We left St. Bartholomew in the Lapwing and proceeded on our way towards
Grenada. I was treated with kindness by every person in the sloop,
and found my situation far more agreeable than when loafing and
vagabondizing about the wharves.
Mr. Bohun was a light-hearted young man, intelligent, high-spirited,
and impulsive. He conversed with me about the events of the war, and
speculated freely in relation to the future. He spoke of the defeat
of General Hull as an event which might have been expected. When I
expressed an opinion that our national vessels would be more successful
on the sea, he appeared amused, laboring under the error which was
universal among the British at that time, that an American frigate
of the first class could hardly be considered a match for an English
sloop-of-war.
I spoke of the action between the President and the Little Belt,
where one broadside, fired through mistake by the American frigate,
transformed the proud and defiant sloop-of-war into a sinking wreck. But
my argumentative fact was met by a reference to the unfortunate affair
between the Leopard and the Chesapeake. I urged that the Chesapeake,
although rated and officered and manned as a frigate, was merely an
armed STORE-SHIP carrying out supplies in a time of peace to our ships
in the Mediterranean. But Bohun, like every other Briton I have met
with, would not admit the efficiency of the excuse. I next recurred to
the Tripolitan war, and alluded to the many deeds of daring performed by
my gallant countrymen. But Bohun contended that their feats of valor
in a war against barbarians could not be regarded as a test of their
ability to battle on equal terms against the most accomplished seamen
in the world. Bohun said that the Shannon and the Guerriere, two of the
finest frigates in the English navy, had recently been fitted out and
ordered to cruise on the American coast, with the expectation that
a single-handed contest between one of these vessels and an American
frigate of the first class would humble the pride of the Yankees, and
decide the question of superiority. I could only reply that I hoped
the meeting would soon take place, and when it did, he would be as much
astonished as I should be gratified at the result.
The next morning after the above conversation, we were passing along the
westerly side of the island of Dominica, and Mr. Bohun expressed a
wish to touch at Rosseau, the principal port in the island, in order
to obtain some desirable information. When off the mouth of the harbor,
orders were given for the sloop to lie off and on, while the supercargo
was conveyed on shore in the yawl, pulled by one of my Saba countrymen
and myself. On reaching a landing place, Bohun directed us to remain by
the boat until he should return, which would be in the course of half an
hour, and tripped gayly up the wharf.
The town of Rosseau is pleasantly situated in a valley near the
seashore. The harbor is little better than an open roadstead, and is
defended by strong fortifications overhanging the city. The town has
been three times destroyed; once by an inundation from the mountains
after heavy rains which swept away many of the dwellings and caused the
death of numerous inhabitants. Some ten or twenty years afterwards, when
the town had been rebuilt, a destructive fire raged through the place,
laid it in ashes, and destroyed an immense deal of property. A third
time it was destroyed ay a furious hurricane, when nearly all the houses
were demolished or unroofed, and hundreds of the inhabitants were killed
or seriously wounded. Having thus been at different times a victim to
the rage of three of the elements, air, fire, and water, many were led
to believe that the final destruction of the place would be caused by an
earthquake.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when Bohun came down to the
boat, having been absent between three and four hours. His countenance
was lighted up with a smile of gayety, and his eyes sparkled as if he
had joyful news to communicate.
"Well, John," he shouted as he came within hail, "there has been an
arrival from Halifax, and a piece of important intelligence has been
received."
"Indeed, sir," said I, with a faltering voice, as from his cheerful
bearing I anticipated unfavorable tidings; "what is the character of the
news?"
"A desperate battle has been fought between the British frigate
Guerriere, and the American frigate Constitution. What do you think of
that?" added he, with a light laugh.
"Which gained the victory, sir?" said I, almost afraid to make the
inquiry.
"One of the frigates," said he, without replying to my question, "was
thoroughly whipped in short order and in handsome style, dismasted and
sunk, with one half of her crew killed and wounded, while the injury the
other received was hardly worth mentioning. Which do YOU think gained
the day?"
"The American frigate, of course," said I. "You are right, John,"
exclaimed Bohun with a laugh. "THE CONSTITUTION HAS SUNK THE GUERRIERE.
Brother Jonathan is looking up. He is a worthy descendant of John Bull.
I find you understand the character of your sailors better than I do."
