door, we should have been unable to see our very fingers before us.

“What is that?” said Campana; “heard you nothing, gentlemen?”

“By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face, Grew dark as they were speaking.”

In the lulls of the rain and the blast, the same long low cry was heard which had startled me by Maria’s bedside, and occasioned the sudden and fatal exertion which had been the cause of the bursting out afresh of the blood vessel.

“Why,” said I, “it is little more than three o’clock in the afternoon yet, dark as it is; let us sally out, Mr Bang, for I verify believe that the hollo we have heard is my Captain’s voice, and, if I conjecture rightly, he must have arrived at the other side of the river, probably with the Doctor.”

“Why, Tom,” quoth Aaron, “it is only three in the afternoon, as you say, although by the sky I could almost vouch for its being midnight,--but I don’t like that shouting--Did you ever read of a water-kelpie, Don Richy?”

“Poo, poo, nonsense,” said the Don; “Mr Cringle is, I fear, right enough.” At this moment the wind thundered at the door and window shutters, and howled amongst the neighbouring trees and round the roof, as if it would have blown the house down upon our devoted heads. The cry was again heard, during a momentary pause.

“Zounds!” said Bang, “it is the skipper’s voice, as sure as fate--he must be in danger--let us go and see, Tom.”

“Take me with you,” said Campana,--the foremost always when any good deed was to be done----and, in place of clapping on his great-coat to meet the storm, to our unutterable surprise, he began to disrobe himself, all to his trowsers and large straw hat. He then called one of the servants, “Trae me un lasso.” The lasso, a long thong of plaited hide, was forthwith brought; he coiled it up in his left hand. “Now, Pedro,” said he to the negro servant who had fetched it, (a tall strapping fellow,) “you and Caspar follow me. Gentlemen, are you ready?” Caspar appeared, properly accoutred, with a long pole in one hand and a thong similar to Don Ricardo’s in the other, he as well as his comrade being stark naked all to their waistcloths. “Ah, well done, my sons,” said Don Ricardo, as both the negroes prepared to follow him. So off we started to the door, although we heard the tormenta raging without with appalling fury. Bang undid the latch, and the next moment he was flat on his back, the large leaf having flown open with tremendous violence, capsizing him like an infant.

The Padre from the inner chamber came to our assistance, and by our joint exertions we at length got the door to again and barricaded, after which we made our exit from the lee-side of the house by a window. Under other circumstances, it would have been difficult to refrain from laughing at the appearance we made. We were all drenched in an instant after we left the shelter of the house, and there was old Campana, naked to the waist, with his large sombrero and long pigtail hanging down his back, like a mandarin of twenty buttons. Next followed his two black assistants, naked as I have described them, all three with their coils of rope in their hands, like a hangman and his deputies; then advanced friend Bang and myself, without our coats or hats, with handkerchiefs tied round our heads, and our bodies bent down so as to stem the gale as strongly as we could.

But the planting attorney, a great schemer, a kind of Will Wimble in his way, had thought fit, of all things in the world, to bring his umbrella, which the wind, as might have been expected, reversed most unceremoniously the moment he attempted to hoist it, and tore it from the staff, so that, on the impulse of the moment, he had to clutch the flying red silk and thrust his head through the centre, where the stick had stood, as if he had been some curious flower. As we turned the corner of the house, the full force of the storm met us right in the teeth, when flap flew Don Ricardo’s hat past us; but the two blackamoors had taken the precaution to strap each of theirs down with a strong grass lanyard. We continued to work to windward, while every now and then the hollo came past us on the gale louder and louder, until it guided us to the fording which we had crossed on our first arrival. We stopped there;--the red torrent was rushing tumultuously past us, but we saw nothing save a few wet and shivering negroes on the opposite side, who had sheltered themselves under a cliff, and were busily employed in attempting to light a fire. The holloing continued.

“Why, what can be wrong?” at length said Don Ricardo, and he shouted to the people on the opposite side.

He might as well have spared his breath, for, although they saw his gestures and the motion of his lips, they no more heard him than we did them, as they very considerately in return made mouths at us, bellowing no doubt that they could not hear us.

“Don Ricardo--Don Ricardo!” at this crisis sung out Caspar, who had clambered up the rock, to have a peep about him--“Ave Maria--Alla son dos pobres, que peresquen pronto, si nosotros no pueden Hydros.”

“Whereabouts?” said Campana--“whereabouts? speak, man, speak.”

“Down in the valley--about a quarter of a league, I see two men on a large rock, in the middle of the stream; the wind is in that direction, it must be them we heard.”

“God be gracious to us! true enough--true enough--let us go to them then, my children.” And we again all cantered off after the excellent Don Ricardo. But before we could reach the spot, we had to make a detour, and come down upon it from the precipitous brow of the beetling cliff above, for there was no beach nor shore to the swollen river, which was here very deep and surged, rushing under the hollow bank with comparatively little noise, which was the reason why we heard the cries so distinctly.

The unfortunates who were in peril, whoever they might be, seemed to comprehend our motions, for one of them held out a white handkerchief, which I immediately answered by a similar signal, when the shouting ceased, until, guided by the negroes, we reached the verge of the cliff, and looked down from the red crumbling bank on the foaming water, as it swept past beneath. It was here about thirty yards broad, divided by a rocky wedge like islet, on which grew a profusion of dark bushes and one large tree, whose topmost branches were on a level with us where we stood. This tree was divided, about twelve feet from the root, into two limbs in the fork of which sat, like a big monkey, no less a personage than Captain Transom himself, wet and dripping, with his clothes besmeared with mud, and shivering with cold. At the foot of the tree sat in rueful mood, a small antique beau of an old man in a coat which had once been blue silk, wearing breeches, the original colour of which no man could tell, and without his wig, his clear bald pate shining amidst the surrounding desolation like an ostrich’s egg. Beside these worthies stood two trembling way-worn mules with drooping heads, their long ears hanging down most disconsolately. The moment we came in sight, the skipper hailed us.

“Why, I am hoarse with bawling, Don Ricardo, but here am I and el Doctor Pavo Real, in as sorry a plight as any two gentlemen need be. On attempting the ford two hours ago, blockheads as we were beg pardon, Don Pavo”--the doctor bowed, and grinned like a baboon--“we had nearly been drowned; indeed, we should have been drowned entirely, had we not brought up on this island of Barataria here.--But how is the young lady? tell me that,” said the excellent-hearted fellow, even in the midst of his own danger.

“Mind Yourself, my beautiful child,” cried Bang. “How are we to get you on terra firma?”

“Poo--in the easiest way possible,” rejoined he, with true seamanlike self-possession. “I see you have ropes--Tom Cringle, heave me the end of the line which Don Ricardo carries, will you?”

“No, no--I can do that myself,” said Don Ricardo, and with a swing he hove the leathern noose at the skipper, and whipped it over his neck in a twinkling. The Scotch Spaniard, I saw, was pluming himself on his skill, but Transom was up to him, for in an instant he dropped out of it, while in slipping through he let it fall over a broken limb of the tree.

“Such an eel--such an eel!” shouted the attendant negroes, both expert hands with the lasso themselves.

“Now, Don Ricardo, since I am not to be had, make your end of the thong fast round that large stone there.” Campana did so. “Ah, that will do.” And so saying, the skipper warped himself to the top of the cliff with great agility. He was no sooner in safety himself, however, than the idea of having left the poor doctor in peril flashed on him.

“I must return--I must return! If the river rises, the body will be drowned out and out.”

And notwithstanding our entreaties, he did return as he came, and descending the tree, began apparently to argue with the little Medico, and to endeavour to persuade him to ascend, and make his escape as he himself had done; but it would not do. Pavo Real--as brave a little man as ever was seen--made many salaams and obeisances, but move he would not. He shook his head repeatedly, in a very solemn way, as if he had said, “My very excellent friends, I am much obliged to you, but it is impossible; my dignity would be compromised by such a proceeding.”

Presently Transom appeared to wax very emphatic, and pointed to a pinnacle of limestone rock, which had stood out like a small steeple above the surface of the flashing, dark red eddies, when we first arrived on the spot, but now only stopped the water with a loud gurgle, the top rising and disappearing as the stream surged past, like, buov jangling in a tideway. The small man still shook his head, but the water now rose so rapidly, that there was scarcely dry standing room for the two poor devils of mules, while the doctor and the skipper had the greatest difficulty in finding a footing for themselves.

Time and circumstances began to press, and Transom, after, another unavailing attempt to persuade the doctor, began apparently to rouse himself, and muster his energies. He first drove the mules forcibly into the stream at the side opposite where we stood, which was the deepest water, and least broken by rocks and stones, and we had the pleasure to see them scramble out safe and sound; he then put his hand to his mouth, and hailed us to throw him a rope, it was done--he caught it, and then by a significant gesture to Campana, gave him to understand that now was the time. The Don, comprehending him, hove his noose with great precision, right over the little doctor’s head, and before he recovered from his surprise, the captain slipped it under his arms, and signed to haul taught, while the Medico kicked, and spurred, and backed like a restive horse. At one and the same moment, Transom made fast a guy round his waist, and we hoisted away, while he hauled on the other line, so that we landed the Lilliputian Esculapius safe on the top of the bank, with the wind nearly out of his body, however, from his violent exertions, and the running of the noose.

It was now the work of a moment for the Captain to ascend the tree and again warp himself ashore, when he set himself to apologize with all his might and main, pleading strong necessity; and having succeeded in pacifying the offended dignity of the doctor, we turned towards the house.

“Look out there,” sung out Campana sharply.

Time indeed, thought I, for right ahead of us, as if an invisible gigantic ploughshare had passed over the woods, a valley or chasm was suddenly opened down the hill-side with a noise like thunder, and branches and whole limbs of trees were instantly torn away, and tossed into the air like straws.

“Down on your noses, my fine fellows,” cried the skipper. We were all flat in an instant except the Medico, the stubborn little brute, who stood until the tornado reached him, when in a twinkling he was cast on his back, with a violence sufficient, as I thought, to have driven his breath for ever and aye out of his body. While we lay we heard all kinds of things hurtle past us through the air, pieces of timber, branches of trees, coffee-bushes, and even stones. Presently it lulled again, and we got on end to look round us.

“How will the old house stand all this, Don Ricardo?” said the drenched skipper. He had to shout to be heard. The Don was too busy to answer, but once more strode on towards the dwelling, as I expected something even worse than we had experienced to be still awaiting us. By the time we reached it, it was full of negroes, men, women, and children, whose huts had already been destroyed, poor, drenched, miserable devils, with scarcely any clothing and to crown our comfort, we found the roof leaking in many places. By this time the night began to fall, and our prospects were far from flattering. The rain had entirely ceased, nor was there any lightning, but the storm was most tremendous, blowing in gusts, and veering round from east to north with the speed of thought. The force of the gale, however, gradually declined, until the wind subsided altogether, and every thing became quite still. The low murmured conversation of the poor negroes who environed us, was heard distinctly; the hard breathing of the sleeping children could even be distinguished. But I was by no means sure that the hurricane was over, and Don Ricardo and the rest seemed to think as I did, for there was not a word interchanged between us for some time.

“Do you hear that?” at length said Aaron Bang, as a low moaning sound rose wailing into the night air. It approached and grew louder.

“The voice of the approaching tempest amongst the higher branches of the trees,” said the Captain.

The rushing noise overhead increased, but still all was so calm where we sat, that you could have heard a pin drop. Poo, thought I, it has passed over us after all--no fear now, when one reflects how completely sheltered we are. Suddenly, however, the lights in the room where the body lay were blown out, and the roof groaned and creaked as if it had been the bulkheads of a ship in a tempestuous sea.

“We shall have to cut and run from this anchorage presently, after all,” said I; “the house will never hold on till morning.”

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, when, as if a thunderbolt had struck it, one of the windows in the hall was driven in with a roar, as if the Falls of Niagara had been pouring overhead, and the tempest having thus forced an entrance, the roof of that part of the house where we sat was blown up, as if by gunpowder--ay, in the twinkling of an eye; and there we were with the bare walls, and the angry heaven overhead, and the rain descending in bucketfuls. Fortunately, two large joists or couples, being deeply embedded in the substance of the walls, remained, when the rafters and ridgepole were torn away, or we must have been crushed in the ruins.

There was again a deathlike lull, the wind fell to a small melancholy sough amongst the tree-tops, and once more, where we sat, there was not a breath stirring. So complete was the calm now, that after a light had been struck, and placed on the floor in the middle of the room, showing the surrounding group of shivering half-naked savages, with fearful distinctness, the flame shot up straight as an arrow, clear and bright, although the distant roar of the storm still thundered afar off as it rushed over the mountain above us.

This unexpected stillness frightened the women even more than the fierceness of the gale when at the loudest had done.

“We must go forth,” said Senora Campana; “the elements are only gathering themselves for a more dreadful hurricane than what we have already experienced. We must go forth to the little chapel in the wood, or the next burst may, and will, bury us under the walls;” and she moved towards Maria’s room, where, by this time, lights had again been placed. “We must move the body,” we could hear her say; “we must all proceed to the chapel; in a few minutes the storm will be raging again louder than ever.”

“And my wife is very right,” said Don Ricardo; “so, Caspar, call the other people; have some mats, and quatres, and mattresses carried down to the chapel, and we shall all remove, for, with half of the roof gone, it is but tempting the Almighty to remain here longer.”

The word was passed, and we were soon under weigh, four negroes leading the van, carrying the uncoffined body of the poor girl on a sofa; while two servants, with large splinters of a sort of resinous wood for flambeaux, walked by the side of it. Next followed the women of the family, covered up with all the cloaks and spare garments that could be collected; then came Don Picador Cangrejo, with Ricardo Campana, the skipper, Aaron Bang, and myself; the procession being closed by the household negroes, with more lights, which all burned steadily and clear.

We descended through a magnificent natural avenue of lofty trees (whose brown moss-grown trunks and fantastic boughs were strongly lit up by the blaze of the torches; while the fresh white splinter-marks where the branches had been tom off by the storm, glanced bright and clear, and the rain-drops on the dark leaves sparkled like diamonds) towards the river, along whose brink the brimful red-foaming waters rushed past us, close by the edge of the path, now ebbing suddenly a foot or so, and then surging up again beyond their former bounds, as if large stones or trunks of trees above, were from time to time damming up the troubled waters, and then giving way. After walking about four hundred yards, we came to a small but massive chapel, fronting the river, the back part resting against a rocky bank, with two superb cypress-trees growing, one on each side of the door; we entered, Padre Carera leading the way. The whole area of the interior of the building did not exceed a parallelogram of twenty feet by twelve. At the eastern end, fronting the door, there was a small altar-piece of hard-wood, richly ornamented with silver, and one or two bare wooden benches standing on the tiled floor; but the chief security we had that the building would withstand the storm, consisted in its having no window or aperture whatsoever, excepting two small ports, one on each side of the altar piece, and the door, which was a massive frame of hardwood planking.

