We reached the brig’s side, and a surly voice hailed us. “Whatcher want?” it said, in the deep baritone of the typical Yankee bos’n.

“Hoot, ye Yankee,” cried Martin, “we’ve come visitin’, d’ye ken that? A-visitin’, an’, if ye be so hospitable as ye have no reason t’ be, we’re dommed welcome. If we ain’t, I’ll ask ye to show us cause why, an’ maybe I ken prove ye’re wrong by the strength o’ logic,” and he held up two brawny hands like the paws of a tiger.

“Well, I don’t keer to have no drunken louts aboard this here vessel,” said the fellow, leaning over the rail so that I could get a glimpse of him. “Ef yer got any money, sing out whatcher want. This here’s a honest trading-brig, an’ kin give ye all a good nip o’ prime American whiskey for a mighty low price.”

The man was quite uncommon-looking. He must have stood six feet six, and was as lean as a flagstaff. His face was lined and burned, as though used to a tropical sun, and his eyes were faded and yellow.

“Ye be a rare raskil, an’ that’s a fact,” said Martin. “Is there anything ye widna do for the coin? Bide a bit, and let us coom aboard. ’Tis liquor I crave for the sake of me system.”

We ran the dingey alongside and prepared to mount the channels to the deck, but, on looking up, we noticed the long man had not moved or spoken, but had drawn forth a huge horse-pistol, which he poked over the rail.

“Youst hold on a bit with that,” said Bill. “We know you’re a trader all right by the smell o’ yer. We ain’t no men-o’-war’s men, so what’s that got to do with us?”

The tall man looked thoughtfully along the barrel of the weapon, and then put it out of sight. “Wall, come up, then, if ye know the smell so well.”

Thus invited, we quickly made our way aboard, and lost no time in purchasing some of the “good American whiskey,” which turned out to be the worst stuff afloat.

All idea of changing ships left me as I stepped on deck. She was without doubt a slaver, bound out in the same rascally enterprise we were. But, as she carried the American flag, she was free from British men-of-war, and consequently less afraid of detection. For, although slaving was now a piracy, no British ship could take her without slaves aboard, and there were only two or three small American cruisers in the South Atlantic, and these were too slow to capture a very fast ship. I wondered why Hawkson allowed us aboard her, knowing well that we were almost sure to tell of our affairs. Then I remembered his request to note her armament and crew.

The latter we found just below the hatches, all armed to the teeth with pistols, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes, awaiting the word of their captain to spring on deck and defend their ship should occasion arise. Our boat was a suspicious object that the long skipper had been watching for some time, and believed there was some game behind our innocent call. The six little guns on each broadside were all loaded, and we found that she would clear just as soon as water could be brought aboard.

After the men--there were twenty-six in all--had put aside their arms and received us as companions, we had the usual sailors’ orgy before starting back. Yarns were told, and, if ever there was a crew of unhung rascals, these self-confessed villains would have formed them.

Martin seemed pleased at last to find men who stopped at nothing, and before he left was talking piracy, and begging some of the hardiest to join him. He was very drunk, however, and his railings were counted as little, but I knew that he was really speaking, as drunken men often do, from their inmost hearts. One great hulking fellow, with red whiskers, took a little with the scheme, and another man, an Italian sailor, looked a bit queer about the eyes when the Scot talked of gold. The long skipper heard nothing of their ravings, for, after allowing us aboard the vessel, he retired to the cabin, where his mates were waiting to see the outcome of the visit. When they saw we were really only four able-bodied men of a strange barque, their interest appeared to fade away entirely. We finally shoved off, dizzy and sick with the poison imbibed, myself thoroughly disgusted with the slaver’s crew, and Martin and Ernest inviting them to a meeting ashore.

Hawkson took me aside when we returned, and asked a few questions. My disgust for my countrymen was too apparent not to be noticed, and the mate evidently thought it safe to trust me now anywhere, for I was allowed ashore again that evening.

Our liberty crews were unique and grotesque. There was little care for desertion, evidently on account of Henry’s ability to get the deserters without trouble from any island where access to the mainland could only be had by some large vessel that could be easily seen. And, as we were mongrel in the extreme, there was much to be expected from mixture.

