th meat and soup, and in an instant the
doctor had a morsel between his fingers and brought his companion to
follow his example.

Now, in sober truth, this was no casual display got up for effect, but
the common routine of an establishment conducted with prudent
foresight, for the profit of its owners as well as the comfort of our
people. And yet, such was the fanatical prepossession of these
Englishmen, whose idea of Spanish _factories_ and _barracoons_ was
formed exclusively from exaggerated reports, that I could not satisfy
them of my truth till I produced our journal, in which I noted
minutely every item of daily expenditure. It must be understood,
however, that it was not my habit to give the slaves _meat_ every day
of the week. Such a diet would not be prudent, because it is not
habitual with the majority of negroes. Two bullocks were slaughtered
each week for the use of my _factory_, while the hide, head, blood,
feet, neck, tail, and entrails, were appropriated for broth in the
_barracoons_. It happened that my visitors arrived on the customary
day of our butchering.

* * * * *

A stinging appetite was the natural result of our review, and while
the naval guests were whetting it still more, I took the opportunity
to slip out of my verandah with orders for our harbor-pilot to report
the beach "impracticable for boats,"--a report which no prudent sailor
on the coast ever disregards. Meanwhile, I despatched a Krooman with a
note to the Bonito's captain, notifying that personage of the marine
hazard that prevented his officers' immediate return, and fearing they
might even find it necessary to tarry over night. This little _ruse_
was an _impromptu_ device to detain my inspectors, and make us better
acquainted over the African _cuisine_, which, by this time was smoking
in tureens and dishes flanked by spirited sentinels, in black uniform,
of claret and eau de vie.

Our dinner-chat was African all over: slavery, cruisers, prize-money,
captures, war, negro-trade, and philanthropy! The surgeon melted
enough under the blaze of the bottle to admit, _as a philosopher_,
that Cuffee was happier in the hands of white men than of black, and
that he would even support the institution if it could be carried on
with a little more humanity and less bloodshed. The lieutenant saw
nothing, even through the "Spiritual Medium" of our flagons, save
prize-money and obedience to the Admiral; while Don Te