The body was deposited at the foot of the altar, and the ladies, having been wrapped up in cloaks and blankets, were safely lodged in quatres, while we, the gentlemen of the comfortless party, seated ourselves, disconsolately enough, on the wooden benches.

The door was made fast, after the servants had kindled a blazing wood fire on the floor; and although the flickering light cast by the wax tapers in the six large silver candlesticks which were planted beside the bier, as it blended with the red glare of the fire, and fell strong on the pale uncovered features of the corpse, and on the anxious faces of the women, was often startling enough, yet being conscious of a certain degree of security from the thickness of the walls, we made up our minds to spend the night where we were, as well as we could.

“I say, Tom Cringle,” said Aaron Bang, “all the females are snug there, you see; we have a blazing fire on the hearth, and here is some comfort for we men slaves;” whereupon he produced two bottles of brandy. Don Ricardo Campana, with whom Bang seemed now to be absolutely in league, or, in vulgar phrase, as thick as pickpockets, had brought a goblet of water, and a small silver drinking cup, with him, so we passed the creature round, and tried all we could to while away the tedious night. But, as if a sudden thought had struck Aaron, he here tucked the brandy bottle under his arm, and asking me to carry the vessel with the water, he advanced, cup in hand, towards the ladies.

“Now, Tom, interpret carefully.”

“Ahem--Madam and Senoras, this is a heavy night for all of us, but the chapel is damp--allow me to comfort you.”

“Muchisimos gracias,” was the gratifying answer, and Bang accordingly gave each of our fair friends a heart-warming taste of brandy and water. There was now calm for a full hour, and the Captain had stepped out to reconnoitre; on his return he reported that the swollen stream had very much subsided.

“Well, we shall get away, I hope, tomorrow morning, after all,” whispered Bang.

He had scarcely spoken when it began to pelt and rain again, as if a waterspout had burst overhead, but there was no wind.

“Come, that is the clearing up of it,” said Cloche.

At this precise moment the priest was sitting with folded arms, beyond the body, on a stool or trestle, in the alcove or recess where it lay. Right overhead was one of the small round apertures in the gable of the chapel, which, opening on the bank, appeared to the eye a round black spot in the whitewashed wall. The bright wax lights shed a strong lustre on the worthy Clerigo’s figure, face, and fine bald head which shone like silver, while the deeper light of the embers on the floor was reflected in ruby tints from the large silver crucifix that hung at his waist. The rushing of the swollen river prevented me hearing distinctly, but it occurred to me once or twice, that a strange! gurgling sound proceeded from the aforesaid round aperture. The Padre seemed to hear it also, for every now and then he looked up, and once he rose and peered anxiously through it; but apparently unable to distinguish any thing, he sat down again. However, my attention, had been excited, and half asleep as I was, I kept glimmering in the direction of the Clerigo.

The Captain’s deep snore had gradually lengthened out, so as to vouch for his forgetfulness, and Bang, Ricardo, Dr Pavo Real, and the ladies, had all subsided into the most perfect quietude, when I noticed, and I quaked and trembled like an aspen leaf as I did so, a long black paw, thrust through, and down from the dark aperture immediately over Padre Carera’s head, which, whatever it was, it appeared to scratch sharply, and then giving the caput a smart cuff, vanished. The Priest started, put up his hand, and rubbed his head, but seeing nothing, again leant back, and was about departing to the land of nod, like the others, once more. However, in a few minutes, the same paw again protruded, and this time a peering black snout, with two glancing eyes, was thrust through the hole after it. The paw kept swinging about like a pendulum for a few seconds, and was then suddenly thrust into the Padre’s open mouth as he lay back asleep, and again giving him another smart crack, vanished as before.

“Hobble, gobble,” gurgled the Priest, nearly choked.

“Ave Maria purissima, que bocado--what a mouthful!--What can that be?”

This was more than I knew, I must confess, and altogether I was consumedly puzzled, but, from a disinclination to alarm the women, I held my tongue. Padre Carera this time moved away to the other side from beneath the hole, but still within two feet of it--in fact, he could not get in this direction farther for the altar-piece--and being still half asleep, he lay back once more against the wall to finish his nap, taking the precaution, however, to clap on his long shovel hat, shaped like a small canoe, crosswise, with the peaks standing out from each side of his head, in place of wearing it fore and aft, as usual. Well, thought I, a strange party certainly; but drowsiness was fast settling down on me also, when the same black paw was again thrust through the hole, and I distinctly heard a nuzzling, whining, short bark. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, but before I was quite awake, the head and neck of a large Newfoundland dog was shoved into the chapel through the round aperture, and making a long stretch, with the black paws thrust down and resting on the wall, supporting the creature, the animal suddenly snatched the Padre’s hat off his head, and giving it an angry worry--as much as to say, “Confound it--I had hoped to have had the head in it”--it dropped it on the floor, and with a loud yell, Sneezer, my own old dear Sneezer, leaped into the midst of us, floundering amongst the sleeping women, and kicking the firebrands about, making them hiss again with the water he shook from his shaggy coat, and frightening all hands like the very devil.

“Sneezer, you villain, how came you here!” I exclaimed, in great amazement--“How came you here, sir?” The dog knew me at once, and when benches were reared against him, after the women had huddled into a corner, and every thing was in sad confusion, he ran to me, and leaped on my neck, gasping and yelping; but finding that I was angry, and in no mood for toying, he planted himself on end so suddenly, in the middle of the floor, close by the fire, that all our hands were stayed, and no one could find in his heart to strike the poor dumb brute, he sat so quiet and motionless. “Sneezer, my boy, what have you to say--where have you come from?” He looked in the direction of the door, and then walked deliberately towards it, and tried to open it with his paws.

“Now,” said the Captain, “that little scamp, who would insist on riding with me to St Jago, to see, as he said, if he might not be of use in fetching the surgeon from the ship in case I could not find Dr Bergara, has come back, although I desired him to stay on board. The puppy must have returned in his cursed troublesome zeal, for in no other way could your dog be here. Certainly, however, he did not know that I had fallen in with Dr Pavo Real;” and the good-natured fellow’s heart melted, as he continued--“Returned--why, he may be drowned--Cringle, take care little Reefpoint be not drowned.”

Sneezer lowered his black snout, and for a moment poked it into the white ashes of the fire, and then raising it and stretching his neck upwards to its full length, he gave a short bark, and then a long loud howl.

“My life upon it, the poor boy is gone,” said I.

“But what can we do?” said Don Ricardo; “it is as dark as pitch.”

And we again set ourselves to have a small rally at the brandy and water, as a resolver of our doubts, whether we should sit still till daybreak, or sally forth now and run the chance of being drowned, with but small hope of doing any good; and the old priest having left the other end of the chapel, where the ladies were once more reposing, now came to join our council of war, and to have his share of the agua ardiente.

The noise of the rain increased, and there was still a little puff of wind now and then, so that the Padre, taking an alfombra, or small mat, used to kneel on, and placing it on the step where the folding doors opened inwards, took a cloak on his shoulders, and sat himself down with his back against the leaves, to keep them closed, as the lock or bolt was broken, and was in the act of swigging off his cupful of comfort, when a strong gust drove the door open, as if the devil himself had kicked it, capsized the Padre, blew out the lights once more, and scattered the brands of the fire all about us. Transom and I started up, the women shrieked; but before we could get the door to again, in rode little Reefpoint on a mule, with the doctor of the Firebrand behind him, bound, or lashed, as we call it, to him by a strong thong. The black servants and the females took them for incarnate fiends, I fancy, for the yells and shrieks they set up were tremendous.

“Yo, ho!” sung out little Reefy; “don’t be frightened, ladies--Lord love ye, I am half drowned, and the doctor here is altogether so quite entirely drowned, I assure you.--I say, Medico, an’t it true?” And the little Irish rogue slewed his head round, and gave the exhausted doctor a most comical look.

“Not quite,” quoth the doctor, “but deuced near it. I say, Captain, would you have known us? why, we are dyed chocolate colour, you see, in that river, flowing not with milk and honey, but with something miraculously like pea soup, water I cannot call it.”

“But Heaven help us, why did you try the ford, man?” said Bang.

“You may say that, sir,” responded wee Reefy; “but our mule was knocked up, and it was so dark and tempestuous, that we should have perished by the road if we had tried back for St Jago; so seeing a light here, the only indication of a living thing, and the stream looking narrow and comparatively quiet--confound it, it was all the deeper though--we shoved across.”

“But, bless me, if you had been thrown in the stream, lashed together as you are, you would have been drowned to a certainty,” said the Captain.

“Oh,” said little Reefy, “the doctor was not on the mule in crossing no, no, Captain, I knew better--I had him in tow, sir; but after we crossed he was so faint and chill, that I had to lash myself to him to keep him from sliding over the animal’s counter, and walk he could not.”

“But, Master Reefpoint, why came you back? did I not desire you to remain on board of the Firebrand, sir?”

The midshipman looked nonplussed. “Why, Captain, I forgot to take my clothes with me, and--and--in truth, sir, I thought our surgeon would be of more use than any outlandish Gallipot that you could carry back.”

The good intentions of the lad saved him farther reproof, although I could not help smiling at his coming back for his clothes, when his whole wardrobe on starting was confined to the two false collars and a toothbrush.

“But where is the young lady?” said the doctor.

“Beyond your help, my dear doctor,” said the skipper; “she is dead--all that remains of her you see within that small railing there.”

“Ah, indeed!” quoth the Medico, “poor girl--poor girl--deep decline, wasted, terribly wasted,” said he, as he returned from the railing of the altar-piece, where he had been to look down upon the body; and then, as if there never had been such a being as poor Maria Olivera in existence, he continued, “Pray, Mr Bang, what may you have in that bottle?”

“Brandy, to be sure, doctor,” said Bang.

“A thimbleful then, if you please.”

“By all means”--and the planting attorney handed the black bottle to the surgeon, who applied it to his lips, without more circumlocution.

“Lord love us!--poisoned--Oh, gemini!”

“Why, doctor,” said Transom, “what has come over you?”

“Poisoned, Captain--only taste.”

The bottle contained soy. It was some time before we could get the poor man quieted; and when at length he was stretched along a bench, and the fire stirred up, and new wood added to it, the fresh air of early morning began to be scented. At this time we missed Padre Carera, and, in truth, we all fell fast asleep; but in about an hour or so afterwards, I was awoke by some one stepping across me. The same cause had stirred Transom. It was Aaron Bang who had been to look out at the door.

“I say, Cringle, look here--the Padre and the servants are digging a grave close to the chapel--are they going to bury the poor girl so suddenly?”

I stepped to the door; the wind had entirely fallen--but it rained very fast--the small chapel door looked out on the still swollen, but subsiding river, and beyond that on the mountain, which rose abruptly from the opposite bank. On the side of the hill facing us was situated a negro village, of about thirty huts, where lights were already twinkling, as if the inmates were preparing to go forth to their work. Far above them, on the ridge, there was a clear cold streak towards the east, against which the outline of the mountain, and the large trees which grew on it, were sharply cut out; but overhead, the firmament was as yet dark and threatening. The morning star had just risen, and was sparkling bright and clear through the branches of a magnificent tree, that shot out from the highest part of the hill; it seemed to have attracted the Captain’s attention as well as mine.

“Were I romantic now, Mr Cringle, I could expatiate on that view. How cold, and clear, and chaste, every thing looks! The elements have subsided into a perfect calm, every thing is quiet and still, but there is no warmth, no comfort in the scene.”

“What a soaking rain!” said Aaron Bang; “why, the drops are as small as pin points, and so thick!--a Scotch mist is a joke to them. Unusual all this, Captain. You know our rain in Jamaica usually descends in bucketfuls, unless it be regularly set in for a week, and them, but then only, it becomes what in England we are in the habit of calling a soaking rain. One good thing, however,--while it descends so quietly, the earth will absorb it all, and that furious river will not continue swollen.”

“Probably not,” said I.

“Mr Cringle,” said the skipper, “do you mark that tree on the ridge of the mountain, that large tree in such conspicuous relief against the eastern sky?”

“I do, Captain. But--heaven help us!--what necromancy is this! It seems to sink into the mountain-top--why, I only see the uppermost branches now. It has disappeared, and yet the outline of the hill is as distinct and well defined as ever; I can even see the cattle on the ridge, although, they are running about in a very incomprehensible way certainly.”

“Hush!” said Don Ricardo, “hush!--the Padre is reading the funeral service in the chapel, preparatory to the body being brought out.”

And so he was. But a low grumbling noise, gradually increasing was now distinctly audible. The monk hurried on with the prescribed form--he finished it--and we were about moving the body to carry it forth--Bang and I being in the very act of stooping down to lift the bier, when the Captain sung out sharp and quick,--“Here, Tom!” the urgency of the appeal abolishing the Mister--“Here!--zounds, the whole hill-side is in motion!” And as he spoke I beheld the negro village, that hung on the opposite bank, gradually fetch way, houses, trees, and all, with a loud, harsh, grating sound.

“God defend us!” I involuntarily exclaimed.

“Stand clear,” shouted the skipper; “the whole hill-side opposite is under weigh, and we shall be bothered here presently.”

He was right--the entire face of the hill over against us was by this time in motion, sliding over the substratum of rock like a first rate gliding along the well-greased ways at launching--an earthy avalanche. Presently the rough, rattling, and crashing sound, from the disrupture of the soil, and the breaking of the branches, and tearing up by the roots of the largest trees, gave warning of some tremendous incident. The lights in the huts still burned, but houses and all continued to slide down the declivity; and anon a loud startled exclamation was heard here and there, and then a pause, but the low mysterious hurtling sound never ceased.

At length a loud continuous yell echoed along the hillside. The noise increased--the rushing sound came stronger and stronger the river rose higher, and roared louder; it overleaped the lintel of the door--the fire on the floor hissed for a moment, and then expired in smouldering wreaths of white smoke--the discoloured torrent gurgled into the chapel, and reached the altar-piece; and while the cries from the hillside were highest, and bitterest, and most despairing, it suddenly filled the chapel to the top of the low doorpost; and although the large tapers which had been lit near the altar-piece were as yet unextinguished, like meteors sparkling on a troubled sea, all was misery and consternation.

“Have patience, and be composed, now,” shouted Don Ricardo. “If it increases, we can escape through the apertures here, behind the altar piece, and from thence to the high ground beyond. The heavy rain has loosened the soil on the opposite bank, and it has slid into the river course, negro houses and all. But be composed, my dears nothing supernatural in all this; and rest assured, although the river has unquestionably been forced from its channel, that there is no danger, if you will only maintain your self-possession.”

