But our little comedy was not yet over. Noon had not struck before the
"Dolphin" cast anchor within hail of the "Maria," and made so free as
to claim her for a prize! In the darkness and confusion of shipping
the twenty slaves who were first of all despatched in canoes, one of
them slipped overboard with a paddle, and sustained himself till
daylight, when he was picked up by the cruiser whose jaws we had
escaped during the night! The negro's story of our trick aroused the
ire of her commander, and the poor "Maria" was obliged to pay the
forfeit by revisiting Sierra Leone in custody of an officer.

There were great rejoicings on my return to New Sestros. The coast was
full of odd and contradictory stories about our capture. When the tale
of my death at Sierra Leone by drowning, in a fit of drunkenness, was
told to my patron Don Pedro, that intelligent gentleman denied it
without hesitation, because, in the language of the law, "_it proved
too much_." It was _possible_, he said, that I might have been
drowned; but when they told him I had come to my death by strong
drink, they declared what was not only improbable, but altogether out
of the question. Accordingly, he would take the liberty to discredit
the entire story, being sure that I would turn up before long.

But poor Prince Freeman was not so clever a judge of nature as Don
Pedro. Freeman had heard of my death; and, imbued as he was with the
superstitions of his country, nobody could make him credit my
existence till he despatched a committee to my factory, headed by his
son, to report the facts. But then, on the instant, the valiant prince
paid me a visit of congratulation. As I held out both hands to welcome
him, I saw the fellow shrink with distrust.

"Count your fingers!" said Freeman.

"Well," said I, "what for?--here they are--one--two--three--four--
five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten!"

"Good--good!" shouted the prince, as he clasped my digits. "White men
tell too many lies 'bout the commodore! White man say, John Bull catch
commodore, and cut him fingers all off, so commodore no more can
'makee book' for makee fool of John Bull!" Which, being translated
into English, signifies that it was reported my fingers had been cut
off by my British captors to prevent me from writing letters by which
the innocent natives believed I so often bamboozled and deceived the
cruisers of her Majesty.

During my absence, a French captain, who was one of our most
atte