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 MAVERICK MOGUL

A BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS NOVEL

LILA MONROE
LILA MONROE BOOKS
 CONTENTS

Copyright
Also by Lila:

Prologue
Maverick Mogul
1. Grace
2. Grace
3. Charlie
4. Grace
5. Grace
6. Grace
7. Grace
8. Charlie
9. Grace
10. Grace
11. Grace
12. Charlie
13. Grace
14. Grace
15. Grace
16. Grace
17. Charlie
18. Grace
19. Grace
20. Grace
21. Charlie
22. Grace
23. Grace
24. Charlie
25. Grace
26. Grace
27. Grace
Dash
About the Author
 Copyright 2022 by Lila Monroe/ AAHM Inc

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including emailing, photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales

or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover by British Empire Designs/ Letitia Hauser

 ALSO BY LILA:

Billionaire Bachelors Series:

1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Stuff
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man

Billionaire Bachelors Club Series:

1. Maverick Mogul
2. Renegade Roomie
3. Baller Boss
4. One-Week Wingman
5. Charming CEO

Cupids Series:
1. Cupid for Hire
2. What’s Your Sign?
3. The Romeo Effect
4. The Break-Up Artist
5. The Romance Plan

The Billionaire Series:

1. The Billionaire Bargain
2. The Billionaire Secret
3. The Billionaire Game
4. The Billionaire Prize
 5. Billionaire with a Twist
6. Billionaire on the Rocks

The Lucky in Love Series:

1. Get Lucky
2. Bet Me
3. Lovestruck
4. Mr Right Now
5. Perfect Match
6. Christmas with the Billionaire

The Chick Flick Club Series:

1. How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days
2. You’ve Got Male
3. Frisky Business

Head Over High Heels

Snowed in with the Billionaire (holiday novella)
 ***
Want more sexy romantic comedy reads?
Sign up for my mailing list and receive a FREE book!
CLICK HERE to claim your book.
***

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https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lila-monroe
 MAVERICK MOGUL
Billionaire Bachelors: Book Seven

Playboy bachelor Charlie Fox is handsome, charming — and looking

for a date to the TWELVE weddings he’s attending this month. He’s
topping the city’s ‘Most Eligible’ lists, but he needs a woman who
won’t swoon at his feet — or go diving to catch that bouquet. A fake
girlfriend is the perfect solution, he’s just not expecting a very
familiar face to show up as his plus-one…
Me.
The last time I saw Charlie, he was playing Mr Popular at our
high-school… while I was stuck being Miss Invisible. Now — thanks
to a rogue Chihuahua, my frat-bro boss, and a gallon of gluten-free
frosting — he’s making me an offer I really should refuse. Play his
fake girlfriend for a summer of wild weddings?
It’ll be worth it, as long as we can keep our hands to ourselves.
And our mouths.
And… other parts, too.
As the wedding marathon gets underway, the sparks between us
are anything but fake - and breaking the rules has never been so
fun. Can ‘just for now’ turn into ‘forever’? Find out in the sizzling,
hilarious new romance from “the reigning queen of romantic
comedy” Lila Monroe!

Billionaire Bachelors Series:

1. Very Irresistible Playboy
2. Hot Stuff
3. Wild Card
4. Man Candy
5. Mr Casanova
6. Best Man
7. Maverick Mogul
8. Renegade Roomie
9. Baller Boss
1
 GRACE