After having imparted this interesting piece of intelligence, and
telling my shipmate and myself to remain by the boat until he should
return, which would be in a few minutes, he again walked nimbly up the
street, and was soon lost to sight.
As in duty bound we remained at the wharf in expectation of the return
of Bohun, but hour after hour passed and he did not return. He was
"enjoying life" among some boon companions, and over a decanter of good
wine, as he afterwards acknowledged, lost for a time all recollection of
the existence not only of the boat, but also of the sloop.
When the company broke up about nine o'clock in the evening, he came
staggering down the wharf, rolled himself into the stern seats of
the boat, and ordered us to shove off and pull towards the sloop. We
represented to him that the night was dark and cloudy, and it would
be next to an impossibility to find the sloop in the broad bay at that
hour; that the attempt would be attended with risk, and consequently it
would be wiser to wait until morning before we left the quay.
Our remonstrances were of no avail. He insisted on going off
immediately. Nothing, he said, would induce him to wait until morning;
he knew exactly where to find the sloop, and could steer the boat
directly alongside.
It was useless to argue with him, and we dared not disobey his orders.
The motto of Jack, like the submissive response of a Mussulman to an
Eastern caliph, is "To hear is to obey." We left the wharf and pulled
briskly out of the harbor. But no sloop was to be seen. We stopped for
a moment to reconnoitre, but Bohun told us to keep pulling; it was all
right; we were going directly towards her. In a few minutes he dropped
the tiller and sank down in the bottom of the boat, where he lay coiled
up like a hedgehog, oblivious to all that was passing around him.
By this time we were broad off in the bay; the lights in the town
glimmered in the distance, the stars shone occasionally through the
broken clouds, the wind was light, and the sea comparatively smooth. On
consultation with my shipmate, we came to the conclusion it was hardly
worth while to pull the boat about in different directions on a bootless
quest after the sloop. We also rejected the idea of returning to the
town. We laid in our oars, composed ourselves as comfortably as we could
beneath the thwarts, and with clear consciences resigned ourselves to
sleep.
We must have slept for hours when we were awakened by an unpleasant and
alarming noise. It was some minutes before we could recollect ourselves
and ascertain the cause of the hubbub. It proved to be the roaring of
the wind, the pattering of the rain, and the angry dash of the waves.
While we slept a severe squall had been gradually concocted among the
mountains, and now burst upon us in all its fury. How long the wind had
been blowing we did not know; but we did know we were some miles out to
sea in a cockle-shell of a boat, and rapidly drifting farther from the
land. No lights could be seen in any quarter; but all around was dark
and drear. We supposed that as a matter of course the wind blew from the
land, and therefore got out our oars and pulled dead to windward, thus
preventing further drift, and lessening our danger by laying the boat
head to the sea, which was now rapidly rising.
The squall continued for an hour after we were conscious of its
existence; we were thoroughly drenched, but exercise kept us warm; while
Bohun still maintained his snug position beneath the stern seats in a
happy state of unconsciousness of the jarring of the elements and the
peril to which he was exposed. The first streaks of dawn were hailed
with delight, and at broad daylight we beheld the sloop, which had been
driven to leeward during the night; and although eight or ten miles from
the land, she was not more than a couple of miles to windward of the
boat, and beating up towards the harbor. We awakened Bohun, whose
garments were saturated by the shower, and who seemed greatly amused
with our account of the night's adventure. The wind was fortunately
light, and by dint of hard rowing, we soon got near enough to the
Lapwing to make signals, and were recognized. The sloop then bore away
and ran down, and we were truly rejoiced, fatigued, wet, hungry as we
were, to stand again upon the deck.
Proceeding along to leeward of Martinico and St. Lucia, we came to St.
Vincent, an island about twenty miles in length from north to south,
which was chiefly remarkable at that time as being the only abiding
place of the once numerous and warlike tribe of the Caribs, who
inhabited the Windward Islands when the American continent was
discovered, and were doomed, like all other tribes of their race, to
wilt and die beneath the sun of civilization.
The Caribs, although described by historians as fierce and unpitying
cannibals of the lowest grade of human organization, undoubtedly
possessed moral and intellectual faculties by no means inferior to the
great body of American Indians; but, like the tribe of savages which
inhabited the island of Hispaniola, and other tribes on the continent,
they observed the custom of flattening their heads, which gave to their
features an unnatural and sinister expression, by no means calculated to
gain the good will and confidence of strangers. The head was squeezed,
soon after birth, between two boards, applied before and behind, which
made the front and back part of the head resemble two sides of a square.
