CHAPTER XI.
THE VOYAGE OF THE "VOODOO".--NARRATIVE CONTINUED.
Monson was the man's name that I came to deal with in New Orleans.
He had a schooner named the _Voodoo_, a coast cruiser that never went
further to sea than the Windwards. There was another white man on the
crew, but the rest were negroes. Monson was billed already for
Martinique and Trinidad, and that was why I dealt with him, and got
him cheap for a short trip beyond Tobago.
Stevey Todd set out for the north to find some relatives he thought
he had, but found none to his mind, and concluded he was an orphan.
But he found a restaurant to his mind in South Street in New York,
and there he settled himself and waited for me to come along. It's a
place where seamen generally turn up sooner or later, and I told him
I would come there. Monson and I set sail the third of September in
the year '85.
Now, Monson was a man of great size and long yellowish hair and
beard, and shy, innocent-looking eyes. It always gave me a start to
look up six feet of legs and chest, and end in an expression of face
which seemed about to remark that the world was a strange place, and
might be wicked.
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