And there we were--an inhabitant of a cold climate cannot go along with me in the description. We were all alarmed, but we were not chilled cold is a great daunter of bravery. At New Orleans, the black regiments, in the heart of the forenoon, were really the most efficient corps of the army; but in the morning, when the hoarfrost was on the long wire-grass, they were but as a broken reed. “Him too cold for brave today,” said the sergeant of the grenadier company of the West India regiment, which was brigaded in the ill-omened advance, when we attacked New Orleans; but here, having heat, and seeing none of the women egregiously alarmed, we all took heart of grace, and really there was no quailing amongst us.

Senora Campana and her two nieces, Senora Cangrejo and her angelic daughter, had all betaken themselves to a sort of seat, enclosing the altar in a semicircle, with the pea soup-coloured water up to their knees. Not a word--not an exclamation of fear escaped from them, although the gushing eddies from the open door showed that the soil from the opposite hill was fast settling down, and usurping the former channel of the river.

“All very fine this to read of,” at last exclaimed Aaron Bang. “Zounds, we shall be drowned. Look out, Transom; Tom Cringle, look out; for my part, I shall dive through the door, and take my chance.”

“No use in that,” said Don Ricardo; “the two round openings there at the west end of the chapel, open on a dry shelf, from which the ground slopes easily upward to the house; let us put the ladies through them, and then we males can shift for ourselves as we best may.”

At this moment the water rose so high, that the bier on which the corpse of poor Maria Olivera lay stark and stiff, was floated off the trestles, and turning on its edge, after glancing for a moment in the light cast by the wax tapers, it sank into the thick brown water, and was no more seen.

The old priest murmured a prayer, but the effect on us was electric. “Sauve qui peut” was now the cry; and Sneezer, quite in his element, began to cruise all about, threatening the tapers with instant extinction.

“Ladies, get through the holes,” shouted Don Ricardo. “Captain, get you out first.”

“Can’t desert my ship,” said the gallant fellow; “the last to quit where danger is, my dear sir. It is my charter; but, Mr Cringle, go you, and hand the ladies out.”

“I’ll be d----d if I do,” said I. “Beg pardon, sir; I simply mean to say, that I cannot usurp the pas from you.”

“Then,” quoth Don Ricardo--a more discreet personage than any one of us “I will go myself;” and forthwith he screwed himself through one of the round holes in the wall behind the altar-piece. “Give me out one of the wax tapers--there is no wind now,” said Don Ricardo “and hand out my wife, Captain Transom.”

“Ave Maria!” said the matron, “I shall never get through that hole.”

“Try, my dear madam,” said Bang, for by this time we were all deucedly alarmed at our situation. “Try, madam;” and we lifted her towards the hole--fairly entered her into it head foremost, and all was smooth, till a certain part of the excellent woman’s earthly tabernacle stuck fast.

We could hear her invoking all the saints in the calendar on the outside to “make her thin;” but the flesh and muscle were obdurate through she would not go, until--delicacy being now blown to the winds, Captain Transom placed his shoulder to the old lady’s extremity, and with the regular “Oh, heave oh!” shot her through the aperture into her husband’s arms. The young ladies we ejected much more easily, although Francesca Cangrejo did stick a little too. The priest was next passed, then Don Picador; and so we went on, until in rotation we had all made our exit, and were perched shivering on the high bank. God defend us! we had not been a minute there when the rushing of the stream increased the rain once more fell in torrents several large trees came down with a fearful impetus in the roaring torrent, and struck the corner of the chapel. It shook--we could see the small cross on the eastern gable tremble. Another stump surged against it--it gave way--and in a minute afterwards there was not a vestige remaining of the whole fabric.

“What a funeral for thee, Maria!” said Don Ricardo.

Not a vestige of the body was ever found.

There was nothing now for it. We all stopped, and turned, and looked, there was not a stone of the building to be seen--all was red precipitous bank, or dark flowing river--so we turned our steps towards the house. The sun by this time had risen. We found the northern range of rooms still entire, so we made the most of it; and, by dint of the Captain’s and my nautical skill, before dinner-time, there was rigged a canvass jury-roof over the southern part of the fabric, and we were once-more seated in comparative comfort at our meal. But it was all melancholy work enough. However, at last we retired to our beds; and next morning, when I awoke, there was the small stream once more trickling over the face of the rock, with the slight spray wafting into my bedroom, a little discoloured certainly, but as quietly as if no storm had taken place.

We were kept at Don Picador’s for three days, as, from the shooting of the soil from the opposite hill, the river had been dammed up, and its channel altered, so that there was no venturing across. Three Negroes were unfortunately drowned, when the bank shot, as Bang called it. But the wonder passed away; and by nine o’clock on the fourth morning, when we mounted our mules to proceed, there was little apparently on the fair face of nature to mark that such fearful scenes had been. However, when we did get under weigh, we found that the hurricane had not passed over us without leaving fearful evidences of its violence.

We had breakfasted--the women had wept--Don Ricardo had blown his nose-- Aaron Bang had blundered and fidgeted about and the bestias were at the door. We embraced the ladies.

“My son,” said Senora Cangrejo, “we shall most likely never meet again. You have your country to go to--you have a mother. Oh, may she never suffer the pangs which have wrung my heart But I know--I know that she never will.” I bowed. “We may never indeed, in all likelihood we shall never meet again!” continued she, in a rich, deep-toned, mellow voice; “but if your way of life shall ever lead you to Cordova, you will be sure of having many visitors, and many a door will open to you, if you will but give out that you have shown kindness to Maria Olivera, or to any one connected with her.” She wept--and bent over me, pressing both her hands on the crown of my head. “May that great God, who careth not for rank or station, for nation or for country, bless you, my son--bless you!”

All this was sorry work. She kissed me on the forehead, and turned away. Her daughter was standing close to her, “like Niobe, all tears.” “Farewell, Mr Cringle--may you be happy!” I kissed her hand--she turned to the Captain. He looked inexpressible things, and taking her hand, held it to his breast; and then, making a slight genuflection, pressed it to his lips. He appeared to be amazingly energetic, and she seemed to struggle to be released. He recovered himself, however--made a solemn bow----the ladies vanished. We shook hands with old Don Picador, mounted our mules, and bid a last adieu to the Valley of the Hurricane.

We ambled along for some time in silence. At length the skipper dropped astern, until he got alongside of me. “I say, Tom”--I was well aware that he never called me Tom unless he was fou, or his heart was full, honest man--“Tom, what think you of Francesca Cangrejo?”

Oh ho! sits the wind in that quarter? thought I. “Why, I don’t know, Captain--I have seen her to disadvantage--so much misery fine woman though--rather large to my taste--but....”

“Confound your buts,” quoth the Captain. “But, never mind push on, push on.”--I may tell the gentle reader in his ear, that the worthy fellow, at the moment when I send this chapter to the press, has his flag, and that Francesca Cangrejo is no less a personage than his wife.

However, let us get along. “Doctor Pavo Real,” said Don Ricardo,.now since you have been good enough to spare us a day, let us get the heart of your secret out of you. Why, you must have been pretty well frightened on the island there.’

“Never so much frightened in my life, Don Ricardo; that English captain is a most tempestuous man--but all has ended well; and after having seen you to the crossing, I will bid you good-by.”

“Poo--nonsense.” “Come along--here is the English Medico, your brother Esculapius; so, come along, you can return in the morning.” “But the sick folk in Santiago....”

“Will be none the sicker for your absence, Doctor Pavo Real,” responded Don Ricardo.

The little Doctor laughed, and away we all cantered--Don Ricardo leading, followed by his wife and nieces, on three stout mules, sitting, not on side-saddles, but on a kind of chair, with a foot-board on the larboard side to support the feet--then followed the two Calens, and little Reefpoint, while the Captain and I brought up the rear. We had not proceeded five hundred yards, when we were brought to a stand-still by a mighty tree, which had been thrown down by the wind fairly across the road. On the right hand there was a perpendicular rock rising up to a height of five hundred feet; and on the left an equally precipitous descent, without either ledge or parapet to prevent one from falling over. What was to be done? We could not by any exertion of strength remove the tree; and if we sent back for assistance, it would have been a work of time. SO we dismounted, got the ladies to alight, and Aaron Bang, Transom, and myself, like true knights-errant, undertook to ride the mulos over the stump.

Aaron Bang led gallantly, and made a deuced good jump of it, Transom followed, and made not quite so clever an exhibition--I then rattled at it, and down came mule and rider. However, we were accounted for on the right side.

“But what shall become of us?” shouted the English doctor.

“And as for me, I shall return,” said the Spanish Medico.

“Lord love you, no,” said little Reefpoint; “here, lash me to my beast, and no fear.” The doctor made him fast, as desired, round the mule’s neck with a stout thong, and then drove him at the barricade, and over they came, man and beast, although, to tell the truth, little Reefy alighted well out on the neck with a hand grasping each ear. However, he was a gallant little fellow, and in nowise discouraged, so he undertook to bring over the other quadrupeds; and in little more than a quarter of an hour we were all under weigh on the opposite side, in full sail towards Don Ricardo’s property. But as we proceeded up the valley, the destruction caused by the storm became more and more apparent. Trees were strewn about in, all directions, having been tom up by the roots--road there was literally none; and by the time we reached the coffee estate, after a ride, or scramble, more properly speaking, of three hours, we were all pretty much tired. In some places the road at the best was but a rocky shelf of Limestone not exceeding twelve inches in width, where, if you had slipped, down you would have gone a thousand feet. At this time it was white and clean, as if it had been newly chiselled, all the soil and sand having been washed away by the recent heavy rains.

The situation was beautiful; the house stood on a platform scraped out of the hillside, with a beautiful view of the whole country down to St Jago. The accommodation was good; more comforts, more English comforts, in the mansion than I had yet seen in Cuba; and as it was built of solid slabs of limestone, and roofed with strong hardwood timbers and rafters, and tiled, it had sustained comparatively little injury, as it had the advantage of being at the same time sheltered by the overhanging cliff. It stood in the middle of a large platform of hard sun-dried clay, plastered over, and as white as chalk, which extended about forty feet from the eaves of the house, in every direction, on which the coffee was cured. This platform was surrounded on all sides by the greenest grass I had ever seen, and overshadowed, not the house alone, but the whole level space, by one vast wild fig-tree.

“I say, Tom, do you see that Scotchman hugging the Creole, eh?”

“Scotchman!” said I, looking towards Don Ricardo, who certainly did not appear to be particularly amorous; on the contrary, we had just alighted, and the worthy man was enacting groom.

“Yes,” continued Bang, “the Scotchman hugging the Creole; look at that tree--do you see the trunk of it?”

I did look at it. It was a magnificent cedar, with a tall straight stem, covered over with a curious sort of fretwork, wove by the branches of some strong parasitical plant, which had warped itself round and round it, by numberless snakelike convolutions, as if it had been a vegetable Laocoon. The tree itself shot up branchless to the uncommon height of fifty feet; the average girth of the hunk being four-and twenty feet, or eight-feet in diameter. The leaf of the cedar is small, not unlike the ash; but when I looked up, I noticed that the feelers of this ligneous serpent had twisted round the larger boughs, and blended their broad leaves with those of the tree, so that it looked like two trees grafted into one; but, as Aaron Bang said, in a very few years the cedar would entirely disappear, its growth being impeded, its pith extracted, and its core rotted, by the baleful embraces of the wild fig, of “this Scotchman hugging the Creole.” After we had fairly shaken into our places, there was every promise of a very pleasant visit. Our host had a tolerable cellar, and although there was not much of style in his establishment, still there was a fair allowance of comfort, every thing considered. The evening after we arrived was most beautiful. The house, situated on its white plateau of barbicues, as the coffee platforms are called, where large piles of the berries in their red cherry like husks had been blackening in the sun the whole forenoon, and on which a gang of negroes was now employed covering them up with tarpawlins for the night, stood in the centre of an amphitheatre of mountains, the front box, as it were, the stage part opening on a bird’s eye-view of the distant town and harbour, with the everlasting ocean beyond it, the currents and flaws of wind making its surface look like ice, as we were too distant to discern the heaving of the swell, or the motion of the billows. The fast falling shades of evening were deepened by the sombrous shadow of the immense tree overhead, and all down in the deep valley was now becoming dark and undistinguishable, through the blue vapours that were gradually floating up towards us. To the left, on the shoulder of the Horseshoe Hill, the sunbeams still lingered, and the gigantic shadows of the trees on the right hand prong were strongly cast across the valley on a red precipitous bank near the top of it. The sun was descending beyond the wood, flashing through the branches, as if they had been on fire. He disappeared. It was a most lovely still evening--the air--but hear the skipper.

“It is the hour when from the boughs, The nightingale’s high note is heard; It is the hour when lovers vows, Seem sweet in every whisper’d word; And gentle winds and waters near, Make music to the lonely ear. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf is browner hue, And in the heaven that clear obscure, So softly dark, and darkly pure, Which follows the decline of day, When twilight melts beneath the moon away.”

“Well recited, skipper,” shouted Bang. “Given as the noble poet’s verses should be given. I did not know the extent of your accomplishments; grown poetical ever since you saw Francesca Cangrejo, eh?”

The darkness hid the gallant captain’s blushes, if blush he did.

“I say, Don Ricardo, who are those?”--half-a-dozen well-clad negroes had approached the house by this time--“Ask them, Mr Bang; take your friend Mr Cringle for an interpreter.”

“Well, I will. Tom, who are they? Ask them--do.”

I put the question, “Do you belong to the property?”

The foremost, a handsome Negro answered me, “No, we don’t, sir; at least, not till tomorrow.”

“Not till tomorrow?”

“No, sir; somos caballeros hoy” (we are gentlemen to-day.)

“Gentlemen today; and, pray, what shall you be tomorrow?”

“Esclavos otra ves,” (slaves again, sir,) rejoined the poor fellow, nowise daunted.

“And you, my darling,” said I to a nice well-dressed girl, who seemed to be the sister of the spokesman, “.what are you today, may I ask?”

She laughed--“Esclava, a slave to-day, but to-morrow I shall be free.”

“Very strange.”

“Not at all, senor; there are six of us in a family, and one of us is free each day, all to father there,” pointing to an old grey-headed negro, who stood by, leaning on his staff--“he is free two days in the week; and as I am going to have a child,”--a cool admission,--“I want to buy another day for myself too--but Don Ricardo will tell you all about it.”

The Don by this time chimed in, talking kindly to the poor creatures; but we had to retire, as dinner was now announced, to which we sat down.

Don Ricardo had been altogether Spanish in Santiago, because he lived there amongst Spaniards, and every thing was Spanish about him; so with the tact of his countrymen he had gradually been merged into the society in which he moved, and having married a very high caste Spanish lady, he at length became regularly amalgamated with the community. But here, in his mountain retreat, sole master, his slaves in attendance on him, he was once more an Englishman, in externals, as he always was at heart, and Richie Cloche, from the Lang Toon of Kirkaldy, shone forth in all his glory as the kind hearted landlord. His head household servant was an English, or rather a Jamaica negro; his equipment, so far as the dinner set out was concerned, was pure English; he would not even speak any thing but English himself.