THERE ARE plenty of great reasons to be frantically searching the

drugstore aisles on a Friday night: A sudden Rocky Road craving… A
last-minute face mask emergency… XXL condoms for a night of wild
pleasure. But it says a lot about the sorry state of my life that those
delicious, decadent pleasures are most definitely not on my list
tonight.
“Removes grease,” I mutter, perusing the tiny letters on the back
of the pet shampoo bottle. “Mud. But what about glitter?”
There’s a barking noise, and I look over to find the glitter-
bombed beast shedding tiny twinkles all the way down the haircare
aisle.
“We’ll fix it, buddy,” I promise, checking another bottle. “We have
to, before your parents see you like this.”
Something tells me that my employers won’t be thrilled to find
their prized poodle looking like a crazed My Little Pony. Apparently,
the kids next door decided that a puppy makeover was part of their
homeschooling experience, and it’s down to me to fix this mess. And
all messes, in general. Such is the life of a personal assistant slash
general dogsbody.
Pun sadly intended.
“Are you sure you don’t like the purple?” I muse, desperately
searching the bottles. “It’s very cute on you.”
I get a growl in reply. “I guess that’s a ‘no’.”
 The poodle’s name is Henri, pronounced as the French Awn-ree.
My bosses, the Bassingers, love their annual trip to Paris—
pronounced, of course, Pair-ee. They both work in banking jobs I do
not understand, but I know they have very long hours and
absolutely unfathomable amounts of money. I once looked up the
property records for their Upper West Side townhouse. They paid
four million dollars, twenty-five years ago. They were twenty-eight
years old at the time.
I, meanwhile, am spending my twenty-eighth year in the Pet
section of a Duane Reade drugstore, with zero husband, real estate,
or pets to my name. I do have a Ficus tree, though, which is an
achievement, considering how many basil plants I’ve cruelly
murdered in my time.
“All right, bud,” I tell Henri, grabbing two bottles at random.
“Let’s go.” I’m tugging him toward checkout, considering an extra-
large bag of popcorn for my sins, when out of the corner of my eye,
I spot a girl with glossy brown hair. She sweeps it back while
studying a shelf of products.
I freeze in place because I know that hair swish, even though I
haven’t seen it for a year.
Nadia, AKA my ex-best friend.
AAKA, the ex-best friend who started dating my ex-boyfriend one
week after he dumped me.
AAAKA, you can guess how all those exes came to be.
My blood runs cold, seeing her again. Not to mention exactly
where I’m seeing her: coming out of the sexual health section.
Oh God—is she pregnant?
Nope! I breathe a massive sigh of relief when I see that she’s
actually holding a giant box of condoms. For all the sex she’s having
with my ex-boyfriend.
Is that any better?
I gulp. A small part of me wants to warn her: By your second
year together, he’ll get lazy in bed. Enjoy! But Nadia doesn’t deserve
a warning. Seeing as, you know, she didn’t bother warning me about
her plans to steal my man and detonate our friendship, all in one
impressively competent swoop.
 Nadia turns, and I leap behind a spinning display of greeting
cards—but not fast enough. She sees me, and her face quickly goes
through the three reactions of running into your ex-best friend:
shock, horror, then finally pretend happiness.
“Oh my gosh, Grace!” she exclaims. “Hi! So funny meeting you
here.”
“Oh my gosh!” I mimic. She’s in a perfectly tailored, dove gray
suit, while my yoga pants have a smear of glitter across the hip. My