This custom is still retained among the Caribs of St. Vincent.
The flattening of the head among the natives of Hispaniola was performed
in a different manner, and produced a different effect. The forehead
only was depressed, almost annihilating the facial angle, and swelling
the back part of the head out of all proportion. The early Spanish
settlers complained of this savage custom, as subjecting them to
much inconvenience. In the course of their HUMANE experiments, they
ascertained that, owing to the thickening of the back part of the
cranium caused by this process, the broadsword of the strongest cavalier
could not cleave the skull at a single blow, but would often snap off in
the middle without serious damage to the owner of the cranium!
When I passed along the shores of the island of St. Vincent, in 1810, I
was particularly struck with the wild and uncultivated appearance of the
northern section, a huge mountain, or combination of mountains, rudely
precipitous, covered with luxuriant vegetation even to the summit, but
containing deep chasms or gorges, down which sparkling streams were
rushing, forming numerous waterfalls, and all constituting a wild,
picturesque, and attractive landscape.
When I passed St. Vincent in the Lapwing, in October, 1812, a mighty
change had taken place. Every trace of vegetation had vanished from
this part of the island; not a tree or a shrub remained. The rivers
were dried up, and even the deep and dark chasms and gorges no longer
existed. Cinders and ashes covered the mountain sides, and beds of
lava were pouring down from the summit, and hissing as they entered
the ocean. On the 30th of April, about one month after the terrible
earthquake by which the city of Caraccas, three hundred and sixty miles
distant, was destroyed, and twelve thousand of the inhabitants buried
in the ruins, an eruption took place from an old crater on the summit of
this mountain in St. Vincent, at which for more than a century had shown
no symptom of life. The eruption was sudden and over whelming. Stones
and ashes were scattered over the island; vessels more than a hundred
miles to the eastward had their decks covered with cinders, and the
crews were terrified at the noises which attended this fierce ebullition
of the warring elements beneath the earth's surface. At St. Bartholomew,
distant from St. Vincent about three hundred miles, the explosions were
distinctly heard, and through the whole night were so continuous and
loud as to resemble a heavy cannonading from hostile fleets. Indeed, it
was believed for several days that a desperate action between English
and French squadrons had been fought within the distance of a few
miles. By this eruption the vegetation on the north part of the island,
comprising one third of the whole territory, was destroyed, and the soil
rendered sterile, being covered to a great depth with cinders and ashes.
All the lands in the immediate vicinity were also rendered unfit
for cultivation. What is remarkable, but few lives were lost. The
unfortunate Caribs, however, who comprised about one hundred families,
dwelt in this ungenial and unproductive district, and were driven from
their homes to find elsewhere and nearer to the habitations of the
whites, some desolate spot, shunned by all others, where they could
again set up their household gods.
Proceeding past St. Vincent we came to the Grenadines, a cluster of
small islands and rocks lying between St. Vincent and Grenada; two
of which only, Bequia and Curriacou, are of any importance. These two
islands are fertile, and produce a considerable quantity of cotton.
Others, although small, are cultivated; and the isle of Rhoude,
which lies within a few miles of Grenada, is in itself a large cotton
plantation. One of these islets, or, more properly speaking, isolated
rocks, lying not far from the shores of Grenada, and at a distance from
the cluster is remarkable as having been the scene of an event which
tradition seems to have carefully, if not faithfully, recorded. In
the obstinate wars between France and Holland, in the middle of the
eighteenth century, a Dutch frigate, commanded by a burly and brave
officer, a genuine fire-eater, especially when he had his "schnapps" on
board, was cruising under the lee of Grenada, and fell in with a large
ship, to which the frigate gave chase. The ship answered no signals,
but hoisted a white flag and fired a gun to windward, and was thus
recognized as a French frigate or heavy sloop-of-war.
Night was coming on, and the chase, with a pleasant breeze, stood on
a wind to the northward and eastward. The valiant "mynheer," whose
courage, by means of schnapps, had been screwed up to the sticking
point, made all sail after the enemy, and caused a double portion of
the stimulating article to be served out to his crew. Under this
invigorating influence he made a speech, in which he promised a rich
reward to all who would manfully assist in giving the enemy a double
dose of "donner and blitzen." He further promised that, to give his crew
a good chance to distinguish themselves, he would lay the ship alongside
the enemy, and fight the battle yard-arm and yard-arm. The gallant
crew gave three hearty cheers, and swore to do their duty as became the
countrymen of Van Tromp.
