University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Next morning about day-light I was awakened by
Wilson, who was already up and dressed. My uncle,
who likewise had been up some time, had issued orders
and the men were preparing the prisoners for marching.
This was done by tying two and two, together, with
ropes which were found in the cavern intended no doubt,
for a very different purpose. The booty was placed on
the mules, which were found rambling near the cave.

While every thing was hurry and activity amongst
them, arranging matters to be off as quick as possible, I
was no little amused with the squabbles which took place
between my uncle, his man Sambo, and the old Czarina.
He had associated them together to bring out the contents
of the cavern and the men placed it on the backs of
the mules, when brought forth. But Sambo and his
mate discharged their duty in a manner that was by no
means amicable. She was by far too slow, and testified
very clearly that she was unwilling to put forth all her
strength. My uncle stormed, Sambo gabbled, and the
old woman growled. After be-thee-ing and be-thou-ing
them till he was hoarse, he mounted his mule (which I
held by the bridle) and rode forward to take the command
of the prisoners in person, telling Wilson and myself
to take charge of the baggage, and ordering Sambo
to follow him.

Finding he gave no orders respecting the old woman,
I asked him “if she had not better go with Sambo?”

“Go with h—l,” said my uncle, giving his mule the
spur, “let the witch of Endor go with the baggage.”

As the care of her had devolved on me, I followed her
into the cave with a view to hasten her departure. Upon
entering it, I perceived her wrapping a cloth round something,
which she endeavoured to conceal.

“What is that you have there, old lady?” said I, “let
me see: perhaps it is something belonging to our people.”

“I don' know,” said she in broken English, and very
reluctantly handed to me an old-fashioned pocket book.

Upon looking on the outside, I discovered “W. Hunter,”
in large gilt letters. A thought struck me that it
might contain something relative to my unhappy parents,
but not having time to examine it then, I told her
that it belonged to one of the prisoners, and that I would
take care of it myself—desired her to set out forthwith.
Coming out of the cave, I gave the word to march, Wilson,
myself, and old Tanfaronado bringing up the rear.

My uncle and the prisoners by this time were nearly
out of sight. It became necessary therefore for us to
move forward briskly or be left behind. The distance
to the sea-shore was supposed to be about two miles, and
the track (no road being in the case) the most difficult
that could be conceived, passing over barren fragments
of rocks, which rendered it almost impossable for any
thing but a mule to travel it. Although Wilson and I
were well armed with each a brace of pistols and musket,
and every man of our party likewise carrying a loaded
musket, yet I was not altogether free from apprehension
of danger, had we been attacked in this narrow defile,
even by an inferior force of those desperadoes. I could
not, however, forbear laughing at our heroine, who
walked (or hobbled rather) Indian-file between Wilson
and me. She had improved her appearance considerably
from what it was the preceding evening. She had not
indeed pulled off the old green, but she had thrown over
it a very fresh looking brown bombazette. On her feet
she had a huge pair of leather shoes which made a noise,
as they came in contact with the stones, something like
that produced by the pestles of a powder mill.

A checkered handkerchief was tied on her head, and
over this an old fur hat, which had once been black, but
was now a dirty red. Her face I would suppose she had
attempted to wash, as it was now a kind of dapple-grey,
whereas, the previous evening it was rather bordering
on a black tan.

I proposed to Wilson that “as he used to be a gallant
among the ladies, he ought to assist her over the rough
places, as she would never be able to keep up with the
mules.” He turned round, after laughing his very soul
out, and replied,

“That he would be sorry to deprive me of that pleasure.”

Finding that he declined the pleasure, as he termed
it, I took hold of old Fille-de-sham's hand, to assist
her; she turned her one eye upon me, and regarded me
with something like a dubious look, but whether her
sensations were those of pleasure or dislike, I could not
discover.

Notwithstanding my assistance and her own exertions,
we began to fall considerable behind. I asked her “if
she could ride?” she replied by shaking her head, intimating
that she could not. “You must try it,” said I,
and calling to the men to halt, I directed them to “bring
one of the mules, that was least incumbered with baggage,
and put the old lady on.”

