affairs, I one day took the liberty to inquire whether there was a vessel in port bound to the Pacific Ocean or Mexico, in which my protector could possibly find a situation for me as an officer, or procure me permission to work my way even as a common sailor.
The kind grocer instantly divined my true motive, and while he honored me for it, deprecated the idea of my departure. He said that my visit, instead of being a burden, was a pleasure he could not soon replace. As to the expenses of his house, he declared they were, in fact, not increased. What fed five, fed half a dozen; and, as to my proposal to go to Mexico, or any other place in Spanish America on the Continent, with a view of “making my fortune,” he warmly protested against it, in consequence of his own experience.
“They can never conquer their jealousy of foreigners,” said Carlo; “you may live with them for years, and imagine yourself as intimate as brothers; but, at last, carramba, you will find something turn up, that marks you an alien and kindles nationality against you. Take my advice, Don Téodore, stay where you are; study Spanish carefully; get the hang of the people; and, my life on it, before long, you’ll have your hands full of trump cards and the game in your power.”
I did as he desired, and was presented to a corpulent old quiz of a padre, who pretended to instruct me in classical Castilian. Two lessons demonstrated his incapacity; but as he was a jolly gossip of my grocer, and hail-fellow with the whole village of Regla, I thought it good policy to continue his pupil in appearance, while I taught myself in private. Besides this, the padre was a bon vivant and devoted lover of fish. Now, as I happened to be a good sportsman, with a canoe at my command, I managed to supply his kitchen with an abundance of the finny tribe, which his cook was an adept in preparing. It may be supposed that our “fast days” were especial epochs of delicious reunion. A fine dinner smoked on the table; a good bottle was added by the grocer; and, while my entertainer discussed the viands, I contrived to keep him in continual chat, which, in reality, was the best practical lesson a man in my circumstances could receive.
It is strange how our lives and destinies are often decided by trifles. As I sailed about the harbor in idleness, my nautical eye and taste were struck by the trim rig of the sharp built “slavers,” which, at that time, used to congregate at Havana. There was something bewitching to my mind in their race-horse beauty. A splendid vessel has always had the same influence on my mind, that I have heard a splendid woman has on the minds of other men. These dashing slavers, with their arrowy hulls and raking masts, got complete possession of my fancy. There was hardly a day that I did not come home with a discovery of added charms. Signor Carlo listened in silence and nodded his head, when I was done, with an approving smile and a “bueno!”
I continued my sailing peregrinations for a month around the harbor, when my kind entertainer invited me to accompany him aboard a vessel of which, he said, he owned two shares—she was bound to Africa! The splendid clipper was one of the very craft that had won my heart; and my feverish soul was completely upset by the gala-scene as we drifted down the bay, partaking of a famous breakfast, and quaffing bumpers of Champagne to the schooner’s luck. When she passed the Moro Castle we leaped into our boats, and gave the voyagers three hearty and tipsy cheers. My grocer was a “slaver!”
I had a thousand questions for the Italian in regard to the trade, now that I found he belonged to the fraternity. All my inquiries were gratified in his usually amiable manner; and that night, in my dreams, I was on board of a coaster chased by John Bull.
My mind was made up. Mexico, Peru, South American independence, patriotism, and all that, were given to the breezes of the gulf. I slept off my headache and nightmare; and next morning announced to Cibo my abandonment of the Costa Firma, and my anxiety to get a situation in a vessel bound to Africa.
In a few days I was told that my wishes would perhaps be gratified, as a fast vessel from the Canaries was about to be sold; and if she went off a bargain, Signor Carlo had resolved to purchase her, with a friend, to send to Africa.
Accordingly, the Canary “Globo” was acquired for $3000; and after a perfect refitting at the Casa-Blanca of Havana, loomed in the harbor as a respectable pilot-boat of forty tons. Her name, in consequence of reputed speed, was changed to “El Areostatico;” a culverine was placed amidships; all the requisites for a slave cargo were put on board; fifteen sailors, the refuse of the press-gang and jail-birds, were shipped; powder, ammunition, and small arms, were abundantly supplied; and, last of all, four kegs, ballasted with specie, were conveyed into the cabin to purchase our return cargo.
It was on the 2d of September, 1826, after a charming déjeuner, that I bade farewell to my friend Carlo on the deck of the Areostatico, cleared for the Cape de Verd isles, but, in truth, bound for the Rio Pongo. Our crew consisted of twenty-one scamps—Spaniards, Portuguese, Frenchmen, and mongrels. The Majorcan captain was an odd character to intrust with such an enterprise, and probably nowhere else, save in Havana at that period, would he have been allowed to command a slaver. He was a scientific navigator, but no sailor;—afraid of his shadow, he had not a particle of confidence in his own judgment; every body was listened to, and he readily yielded his opinions without argument or controversy. Our chief officer, a Catalonian cousin of the captain, made no pretensions to seamanship, yet he was a good mathematician. I still remember the laughs I had at the care he took of his lily-white hands, and the jokes we cracked upon his girl-like manners, voice, and conversation. The boatswain, who was in his watch, assured me that he rarely gave an order without humming it out to a tune of some favorite opera.
In this fantastic group, I occupied the position of supernumerary officer and interpreter; but accustomed, as I had been, to wholesome American seamanship and discipline, I trembled not a little when I discovered the amazing ignorance of the master, and observed the utter worthlessness of our crew. These things made me doubly vigilant; and sometimes I grieved that I was not still in Regla, or on the paseo. On the tenth day out, a northwester began to pipe and ripen to a gale as the sea rose with it. Sail had been soon diminished on the schooner; but when I was relieved in my watch by the first officer, I hinted to the captain that it would be best to lay the vessel to as soon as possible. We had been scudding before the tempest for some hours under a close-reefed foresail, and I feared if we did not bring our craft to the wind at once, we would either run her under, or be swamped in attempting the manœuvre when the waves got higher. The captain, however, with his usual submission to the views of the wrong person, took the advice of the helmsman, who happened to be older than I, and the schooner was allowed to dash on either through or over the seas, at the speed of a racer.
By this time the forward deck was always under water, and the men gathered abaft the trunk to keep as dry as possible. Officers and crew were huddled together pell-mell, and, with our usual loose discipline, every body joined in the conversation and counsel. Before sundown I again advised the laying-to of the schooner; but the task had now become so formidable that the men who dreaded the job, assured the captain that the wind would fall as the moon arose. Yet, when the dim orb appeared above the thick, low-drifting scud, the gale increased. The light rather hinted than revealed the frightful scene around that egg-shell on the lashed and furious sea. Each wave swept over us, but our buoyant craft rose on the succeeding swell, and cleft its crest with her knife-like prow. It was now too late to attempt bringing her to the wind; still it became more urgent to do something to prevent us from being submerged by the huge seas, which came thundering after us like avalanches on our quarters.
The perilous dilemma of our doubtful captain and his dainty mate, may be easily imagined. Every body had an opinion, and of course they vied with each other in absurdity;—at last some one proposed to cut away the foresail, and bring her to the wind under bare poles.
I was “conning” the schooner when this insane scheme was broached, and fearing that the captain might adopt it, I leaped on the hatch, after calling the boatswain to my place, and assured the crew that if they severed the sail, we would lose command of