Darkness soon came on. The night was cloudy, and the wind was moderate.
The chase was lost sight of, though it was believed the Dutchman was
losing with the enemy hand over hand. The decks were cleared for action,
the deck lanterns lighted, the guns double-shotted, and men with eyes of
preternatural brilliancy stationed on the lookout.
Hours passed in anxious expectation, and another allowance of schnapps
was served out to keep up the spirits of the crew; when, to the great
gratification of every man on board, a lookout on the end of the flying
jib-boom shouted, "Sail, ho!" The chase was soon distinctly visible,
looming up, not like a speck, but like a LARGE BLACK SPOT on the dark
horizon. A bloody battle was now certain to take place, and mynheer,
combining discretion with valor, took in his light sails, and got his
ship into a condition to be easily handled..
The Frenchman was apparently lying to, waiting for his antagonist to
come up. He did not have long to wait. The Dutch frigate luffed up on
his weather quarter, ranged alongside within musket shot, and poured
in a tremendous broadside, then shooting ahead, peppered the astonished
enemy in a truly scientific manner. The frigate then wore short round
athwart the Frenchman's bows, sweeping his decks with another terrible
broadside. The Dutchman kept up the combat with a degree of courage,
energy, and spirit that was a marvel to behold; sometimes lying athwart
the enemy's wake and raking the decks with terrible effect; sometimes
crossing the bows and sending the devastating iron shower the whole
length from stem to stern; and sometimes lying bravely alongside, as if
courting, as well as giving, hard knocks; and displaying, under these
critical circumstances, specimens of seamanship and maneuvering which
would have commanded the admiration of the great DeRuyter himself.
But a combat fought with such desperation could not last forever. One
of the frigate's guns, being overcharged, burst, killing several men and
wounding others; and just as the first signs of daybreak were seen
in the east, the Dutchman hauled off to repair damages and count his
losses. The enemy apparently had not lost a spar, notwithstanding the
terrible hammering he had received, but continued doggedly lying to,
preserving, to the great indignation of his opponent, a most defiant
attitude.
When daylight shone on the scene of battle, and the doughty Dutchman,
having repaired damages, was ready to renew the combat, it suddenly
became manifest to every man on board the frigate who had the proper use
of his eyes, that the French ship-of-war which had so nobly sustained a
tremendous cannonading through the night, was neither more nor less
than A HUGE ROCK, which, with its head high above the surface, like the
Sail-rock near the island of St. Thomas, marvellously resembled a ship
under sail. The captain of the frigate rubbed his eyes on beholding the
unexpected vision, as much astonished as the chivalrous Don Quixote,
who, after an unsuccessful contest with a squad of giants, found his
enemies transformed into windmills. This rock was afterwards known
as rock Donner or Donnerock, and will stand forever an imperishable
monument commemorative of "Dutch courage."
The principal town in Grenada is St. George, which is situated on a
bay on the south-west side of the island, and is defended by heavy
fortifications. On arriving at the mouth of the harbor in the Lapwing,
we fell in with a large brig-of-war, called the Ringdove, and was
boarded before we came to anchor in the bay. When the boat from the
brig was approaching, it was strange to see the trepidation which seized
every one of our crew. Although all, with the exception of myself, were
in possession of genuine legal documents that should have served as
impregnable barriers against impressment, yet they had witnessed so many
facts showing the utter disregard of human or divine laws on the part
of the commanders of British ships-of-war when in want of men, that they
awaited the result of the visit with fear and trembling.
A lieutenant came on board and conversed pleasantly with the captain and
supercargo. The men were mustered and called aft to the quarter-deck,
and carefully scrutinized by the boarding officer. Our protections were
examined, but being printed or inscribed in the Swedish language, were
not read. Every thing appeared according to rule. The lieutenant looked
hard at me as John Lordick, and asked some questions of the captain, to
which the captain replied, "He is my brother," which seemed to settle
the matter. The boat returned on board the Ringdove, and I, as well as
the others, rejoiced in having eluded impressment in a man-of-war.