She shook her head in disapprobation, but I ordered
them to “hoist her on,” telling them to “tie her to the
pack, if she could not stick on without.” Accordingly
one of them lifted her on the mule, which she bestrode,
(I suspect) in imitation of my uncle.

As she was probably ignorant of the mode practised
by our modern belles in the art of riding, we told her
that all she had to do now, was to hold fast. It was
laughable enough to see her bend forward to catch hold
of the baggage, while the mule trotted forward to overtake
its companions.

A little time brought us in view of the ship. The
prisoners were already under escort in the long-boat—
They having been disposed of, the boat returned, and in
a few minutes every thing was on board.

The pirates' vessel being lighter than ours, we took
her in tow, hoisted sail, and stood for Havanna, keeping
a south west course. The wind being unfavourable, we
did not arrive there until the evening of the fifth day,
though it was, as we supposed, but two days sail.

In the course of the day I related to my uncle, in detail,
the misfortunes ef my family, and likewise my long
imprisonment in Mexico.

“Poor boy,” said he, “thou hast had a boisterous
voyage, indeed; but thou hast found a better haven than
my Eliza and my little Thomas—poor things!—they—

found—a watery grave—” said he, sobbing, with his
handkerchief held to his face. This sudden effusion
affected me deeply, and it was sometime before I could
reply.

The old man wept like a child, and the tender-hearted
Wilson melted into tears. We were, all three, sitting
by ourselves in the cabin.—After the old man's feelings
had subsided, I enquired how it happened that his wife
and child were drowned—he told me thus:

“In consequence of his frequent voyages to the East
and West Indies, he had acquired considerable property;
and being present at a sale of some valuable property in
St. Domingo, he purchased it very low.—Being tired of
the sea he resolved to settle himself for life. He accordingly
married the daughter of an English gentleman,
to whom he had been long attached.

“Her parents, who lived in the Island, approving the
match, was the cause that led him to settle in that Island.
They were wealthy, and she was their only child.
He cultivated his plantation with great success, and was
fast increasing in wealth.

“At the end of two years his wife blessed him with a
beautiful boy. This was a circumstance of great joy,
not only to him, but to her parents—But alas! how vain
are earthly joys! When his dear babe was a year old,
he fitted out a vessel to go to Liverpool, freighted principally
with the joint productions of his own plantation,
and that of his father-in-law's.

“Both families wanted several articles of necessity,
amongst which was a large assortment of furniture. It
was therefore settled between them that my uncle should
go and dispose of the cargo and lay in the articles.”

“I left my Eliza, and her little son at her father's,
and set sail for England—and that was the last—”

His emotion overcame him, again. To divert his
mind I called Sambo to prepare coffee and tea, as it drew
near supper-time, and bid him bring a bottle of his best
—as I wanted something to raise my spirits.

“Here, take the keys, and bring it out of the red
case,” said my uncle.

“Ah, massa, you mean de green case, I know!”

“Well, go—thou knowest better than I; get every
thing that Charles wants.”

Happening at this moment to make some remark to
Sambo, about the old woman, which my uncle over-hearing,
desired him to call her before him. When she appeared,
my uncle interrogated her about her birth, parentage,
marriage, and not forgeting, the loss of her eye.
After a good deal of questioning we understood that she
was a native of Barbadoes, and had lost her eye in resisting
her husband, in a scuffle. My uncle, after making
his usual caustic remarks, turned to me—

“Charles, get the old hag a passage to Barbadoes, first
thing thee does, and put her aboard after night; say that
she goes to see her friends.—No one will be asking about
such a sooty craft as she be.”

Supper being now ready, and fearing my uncle would
enter upon the melancholy subject of his wife and child,
I observed, as we sat down to it, “that we ought to have
Horton up next.”

“Yes,” said my uncle, “and Hunter too; he shall
make restitution to thee before I'm done with him. Sambo,
go and tell Ferguson to come hither.”

When Ferguson appeared, “Well, (said my uncle)
hast thou got them fellows well secured?”

“I have, sir.”

“Hast been at supper?”

“I have not, sir.”

