“Caramba!” the fellow shouted roughly in his native tongue.  “Stop there, you lazy niggers; don’t let that boat drift any closer.  Come, sheer off, or, by all the saints, I ’ll blow a hole clear through the black hide of one of you!”

“Hold her back, boy!” I muttered hurriedly to the willing slave.  “That soldier means to shoot.”

Then I held up a handful of our choicest fruit into view.

“I have got plenty vegetables, an’ lot fruit fer sell,” I shouted eagerly in negro French, putting all the volume possible into my voice, hopeful my words might penetrate the hidden deck above.  “Plenty ’tatoes, peaches, olibs—­eberyting fer de oppercers.”

“Don’t want them—­pull away, and be lively about it.”

It was a moment of despair, every hope suspended in the balance; my heart beating like a trip-hammer with suspense.  The thoroughly enraged guard lifted his gun to the shoulder; there was threat in his eyes, yet I ventured a desperate chance of one more word.

“I got de only olibs on dis ribber.”

“Bastenade!” yelled the infuriated fellow.  “I ’ll give you a shot to pay for your insolence.”

Even as he spoke, fumbling the lock of his gun, that same head observed before suddenly popped over the high rail like Punch at a pantomime.

“Vat zat you say, nigger?” its owner cried doubtingly.  “Vas it ze olif you haf zare in ze leetle boat?”

I eagerly held up into view a choice handful of green fruit, my eyes hopeful.

“Oui, Senor Oppercer—­fresh olibs; same as ob your lan’.”

The Spaniard was standing upright on the rail by this time, clinging fast to a rope dangling from above, leaning far over, no slight interest depicted upon his pinched, sallow countenance.

“It’s all right, sentry,” he said sharply to the soldier, who lowered his gun with a scowl indicating his real desire.  My newly found friend lifted his squeaking voice again in unfamiliar speech.

“Bring ze leetle boat along ze side of ze sheep, you black fellar, an’ come up here wiz ze olif fer ze Capitaine.”

“Scull in close against those steps, Alphonse,” I muttered, overjoyed at this rare stroke of good fortune.  “Then pull out a few strokes; but stay alongside until I come back.  Don’t let any one get aboard, and keep a quiet tongue yourself.”

The whites of his eyes alone answered me, he being too badly frightened for speech.  The situation was one to grate upon any nerves unaccustomed to danger, yet, trusting the long training of the slave would hold him obedient, I turned away, and, in another moment, had scrambled up the rope ladder, plunging awkwardly over the high rail on to the hitherto concealed deck.  My pulses throbbed with excitement over the desperate game fronting me, yet, with a coolness surprising to myself, I lost at that instant every sensation of personal fear, in determination to act thoroughly my assumed character.  More lives than one hung in the balance, and, with tightly clenched teeth, I swore to prove equal to the venture.  The very touch of those deck planks to my bare feet put new recklessness into my blood, causing me to marvel at the perfection of my own fool play.