heart sinks. Of course, the one time I bump into her, I’m looking like
a walking laundry basket.
“How are you?” she coos. It’s as sugary and fake as wad of
bubble gum.
“Fine,” I lie brightly. “How are you?”
Nadia looks great, which means me cursing her name every night
for a month after the break-up has had exactly zero effect.
I’m not a perfect person, okay? Some betrayals deserve a couple
of face boils, minimum.
“I’m so good!” Nadia trills. “Work is nutty, but it’s so worth it—
and such a relief to finally do something after so much school.”
Oh, yeah—she’s a lawyer. A super-successful lawyer on partner
track with her own office and an assistant to do all the crap I’m
stuck doing as my actual job.
“That’s amazing,” I manage to reply.
“So,” Nadia says, gesturing at Henri. He wags his tail, even
though I told him the entire story last summer. “You’re still… ?”
“Working as a personal assistant. Yep.”
“That’s great,” she says, in the exact tone of voice that someone
would say, ‘Poor thing.’
I flinch. The problem with your boyfriend leaving you for your
best friend is that both people know the worst of you. They both
knew that I couldn’t seem to find my way out of this maze of never-
ending PA jobs. They’d both seen me vent, cry, retrace the steps of
how I ended up stuck here.
“So, listen,” Nadia says, at the same moment I say,
“Well, I better—”
 She’s adjusted her hands to discretely hide the condoms, and
something glitters in the overhead light. A square-cut diamond,
specifically.
They’re engaged?
The shampoo aisle starts to spin, and I’m hit with a sudden wave
of gulping nausea.
He proposed. Miles, the man who told me that marriage was an
archaic social construct. The man who took a full year to so much as
clear me a sock drawer at his place. The man so cynical that he
became a divorce lawyer—has asked Nadia to marry him. After less
than a year?!
Nadia sees me gawking at the ring. “I know, right?” She gives a
trilling laugh, waggling her fingers. “Miles surprised the heck out of
me with this whole big to-do. My parents and brother flew in! They
were waiting at the restaurant where we had our first official date,
and… yeah! Whirlwind!”
I’ve been a personal assistant in Manhattan for six years. Believe
me when I say my career has prepared me to poker face my way
through some truly horrifying interactions. Still, it takes super-human
effort for me to plaster a smile to my face. “I’m really happy for
you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“That is so sweet. You know,” Nadia says. “One of my girlfriends
told me you wouldn’t take the news well. And I was like… You don’t
know Grace. She gets it.”
I get that the line between cheating and rebounding is paper
thin, and I’m not convinced it wasn’t repeatedly crossed.
I get in the grand, whirlwind love story of their lives, I’m just
roadkill on the side of the street.
“Oh, mhmm.” I swallow back the bile. “Definitely get it.”
“I know!” Nadia says, breezing past my sarcasm. “Like, clearly
you and Miles weren’t a fit. But he and I both had so much in
common that it led us to you, and then that led us together!”
I’m still amazed that after everything, this is really the story in
Nadia’s mind. It’s probably on her wedding website. “Yeah.” I agree
grimly. “You two are quite a pair.”
 She presses one diamond-encrusted hand to her heart. “Thank
you, Grace.”
If I have to stand here a moment longer, my fake-happy act will
slip into full-on sobbing, so I start to back away. “I should get going.
Places to go, people to see!”
Better hexes to devise.
“Have fun!” Nadia calls after me. “Let’s do lunch!”