“Take some brandy, and sit thee down. Sambo, attend
here.—Friend thee must take a guard and bring up
Hunter, and tell Horton to come. I believe he's not a
whit better; but then, as for that we will say nothing—
He has been the means of saving—

“Why, boy, thee don't drink—thee made such a fuss
about raisin' thy spirits, Charles. I understand thee,
thou'lt think to get me fuddled again—come on, hand the
bottle to these youngsters Oh, yes, there's a chip o'
the old block—thou needn't be winking at each other.—
Faith! thou shalt each drink his glass: no cheating
above board.”

After swallowing the whole of my glass, I begged off,

observing, “that after disposing of Hunter, I would
obey him in all lawful commands.”

“Yes, but thou art a cunning dog after all, to qualify
thy obedience with a salvo—but Dick Jinkins shall be
here to see fair play; and thou come too, Ferguson, thou
must come and sing. Dick is a fine fellow—and as for
this Mr. Sly Boots, (looking at Wilson) that plagued
the old woman about her nose,[1] I warrant he's got more
in his head than a body thinks, though he looks as if butter
wouldn't melt in his month”

Supper being ended, Ferguson hastened to execute his
orders.

“Take these things away, Sambo, (said my uncle,)
and lay my sword and pistols on the table.

Although it could not be improper to make this display,
yet I determined to suffer no bloodshed. The
rattling of chains announced the approach of Hunter.
Horton, who went at large, entered first. Hunter followed,
looking rueful enough.

“Take off his fetters. Horton, where art thou, stand
forth. Well, Hunter, what do'st think ought to be done
to thee? Go off to the guard, none need stay but Ferguson.
Speak villain, what do'st deserve?”

“Oh, bless you sir, don't ask me any questions. I
am a wretched man! Take my life, take all I have, but
ask me nothing.”

Hunter, no doubt, was aware that this was the surest
plan he could have fallen upon to soften my uncle. Had he
not humbled himself as he did, he would very probably
have received some rough usage, if not from my uncle,
he would from me.

How differently do we act, when it comes to the test,
from what we resolve. The wretched appearance of this
man, and the humble style in which he addressed my uncle,
effectually disarmed his noble soul.

“Take my life—take all I have!” Nothing more was
in his power to grant; no other retribution could we
ask. Had I met Hunter in any other situation, a sense

of my wrongs, a sense of the injuries he had done my
family, might have urged me to some act of desperation;
but when I beheld the wretch penitent, and completely in
my power, I had no other feelings than those of pity.—
My uncle, however, grew warm as the conversation between
him and Hunter advanced.

“Take thy life! forsooth, it's not worth taking! Would
such a life as thine signify aught, d'ye see, for the robberies
and murders thou hast committed? Look at this
young man, (pointing to me) do'st thou know him?”

Hunter lifted his eyes slowly upon me, (they had hitherto
rested on the floor) and said,

“I think it is young Burlington.”

“Wouldst thy life, or ten thousand such worthless
lives as thine, and ten thousand times all that thou hast
robbed from honest men, indemnify him for the murder
of his parents? Take all that thou hast! thou hast nothing
but what thou hast stolen and robbed from others—
Thou murdered this young man's father and mother;
thou murdered my brother, and thou wert within an ace
o' murdering his son:—Thou monster of blood, thou art
not fit to die, nor fit to live! Where's the bonds that
thou suborned Horton, here, to steal from my brother?”

Hunter raised his eyes, for the second time, from the
floor, to look at Horton, wishing as I thought, to adapt
his answer agreeably to what he might discover in Horton's
countenance.

“Answer me, villian: or by heavens—” laying his
hand on his pistol as he spoke.

“I destroyed them,” said Hunter.

“Arn't thee the blackest villain upon earth?—Thou
hast done nothing but rob, steal, and murder, since thou
wert born. Thou ought to have been hung at ten years
old: there's no calculating thy wickedness—Thou'st betrayed
thy trust to Mrs. Blarney Hasset, or whatever
may be her name.

“Like a thief thee stole the woman's goods that she
trusted thee with. If thy soul had not been as black as
h—ll, thee would have refunded the money to her for
which thee sold them.[2] Charles, look in my Escritoir

and bring me from thence the pen and ink and some paper.
Now sir, sit down and make an inventory of all
thou hast; and by heaven, if thee prevaricates one jot or
tittle, thee may guess the consequence. Give him a glass
o' brandy, poor d—l! I hates the very sight of him.”

