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Updated: May 27, 2025
Moncrieff beat his opponent by sixty-seven votes, a majority so small in proportion to the constituency that the bitterness and humiliation of defeat must have been felt with more than ordinary poignancy. It seemed at that time as if the Conservatives would never have another chance of lifting their heads above water.
The Young Pilot soon came within hail, when Captain Moncrieff requested Captain Thompson to heave to, as he wanted to come on board. The boat was launched from the deck of the pilot boat, and, manned by four athletic seamen, brought Captain Moncrieff alongside in handsome style. He jumped on deck, grasped the hand of Captain Thompson, and requested to have some conversation with him in the cabin.
Ronald Moncrieff, an extra A.D.C., was, as usual, not blest with a superabundance of this world's goods, but had an unending supply of animal spirits, and he was looking forward to a siege as a means of economizing.
Asked by Moncrieff where he had been, he said ‘he had been two or three miles above the town.’ Henderson corroborated Moncrieff’s evidence on this point. There can have been no innocent motive for all this secrecy. It would have been natural for Gowrie to order luncheon for the King to be prepared, as soon as Henderson arrived.
For six midnights of the week, on the roof of the Moncrieff Frolic, grape-wreathed and with the ecstatic quivering of the flesh that is Asia's, Folly, robed in veils, lifts her carmined lips to be kissed, and Bacchus, whose pot-belly has made him unloved of fair women, raises his perpetual goblet and drinks that he may not weep.
By steering a course directly from the Rocas to LaGuayra we could have reached that port on the following day, but Captain Moncrieff was impressed with the idea that a strong current was setting to the westward.
Although Captain Moncrieff was glad of an opportunity to ascertain his true position, he was mortified at finding himself westward of his destined port. The Young Pilot was immediately hauled on a wind, and we crossed the Caribbean Sea with a fine breeze, and one morning beheld the Rocas, a cluster of barren rocks, right ahead.
After a detention of a couple of hours, the last boat load of provisions was transferred to the deck of the privateer, and Captain Moncrieff and myself were about to step into the boat on our return, when the officer who had superintended the piratical operations suggested to the commander of the privateer that our boat was a remarkably fine one; far better and more serviceable than any one in their possession, and THEREFORE it would be right and proper for us the captain and crew of the pilot-boat to return to our own vessel in a skiff belonging to the privateer, and leave our boat for their use.
It proved to be the Young Pilot, Captain Moncrieff, bound to Savannah. The mate, whose name was Campbell, was known to Captain Thompson. They had been boarders in the same house. After an interchange of salutations and hearty wishes for a pleasant voyage, the little schooner rapidly drew ahead and passed on her way. There was nothing remarkable in this incident.
The felucca was a Spanish privateer, belonging to Porto Cabello, and her commander had adroitly managed to capture the pilot-boat just as we were about to fall into the jaws of the Guarda Costa. The commander of the felucca had furthermore wormed out of the unsuspecting Moncrieff all the secrets of his mission, and paved the way for the confiscation of our little schooner.
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