OUTSIDE, I make a beeline toward the Bassingers’ place, trying to

shake the horror of that surprise reunion. I mean, I understand that
even in a city of millions, a meeting was inevitable one of these
days, but did it really have to be tonight?
I’ve been telling myself I’ve moved on from Miles and Nadia, and
I mostly have, but that doesn’t mean seeing that ring wasn’t salt in
the wound. What I need right now is to shampoo a dog, drink half a
bottle of wine, and ponder the state of my existence, but I’m right
outside the townhouse when my phone buzzes. I check the caller
and wince. Bret, the Bassingers’ miserable tech-bro son.
“Hello? I answer reluctantly.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need a cake delivered to my dinner tonight,”
Bret says, instead of hello. “Gluten- and dairy-free.‘Kay?”
Not ‘Kay.
Technically, I shouldn’t even work for Bret. But he moved back in
with his parents after drinking his way through business school and
set about treating everyone like his own personal staff. He has his
laundry sent out, and then he complains about the way his shirts are
starched. He eats meals from their personal chef and complains that
the Tuscan Roast Pork doesn’t taste like it did in Tuscany.
The chef is Italian.
He’s been ordering me around for months, and for months, I’ve
been trying to set boundaries with him. But faced with Bret’s
aggressive tone, I fold every time.
Do I have problems asserting myself? Yes.
 Do I tend to let people walk all over me rather than risk an
uncomfortable conflict? Also yes.
Trust me, me and my motivational self-help podcasts are working
on it, but in the meantime…
I take a deep breath, air filling my lungs till it almost hurts. “I
don’t think I’ll be able to help tonight.” I tell him carefully. “I’ve got
my hands full.”
With wallowing and wine, but still.
“And?”
“It’s almost seven o’clock.” I argue. “And most bakeries will be
closed.”
“So?” he asks. “You’ll find one that isn’t. The restaurant’s in
Tribeca, I need the cake for Letty’s birthday, I forgot about a gift so
you need to make it special.”
I plant my feet, trying to hold firm. “I don’t think that’ll be
possible.”
“I don’t pay you to think,” Bret says snidely. “And I don’t even
have to pay you at all, if you can’t do the job…”
The threat dangles. His ultimate trump card. My pesky need to
pay rent, buy groceries, and, you know, exist as a human adult in
New York City without a trust-fund or mega-rich partner. Or any kind
of partner at all.
Dammit.
“Fine.” I fold.
“No cutesy cupcakes or grocery store cakes, either. ‘Happy
Birthday, Letty on the top. L-E-T-T-Y.”
The line goes dead.
O-K-A-Y.
I give myself one long sigh outside the Bassingers’ door, my
shoulders slumping in defeat. Then I hand off the shampoo to the
house manager. She takes Henri without question when I mutter, like
a swearword, “Bret.”
She winces. “Good luck.”
No further explanation necessary.
IT TAKES ME ONE HOUR, three bakeries, and calling in a bunch of
favors from my network of other assistant contacts to get the job
done. But I hurry into the restaurant on time, panting but carrying a
gorgeous confection with Happy birthday, Letty in dairy-free icing
script. I’m flushed from a frantic hour but also, if I’m honest, glowing
from the accomplishment, too. It has nothing to do with Bret,
obviously. But I like a challenge: Pulling off the impossible when all
the odds – and non-dairy requirements – are stacked against me.
And I like a job well done, even if it’s for the apex of human
rudeness.
The hostess smiles prettily. “Name on the reservation?”
“Bassinger.”
“Hmm.” She leans into her tablet, pursing her lips. “It seems like
both parties have already arrived. Are they expecting you?”
“I’m the family’s PA.” I lift the cake so she can see above the
podium. “Just delivering a requested item.”
“Oh, um.” The hostess has a look on her face like I’ve held up a
small rodent. “So, we don’t allow outside food at our establishment…
Obviously…”
C’mon, Grace. Luckily, my name also serves as a reminder that
this poor hostess may be having just as crappy a day as me. I tack a
smile onto my face and try again. “Then perhaps you could deliver
that message to Bret?”
The hostess’s eyes travel from my now-messy hair to my workout
clothes. She sneers. “I’m sorry. I have to move to the next guests in
line. If you could please step aside…”
Okay, now I’m pissed. There’s usually camaraderie between us
service staff, united in our position way down the totem pole. But
clearly, not with this girl tonight. I plant my feet more firmly. “I’m
afraid I can’t leave without delivering the cake.”
“And I can’t allow you into the establishment without a
reservation.”
We stare in a quiet standoff for another moment.
“Is this going to take a while?” A voice comes from behind me.
An attractive, stylish couple is standing there, waiting for their turn.
“We have a reservation,” the blonde woman adds. “And we’re on the
clock for the babysitter. We could go take them the cake if you
need,” she adds, shooting me a friendly smile.
“I have to check with my manager.” The hostess flounces off, and
I sigh.
“Thanks all the same,” I tell the woman—and then stop dead
when I see the guy behind her, scrolling on his phone.
Because I know that man.
Well, he was a boy when I saw him last, but it’s definitely him.
Same tousled brown hair, same melting chocolate eyes. Same ability