The entertainment was exceedingly good,--the only thing that puzzled us uninitiated subjects, was a fricassee of Macaca worms, that is, the worm which breeds in the rotten trunk of the cotton-tree, a beautiful little insect, as big as a miller’s thumb, with a white trunk and a black head in one word, a gigantic caterpillar.

Bang fed thereon--he had been accustomed to it in Jamaica in some Creole families where he visited, he said--but it was beyond my compass. However, all this while we were having a great deal of fun, when Senora Campana addressed her husband--“My dear, you are now in your English mood, so I suppose we must go.” We had dined at six, and it might now be about eight. Don Ricardo, with all the complacency in the world, bowed, as much as to say, you are right, my dear, you may go, when his youngest niece addressed him.

“Tio--my uncle,” said she, in a low silver-toned voice, “Juana and I have brought our guitars”--

“Not another word to be said,” quoth Transom--“the guitars by all means.”

The girls in an instant, without any preparatory blushing, or other botheration, rose, slipped their heads and right arms through the black ribbons that supported their instruments, and stepped into the middle of the room.

“The Moorish Maid of Granada,” said Senora Campana. They nodded.

“You shall take Fernando, the sailor’s part,” said Senora Candalaria, the youngest sister, to Juana, “for your voice is deeper than mine, and I shall be Anna.”

“Agreed,” said Juana, with a lovely smile, and an arch twinkle of her eye towards me, and then launched forth in full tide, accompanying her sweet and mellow voice on that too much neglected instrument, the guitar. It was a wild, irregular sort of ditty, with one or two startling arabesque bursts in it. As near as may be, the following conveys the meaning, but not the poetry.

The Moorish Maid of Granada

FERNANDO

The setting moon hangs over the hill; On the dark pure breast of the mountain lake Still trembles her greenish silver wake, And the blue mist floats over the rill. And the cold streaks of dawning appear, Giving token that sunrise is near; And the fast clearing east is flushing, And the watery clouds are blushing; And the day-star is sparkling on high, Like the fire of my Anna’s dark eye. The ruby-red clouds in the east Float like islands upon the sea, When the winds are asleep on its breast; Ah, would that such calm were for me!

And see, the first streamer-like ray From the unrisen god of day, Is piercing the ruby-red clouds, Shooting up like golden shrouds: And like silver gauze falls the shower, Leaving diamonds on bank, bush, and bower, Amidst many unopened flower. Why walks the dark maid of Granada?

ANNA

At evening when labour is done, And cool’d in the sea is the sun; And the dew sparkles clear on the rose, And the flowers are beginning to close, Which at nightfall again in the calm.

Their incense to God breathe in balm; And the bat flickers up in the sky, And the beetle hums moaningly by; And to rest in the brake speeds the deer, While the nightingale sings loud and clear.

Scorched by the heat of the sun’s fierce light, The sweetest flowers are bending most Upon their slender stems; More faint are they than if tempest tost, Till they drink of the sparkling gems That fall from the eye of night.

Hark! from lattices guitars are tinkling, And though in heaven the stars are twinkling, No tell-tale moon looks over the mountain, To peer at her pale cold face in the fountain; And serenader’s mellow voice, Wailing of war, or warbling of love, Of love, while the melting maid of his choice, Leans out from her bower above.

All is soft and yielding towards night, When blending darkness shrouds all from the sight; But chaste, chaste, is this cold, pure light, Sang the Moorish maid of Granada.

After the song, we all applauded, and the ladies having made their conges, retired. The Captain and I looked towards Aaron Bang and Don Ricardo; they were tooth and nail at something which we could not understand. So we wisely held our tongues.

“Very strange all this,” quoth Bang.

“Not at all,” said Ricardo. “As I tell you, every slave here can have himself or herself appraised, at any time they may choose, with liberty to purchase their freedom day by day.”

“But that would be compulsory manunmission,” quoth Bang.

“And if it be,” said Ricardo, “what then? The scheme works well here why should it not do so there--I mean with you, who have so many advantages over us?”

This is an unentertaining subject to most people, but having no bias myself, I have considered it but justice to insert in my log the following letter, which Bang, honest fellow, addressed to me, some years after the time I speak of.

MY DEAR CRINGLE,

“Since I last saw you in London, it is nearly, but not quite, three years ago. I considered at the time we parted, that if I lived at the rate of L3000 a-year, I was not spending one-half of my average income, and on the faith of this I did plead guilty to my house in Park Lane, and a carriage for my wife,----and, in short, I spent my L3000 a year. Where am I now? In the old shop at Mammee Gully--my two eldest daughters, little things, in the very middle of their education, hastily ordered out, shipped as it were, like two bales of goods to Jamaica--my eldest nephew, whom I had adopted, obliged to exchange from the--Light Dragoons, and to enter a foot regiment, receiving the difference, which but cleared him from his mess accounts. But the world says I was extravagant. Like Timon, however--No, d----n Timon. I spent money when I thought I had it, and therein I did no more than the Duke of Bedford, or Lord Grosvenor or many another worthy peer; and now when I no longer have it, why, I cut my coat by my cloth, have made up my mind to perpetual banishment here, and I owe no man a farthing.”

But all this is wandering from the subject. We are now asked in direct terms to free our slaves. I will not even glance at the injustice of this demand, the horrible infraction of rights that it would lead to; all this I will leave untouched; but, my dear fellow, were men in your service or the army to do us justice, each in his small sphere in England, how much good might you not do us? Officers of rank are, of all others, the most influential witnesses we could adduce, if they, like you, have had opportunities of judging for themselves. But I am rambling from my object. You may remember our escapade into Cuba, a thousand years ago, when you were a lieutenant of the Firebrand. Well, you may also remember Don Ricardo’s doctrine regarding the gradual emancipation of the negroes, and how we saw his plan in full operation at least I did, for you knew little of these matters. Well, last year I made a note of what then passed, and sent it to an eminent West India merchant in London, who had it published in the Courier, but it did not seem to please either one party or the other; a signal proof, one would have thought, that there was some good in it. At a later period, I requested the same gentleman to have it published in Blackwood, where it would at least have had a fair trial on its own merits, but it was refused insertion. My very worthy friend, who acted for old Kit at that time as secretary of state for colonial affairs, did not like it, I presume; it trenched a little, it would seem, on the integrity of his great question; it approached to something like compulsory manumission, about which he does rave. Why will he not think on this subject like a Christian man? The country--I say so--will never sanction the retaining in bondage of any slave, who is willing to pay his master his fair appraised value.

Our friend----injures us, and himself too, a leetle by his ultra notions. However, hear what I propose, and what, as I have told you formerly, was published in the Courier by no less a man than Lord----.

Scheme for the gradual Abolition of Slavery.

The following scheme of redemption for the slaves in our colonies is akin to a practice that prevails in some of the Spanish settlements.

We have now bishops, (a most excellent measure,) and we may presume that the inferior clergy will be much more efficient than heretofore. It is therefore proposed,--That every slave, on attaining the age of twenty one years, should be, by act of Parliament, competent to apply to his parish clergyman, and signify his desire to be appraised. The clergyman’s business would then be to select two respectable appraisers from amongst his parishioners, who should value the slave, calling in an umpire if they disagreed.

As men even of good principles will often be more or less swayed by the peculiar interests of the body to which they belong, the rector should be instructed, if he saw any flagrant swerving from an honest appraisement, to notify the same to his bishop, who, by application to the governor, if need were, could thereby rectify it. When the slave was thus valued, the valuation should be registered by the rector, in a book to be kept for that purpose, an attested copy of which should be annually lodged amongst the archives of the colony.

We shall assume a case, where a slave is valued for L120, Jamaica currency. He soon, by working by-hours, selling the produce of his provision grounds, etc. Acquires L20; and how easily and frequently this is done, every one knows, who is at all acquainted with West India affairs.

He then shall have a right to pay to his owner this L20 as the price of his Monday for ever, and his owner shall be bound to receive it. A similar sum would purchase him his freedom on Tuesday; and other four instalments, to use a West India phrase, would buy him free altogether. You will notice, I consider that he is already free on the Sunday. Now, where is the insurmountable difficulty here? The planter may be put to inconvenience, certainly, great inconvenience, but he has compensation, and the slave has his freedom--if he deserves it; and as his emancipation in nine cases out of ten would be a work of time, he would, as he approached absolute freedom, become more civilized, that is, more fit to be free; and as he became more civilized, new wants would spring up, so that when he was finally free, he would not be content to work a day or two in the week for subsistence merely. He would work the whole six to buy many little comforts, which, as a slave suddenly emancipated, he never would have thought of.

As the slave becomes free, I would have his owner’s allowance of provisions and clothing decrease gradually.

It may be objected--suppose slaves partly free, to be taken in execution, and sold for debt. I answer, let them be so. Why cannot three days of a man’s labour be sold by the deputy marshal as well as six?

Again--Suppose the gang is mortgaged, or liable to judgments against the owner of it. I still answer, let it be so--only, in this case let the slave pay his instalments into court, in place of paying them to his owners, and let him apply to his rector for information in such a case.

By the register I would have kept, every one could at once see what property an owner had in his gang--that is, how many were actually slaves, and how many were in progress of becoming free. Thus well disposed and industrious slaves would soon become freemen. But the idle and worthless would still continue slaves, and why the devil shouldn’t they?

(Signed) A. B----.

There does seem to be a rough, yet vigorous sound sense in all this. But I take leave of the subject, which I do not profess to understand; only I am willing to bear witness in favour of my old friends, so far as I can, conscientiously.

We returned next day to Santiago, and had then to undergo the bitterness of parting. With me it was a slight affair, but the skipper! However, I will not dwell on it. We reached the town towards evening. The women were ready to weep, I saw; but we all turned in, and next morning at breakfast we were moved, I will admit--some more, some less. Little Reefy, poor fellow, was crying like a child; indeed he was little more, being barely fifteen.

“Oh! Mr Cringle, I wish I had never seen Miss Candalaria de los Dolores; indeed I do.”

This was Don Ricardo’s youngest niece.

“Ah, Reefy, Reefy,” said I, “you must make haste, and be made post, and then....”

“What does he call her?” said Aaron.

“Senora Tomassa Candalaria de los Dolores Gonzales y Vallejo,” blubbered out little Reefy.

“What a complicated piece of machinery she must be!” gravely rejoined Bang.

The meal was protracted to a very unusual length, but time and tide wait for no man. We rose. Aaron Bang advanced to make his bow to our kind hostess; he held out his hand, but she, to Aaron’s great surprise apparently, pushed it on one side and regularly closing with our friend, hugged him in right earnest. I have before mentioned that she was a very small woman; so, as the devil would have it, the golden pin in her hair was thrust into Aaron’s eye, which made him jump back, wherein he lost his balance, and away he went, dragging Madama Campana down on the top of him. However, none of us could--laugh now; we parted, jumped into our boat, and proceeded straight to the anchorage, where three British merchantmen were by this time riding all ready for sea. We got on board. “Mr Yerk,” said the Captain, “fire a gun, and hoist blue Peter at the fore. Loose the foretopsail.” The masters came on board for their instructions; we passed but a melancholy evening of it, and next morning I took my last look of Santiago de Cuba.

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XV. The Cruise of the Wave. The Action with the Slaver

‘O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear the billow’s foam, Survey our empire, and behold our home. These are our realms, no limits to their sway. Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.’

Byron, The Corsair, I. 1-6.

At three o’clock next morning, about an hour and a half before daydawn, I was roused from my cot by the gruff voice of the boatswain on deck “All hands up anchor.”

The next moment the gunroom steward entered with a lantern, which he placed on the table--“Gentlemen, all hands up anchor, if you please.”

“Botheration!” grumbled one.

“Oh dear!” yawned another.

“How merrily we live that sailors be!” sung another in a most doleful strain, and in all the bitterness of heart consequent on being roused out of a warm nest so unceremoniously. But no help for it; so up we all got, and opening the door of my berth, I got out, and sat me down on the bench that ran along the starboard side of the table.

For the benefit of the uninitiated, let me describe a gunroom on board of a sloop of war. Everybody knows that the Captain’s cabin occupies the after part of the ship; next to it, on the same deck, is the gunroom. In a corvette, such as the Firebrand, it is a room, as, near as may be, twenty feet long by twelve wide, and lighted by a long scuttle, or skylight, in the deck above. On each side of this room runs a row of small chambers, seven feet long by six feet wide, boarded off from the main saloon, or, in nautical phrase, separated from it by bulkheads, each with a door and small window opening into the same, and, generally speaking, with a small scuttle in the side of the ship towards the sea. These are the officers’ sleeping apartments, in which they have each a chest of drawers and basin-stand; while overhead is suspended a cot, or hammock, kept asunder by a wooden frame, six feet long by about two broad, slung from cleats nailed to the beams above, by two lanyards fastened to rings, one at the head, and the other at the foot; from which radiate a number of smaller cords, which are fastened to the canvass of the cot; while a small strip of canvass runs from head to foot on each side, so as to prevent the sleeper from rolling out. The dimensions of the gunroom are, as will be seen, very much circumscribed by the side berths; and when you take into account, that the centre is occupied by a long table, running the whole length of the room, flanked by a wooden bench, with a high back to it, on each side, and a large clumsy chair at the head, and another at the foot, not forgetting the sideboard at the head of the table, (full of knives, forks, spoons, tumblers, glasses &c. &c. &c. stuck into mahogany sockets,) all of which are made fast to the deck by strong cleats and staples, and bands of spunyarn, so as to prevent them fetching way, or moving, when the vessel pitches or rolls, you will understand that there is no great scope to expatiate upon, free of the table, benches, and bulkheads of the cabins. While I sat monopolizing the full light of the lantern, and accoutring myself as decently as the hurry would admit of, I noticed the officers, in their nightgowns and night-caps, as they extricated themselves from their coops; and picturesque-looking subjects enough there were amongst them, in all conscience. At length, that is in about ten minutes from the time we were called, we were all at stations--a gun was fired, and we weighed, and then stood out to sea, running along about four knots, with the land--wind right aft. Having made an offing of three miles or so, we outran the terral, and got becalmed in the belt of smooth water between it and the sea-breeze. It was striking to see the three merchant-ships gradually draw out from the land, until we were all clustered together in a bunch, with a half a gale of wind curling the blue waves within musket-shot, while all was long swell and smooth water with us. At length the breeze reached us, and we made sail with our convoy to the southward and eastward, the lumbering merchantmen crowding every inch of canvass, while we could hardly keep astern, under close-reefed topsails, foresail, jib, and spanker.

“Pipe to breakfast,” said the Captain to Mr Yerk.

