I slept soundly that night; but the sun was not clear of the forest when I hobbled on deck in my shackles, and was searching the seaward horizon for my beloved Castilian. Presently the breeze began to freshen, and the tall, raking masts of a schooner were seen gliding above the tops of the mangroves that masked the Rio Pongo’s mouth. Very soon the light wind and tide drifted her clear of the bends, and an anchor was let go within musket shot of my prison, while springs were run out to the bushes to give range to her broadside. I saw at once, from her manoeuvres, that Ormond had communicated with the craft during the night.

BrulÔt felt that his day was over. The Spaniard’s decks were crowded with an alert, armed crew; four charming little bull-dogs showed their muzzles from port holes; while a large brass swivel, amidships, gave token of its readiness to fight or salute. For a minute or two the foiled Frenchman surveyed the scene through his glass; then, throwing it over his shoulder, ordered the mate to strike off my “darbies.” As the officer obeyed, a voice was heard from the Spaniard, commanding a boat to be sent aboard, under penalty of a shot if not instantly obeyed. The boat was lowered; but who would man her? The chief officer refused; the second declined; the French sailors objected; the Creoles and mulattoes from St. Thomas went below; so that no one was left to fulfil the slaver’s order but BrulÔt or myself.

“Bien!” said my crest-fallen cock, “it’s your turn to crow, Don TÉodore. Fortune seems on your side, and you are again free. Go to the devil, if you please, mon camarade, and send your imps for the slaves as soon as you want them!”

By this time the Spaniard had lighted his matches, levelled his guns, and, under the aim of his musketry, repeated the order for a boat. Seeing the danger of our party, I leaped to the bulwarks, and hailing my deliverer in Spanish, bade him desist. The request was obeyed as I threw myself into the yawl, cut the rope, and, alone, sculled the skiff to the slaver.

A shout went up from the deck of my deliverer as I jumped aboard and received the cordial grasp of her commander. Ali-Ninpha, too, was there to greet and defend me with a chosen band of his people. While I was absorbed in the joy of welcome and liberation, the African stole with his band to the Frenchman’s boat, and was rapidly filling it to board the foe, when my clerk apprised me of the impending danger. I was fortunate enough to control the enraged savage, else I know not what might have been the fate of BrulÔt and the officers during the desertion of his mongrel and cowardly crew.

The captain desired his mates to keep an eye on the Gaul while we retired to the cabin for consultation; and here I learned that I was on board the “Esperanza,” consigned to me from Matanzas. In turn, I confirmed the account they had already heard of my mishap from the Mongo’s messengers; but hoped the Cuban captain would permit me to take pacific revenge after my own fashion, inasmuch as my captor—barring the irons—had behaved with uncommon civility. I had no trouble, of course, in obtaining the commander’s assent to this request, though he yielded it under the evident displeasure of his crew, whose Spanish blood was up against the Frenchman, and would willingly have inflicted a signal punishment on this neutral ground.

After these preliminaries, Captain Escudero and myself returned to the “La Perouse” with two boat-loads of armed followers, while our approach was covered by the cannons and small arms of the “Esperanza.” BrulÔt received us in moody silence on the quarter-deck. His officers sat sulkily on a gun to leeward, while two or three French seamen walked to and fro on the forecastle.

My first command was to spike the vessel’s guns. Next, I decreed and superintended the disembarkation of the stolen slaves; and, lastly, I concluded the morning call with a request that BrulÔt would produce the five hundred doubloons and his “promissory note” for two hundred slaves!

The fatal document, duly indorsed, was quickly delivered, but no persuasion or threat induced the angry Gaul to show his gold, or a manifest of the cargo.

After ample indulgence, I despatched a man to seek his writing-desk, and discovered that six hundred doubloons had in reality been shipped in St. Thomas. Of course, their production was imperiously demanded; but BrulÔt swore they had been landed, with his supercargo, in the neighboring Rio Nunez. I was near crediting the story, when a slight sneer I perceived flickering over the steward’s face, put me on the qui vive to request an inspection of the log-book, which, unfortunately for my captor, did not record the disembarkation of the cash. This demonstrated BrulÔt’s falsehood, and authorized a demand for his trunk. The knave winced as the steward descended to bring it; and he leaped with rage as I split it with a hatchet, and counted two hundred and fifty Mexican doubloons on the deck. His cargo, however, proved to be a sham of samples.

Turning innocently to Escudero, I remarked that he must have been put to considerable trouble in rescuing me from this outlaw, and hoped he would suffer his men to be recompensed for their extra toil under the rays of an African sun. I would not venture to judge the value of such devoted services; but requested him to fix his own price and receive payment on the spot.

Escudero very naturally supposed that about two hundred and fifty Mexican ounces would compensate him to a fraction, and, accordingly, the two hundred and fifty shiners, glistening on the deck, forthwith returned to their bag and went overboard into his boat.

“Adieu! mon cher,” said I, as I followed the gold; “la fortune de guerre has many phases, you see; how do you like this one? The next game you play on the coast of Africa, my chicken, recollect that though a knave can take a trick, yet the knave may be trumped before the hand is played out!”