Bill declared he should get very drunk at once on the wine he had heard so much about but never had tasted, and Martin declared he would do anything a true Christian sailor might be expected to do. His chum, Anderson, was surly and fierce, on account of his recent ill-treatment aboard, and talked openly of killing any one of our officers he might meet on the beach. Watkins had gone in the captain’s gig to attend to getting fresh provisions for the after-guard, and the black Doctor came with us, for it was to be our last run ashore, as we would clear at once. The signal had been set and a gun fired for the crew on the Desertas, and all was ready again for our voyage. The goats’ and hogs’ meat would be ready to be pickled, and would be stowed at sea.

We landed on the beach, and a crowd of the strangely dressed natives offered to pilot us around to see the town of Funchal. The men wore tight knee-breeches, and their thin, bare legs sticking out of enormous boots looked remarkably queer. A pair of them insisted on joining us, in spite of Martin’s threat and the Doctor’s pugnacity, and, after a scuffle or two, we let them lead the way to town. Our other boats had rowed up.

Hawkson had detained only Jorg and a couple of Swedes aboard, and I wondered vaguely if it were well to be so short-handed should a British man-of-war rise above the horizon. I did not know whether or not we could be taken, for, although English built, we were evidently under Yankee Dan’s charter. Still there must certainly be considerable treasure aboard, in order to do the trading, and, if searched and captured, there was a strong probability of losing it.

We finally reached the sailors’ harbour, that is, a wine-shop, and because I had not forgotten the effects of the last carouse I had in Nassau, I refused to drink. The swinish crew insisted, and the Doctor wished to know why I would not drink with him.

“Disha nigger’s as good as any white man, an’, if I am a slave, I belong to er man wat’s er m-a-an, an’ he’s done quit drinkin’ milk. I never did think much of you nohow, an’ I kin lick yo’ fur tuppence, dat I kin,” said he, advancing and showing his ugly, sharp teeth.

There was no earthly use of starting a fight, and there was little glory in handling a man who was bound by law to submit to the white man’s will. I therefore left the crowd and went alone through the town, hoping to see something besides debauch.

I strolled through the quaint streets, attracting more or less attention, and somehow I found myself straying in the direction of the inn where Yankee Dan and his daughter were staying. Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of my appearance, for, although I rated a gunner, and therefore a petty officer, I was dressed but little better than an average sailor, and my linen, though put on fresh for the beach, was not what I wished it to be. I soon recognized the place, and looked to see Mr. Curtis around, but he was evidently with the captain and Dan, making a settlement for the spars we had shipped, and fixing the barque’s papers.

I caught sight of the flutter of a dress on the broad loggia, and then saw Miss Allen sitting there in the breeze. An unaccountable impulse made me stop and head directly toward her, for she was the only thing that relieved the coarseness and roughness of the life I had led aboard the barque.

“Good evening, Miss Allen,” I said, stopping just in front of her.

“Good evening, John,” she answered, kindly, as if addressing an old servant, and she smiled and laid aside her book.

The tone disturbed me. Had she shown any interest besides that for a hopelessly familiar chat from a superior point of view, I might have passed on and nothing would have happened. As it was, my spirit rose a bit.

“I am as well as any man can be who is fastened to a ship he would like to get clear of,” said I, and walked boldly upon the porch where she sat.

“I wonder you can get along anywhere with your amazing impudence,” she answered. “Can you tell me what you would have me do to alleviate your suffering? If papa saw you here talking to me like this, I think you would even care less for a voyage with him in The Gentle Hand.”

“Hang your--I was about to say your father,” I answered, “but as this fate is liable to overtake all the men concerned, it would be unwise to tempt Providence. I didn’t come here, however, to carry tales to his daughter.”

“Will you kindly state just what brought you, then? You are an American, John, and I’m interested in you to that extent.”

“That is most kind,” I answered, “and I will make it perfectly plain before I leave.” Here I drew up a chair, and sat quietly down at a respectful distance. Her eyebrows raised a trifle at this action, and her smile hardened a bit, but I was aroused now and I paid no further attention to mere details.