“A sail abeam of us to windward!”

“What is she?” sung out the skipper to the man at the masthead who had hailed.

“A small schooner, sir; she has fired a gun, and hoisted an ensign and pennant.”

“How is she steering?”

“She has edged away for us, sir.”

“Very well.--Mr Yerk, make the signal for the convoy to stand on.” Then to the boatswain--

“Mr Catwell, have the men gone to breakfast?”

“No, sir, but they are just going.”

“Then pipe belay with breakfast for a minute, will you? All hands make sail!”

“Crack on, Mr Yerk, and let us overhaul this small swaggerer.”

In a trice we had all sail set, and were staggering along on the larboard tack, close upon a wind. We hauled out from the merchant ships like smoke, and presently the schooner was seen from the deck.--“Go to breakfast now.” The crew disappeared, all to the officers, man at the helm, quartermaster at the conn, and signalman.

The first lieutenant had the book open on the drum of the capstan before him. “Make our number,” said the Captain. It was done. “What does she answer?”

The signalman answered from the fore-rigging, where he had perched himself with his glass--“She makes the signal to telegraph, sir--3, 9, 2, at the fore, sir”--and so on; which translated was simply this--“The Wave, with despatches from the admiral.”

“Oh, ho,” said Transom; “what is she sent for? Whenever the people have got their breakfast, tack, and stand towards her, Mr Yerk.”

The little vessel approached.--“Shorten sail, Mr Yerk, and heave the ship to,” said the Captain to the first lieutenant.

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“All hands, Mr Catwell.”

Presently the boatswain’s whistle rung sharp and clear, while his gruff voice, to which his mates bore any thing but mellow burdens, echoed through the ship--“All hands shorten sail-fore and mainsails haul up-haul down to jib--in topgallant sails--now back the main-topsail.”

By heaving-to, we brought the Wave on our weather bow. She was now within a cable’s length of the corvette; the captain was standing on the second foremost, gun, on the larboard side. “Mafame,” to his steward, “hand me up my trumpet.” He hailed the little vessel “Ho, the Wave, ahoy!”

Presently the responding “hillo” came down the wind to us from the officer in command of her, like an echo--“Run under our stern and heave to, to leeward.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

As the Wave came to the wind, she lowered down her boat, and Mr Jigmaree, the boatswain of the dockyard in Jamaica, came on board, and, touching his hat, presented his despatches to the Captain. Presently he and the skipper retired into the cabin, and all hands were inspecting the Wave in her new character of one of his Britannic Majesty’s cruisers. When I had last seen her she was a most beautiful little craft, both in hull and rigging, as ever delighted the eye of a sailor; but the dockyard riggers and carpenters had fairly bedeviled her, at least so far as appearances went. First, they had replaced the light rail on her gunwale, by heavy solid bulwarks four feet high, surmounted by hammock nettings, at least another foot, so that the symmetrical little vessel, that formerly floated on the foam light as a seagull, now looked like a clumsy dish-shaped Dutch dogger. Her long slender wands of masts, which used to swig about, as if there were neither shrouds nor stays to support them, were now as taut and stiff as church steeples, with four heavy shrouds of a side, and stays and back-stays, and the Devil knows what all.

“Now,” quoth Tailtackle, “if them heave’em taughts at the yard have not taken the speed out of the little beauty, I am a Dutchman.” Timotheus, I may state in the bygoing, was not a Dutchman; he was fundamentally any thing but a Dutchman; but his opinion was sound, and soon verified to my cost. Jigmaree now approached.

“The Captain wants you in the cabin, sir,” said he. I descended, and found the skipper seated at a table with his clerk beside him, and several open letters lying before him. “Sit down, Mr Cringle.” I took a chair. “There--read that,” and he threw an open letter across the table to me, which ran as follows:

SIR,

“The Vice--Admiral, commanding on the Jamaica station, desires me to say, that the bearer, the boatswain of the dockyard, Mr Luke Jigmaree, has instructions to cruise for, and if possible to fall in with you, before you weather Cape Maize, and falling in with you, to deliver up charge of the vessel to you, as well as of the five negroes, and the pilot, Peter Mangrove, who are on board of her. The Wave having been armed and fitted with every thing considered necessary, you are to man her with thirty-five of your crew, including officers, and to place her under the command of Lieutenant Thomas Cringle, who is to be furnished with a copy of this letter authenticated by your signature, and to whom you will give written instructions, that he is first of all to cruise in the great Cuba channel, until the 14th proximo, for the prevention of piracy, and the suppression of the slave-trade carried on between the island of Cuba and the coast of Africa, and to detain and carry into Havanna, or Nassau, New Providence, all vessels having slaves on board, which he may have reason to believe have been shipped beyond the prescribed limits on the African coast as specified in the margin; and after the 14th he is to proceed direct to New Providence if unsuccessful, there to land Mr Jigmaree, and the dockyard negroes, and await your return from the northward, after having seen the merchantmen clear of the Caicos passage. When you have rejoined the Wave at Nassau, you are to proceed with her as your tender to Crooked Island, and there to await instructions from the Vice-Admiral, which shall be transmitted by the packet to sail on the 9th proximo, to the care of the postmaster. I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient servant.”

--------, Sec.

To the Hon. Captain Transom, etc.

To say sooth, I was by no means amorous of this independent command, as an idea had, at the time I speak of, gone abroad in the navy, the lieutenants, commanding small vessels, seldom rose higher, unless through extraordinary interest, and I took the liberty of stating my repugnance to my captain.

He smiled, and threw over another letter to me; it was a private one from the Admiral’s Secretary, and was as follows:(Confidential.)

My DEAR TRANSOM,

“The Vice Admiral has got a hint from Sir----, to kick that wild splice, young Cringle, about a bit. It seems he is a nephew of Old Blueblazes, and as he has taken a fancy to the lad, he has promised his mother that he will do his utmost to give him opportunities of being knocked on the head, for all of which the old lady has professed herself wonderfully indebted. As the puppy has peculiar notions, hint, directly or indirectly, that he is not to be permanently bolted down to the little and that if half a dozen skippers (you, my darling, among the rest) were to evaporate during the approaching hot months, he may have some small chance of t’other swab. Write me, and mind the claret and curacoa. Put no address on either; and on coming to anchor, send notice to old Peterkin in the lodge at the Master Attendant’s, and he will relieve you and the pies de gallo, some calm evening, of all farther trouble regarding them. Don’t forget the turtle from Crooked Island, and the cigars.”

“Always, my dear Transom,”

“Yours sincerely,”

“Oh, I forgot. The Admiral begs you will spare him some steady old hands to act as gunner, boatswain, &c.--elderly men, if you please, who will shorten sail before the squall strikes him. If you float him away with a crew of boys, the little scamp will get bothered, or capsized, in a jiffy. All this for your worship’s government. How do you live with your passenger--prime follow, an’t he? My love to him. Lady----is dying to see him again.”

“WELL, MR CRINGLE, what say you?”

“Of course, I must obey, sir;--highly flattered by Mr Secretary’s good opinion, any how.”

The Captain laughed heartily.

“It is nearly calm, I see. We must set about manning this seventy four for you, without delay. So, come along, Captain Cringle.”

When we got on deck,--“Hail the Wave to close, Mr Yerk,” said Transom. “Lower away the boat, and pipe away the yaulers, boatswain’s mate.”

Presently the Captain and I were on the Wave’s deck, where I was much surprised to find no less personages than Pepperpot Wagtail, and Paul Gelid, Esquires. Mr Gelid, a conch, or native of the Bahamas, was the same yawning, drawling, long-legged Creole as ever. He had been ill with fever, and had asked a passage to Nassau, where his brother was established. At bottom, however, he was an excellent fellow, warm hearted, honourable, and upright. As for little Wagtail--oh, he was a delight!--a small round man, with all the Jamaica Creole irritability of temper, but also all the Jamaica warmth of heart about him straightforward, and scrupulously conscientious in his dealings, but devoted to good cheer in every shape. He had also been ailing, and had adventured on the cruise in order to recruit. I scarcely know how to describe his figure better than by comparing his corpus to an egg, with his little feet stuck through the bottom of the shell; but he was amazingly active withal.

Both the Captain and myself were rejoiced to see our old friends; and it was immediately fixed that they should go on board the corvette, and sling their cots alongside of Mr Bang, so long as the courses--of the two vessels lay together. This being carried into execution, we set about our arrangements. Our precious blockheads at the dockyard had fitted a thirty-two pound carronade on the pivot, and stuck two long sixes, one on each side of the little vessel. I hate carronades. I had, before now, seen thirty-two pound shot thrown by them jump off a ship’s side with a rebound like a football, when a shot from an eighteen-- pounder long gun went crash, at the same range, through both sides of the ship, whipping off a leg and arm, or aiblins a head or two, in its transit.

“My dear sir,” said I, “don’t shove me adrift with that old pot there do lend me one of your long brass eighteen-pounders.”

“Why, Master Cringle, what is your antipathy to carronades?”

“I have no absolute antipathy to them, sir--they are all very well in their way. For instance, I wish you would fit me with two twelvepound carronades instead of those two popgun long sixes. These, with thirty muskets, and thirty-five men or so, would make me very complete.”

“A modest request,” said Captain Transom.

“Now, Tom Cringle, you have overshot your mark, my fine fellow,” thought I; but it was all right, and that forenoon the cutter was hoisted out with the guns in her, and the others dismounted and sent back in exchange; and in fine, after three days’ hard work, I took the command of H.B.M. schooner, Wave, with Timothy Tailtackle as gunner, the senior midshipman as master, one of the carpenter’s crew as carpenter, and a boatswain’s-mate as boatswain, a surgeon’s mate as surgeon, the captain’s clerk as purser, and thirty foremast-men, besides the blackies, as the crew. But the sailing of the little beauty had been regularly spoiled. We could still in light winds weather on’ the corvette, it is true, but then she was a slow top, unless it blew half a gale of wind; and as for going any thing free, why a sand barge would have beaten us.--We kept company with the Firebrand until we weathered Cape Maize. It was near five o’clock in the afternoon, the corvette was about half a mile on our lee-bow, when, while walking the deck, after an early dinner, Tailtackle came up to me.

“The Commodore has hove-to, sir.”

“Very like,” said I; “to allow the merchant-ships to close, I presume.”

“A gun,” said little Reefpoint. “Ah--what signal now?”--It was the signal to close.

“Put the helm up and run down to him,” said I. It was done--and presently the comfortable feeling of bowling along before the breeze, succeeded the sharp yerking digging motion of the little vessel, tearing and pitching through a head sea, close upon a wind. The water was buzzing under our bows, and we were once more close under the stern of the corvette. There was a boat alongside ready manned. The Captain hailed, “I sent your orders on board, Mr Cringle, to bear up on your separate cruise.” At the same moment, the Firebrand’s ensign and pennant were hoisted--we did the same--a gun from the Commodore--ditto from the tidy little Wave--and lo! Thomas Cringle, esquire, launched for the first time on his own bottom.

By this time the boat was alongside, with Messieurs Aaron Bang, Pepperpot Wagtail, and Paul Gelid--the former with his cot, and half a dozen cases of wine, and some pigs, and some poultry, all under the charge of his black servant.

“Hillo,” said I--“Mr Wagtail is at home here, you know, Mr Bang, and so is Mr Gelid; but to what lucky chance am I indebted for your society, my dear sir?”

“Thank your stars, Tom--Captain Cringle, I beg pardon--and be grateful; I am sick of rumbling tumbling in company with these heavy tools of merchantmen, so I entreated Transom to let me go and take a turn with you, promising to join the Firebrand again at Nassau.”

“Why, I am delighted,”--and so I really was. “But, my dear sir--I may lead you a dance, and, peradventure into trouble--a small vessel may catch a Tartar, you know.

“D--n the expense,” rejoined my jovial ally; “why, the hot little epicurean Wagtail, and Gelid, cold and frozen as he is, have both taken a fancy to me--and no wonder, knowing my pleasant qualities as they do ahem; so, for their sakes, I volunteer on this piece of knight-errantry as much as’--

“Poo--you be starved, Aaron dear,” rapped out little Wagtail; “you came here, because you thought you should have more fun, and escape the formality of the big ship, and eke the Captain’s sour claret.”

“Ah,” said Gelid, “my fine fellow,” with his usual Creole drawl, “you did not wait for my opinion. Ah--oh--why, Captain Cringle, a thousand pardons. Friend Bang, there, swears that he can’t do without you; and all he says about me is neither more nor less than humbug--ah.”

“My lovely yellowsnake,” quoth Aaron, “and my amiable dumpling, gentlemen both, now, do hold your tongues.--Why, Tom, here we are, never you mind how, after half a quarrel with the skipper--will you take us, or will you send us back, like rejected addresses?”

“Send you back, my boys! No, no, too happy to get you.” Another gun from the corvette. “Firebrands, you must shove off. My compliments, Wiggins, to the Captain, and there’s a trifle for you to drink my health, when you get into port.” The boat shoved off--the corvette filled her maintopsail. “Put the helm down--ease off the mainsheet stand by to run up the squaresail. How is her head, Mr Tailtackle?”

Timothy gave a most extraordinary grin at my bestowing the Mister on him for the first time.

“North-west, sir.”

“Keep her so”--and having bore up, we rapidly widened our distance from the Commodore and the fleet.

All men know, or should know, that on board of a man-of-war, there is never any “yo heave oh’ing.” That is confined to merchant vessels. But when the crew are having a strong pull of any rope, it is allowable for the man next the belaying pin, to sing out, in order t@6 give unity to the drag, “one-two-three,” the strain of the other men increasing with the figure. The tack of the mainsail had got jammed somehow, and on my desiring it to be hauled up, the men, whose province it was, were unable to start it.

“Something foul aloft,” said I.

Tailtackle came up. “What are you fiddling at, men? Give me here-one two-three.”

Crack went the strands of the rope under the paws of the Titan, whereby the head of the outermost sailor pitched right into Gelid’s stomach, knocked him over and capsized him head foremost into the wind sail which was let down through the skylight into the little well cabin of the schooner. It so happened that there was a bucket full of Spanish brown paint standing on the table in the cabin, right below the hoop of the canvass funnel, and into it plopped the august pate of Paul Gelid, esquire. Bang had, in the meantime, caught him by the heels, and with the assistance of Pearl, the handsome negro formerly noticed, who, from his steadiness, had been spared to me as a quartermaster, the conch was once more hoisted on deck, with a scalp of red paint, reaching down over his eyes.

“I say,” quoth Bang, “Gelid, my darling, not quite so smooth as the real Macassar, eh? Shall I try my hand--can shave beautifully--eh?”

“Ah,” drawled Gelid, “don’t require it--lucky my head was shaved in that last fever, Aaron dear. Ah--let me think--you tall man--you sailor-- fellow--ah--do me the favour to scrape me with your knife--ah--and pray call my servant.”

