We were now turned over into the receiving ship the old Spark, and fortunately there were captains enough in port to try us for the loss of the Torch, so we got over our court-martial speedily, and the very day I got back my dirk, the packet brought me out a lieutenant’s Commission. Being now my own master for a season, I determined to visit some relations I had in the island, to whom I had never yet been introduced; so I shook hands with old Splinter, packed my kit, and went to the wharf to charter a wherry to carry me up to Kingston. The moment my object was perceived by the black boat-men, I was surrounded by a mob of them, pulling and hauling each other, and shouting forth the various qualifications of their boats, with such vehemence, that I was nearly deafened. “Massa, no see Pam be Civil, sail like a witch, tack like a dolphin?” “Don’t believe him, massa; Ballahoo is de boat dat can beat him.” “Dam lie dat, as I am a gentleman!” roared a ragged black vagabond. “Come in de Monkey, massa; no flying fish can beat she.” “Don’t boder de gentleman,” yelled a fourth,--“massa love de stamp and go--no so, massa?” as he saw me make a step in the direction of his boat. “Oh yes--so get out of de way, you black rascals,”--the fellow was as black as a sloe himself--“make room for man-of-war buccra; him leetle just now, but will be admiral one day.” So saying, the fellow who had thus appropriated me, without more ado, levelled his head like a battering ram, and began to batter in breach all who stood in his way. He first ran a tilt against Pam be Civil, and shot him like a rocket into the sea; the Monkey fared no better; the Ballahoo had to swim for it; and having thus opened a way by main force, I at length got safely moored in the stern sheets; but just as we were shoving off, Mr Callaloo, the clergyman of Port Royal, a tall yellow personage, begged for a passage, and was accordingly taken on board. As it was high water, my boatmen chose the five foot channel, as the boat channel near to Gallows Point is called, by which a long stretch would be saved, and we were cracking on cheerily, my mind full of my recent promotion, when, scur, scur, scur, we stuck fast on the bank. Our black boatmen, being little encumbered with clothes, jumped overboard in a covey like so many wild-ducks, shouting, as they dropped into the water, “We must all get out,--we must all get out;” whereupon Mr Callaloo, a sort of Dominie Sampson in his way, promptly leaped overboard up to his waist in the water. The negroes were thunderstruck. “Massa Parson Callaloo, you mad surely, you mad!” “Children, I am not mad, but obedient--you said we must all get out” “To be sure, massa, and you no see we all did get out?” “And did you not see that I got out too?” rejoined the parson, still in the water, and somewhat nettled. “Oh, lud, massa! we no mean you--we meant poor nigger, not white man parson.”