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- 5361
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 5296
- text
- with rum and dice. Upon the missionary islands, of course, such conduct
was severely punishable; and at various places, Mother Tot’s
establishment had been shut up, and its proprietor made to quit in the
first vessel that could be hired to land her elsewhere. But, with a
perseverance invincible, wherever she went she always started afresh;
and so became notorious everywhere.
By some wicked spell of hers, a patient, one-eyed little cobbler
followed her about, mending shoes for white men, doing the old woman’s
cooking, and bearing all her abuse without grumbling. Strange to
relate, a battered Bible was seldom out of his sight; and whenever he
had leisure, and his mistress’ back was turned, he was forever poring
over it. This pious propensity used to enrage the old crone past
belief; and oftentimes she boxed his ears with the book, and tried to
burn it. Mother Tot and her man Josy were, indeed, a curious pair.
But to my story.
A week or so after our arrival in the harbour, the old lady had once
again been hunted down, and forced for the time to abandon her
nefarious calling. This was brought about chiefly by Wilson, who, for
some reason unknown, had contracted the most violent hatred for her;
which, on her part, was more than reciprocated.
Well: passing, in the evening, where the consul and his party were
making merry, she peeped through the bamboos of the house; and
straightway resolved to gratify her spite.
The night was very dark; and providing herself with a huge ship’s
lantern, which usually swung in her hut, she waited till they came
forth. This happened about midnight; Wilson making his appearance,
supported by two natives, holding him up by the arms. These three went
first; and just as they got under a deep shade, a bright light was
thrust within an inch of Wilson’s nose. The old hag was kneeling before
him, holding the lantern with uplifted hands.
“Ha, ha! my fine counsellor,” she shrieked; “ye persecute a lone old
body like me for selling rum—do ye? And here ye are, carried home
drunk—Hoot! ye villain, I scorn ye!” And she spat upon him.
Terrified at the apparition, the poor natives—arrant believers in
ghosts—dropped the trembling consul, and fled in all directions. After
giving full vent to her rage, Mother Tot hobbled away, and left the
three revellers to stagger home the best way they could.
The day following our last interview with Wilson, we learned that
Captain Guy had gone on board his vessel for the purpose of shipping a
new crew. There was a round bounty offered; and a heavy bag of Spanish
dollars, with the Julia’s articles ready for signing, were laid on the
capstan-head.
Now, there was no lack of idle sailors ashore, mostly “Beachcombers,”
who had formed themselves into an organized gang, headed by one Mack, a
Scotchman, whom they styled the Commodore. By the laws of the
fraternity, no member was allowed to ship on board a vessel unless
granted permission by the rest. In this way the gang controlled the
port, all discharged seamen being forced to join them.
To Mack and his men our story was well known; indeed, they had several
times called to see us; and of course, as sailors and congenial
spirits, they were hard against Captain Guy.
Deeming the matter important, they came in a body to the Calabooza, and
wished to know whether, all things considered, we thought it best for
any of them to join the Julia.
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