Hunter looked, as may be imagined, just like one who
is going to be hung. He turned off the brandy, however,
and took the pen in his hand, without asking any
questions, and began to make out a schedule of his property.

I waited on my uncle with a decanter of good old
London particular, begging him to resume his good humour,
and reminding him of his promise to have Dick
Jinkins up to sing.

“Oh, you rogues, you just think to trip me up, d—l
a drop will I drink till thee, and what's his name, there,
pledge—”

Hunter interrupted by observing that his hand was so
much injured by the fetters that he could not write.

“Charles, my son, sit down and make it out exactly
as he tells thee.”

While Hunter and I were engaged at the inventory,
Wilson undertook to keep my uncle in chat.—Indeed it
was the first opportunity they had had of conversing together
since their acquaintance, being constantly engaged.

“Hal, (said he to Wilson) I can never think o' thy
'tother name, give that poor d—l another glass of
wine, (meaning Hunter)—Ferguson, help thyself, and
let Horton join thee—Come boys, we are not long to be
together—a few days more.”

By the time I had completed the schedule my uncle
began to be pretty good humoured—I mean what the
sailors call half-seas-over. I handed him the inventory,
which (with spectacles on) he mumbled over, partly to
himself.

“Two—hou—es lots—in New-York—House—in
Boston—Stock—Goods—forth—Humph, thou
writest s-such a hand—Who, think ye, can read it?”

“I will read it over for you,” said I, and taking the

paper, I ran it over. When I had done he asked me
if that would be enough to pay what Hunter owed me.

“Undoubtedly sir, it will, if he owns what he herein
states to be his.”

“Well, count the interest boy, thee understands figures
I suppose; thy father was the best boy in school at
figures; for my own part I never learnt further than the
rule o' three. How much was the bonds?”

“As well as I recollect sir, they were four thousand
pounds.”

“What sayest Hunter, is that right?”

“I believe it is, sir.”

“No believes about it, speak positively, sir.—What
was the amount?

“Charles, thee knows boy how long it is; thee can
count the interest at thy leisure. Do'st think it will
make thee whole?”

“I think it will sir, if, as I observed to you before,
he has given in a true inventory.”

“By the G—d of Abraham, if he has equivocated a
single iotim I'll make his head twirl on the floor like a
top. Do'st see this sword friend, look at it, thinkest
could take off thy head at one stroke?”

Hunter made no reply to the last question, but
observed—

“That if the property in the inventory was not sufficient
to pay the debt, he (my uncle) had enough in his
hands to make up the deficiency.”

I was sorry to hear this, knowing that he could mean
no other than the treasure found in the cave, and that
my uncle, as he had stated to me, determined to deliver
over to the Governor of Havanna.

Fearing the effect this observation would have upon
him, whose high sense of honour would not brook the indignity
of the insinuation, I intended to reply to Hunter
myself, thinking to obviate the consequence. But before
Hunter finished the sentence, my uncle, who was deliberately
taking a pinch of snuff, with eyes nearly closed,
no sooner heard the drift of Hunter's reply, than his
eyes flew open to double their ordinary magnitude.

“What's that, friend? I have enough in my hands!

What have I in my hands, pray? what does the fellow
mean?”

“If you mean the money found on the pirates, (said
I, taking up the subject) my uncle has no claims, whatever,
on that, it belongs to those for whom he undertook
the expedition—It belougs to the Governor of Havanna.”

“And do'st think, thou piratical scoundrel, that I'd
touch the spoil of blood? If 'twas in my power, I
should expect the ghosts of those thou hast murdered
would devour me—would expect that God Almighty
would send his thunderbolts against me. It would
canker in my pockets, it would; but what signifies talkin'
to the d—l incarnate? Take him out of my sight,”
said my uncle, exhausted with rage.

It would have fared much worse with Hunter had the
old gentleman known the extent of his villainy towards
my father. It was not in his purloining the bonds only,
that Hunter acted the villain; this, perhaps, my father
would hardly have felt. It was his secreting his own
property, and thereby bringing a host of creditors upon
the firm, by which my father's property was sacrificed
to pay his debts.

