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Updated: May 31, 2025
Accordingly, that afternoon I took Lotta ashore with me, and, having looked in upon the Todds on our way, and, needless to say, received a most hospitable and friendly welcome, hired a ketureen and drove her up to the Pen, where Lady Mary, having been previously prepared by her husband, forthwith took possession of her and carried her off to her own private room, from which she reappeared no more until dinner-time, when to my amazement Lotta was led forth to be presented to the assembled company, attired in a rig which Lady Mary and her maid had devised upon the spur of the moment, and in which the senorita looked so surpassingly lovely that the sight of her fairly took my breath away.
About four o'clock we returned to Mr Martin's store, where we found his ketureen a sort of gig waiting, and also that of a Mr Finnie, another sugar-planter who was going to make one of the party. The skipper jumped in alongside of Mr Martin, I stowed myself away alongside his friend, and away we dashed up the sandy streets and out of town in the direction of the Blue Mountains.
I had landed at Greenwich wharf on duty this was the nearest point of communication between Port Royal and the Admiral's Pen where, finding the flag lieutenant, he drove me up in his ketureen to lunch.
Crash it was done and over the horse's ears we both flew like skyrockets; but, strange to tell, although we had wedged the wheel of the ketureen fast as a wreck on a reef, with the cannon that was stuck into the ground postwise between it and the body, there was no damage done beyond the springing of the starboard shaft, so, with the assistance of the negro servant, who had been thrown from his perch behind, by a shock that frightened him out of his wits, we hove the voiture off again, and arrived in safety at friend Shingle's once more.
I see upon the road some planter in his ketureen a sort of sedan chair; I see a negro funeral, with its strange ceremony and its gumbies of African drums. I see yam-fed planters, on their horses, making for the burning, sandy streets of the capital.
Next morning, we set out in earnest on our travels for St Thomas in the Vale, in two of our friend Bang's gigs, and my aunt's ketureen, laden with her black maiden and a lot of bandboxes, while two mounted servants brought up the rear, and my old friend Jupiter, who had descended, not from the clouds, but from the excellent Mr Fyall, who was by this time gathered to his fathers, to Massa Aaron, rode a musket shot ahead of the convoy to clear away, or give notice of any impediments, of wagons or carts, or droves of cattle, that might be meeting us.
The next morning, immediately after first breakfast, we got under way in the Admiral's ketureen a sort of gig with a roof to it and drove down to the wharf at Kingston, where the barge, a fine boat, was waiting for us. The sea-breeze had set in and was piping up merrily, and in about three-quarters of an hour we were alongside the dockyard wall at Port Royal.
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