Mr. Splinter agreed and presently Peter Mangrove went off in a canoe to a
large, shallow vessel, to reappear with another blackamoor, of as
ungainly an exterior as could well be imagined.

"Pray, sir, are you the master of that vessel?" said the lieutenant.

"No, sir, I am the mate; and I learn you are desirous of a passage to
Jamaica." This was spoken with a broad Scotch accent.

"Yes, we do," said I, in very great astonishment; "but we will not sail
with the devil; and who ever saw a negro Scotchman before?"

The fellow laughed. "I am black, as you see; so were my father and
mother before me. But I was born in the good town of Glasgow,
notwithstanding; and many a voyage I have made as cabin-boy and cook
with worthy old Jock Hunter. But here comes our captain. Captain
Vanderbosh, here are two shipwrecked British officers who wish to be put
ashore in Jamaica; will you take them, and what will you charge for
their passage?"

The man he spoke to was a sun-burnt, iron-visaged veteran.

"Vy for von hundred thaler I will land dem safe in de bay."

The bargain was ratified, and that same evening we set sail. When off
the San Domingo Gate two boats full of men joined us, and our crew was
strengthened by about forty as ugly Christians, of all ages and
countries, as I ever set eyes on. From the moment they came on board
Captain Vanderbosh sank into the petty officer, and the Scottish negro
took the command, evincing great coolness, energy, and skill.