In the midst of this hubbub a head suddenly popped up above the rail.

Then a tall, ungainly figure, clad in a faded, ill-fitting uniform, raised itself slowly, leaning far out over the side, a pair of weak eyes, shadowed by colored glasses, gazing down inquiringly into the small boat.
"Vat ees it you say you have zare ?" he asked in an attempt at French, which I may only pretend to reproduce in English.

"Vat ees ze cargo of ze leetle boat ?" Instantly the two hucksters gave voice, fairly running over each other in their confused jargon, during which I managed to distinguish native names for potatoes, yams, sweet corn, peaches, apples, and I know not what else.
The Spaniard perched high on the rail waved his long arms in unmitigated disgust.
"_Caramba_!" he cried the moment he could make his voice distinguished above the uproar.

"I vant none of zos zings; Saint Cristoval, non! non! Ze Capitaine he tole me get him some of ze olif--haf you no olif in ze leetle boat ?" The darkies shook their heads, instantly starting in again to call their wares, but the fellow on the rail waved them back.
"Zen ve don't vant you here!" he cried shrilly.

"Go vay dam quick, or else ze soldier shoot." As if in obedience to an order the stolid guard brought his weapon menacingly to the shoulder.
How the episode terminated I did not remain to learn.