The sloop was brought to anchor, and the cook and myself were ordered
into the boat for the purpose of setting the captain and supercargo on
shore. We pulled around the principal fort, which is situated on a point
of land, and entered a beautiful land-locked harbor, or careenage,
where a number of vessels were lying at the wharves. The captain and
supercargo landed on one of these wharves, and the captain directed the
cook to accompany him to the market square for the purpose of procuring
fresh provisions; I was ordered to remain by the boat.
When the captain was gone, and I was left standing alone, my thoughts
again recurred to the subject of impressment, which had so completely
engrossed the minds of the crew that morning; and I thought to myself,
"Suppose some crafty, determined, unscrupulous officer of the Ringdove,
or some other British vessel, should be at this very time on shore,
lounging about the wharves, disguised as an inoffensive citizen, but
watching an opportunity to pounce upon a poor unfortunate fellow,
like myself, and bear him off in triumph, to become a victim of the
cat-o'-nine-tails at the gangway, or food for gunpowder." While I was
shuddering at the idea of such a climax to my adventures, I saw a
man coming towards me, whose countenance and demeanor aroused all my
suspicions. He was a thick-set, swarthy individual, with enormous black
whiskers and sparkling black eyes. He was dressed like a gentleman,
but I thought his garments hung loosely about him; indeed, his whole
appearance, in my eyes, was that of the leader of a press-gang or the
captain of a band of pirates. He eyed me closely as he advanced towards
me with what I conceived to be a regular man-of-war swagger. Being
driven to bay, I stood my ground firmly, and confronted him.
"Do you belong to the sloop which is anchored in the bay, my lad?"
inquired he, with a mild voice and pleasant smile, affected, of course,
to conceal his real intentions.
"Yes," was my rather curt reply.
"What is the name of the sloop?"
"Lapwing."
"Where does the Lapwing belong?"
"To St. Bartholomew."
"Where are you from last?"
"St. Bartholomew."
"Hum! What is the name of your captain?"
"James Lordick."
"Ah, James Lordick?" exclaimed he, with vivacity. "Indeed" Then
addressing me abruptly, he inquired, "Where do YOU belong?"
"Now for it," thought I to myself; "the time has come when I must plunge
headforemost into the sea of falsehood; so here goes." And I answered
boldly, "To Saba."
"To Saba? Do you, indeed?" And he gazed at me with his piercing eyes,
as if he could read my very soul. "To Saba. You belong to Saba? What is
your name?"
"John Lordick."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed my black-whiskered friend. "Are you REALLY
John Lordick, the brother of James? Good Lord! Who would have thought
it!"
Thus strongly appealed to, I felt unable to reply except by an
affirmative nod.
"So you are John Lordick? I heard you were dead. How the world is given
to lying! I should never have known you. You have changed amazingly
since I left Saba six years ago, John."
As this remark did not necessarily require any reply, I made none. I now
began to suspect that I was mistaken in the estimate of the character of
my interrogator that he was neither the captain of a band of pirates nor
the leader of a press-gang; and it being my first essay at carrying out
a system of falsehood, I was terribly frightened at the dilemma in
which I was involved. I lost my presence of mind, and instead of frankly
avowing the truth, as policy, as well as principle, would have dictated,
I came to the conclusion to stick by my story, and carry out the
deception to the end of the chapter. But my mortification, my confusion,
my chagrin, at being subjected to this unforeseen cross-examination, can
hardly be conceived. I envied the condition of the wretch standing
by the gallows with a noose around his neck. After a brief pause, my
tormentor continued "Do you recollect me?"
"No," said I, promptly; and glad of a chance to speak a little truth, I
added, "To the best of my knowledge, I never saw you before in my life."
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" My friend seemed greatly amused. "Can it be that I have
changed so much within a few short years? You knew me well enough once,
John, when I lived opposite your father's house. I am Lewis Brown." And
in a friendly, but somewhat patronizing manner, he held out his hand.
"Indeed," said I, grasping his proffered hand, "Lewis Brown! I never
should have recognized you."
"Yes," said Brown, "six years WILL make a change in one's appearance.
I should never have recognized you as John Lordick. How is your sister,
Bertha, and all the rest of the folks?"
"Well, quite well."
"Whom did your sister marry?"
"She is not married yet," said I.
