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.