Had my uncle have known this, and also that he had
raised Hunter from the most abject poverty, and advanced
goods and money to the amount of four thousand
pounds, for which those bonds above mentioned, were
executed; and four thousand pounds at that time were
equal to eight thousand, and perhaps more, at this time,
I am inclined to think the old man would not have awaited
the invalidity of the inventory, to hazard the strength
of the sword.

I was much relieved by the departure of Hunter, being
grieved to see my uncle disturbed on my account.—
The good old man ordered his servant to take him a bed,
—a bottle of wine, together with coffee and sugar.

“Friend, (said he to Ferguson) see that Hunter wants
nothing, d'ye hear, and don't iron him. When thee returns,
bring Dick with thee; he's one of your topping
fellows: he and I have seen hard times together.”

I took the opportunity of our being alone, to acquaint

my uncle of the relation in which Wilson stood in our
family, giving him to understand that an union between
him and my sister was intended.

This confidence he well merited, independently of
any other other consideration; but my motive in making
this disclosure at this time, was designed as a prelude
to secure his consent to a request I intended to make,
for leave to accompany Wilson through Tennessee. As
soon therefore, as Ferguson withdrew, I took Wilson by
the hand, and led him to my uncle—

“Sir, (said I) you behold in this young man another
nephew.”

“How—don't understand?”

“He has been engaged to your niece a number of
years, and is now on his way to consummate the nuptials.”

The old man eyed him sometime in silence, surveying
from head to foot, as if he had seen him for the first
time, at length seizing Wilson's hand, in a transport he
exclaimed,

“Why, him—him—Boy—Why didn't—thee t-tell—
me before?—Ah, thou'rt a sly rogue! I've a great mind
thou shan't have my niece, just to plague thee.”

I alleged in excuse our perpetual engagements since we
met, and this was the first opportunity we had had. The
cabin door opened, and Ferguson and Dick Jinkins entered,
followed by Sambo.

“Ah, old fellow, glad thou art come—just thinking o'
old times; take some o' the kill-grief, and pray thee give
us old lang-syne. Sambo get thy violin and strike in
with the chorus.” and pulling Wilson down on the seat,
which I had purposely placed by him, he observed, “thou
shall sing too, never stir if thou shan't all sing. Charles
thee see there's plenty to drink—stop, (said he) we ought
to give them poor fellows something, it'll go hard
enough with them; they are christian people, d'ye see,
like ourselves. Charles, order the dogs a gill of rum
apiece.”

Though I approved this mark of hospitality in my uncle,
yet I by no means coincided in opinion with him,
that they were christians. Ferguson and myself set

out to execute this order, and upon our return were obligedto
join the music party, which had already advanced to
the second stanza of old-lang-syne.

Sambo, who touched the bow with much skill, turned
his melting eyes upon me, as if to challenge my approbation.
Jinkins really sung with a great deal of taste;
he appeared to be my uncle's right hand man, and one of
your noble looking men, he was about five feet nine,
dressed in a short green broadcloth coat, with narrow
lace, and under it a rich Brussel's vest. His hair and
sparkling eyes were black; his manners easy and graceful;
he was about twenty-three years of age; his features
regular; his complexion, originally fair, was sun-burnt;
his countenance very pleasing, and the very index of humour.

To old lang-syne succeeded “Mary I believe thee
true,” and “Larry O Brien,” &c. &c. After we were
tired of singing Dick Jinkins produced his flute, and accompanied
by Sambo, gave us Robin Jones, Jolly Tar,
Nancy Dawson, and a variety of airs, which were favourites
of my uncle, until the old man, who had been
nodding sometime, thought it was bed time, and saying
“we might sit up and amuse ourselves as long as we
chose,” called Sambo to help him into his hammock.

After chatting awhile with Jinkins, whom I found intelligent
and and amusing, we also betook ourselves to
our hammocks. We invited Jinkins to sleep with us;
but he declined, observing “that his presence was indispensable
elsewhere,” intimating the confidence reposed
in him by his patron—He and Ferguson therefore bid us
good night, and we went to bed very nearly whole-seas-over.