“You rascal!” exclaimed I, rising up, “so you have compromised me; why I shall lose my commission if found out.”
“No, sar; nobody wrong but de smuggler; dey make a lilly mistake; case you brought to court-martial, I give evidence, and den I clear you.”
“But what must we do with the tubs, Cockle?” said I, appealing to him.
“Do Bob?—why they are a present—a very welcome one, and a very handsome one into the bargain. I shall not keep them, I pledge you my word; let that satisfy you—they shall be fairly entered.”
“Upon that condition, Cockle,” I replied, “I shall of course not give information against you.” (I knew full well what he meant by saying he would not keep them.)
“How I do, Massa Cockle,” said Moonshine, with a grave face; “I take um to the Custom-house to-night or to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow, Moonshine,” replied Cockle; “at present just put them out of sight.”
I did not think it prudent to make any further inquiries; but I afterwards discovered that the smugglers, true to their word, and still in error, continued to leave six tubs in old Cockle’s garden whenever they succeeded in running a cargo, which, notwithstanding all our endeavours, they constantly did. One piece of information I gained from this affair, I found that the numbers of the cargoes which were run compared to those which were seized during the remainder of the time I was on that station, was in the proportion of ten to one. The cargoes run were calculated by the observations of old Cockle, who, when I called upon him, used to say very quietly, “I shouldn’t wonder if they did not run a cargo last night, Bob, in spite of all your vigilance—was it very dark?”
“On the contrary,” replied I, looking at the demure face of the negro; “I suspect it was Moonshine.”