Timothy, to whom he had addressed himself, set to, and scraped the red paint off his poll; and having called his servant, Chew Chew, handed him over to the negro, who, giving his arm to him, helped him below, and with the assistance of Cologne water, contrived to scrub him decently clean.

As the evening fell, the breeze freshened; and during the night it blew strong, so that from the time we bore up, and parted company with the Firebrand, until day-dawn next morning, we had run 130 miles or thereby to the northward and westward, and were then on the edge of the Great Bahama Bank. The breeze now failed us, and we lay roasting in the sun until mid-day, the current sweeping us to the northward, and still farther on to the bank, until the water shoaled to three fathoms. At this time the sun was blazing fiercely right overhead; and from the shallowness of the water, there was not the smallest swell, or undulation of the surface. The sea, as far as the eye could reach, was a sparkling light green, from the snow-white sand at the bottom, as if a level desert had been suddenly submerged under a few feet of crystal clear water, which formed a cheery spectacle, when compared with the customary leaden, or dark blue-colour of the rolling fathomless ocean. It was now dead calm.--“Fishing lines there--Idlers, fishing lines,” said I; and in a minute there were forty of them down over the side.

In Europe, fish in their shapes partake of the sedate character of the people who inhabit the coasts of the seas or rivers in which they swim at least I think so. The salmon, the trout, the cod, and all the other tribes of the finny people, are reputable in their shapes, and altogether respectable-looking creatures. But, within the tropics, Dame Nature plays strange vagaries; and here, on the great Bahama Bank, every new customer, as he floundered in on deck--no joke to him, poor fellow--elicited shouts of laughter from the crew. They were in no respect shaped like fish of our cold climates; some were all head others all tail-some, so far as shape went, had their heads where, with submission, I conceived their tails should have been; and then the colours, the intense brilliancy of the scales of these monstrous looking animals! We hooked up a lot of bonitos, 10 Lbs apiece, at the least. But Wagtail took small account of them.

“Here,” said Bang, at this moment, “by all that is wonderful, look here!” And he drew up a fish about a foot long, with a crop like a pigeon of the tumbler kind, which began to make a loud snorting noise.

“Ah,” drawled Gelid, “good fish, with claret sauce.”

“Daresay,” rejoined Aaron; “but do your Bahama fish speak, Paul, eh? Balaam’s ass was a joke to this fellow.”

I have already said that the water was not quite three fathoms deep, and it was so clear that I could see down to the very sand, and there were the fish cruising about in great numbers.

“Haul in, Wagtail--you have hooked him,” and up came a beautiful black grouper, about four pounds weight.

“Ah, there is the regular jiggery-jiggery,” sung out little Reefpoint, at the same moment, as he in turn began to pull up his line. “Stand by to land him,” and a red snapper, for all the world like a gigantic gold fish, was hauled on board; and so we carried on, black snappers, red snappers, and rock fish, and a vast variety, for all of which, however, Wagtail had names pat, until at length I caught a most lovely dolphin--a beauty to look at--but dry, terribly dry to eat. I cast it on the deck, and the chameleon tints of the dying fish, about which so many lies have been said and sung, were just beginning to fade, and wax pale, and ashy, and deathlike, when I felt another strong jiggery jiggery at my line, which little Reefpoint had, in the meantime, baited afresh. “Zounds! I have caught a whale--a shark at the very least” and I pulled him in, hand over hand.

“A most noble Jew fish,” said I.

“A Jew fish!” responded Wagtail.

“A Jew fish!” said Aaron Bang.

“A Jew fish!” said Paul Gelid.

“My dear Cringle,” continued Wagtail, “when do you dine?”

“At three, as usual.”

“Then, Mr Reefpoint, will you have the great kindness to cast off your sink, and hook that splendid fellow by the tail--only through the gristle--don’t prick him in the flesh--and let him meander about till half-past two?”

Reefy was half inclined to be angry at the idea of his Majesty’s officer being converted into a cook’s mate.

“Why,” said I, “we shall put him in a tub of water, here on deck, Mr Wagtail, if you please.”

“God bless me, no!” quoth the gastronome. “Why, he is strong as an eagle, and will smash himself to mummy in half an hour in a tub. No--no see, he weighs twelve pounds at the very lightest. Lord! Mr Cringle, I am surprised at you.”

The fish was let overboard again, according to his desire, and hauled in at the very moment he indicated by his watch, when, having seen him cut up and cleaned, with his own eyes--I believe I may say with his own hands--he betook himself to his small crib to dress.

At dinner our Creole friend was very entertaining. Bang drew him out, and had him to talk on all his favourite topics in a most amusing manner. All at once Gelid lay back on his chair.

“My God,” said he, “I have broken my tooth with that confounded hard biscuit--terrible--really: ah!”--and he screwed up his face, as if he had been eating sourcrout, or had heard of the death of a dear friend.

“Poo,” quoth Aaron, “any comb maker will furnish you forth as good as new; those grinders you brag of are not your own, Gelid, you know that.”

“Indeed, Aaron, my dear, I know nothing of the kind; but this I know, that I have broken a most lovely white front tooth, ah!”

“Oh, you be hanged,” said Aaron; “why, you have been bechopped any time these ten years, I know.”

The time wore on, and it might have been half past seven when we went on deck.

It was a very dark night--Tailtackle had the watch. “Any thing in sight, Mr Tailtackle?”

“Why, no, sir; but I have just asked your steward for your night glass, as, once or twice--but it is so thick--Pray, sir, how far are we off the Hole in the Wall?”

“Why, sixty miles at the least.”

The Hole in the Wall is a very remarkable rock in the Crooked Island Passage, greatly resembling, as the name betokens, a wall breached by the sea, or by battering cannon, which rises abruptly out of the water, to a height of forty feet.

“Then,” quoth Tailtackle sharply, “there must be a sail close aboard of us, to windward there.”

“Where?” said I. “Quick, send for my night-glass.”

“I have it here in my hand, sir.”

“Let me see”--and I peered through it until my eyes ached again. I could see nothing, and resumed my walk on the quarterdeck. Tailtackle, in the meantime, continued to look through the telescope, and as I turned from aft to walk forward, a few minutes after this--“Why, sir,” said he, “it clears a bit, and I see the object that has puzzled me again.”

“Eh? give me the glass”--in a second I caught it. “By Jupiter, you say true, Tailtackle! beat to quarters--quick--clear away the long gun forward there!”

All was bustle for a minute. I kept my eye on the object, but I could not make out more, than that it was a strange sail; I could neither judge of her size nor her rig, from the distance, and the extreme darkness of the night. At length I handed the glass to Tailtackle again. We were at this time standing in towards the Cuba shore, with a fine breeze, and going along seven knots, as near as could be.

“Give the glass to Mr Jigmaree, Mr Tailtackle, and come forward here, and see all snug.”

The long gun was slewed round--both carronades were run out, all three being loaded, double shotted, and carefully primed--the whole crew, with our black supernumeraries, being at quarters.

“I see her quite distinct now, sir,” sung out Timotheus.

“Well, what looks she like?”

“A large brig, sir, by the wind on the same tack--you can see her now without the glass--there--with the naked eye.”

I looked, and certainly fancied I saw some towering object rising high and dark to windward, like some mighty spectre walking the deep, but I could discern nothing more.

“She is a large vessel, sure enough, sir,” said Timothy once more “now she is hauling up her courses, sir--she takes in topgallant sails why, she is bearing up across our bows, sir--mind she don’t rake us.”

“The deuce!” said I. I now saw the chase very distinctly bear up. “Put the helm up--keep her away a bit--steady at that will do--fire a shot across her bows, Mr Tailtackle--and, Mr Reefpoint, show the private signal.” The gun was fired, and the lights shown, but our spectral friend was all darkness and silence. “Mr Scarfemwell,” said I to the carpenter, “stand by the long gun. Tailtackle, I don’t like that chap open the magazine.” By this time the strange sail was on our quarter, we shortened sail, while he, finding that his manoeuvre of crossing our bows had been foiled by our bearing up also, got the foretack on board again, and set his topgallant sails, all very cleverly. He was not far out of pistol-shot. Tailtackle, in his shirt and trowsers, and felt shoes, now stuck his head up the main hatchway.

“I would recommend your getting the hatches on, sir--that fellow is not honest, sir, take my word for it.”

“Never mind, Mr Tailtackle, never mind. Forward, there; Mr Jigmaree, slap a round shot into him, since he won’t speak, or heave-to--right between his masts, do you hear--are you ready?”

“All ready, sir.”

“Fire.” The gun was fired, and simultaneously we heard a crash on board the strange sail, followed by a piercing yell, similar to what the negroes raise over a dead comrade, and then a long melancholy howl.

“A slaver, and the shot has told, sir,” said Mr Handlead, the master.

“Then we shall have some fun for it,” thought I. I had scarcely spoken, when the brig once more shortened sail; and the instant that the foresail rose, he let fly his bow gun at us--then another, another, and another.

“Nine guns of a side, as I am a sinner,” quoth jigmaree; and three of the shot struck us, mortally wounded one poor fellow, and damaged poor little Reefy by a splinter in the side.

“Stand by, men--take good aim--fire”--and we again let drive the long gun and carronade; but our friend was too quick for us, for by this time he had once more hauled his wind, and made sail as close to it as he could stagger. We crowded every thing in chase, but he had the heels of us, and in an hour he was once more nearly out of sight in the dark night, right to windward.

“Keep, at him, Mr Jigmaree;” and as I feared he was running us in under the land, I dived to consult the chart. There, in the cabin, I found Wagtail, Gelid, and Bang, sitting smoking on each side of the small table, with some brandy and water before them.

“Ah,” quoth Gelid, “ah! fighting a little? Not pleasant in the evening, certainly.”

“Confound you,” said Aaron, “why will you bother at this awkward moment?”

Meanwhile Wagtail was a good deal discomposed.

“My dear fellow, hand me over that deviled biscuit.”

Bang handed him over the dish, slipping into it some fragments of ship biscuit, as hard as flint. All this time I was busy poring over the chart. Wagtail took up a piece and popt it into his mouth.

“Zounds, Bang--my dear Aaron, what dentist are you in league with? Gelid first breaks his pet fang, and now you”--

“Poo, poo,” quoth his friend, “don’t bother now--hillo--what the deuce I say, Wagtail--Gelid, my lad, look there”--as one of the seamen, with another following him, brought down on his back the poor fellow who had been wounded, and laid his bloody load on the table.

To those who are unacquainted with these matters, it may be right to say, that the captain’s cabin, in a small vessel like the Wave, is often in an emergency used as a cockpit--and so it was in the present instance.

“Beg pardon, Captain and gentlemen,” said the surgeon, “but I must, I fear, perform an ugly operation on this poor fellow. I fancy you had better go on deck, gentlemen.”

Now I had an opportunity to see of what sterling metal my friends were at bottom made. Mr Bang in a twinkling had his coat off.

“Doctor, I can be of use, I know it--no skill, but steady nerves,” although he had reckoned a leetle without his host here,--“And I can swathe a bandage too, although no surgeon,” said Wagtail.

Gelid said nothing, but he was in the end the best surgeon’s mate amongst them. The poor fellow, Wiggins, one of the captain’s gigs, and a most excellent man, in quarterdeck parlance, was now laid on the table a fine handsome young fellow, faint and pale, very pale, but courageous as a lion, even in his extremity. It appeared that a round shot had shattered his leg above the knee. A tourniquet had been applied on his thigh, and there was not much bleeding.

“Captain,” said the poor fellow, while Bang supported him in his arms, “I shall do yet, sir; indeed I have no great pain.”

All this time the surgeon was cutting off his trowsers, and then, to be sure, a terrible spectacle presented itself. The foot and leg, blue and shrunk, were connected with the thigh by a band of muscle about two inches wide, and an inch thick; that fined away to a bunch of white tendons or sinews at the knee, which again swelled out as they melted into the muscles of the calf of the leg; but as for the knee bone, it was smashed to pieces, leaving white spikes protruding from the shattered limb above, as well as from the shank beneath. The doctor gave the poor fellow a large dose of laudanum in a glass of brandy, and then proceeded to amputate the limb, high up on the thigh. Bang stood the knife part of it very steadily, but the instant the saw rasped against the shattered bone he shuddered.

“I am going, Cringle--can’t stand that--sick as a dog”--and he was so faint that I had to relieve him in supporting the poor fellow. Wagtail had also to go on deck, but Paul Gelid remained firm as a rock. The limb was cut off, the arteries taken up very cleverly, and the surgeon was in the act of slacking the tourniquet a little, when the thread that fastened the largest, or femoral artery, suddenly gave way and a gush like the jet from a fire-engine took place. The poor fellow had just time to cry out, “Take that cold hand off my heart!” when his chest collapsed, his jaw fell, and in an instant his pulse stopped.

“Dead as Julius Caesar, Captain,” said Gelid, with his usual deliberation. Dead enough, thought I; and I was leaving the cabin to resume my post on deck, when I stumbled against something at the ladder foot.

“My, what is that?” grumbled I.

“It is me, sir,” said a small faint voice.

“You!--who are you?”

“Reefpoint, sir.”

“Bless me, boy, what are you doing here? Not hurt, I hope?”

“A little, sir--a graze from a splinter, sir--the same shot that struck poor Wiggins knocked it off, sir.”

“Why did you not go to the doctor, then, Mr Reefpoint?”

“I waited till he was done with Wiggins, sir; but now, since it is all over with him, I will go and be dressed.”

His voice grew fainter and fainter, until I could scarcely hear him. I got him in my arms, and helped him into the cabin, where, on stripping the poor little fellow, it was found that he was much hurt on the right side, just above the hip. Bang’s kind heart, for by this time a glass of water had cured him of his faintness, shone conspicuous on this occasion.

“Why, Reefy--little Reefy--you are not hurt, my man--Surely you are not wounded--such a little fellow,--I should have as soon thought of firing at a musquitto.”

“Indeed, sir, but I am; see here.”--Bang looked at the hurt, as he supported the wounded midshipman in his arms.

“God help me,” said the excellent fellow, “you seem to me fitter for your mother’s nursery, my poor dear boy, than to be knocked about in this coarse way here.”

Reefy, at this moment, fell over into his arms, in a dead faint.

“You must take my berth, with the Captain’s permission,” said Aaron, while he and Wagtail undressed him with the greatest care, and placed him in the narrow crib.

“Thank you, my dear sir,” moaned little Reefpoint; “were my mother here, sir she would thank you too.”

Stern duty now called me on deck, and I heard no more. The night was still very dark, and I could see nothing of the chase, but I made all the sail I could in the direction which I calculated she would steer, trusting that, before morning, we might get another glimpse of her. In a little while Bang came on deck.