"Not married yet! Why, she must be at least twenty years old. When I
left home, she was a beautiful girl even then a belle. Not married, and
in Saba! But she will be, soon, I suppose."
"Perhaps," said I.
"Ah! Ah! She is engaged, I see. Who is the happy man?"
"Indeed, I don't know," I exclaimed, wishing the inquisitive fellow at
the bottom of the Red Sea, with a twenty-four pound shot fastened to his
feet.
"What has become of your cousin, Mark Haraden? Is he as lively and
good-humored as ever?"
This Lewis Brown, delighted at having met with an old acquaintance,
seemed bent on getting all the information and gossip about his old
cronies, that chance had thrown in his way. Fearing I might perpetrate
some palpable absurdity in my fabulous statements, as in the case of my
"sister Bertha," I resolved to kill off all his friends and relations
in detail, without ceremony or remorse. And therefore I replied to the
question about Mark Haraden by saying,
"O! Mark was capsized by a squall while going in a boat from St. Martin
to St. Bartholomew with a load of sugar, and all hands were lost."
"Poor fellow! Poor fellow! I am sorry to hear this; but life's
uncertain. Where is Nicholas Ven Vert now?"
"Nicholas Van Vert? He happened to be at St. Kitts last year when the
yellow fever broke out there, and was attacked with it the day after he
reached home, and lived only three days."
"Indeed! Indeed! Well, we should all be prepared for whatever may
happen! How is old Captain Wagner as hale and hearty as ever?"
"The old man slipped and fell over a precipice on the north side of the
island a few weeks ago, and broke his neck."
"Good Lord! What a terrible mortality among my best friends in Saba! I
am almost afraid to inquire after my old flame, Julia Hoffner. What has
become of her?"
While I was considering in what way I should dispose of the fair and
interesting Julia, a grinning darkey, who had approached the wharf in
great haste, shouted, "Captain Brown, massa mate wants you on board,
right off, directly"
I felt grateful to the dark-complexioned youth for the seasonable
interruption, and secretly resolved that if it should ever be in my
power to do him a good turn, I would do it. Unfortunately for him, I
never saw him more.
Captain Brown seemed annoyed at the summons, and turning to me, said, "I
suppose I must go, John, but I'll be back in a minute. It's a real
treat to talk to a Saba man. But you have told me some sad news don't
go away." And the inquisitive gentleman walked off, looking as sad and
forlorn as if he had really "lost all his friends," and leaving me half
dead with terror lest my falsehoods should be detected, and perspiring
with remorse at having made such a rectangular deviation from the strict
line of truth.
I breathed more freely. I had obtained a respite from my sufferings. I
cast a searching look up the street, to see if the captain or the cook
was coming, and on finding no signs of aid from that quarter, I fairly
turned my back upon the boat, and ran off to some distance, where,
concealed behind an old building, I could, by peering round a corner,
note every transaction which took place on the wharf.
A few minutes only elapsed when the inquisitive Captain Lewis Brown
returned with hurried steps to the spot where our conference was held.
He seemed disappointed, and, I thought, somewhat hurt at not finding his
old acquaintance, John Lordick. He looked around inquiringly in every
direction, but apparently convinced that I had absconded, again walked
away, but this time slowly, as if pondering on the startling information
I had given him. Soon afterwards the cook came down loaded with
fresh provisions. He brought orders from the captain to go on board
immediately, and return for him at twelve o'clock.
At the hour appointed, the boat, with myself pulling the bow oar,
approached the wharf, where, to my confusion, I found Captain Lordick
in close conversation with my big-whiskered friend, Lewis Brown. That
gentleman gave me an angry look, but said not a word. It was clear that
Captain Lordick had betrayed the secret of my citizenship, and had given
him information in regard to his old friends and gossips, which differed
materially from my extemporaneous effusions; so that so far from being
rejoiced, as a reasonable man would have been, at finding his friends
alive and well, he seemed greatly provoked, and eyed me with the
ferocity of a cannibal on learning that they had not shuffled off this
mortal coil in the manner I had so feelingly described.
This gentleman proved to be the captain of a three-masted schooner,
which traded between Cumana and the Islands, bringing over cargoes of
mules. He had resided in Saba in early life and bore the reputation of a
worthy and respectable man. I saw him several times after our memorable
interview; but he always regarded me with a grim look, as if he owed me
a heavy grudge, and would rejoice in an opportunity to pay it off.