We all kept looking out for some time, but she did not reappear. The
mate seemed to breathe more freely, and I must say that I was glad to be
rid of the near neighbourhood of the mysterious stranger. When morning
broke, she was nowhere to be seen. Whenever, during that and the
following days, a sail appeared anywhere abaft the beam, till her rig
was ascertained, it was instantly surmised that she was the felucca
coming back to overhaul us. Even the mates did not seem quite
comfortable about the matter; and the captain was a changed man. His
usual buoyant spirits had deserted him, and he was silent and
thoughtful. I could not help thinking that Peter's surmises were
correct.
At last we brought up once more in Port-Royal Harbour. Having landed
our passengers, and discharged our cargo, we sailed again for Morant
Bay, Saint Thomas's, and other places along the coast, to take in a
freight of sugar, which was sent down in hogsheads from the plantations
in the neighbourhood.
We were rather earlier than usual, and we had some time to wait till the
casks were ready for us. On one of these occasions the captain was
invited by a planter, Mr Johnstone by name, to pay him a visit at his
farm, which was some way up the country. In that climate every
gentleman has a servant to attend on him; and all the planters, and
others who live there, always have negroes to help them to wash and
dress in the morning, to put on their stockings, and all that sort of
thing. As the captain had no black fellow to wait on him, he told me
that he should want me to accompany him, and I was too glad to have a
chance of seeing something of the country. Meantime, to collect our
freight faster, he had chartered a schooner which was lying idle in the
harbour, and sent her round to the various smaller ports to pick it up,
and to bring it to the brig. He had put her under charge of Mr Gale,
who had with him Peter Poplar and several other of our men, and also a
few blacks, who were hired as seamen.
I thought it very good fun when I found myself once more on a horse; I
had not got on the back of one since I was a little boy in Dublin, and
then, of course, there was no saddle nor stirrups, and only an old rope
for a bridle. They are generally razor-backed beasts, with one or two
raws, and blind, at least, of one eye. The captain was mounted on a
strong Spanish horse well able to bear him, and I followed on a frisky
little animal with his valise and carpet-bags.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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