“I say, Tom, now since little Reefy is asleep--what think you big craft that--nearly caught a Tartar--not very sorry he has escaped, eh?”

“Why, my dear sir, I trust he has not escaped; I hope, when the day breaks, now since we have less wind, that we may have a tussle with him yet.”

“No, you don’t wish it, do you, really and truly?”

“Indeed, I do, sir; and the only thing which bothers me is the peril that you and your friends must necessarily encounter.”

“Poo, poo, don’t mind us, Tom, don’t mind us; but an’t he too big for you, Tom?”

He said this in such a comical way, that, for the life of me, I could not help laughing.

“Why, we shall see; but attack him I must, and shall, if I can get at him. However, we shall wait till morning; so I recommend your turning in, now since they have cleared away the cockpit out of the cabin; so good-night, my dear sir--I must stay here, I fear.”

“Good-night, Tom; God bless you. I shall go and comfort Wagtail and Paul.”

I was at this time standing well aft on the larboard side of the deck, close abaft of the tiller-rope, so that, with no earthly disposition to be an eavesdropper, I could neither help seeing nor hearing what was going on in the cabin, as the small open skylight was close to my All vestiges of the cockpit had been cleared away, and the table was laid for supper. Wagtail and Gelid were sitting on the side I stood on, so that I could not see them, although I heard every word they said. Presently Bang entered, and sat down opposite his allies. He crossed his arms, and leant down over the table, looking at them steadily.

“My dear Aaron,” I could hear little Wagtail say, “speak, man, don’t frighten a body so.”

“Ah, Bang,” drawled out Paul, “jests are good, being well-timed; what can you mean by that face of yours now, since the fighting is all over?”

My curiosity fairly overcame my good manners, and I moved round more amidships, so as to command a view of both parties, as they sat opposite each other at the narrow table.

Bang still held his peace for another minute; at length, in a very solemn tone, he said, “Gentlemen, do you ever say your prayers?” I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but Aaron had a most musical deep mellow voice, and now it absolutely thrilled to my very soul.

Wagtail and Paul looked at him, and then at each other, with a most absurd expression--between fear and jest--between crying and laughing but gave him no answer.

“Are you, my lads, such blockheads as to be ashamed to acknowledge that you say your prayers?”

“Ah,” aid Gelid, “why, ah no--not--that is”

“Oh, you Catholics are all so bigoted,--I suppose we should cross ourselves, eh?” said Wagtail hastily.

“I am a Catholic, Master Wagtail,” rejoined Bang--“better that than nothing. Before sunrise, we may both have proved the truth of our creeds, if you have one; but if you mean it as a taunt, Wagtail, it does discredit to your judgment to select such a moment, to say nothing of your heart. However, you cannot make me angry with you, Pepperpot, you little Creole wasp, do as you will.” A slight smile here curled Aaron’s lip for an instant, although he immediately resumed the solemn tone in which he had previously spoken.--“But I had hoped that two such old friends, as you both have been to me, would not altogether have made up their minds in cold blood, if advertised of their danger, to run the chance of dying like dogs in a ditch, without one preparatory thought towards that tremendous Being, before whom we may all stand before morning.”

“Murder!” quoth Wagtail, fairly frightened; “are you really serious, Aaron? I did not--would not, for the world, hurt your feelings in earnest, my dear; why do you desire so earnestly to know whether or not I ever say my prayers?”

“Oh, don’t bother, man,” rejoined Bang, resuming his usual friendly tone; “you had better say boldly that you do not, without any roundaboutation.”

“But why, my dear Bang, why do you ask the question?” persisted Wagtail, in a deuced quandary.

“Simply,”--and here our friend’s voice once more fell to the low deep serious tone in which he had opened the conference,--“simply because, in my humble estimation, if you don’t say your prayers tonight, it is three to one you shall never pray again.”

“The deuce!” said Pepperpot, twisting himself in all directions, as if his inexpressibles had been nailed to his seat, and he was trying to escape from them. “What, in the devil’s name, mean you, man?”

“I mean neither more nor less than what I say. I speak English, don’t I? I say, that that pestilent young fellow Cringle told me half an hour ago, that he was determined, as he words it, to stick to this Guineaman, who is three times his size, has eighteen guns, while Master Tommy has only three; and whose crew, I will venture to say, triples our number; and the snipe, from what I know of him, is the very man to keep his word so what say you, my darling, eh?”

“Ah, very inconvenient, ah,--I shall stay below,” said Paul.

“So shall I,” quoth Pepperpot; “won’t stick my nose on deck, Aaron dear, no, not for the whole world.”

“Why,” said Bang, in the same steady low tone, “you shall do as you please, ah,”--and here he very successfully imitated our amigo Gelid’s drawl--“and as best suits you, ah; but I have consulted the gunner, an old ally of mine, who, to be plain with you--ah--says that the danger from splinter wounds below, is much greater than from their musketry on deck--ah--the risk from the round shot being pretty equal--ah--in either situation.” At this announcement you could have jumped down either Wagtail’s or Gelid’s throat,--Wagtail’s for choice--without touching their teeth. “Farther, the aforesaid Timothy, and be hanged to him, deponeth, that the only place in a small vessel where we could have had a moderate chance of safety was the Run,--so called, I presume, from people running to it for safety; but where the deuce this sanctuary is situated I know not, nor does it signify greatly, for it is now converted into a spare powder magazine, and of course sealed to us. So here we are, my lads, in as neat a taking as ever three unfortunate gentlemen were in, in this weary world. However, now since I have comforted you, let us go to bed-time enough to think on all this in the morning, and I am consumedly tired.”

I heard no more, and resumed my solitary walk on deck, peering every now and then through the night-glass, until my eyes ached again. The tedious night at length wore away, and the grey dawn found me sound asleep, leaning out at the gangway. They had scarcely begun to wash down the decks, when we discerned our friend of the preceding night, about four miles to windward, close hauled on the same tack, apparently running in for the Cuba shore, as fast as canvass could carry him. If this was his object, we had proved too quick for him, as by casting off stays, and slacking shrouds, and, in every way we could think of, loosening the rigid trim of the little vessel, we had in a great measure recovered her sailing; so when he found he was cut off from the land, he resolutely bore up, took in his top-gallant sails, hauled up his courses, fired a gun, and hoisted his large Spanish ensign, all in regular man-of-war fashion. By this time it was broad daylight, and Wagtail, Gelid, and Bang, were all three on deck, performing their morning ablutions. As for myself, I was well forward, near the long gun. Pegtop, Mr Bang’s black valet, came up to me.

“Please, Massa Captain, can you spare me any muskets?”

“Any muskets?” said I; “why, half a dozen if you choose.”

“De wery number my massa told me to hax for. Tank you, Massa Captain.” And forthwith he and the other two black servants in attendance on Wagtail and Gelid, each seized his two muskets out of the arm-chest, with the corresponding ammunition, and, like so many sable Robinson Crusoes, were stumping aft, when I again accosted the aforesaid Pegtop.

“I say, my man, now since you have got the muskets, does your master really intend to fight?” The negro stopped short, and faced right round, his countenance expressing very great surprise and wonderment. “Massa Bang fight? Massa Aaron Bang fight?” and he looked up in my face with the most seriocomic expression that could be imagined. “Ah, massa,” continued the poor fellow,--“you is joking--surely you is joking--my Massa Aaron Bang fight? Oh, massa, surely you can’t know he--surely you never see him shoot snipe, and wild-duck--oh dear, why him kill wild duck on de wing--ah, me often see him knock down teal wid single ball, one hundred--ah, one hundred and fifty yards--and man surely more big mark den teal?”

“Granted,” I said; “but a teal has not a loaded musket in its claws, a Spanish buccaneer may have a small difference, Master Pegtop, that?”

“None at all, master,” chimed in Pegtop, “very energetically myshef, Gabriel Pegtop, Christian man as me is, am one of de Falmouth black shot. Ah, I have been in de woods wid Massa Aaron, one time particular, when dem wery debils, Sambo Moses, Corromantee Tom, and Eboe Peter, took to de bush, at Crabyaw estate--after breakfast--ten black shot me was one, go out along wid our good massa, Massa Aaron. Oh Lord, we walk troo de cool wood, and over de hot cleared ground, six hour, when every body say,--No use dis, Massa Bang--all we tired too much--must stop here--kindle fire--cook wittal. Ah, top dem who hab white liver, said Massa Aaron; you, Pegtop, take you fusee and cutlass, and follow me, my shild--Massa Aaron alway call me him shild, and troo enough, as parson Calaloo say, him family wery much like Joseph coat--many colour among dem, massa--though none quite so deep as mine eider”--and here the negro grinned at his own jest. “Well, I was follow him, or rader was go before him, opening up de pass wid me cutlass, troo de wery tangle underwood. We walk four hour--see no one, all still and quiet--no breeze shake de tree--oh, I sweat too much--dem hot, massa, sun shine right down, when we could catch glimpse of him--yet no trace of de runaways. At length, on turning corner, perched on small platform of rock, overshadowed by plumes of bamboos, like ostrich feather lady wear at de ball, who shall we see but dem wery dividual d----rascail I was mention, standing all tree, each wid one carabine pointed at us, at him shoulder, and cutlass at him side? Pegtop, my boy, said Massa Aaron, we is in for it--follow me, but don’t fire. So him pick off Sambo Moses--oh! cool as one cucumber. Now, say he, man to man,--and wid dat him tro him gun on de ground, and drawing him cutlass, we push up--in one moment him and Corromantee Tom close. Tom put up him hand to fend him head whip--ah--massa cutlass shred de hand at de wrist, like one carrot down Tom go--atop of him jump Massa Aaron. I master de leetle one, Eboe Peter, and we carry dem both prisoners into Falmouth.--Massa Aaron fight? Ah, massa, no hax dat question again.”

“Well, but will Mr Gelid fight?” said I.

“I tink him will too--great friend of Massa Bang--good duck--shot too oh yes, fink Massa Paul will fight.”

“Why,” said I, “your friends are all heroes, Pegtop--will Mr Wagtail fight also?” He stole close up to me, and exchanged his smart Creole gibberish for a quiet sedate accent, as he whispered.

“Not so sure of he--nice little fat man, but too fond of him belly. When I wait behind Massa Aaron chair, Pegtop sometime hear funny ting. One gentleman say--Ah, dat month we hear Lord Wellington take Saint Sebastian--when dat is, what time we hear dat news, Massa Wagtail? him say.--Eh, say Massa Wagtail--oh, we hear of dem news, dat wery day de first of de ringtail pigeon come to market. Den again, Dat big fight dem had at soch anoder place, when we hear of dat, Massa Wagtail?--say somebody else. Oh, oh, de wery day we hab dat beautiful grouper wid claret sauce at Massa Whiffie’s. Oh, make me laugh to hear white gentleman mark great fight in him memory by what him eat de day de news come; so, Massa Captain Cringle, me no quite sure weder Massa Wagtail will fight or no.”

So saying, Pegtop, Chew Chew, and Yampea, each shouldered two muskets apiece, and betook themselves to the after part of the schooner, where they forthwith set themselves to scour, and oil, and clean the same, in a most skilful manner. I expected the breeze would have freshened as the day broke, but I was disappointed; it fell, towards six o’clock, nearly calm. Come, thought I, we may as well go to breakfast; and my guests and I forthwith sat down to our morning meal. Soon after, the wind died away altogether--and “out sweeps” was the word; but I soon saw we had no chance with the chase at this game, and as to attacking him with the boats, it was entirely out of the question; neither could I, in the prospect of a battle, afford to murder the people, by pulling all day under a roasting sun, against one who could man his sweeps with relays of slaves, without one of his crew putting a finger to them; so I reluctantly laid them in, and there I stood looking at him the whole forenoon, as he gradually drew ahead of us. At length I piped to dinner, and the men having finished theirs, were again on deck; but the calm still continued; and seeing no chance of it freshening, about four in the afternoon we sat down to ours in the cabin. There was little said; my friends, although brave and resolute men, were naturally happy to see the brig creeping away from us, as fighting could only bring them danger; and my own feelings were of that mixed quality, that while I determined to do all I could to bring him to action, it would not have broken my heart had he escaped. We had scarcely finished dinner, however, when the rushing of the water past the run of the little vessel, and the steadiness with which she skimmed along, shewed that the light air had freshened.

Presently Tailtackle came down. “The breeze has set down, sir; the strange sail has got it strong to windward, and brings it along with him cheerily.”

“Beat to quarters, then, Tailtackle; all hands stand by to shorten sail. How is she standing?”

“Right down for us, sir.”

I went on deck, and there was the Guineaman about two miles to windward, evidently cleared for action, with her decks crowded with men, bowling along steadily under her single-reefed topsails.

I saw all clear. Wagtail and Gelid had followed me on deck, and were now busy with their black servants inspecting the muskets. But Bang still remained in the cabin. I went down. He was gobbling his last plantain, and forking up along with it most respectable slices of cheese, when I entered.

I had seen before I left the deck that an action was now unavoidable, and judging from the disparity of force, I had my own doubts as to the issue. I need scarcely say that I was greatly excited. It was my first command: My future standing in the service depended on my conduct now, and, God help me, I was all this while a mere lad, not more than twenty one years old. A strange indescribable feeling had come over me, and an irresistible desire to disburden my mind to the excellent man before me. I sat down.

“Hey day,” quoth Bang, as he laid down his coffee cup; “why, Tom, what ails you? You look deuced pale, my boy.”

“Up all night, sir, and bothered all day,” said I; “wearied enough, I can tell you.”

I felt a strong tremor pervade my whole frame at this moment; and I was impelled to speak by some unknown impulse, which I could not account for nor analyze.

“Mr Bang, you are the only friend whom I could count on in these countries; you know all about me and mine, and, I believe, would willingly do a kind action to my father’s son.”

“What are you at, Tom, my dear boy? come to the point, man.”

“I will. I am distressed beyond measure at having led you and your excellent friends, Wagtail and Gelid, into this danger; but I could not help it, and I have satisfied my conscience on that point; so I have only to entreat that you will stay below, and not unnecessarily expose yourselves. And if I should fall--may I take this liberty, my dear sir,” and I involuntarily took his hand,--“if I should fall, and I doubt if I shall ever see the sun set again, as we are fearfully overmatched” Bang struck in.

“Why, if our friend be too big--why not be off then? Pull foot, man, eh?--Havannah under your lee?”

“A thousand reasons against it, my dear sir. I am a young man and a young officer, my character is to make in the service--No, no, it is impossible--an older and more tried hand might have bore up, but I must fight it out. If any stray shot carries me off, my dear sir, will you take”--Mary, I would have said, but I could not pronounce her name for the soul of me--“will you take charge of her miniature, and say I died as I have”--a choking lump rose in my throat, and I could not proceed for a second; “and will you send my writing desk to my poor mother, there are letters in”--the lump grew bigger, the hot tears streamed from my eyes in torrents. I trembled like an aspen leaf, and grasping my excellent friend’s hand more firmly, I sunk down on my knees in a passion of tears, and wept like a woman, and fervently prayed to that great God, in whose almighty hand I stood, that I might that day do my duty as an English seaman. Bang knelt by me. Presently the passion was quelled. I rose, and so did he.

“Before you, my dear sir, I am not ashamed to have....”

“Don’t mention it my good boy--don’t mention it; neither of us, as the old general said, will fight a bit the worse.”

I looked at him. “Do you then mean to fight?” said I.

“To be sure I do--why not? I have no wife,”--he did not say he had no children--“Fight? To be sure I do.”

“Another gun, sir,” said Tailtackle, through the open skylight. Now all was bustle, and we hastened on deck. Our antagonist was a large brig, three hundred tons at the least, a long low vessel, painted black, out and in, and her sides round as an apple, with immensely square yards. She was apparently full of men. The sun was getting low, and she was coming down fast on us, on the verge of the dark blue water of the sea breeze. I could make out ten ports and nine guns of a side. I inwardly prayed they might not be long ones, but I was not a little startled to see through the glass that there were crowds of naked negroes at quarters, and on the forecastle and poop. That she was a contraband Guineaman, I had already made up my mind to believe; and that she had some fifty hands of a crew, I also considered likely; but that her captain should have resorted to such a perilous measure, perilous to themselves as well as to us, as arming the captive slaves, was quite unexpected, and not a little alarming, as it evinced his determination to make the most desperate resistance.

Tailtackle was standing beside me at this time, with his jacket off, his cutlass girded on his thigh, and the belt drawn very tight. All the rest of the crew were armed in a similar fashion; the small-arm-men with muskets in their hands, and the rest at quarters at the guns; while the pikes were cast loose from the spars round which they had been stopped, with tubs of wadding, and boxes of grape, all ready ranged, and every thing clear for action.

“Mr Tailtackle” said I, “you are gunner here, and should be in the magazine. Cast off that cutlass; it is not your province to lead the boarders.” The poor fellow blushed, having, in the excitement of the moment, forgotten that he was any thing more than captain of the Firebrand’s maintop.

“Mr Timotheus,” said Bang, “have you one of these bodkins to spare?”

Timothy laughed. “Certainly, sir; but you don’t mean to head the boarders, sir--do you?”

“Who knows, now since I have learned to walk on this dancing cork of a craft?” rejoined Aaron, with a grim smile, while he pulled off his coat, braced on his cutlass, and tied a large red cotton shawl round his head. He then took off his neckerchief and fastened it round his waist, as tight as he could draw.

“Strange that all men in peril--on the uneasiness, like,” said he, “should always gird themselves as tightly as they can.”

The slaver was now within musket-shot, when he put his helm to port, with the view of passing under our stem. To prevent being raked, we had to luff up sharp in the wind, and fire a broadside. I noticed the white splinters glance from his black wales; and once more the same sharp yell rung in our ears, followed by the long melancholy howl, already described.

“We have pinned some of the poor blacks again,” said Tailtackle, who still lingered on the deck; small space for remark, for the slaver again fired his broadside at us, with the same cool precision as before.

“Down with the helm, and let her come round,” said I; “that will do master, run across his stern--Out sweeps forward, and keep her there get the other carronade over to leeward--that is it--now, blaze away while he is becalmed--fire, small-arm-men, and take good aim.”

We were now right across his stern, with his spanker boom within ten yards of us; and although he worked his two stem chasers with great determination, and poured whole showers of musketry from his rigging, and poop, and cabin-windows, yet, from the cleverness with which our sweeps were pulled, and the accuracy with which we were kept in our position, right athwart his stern, our fire, both from the cannon and musketry, the former loaded with round and grape, was telling, I could see, with fearful effect.

Crash--“There, my lads, down goes his main-topmast--pepper him well, while they are blinded and confused among the wreck. Fire away--there goes the peak, shot away cleverly, close by the throat. Don’t cease firing, although his flag be down--it was none of his doing. There, my lads, there he has it again; you have shot away the weather fore topsail sheet, and he cannot get from under you.”

Two men at this moment lay out on his larboard foreyard-arm, apparently with the intention of splicing the sheet, and getting the clew of the fore-topsail once more down to the yard; if they had succeeded in this, the vessel would again have fetched way, and drawn out from under our fire. Mr Bang and Paul Gelid had all this time been firing with murderous precision, from where they had ensconced themselves under the shelter of the larboard bulwark, close to the taffrail, with their three black servants in the cabin, loading the six muskets, and little Wagtail, who was no great shot, sitting on the deck, handing them up and down.

“Now, Mr Bang,” cried I, “for the love of Heaven”--and may Heaven forgive me for the ill-placed exclamation--“mark these two men--down with them?”

Bang turned towards me with all the coolness in the world “What, those chaps on the end of the long stick?”

“Yes--yes,” (I here spoke of the larboard foreyard-arm,) “yes, down with them.”

He lifted his piece as steadily as if he had really been duck shooting.

“I say, Gelid, my lad, take you the innermost.”

“Ah!” quoth Paul. They fired--and down dropped both men, and squattered for a moment in the water, like wounded waterfowl, and then sank for ever, leaving two small puddles of blood on the surface.

“Now, master,” shouted I, “put the helm up and lay him alongside--there stand by with the grapplings--one round the backstay the other through the chainplate there--so,--you have it.” As we ranged under his counter “Mainchains are your chance, men--boarders, follow me.” And in the enthusiasm of the moment I jumped into the slaver’s main channel, followed by twenty-eight men. We were in the act of getting over the netting when the enemy rallied, and fired a volley of small arms, which sent four out of the twenty-eight to their account, and wounded three more. We gained the quarterdeck, where the Spanish captain, and about forty of his crew, shewed a determined front, cutlass and pistol in hand we charged them--they stood their ground. Tailtackle (who, the moment he heard the boarders called, had jumped out of the magazine, and followed me) at a blow clove the Spanish captain to the chine; the lieutenant, or second in command, was my bird, and I had disabled him by a sabre-cut on the sword-arm, when he drew his pistol, and shot me through the left shoulder. I felt no pain, but a sharp pinch, and then a cold sensation, as if water had been poured down my neck.

Jigmaree was close by me with a boarding-pike, and our fellows were fighting with all the gallantry inherent in British sailors. For a moment the battle was poised in equal scales. At length our antagonists gave way, when about fifteen of the slaves, naked barbarians, who had been ranged with muskets in their hands on the forecastle, suddenly jumped down into the waist with a yell, and came to the rescue of the Spanish part of the crew.

I thought we were lost. Our people, all but Tailtackle, poor Handlead, and Jigmaree, held back. The Spaniards rallied, and fought with renewed courage, and it was now, not for glory, but for dear life, as all retreat was cut off by the parting of the grapplings and warps, that had lashed the schooner alongside of the slaver, for the Wave had by this time forged a-head, and lay across the brig’s bows, in place of being on her quarter, with her foremast jammed against the slaver’s bowsprit, whose spritsail-yard crossed our deck between the masts. We could not therefore retreat to our own vessel if we had wished it, as the Spaniards had possession of the waist and forecastle; all at once, however, a discharge of round and grape crashed through the bridleport of the brig, and swept off three of the black auxiliaries before mentioned, and wounded as many more, and the next moment an unexpected ally appeared on the field. When we boarded, the Wave had been left with only Peter Mangrove; the five dockyard negroes; Pearl, one of the Captain’s gigs, the handsome black already introduced on the scene; poor little Reefpoint, who, as already stated, was badly hurt; Aaron Bang, Paul Gelid, and Wagtail. But this Pearl without price, at the very moment of time when I thought the game was up, jumped on deck through the bowport, cutlass in hand, followed by the five black carpenters and Peter Mangrove, after whom appeared no less a personage than Aaron Bang himself and the three blackamoor valets, armed with boarding-pikes. Bang flourished his cutlass for an instant.

“Now, Pearl, my darling, shout to them in Coromantee--shout;” and forthwith the black quartermaster sung out, “Coromantee Sheik Cocoloo, kockemony populorum fiz;” which, as I afterwards learned, being interpreted, is, “Behold the Sultan Cocoloo, the great ostrich, with a feather in his tail like a palm branch; fight for him, you sons of female dogs.” In an instant the black Spanish auxiliaries sided with Pearl, and Bang, and the negroes, and joined in charging the white Spaniards, who were speedily driven down the main hatchway, leaving one half of their number dead, or badly wounded, on the blood slippery deck. But they still made a desperate defence, by firing up the hatchway. I hailed them to surrender.

“Zounds,” cried Jigmaree, “there’s the clink of hammers they are knocking off the fetters of the slaves.”

“If you let the blacks loose,” I sung out in Spanish, “by the Heaven above us, I will blow you up, although I should go with you! Hold your hands, Spaniards! Mind what you do, madmen!”

“On with the hatches, men,” shouted Tailtackle.

They had been thrown overboard, or put out of the way, they could nowhere be seen. The firing from below continued.

“Cast loose that carronade there; clap in a canister of grape, so now run it forward, and fire down the hatchway.” It was done, and taking effect amongst the pent-up slaves, such a yell arose--oh God! oh God!--I never can forget it. Still the maniacs continued firing up the hatchway.

“Load and fire again.” My people were now furious, and fought more like incarnate fiends broke loose from hell than human beings.

“Run the gun up to the hatchway once more.” They ran the carronade so furiously forward, that the coaming, or ledge, was split off, and down went the gun, carriage and all, with a crash into the hold. Presently smoke appeared rising up the fore-hatchway.

“They have set fire to the brig; overboard!--regain the schooner, or we shall all be blown into the air like peels of onions!” sung out little Jigmaree.

But where was the Wave? She had broke away, and was now a cable’s length ahead, apparently fast leaving us, with Paul Gelid and Wagtail, and poor little Reefpoint, who, badly wounded as he was, had left his hammock, and come on deck in the emergency, making signs of their inability to cut away the halyards; and the tiller being shot away, the schooner had become utterly unmanageable.

“UP,--and let fall the foresail, men--down with the fore tack cheerily now--get way on the brig, and overhaul the Wave promptly, or we are lost,” cried I. It was done with all the coolness of desperate men. I took the helm, and presently we were once more alongside of our own vessel. Time we were so, for about one hundred and fifty of the slaves, whose shackles had been knocked off, now scrambled up the fore hatchway, and we had only time to jump overboard, when they made a rush aft; and no doubt, exhausted as we were, they would have massacred us on the spot, frantic and furious as they evidently were from the murderous fire of grape that had been directed down the hatchway.

But the fire was quicker than they. The smouldering smoke that was rising like a pillar of cloud from the fore hatchway, was now streaked with tongues of red flame, which, licking the masts and spars, ran up and caught the sails and rigging. In an instant, the fire spread to every part of the gear aloft, while the other element, the sea, was also striving for the mastery in the destruction of the doomed vessel; for our shot, or the fall of the carronade into the hold, had started some of the bottom planks, and she was fast settling down by the head. We could hear the water rushing in like a mill stream. The fire increased her guns went off as they became heated--she gave a sudden heel--and while five hundred human beings, pent up in her noisome hold, split the heavens with their piercing death-yells, down she went with a heavy lurch, head foremost, right in the wake of the setting sun, whose level rays made the thick dun wreaths that burst from her as she disappeared, glow with the hue of the amethyst; and while the whirling clouds, gilded by his dying radiance, curled up into the blue sky, in rolling masses, growing thinner and thinner, until they vanished away, even like the wreck whereout they arose,--and the circling eddies, created by her sinking, no longer sparkled and flashed in the red light--and the stilled waters where she had gone down, as if oil had been cast on them, were spread out like polished silver, shining like a mirror, while all around was dark blue ripple,--a puff of fat black smoke, denser than any we had yet seen, suddenly emerged with a loud gurgling noise, from out the deep bosom of the calmed sea, and rose like a balloon, rolling slowly upwards, until it reached a little way above our mastheads, where it melted and spread out into a dark pall, that overhung the scene of death, as if the incense of such a horrible and polluted sacrifice could not ascend into the pure heaven, but had been again crushed back upon our devoted heads, as a palpable manifestation of the wrath of Him who hath said--“Thou shalt not kill.”

For a few moments all was silent as the grave, and I felt as if the air had become too thick for breathing, while I looked up like another Cain.

Presently, about one hundred and fifty of the slaves, men, women, and children, who had been drawn down by the vortex, rose amidst numberless pieces of smoking wreck, to the surface of the sea; the strongest yelling like fiends in their despair, while the weaker, the women, and the helpless gasping little ones, were choking, and gurgling, and sinking all around. Yea, the small thin expiring cry of the innocent sucking infant tom from its sinking mother’s breast, as she held it for a brief moment above the waters, which had already for ever closed over herself, was there. But we could not perceive one single individual of her white crew; like desperate men, they had all gone down with the brig. We picked up about one half of the miserable Africans, and--my pen trembles as I write it--fell necessity compelled us to fire on the remainder, as it was utterly impossible for us to take them on board. Oh that I could erase such a scene for ever from my memory! One incident I cannot help relating. We had saved a woman, a handsome clear skinned girl, of about sixteen years of age. She was very faint when we got her in, and was lying with her head over a port--sill, when a strong athletic young negro swam to the part of the schooner where she was. She held down her hand to him; he was in the act of grasping it, when he was shot through the heart from above. She instantly jumped overboard, and, clasping him in her arms, they sank, and disappeared together. “Oh, woman, whatever may be the colour of your skin, your heart is of one only!” said Aaron.

Soon all was quiet; a wounded black here and there was shrieking in his great agony, and struggling for a moment before he sank into his watery grave for ever; a few pieces of wreck were floating and sparkling on the surface of the deep in the blood red sunbeams, which streamed in a flood of glorious light on the bloody deck, shattered hull, and torn rigging of the Wave, and on the dead bodies and mangled limbs of those who had fallen; while some heavy scattering drops of rain fell sparkling from a passing cloud, as if Nature had wept in pity over the dismal scene; or as if they had been blessed tears, shed by an angel, in his heavenward course, as he hovered for a moment, and looked down in pity on the fantastic tricks played by the worm of a day--by weak man, in his little moment of power and ferocity. I said something--ill and hastily. Aaron was close beside me, sitting on a carronade slide, while the surgeon was dressing a pike wound in his neck. He looked up solemnly in my face, and then pointed to the blessed luminary, that was now sinking in the sea, and blazing up into the resplendent heavens--“Cringle, for shame for shame--your impatience is blasphemous. Remember this morning and thank Him”--here he looked up and crossed himself--“thank Him who, while he has called poor Mr Handlead, and so many brave fellows to their last awful reckoning, has mercifully brought us to the end of this fearful day;--oh, thank Him, Tom, that you have seen the sun set once more!”

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