to make my heart lurch in my chest, damn him.
Charlie Fox.
I sat beside him for two years, as lab partners in the science
classes he had to re-do for graduation. He was Mr. High School, and
I was Literally No One, but he was always friendly enough, cracking
jokes and asking about my weekend. Yes, technically, I made stuff
up sometimes—Oh, I just hung out with my friends. (Who were
fictional and on the CW.) But Charlie listened to my answers and told
stories of his weekends, (with his real and actual friends), and was
generally the dreamboat Mr. Popular who set all our hearts aflutter in
unrequited longing.
Mine most definitely included.
And now here he is, ten feet away and ten years later. And of
course, he looks unfairly, ridiculously good, while I’m standing here
in my glitter-smeared laundry-day pants, with sprinted-through-the-
city-humidity hair.
I stifle a silent groan. This would be funny—if it was happening
to anyone else. I could have run into Charlie Fox last week, on my
way to a first date (which was cringeworthy) in a fantastic black
dress (which was crushworthy), but no. Nope! My life is not like that.
My life is this: Dumped-by-a-BF-and-a-BFF personal assistant,
wearing cleaning-the-house clothes and holding a ridiculous cake.
Damn this chic, minimalist restaurant for not having a Grecian
column or large Ficus that I can hide behind.
Then Charlie looks up. I feel an embarrassed heat rush over me,
just like I’m back in bio lab. A more reliable part of my brain yells:
Turn away! Instead, I blurt out, “Hey.”
He gives a nod and says, “Hey, how are ya?”
“Oh, fine. I had no idea you lived in the city! What have you
been up to? I haven’t seen anyone around, although I’m guessing a
bunch of people moved here. You know, the Big Apple, greatest city
in the world!”
“Uhh…” Charlie looks confused, and not just because I’m
babbling like a crazy person. “That’s… Great.”
And then I realize to my horror, he has no idea who I am. He met
my eyes because I was staring at him. Hey, how are ya was a flat,
rhetorical question to a stranger.
He doesn’t recognize me at all.
Of course he doesn’t. Who would? I was invisible in high school.
Just like I am now.
My stomach sinks to the floor.
His date looks between us, just as confused. She has blond hair
swept into a loose, elegant braid, wearing an amazing blue silk dress
I’d kill to own. Of course Charlie has graduated from dating student
theatre stars and cheerleaders to squiring plain old goddesses. “Do
you two know each other?”
“No, no,” I lie, laughing at myself. My whole body is pulsing with
embarrassment, the kind I thought I left in my teen years. “Sorry.
You look like someone from my hometown.”
“Oh? Where are you from?” Charlie asks.
Indianapolis suburbs, pal. Same as you.
“Middle of nowhere,” I assure him. My heart is slamming against
my chest. Every cell in my body is begging me to stop interacting
with Charlie Fox. With every human in this city! Just go home and
burrow.
Fortunately, the hostess returns with a curt nod. “Straight back
and to the left.”
“Appreciate it,” I say, with all the dignity I can muster. Behind
me, I hear the words, “Fox for two.”
Striding back toward Bret the Brat, I try to hold my head high. At
least I’m ending my day with a win—if you can call my cake-
wrangling that.
 Which I’ll choose to do.
I spot Bret in the middle of the room, across from his gorgeous
date. Here we go.
“Finally,” he greets me with a scowl.
“One cake, as promised,” I announce proudly, opening the box
and lifting out the gorgeous dessert. “Special delivery. And it wasn’t
easy to get.”
“What, you want a medal?” Bret smirks, as I reach to hand it
over.
And then my elbow is thunked from behind—hard.
I feel the weight leave my hands, and it’s like slow motion, the
perfect white disk hurtling through the air. The edible flowers are a
blur of violet and yellow. My hands fly out but grip nothing.
SPLAT.
Every gluten-free, dairy-free molecule of cake lands on Bret’s lap,
icing side down on black wool pants.
“What the fuck?” he shrieks, bolting upward. He pushes the cake
off his lap, but it leaves smears of white icing down the crotch,
looking exactly like…
Well, like Bret really, really loves this restaurant.
The crowd goes silent as everyone turns to stare, and I can’t
help it: A strangled giggle escapes my throat.
“You IDIOT!” Bret screeches, turning red with fury. “Can you see
what you’ve done?!”
We all can. He starts wiping at the frosting, but it only makes
things look more… Enthusiastic.
My giggle turns into a full-on laugh, and even his po-faced date
begins to smile.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” someone at my side is saying. Charlie
Fox, teenage dream. The elbow bumper himself. He has a horrified
look on his unfairly handsome face. “Totally my fault. I’m happy to
pay for—”
“No way!” Bret yells, thrusting one finger at me. “She can pay for
it, for being incompetent! She lives off my family’s money, but can’t
even do her basic job?”
 I flush, embarrassed. “That’s no true!” I protest uselessly. I’m
very, very good at my job. Please see: That beautiful cake dripping
down his front.
But then I see the faces of all the fancy diners surrounding us.
They’re not laughing at Bret—they’re laughing at me. After all, I’m
the clumsy one who just made a fool of myself. He’s the victim here
—of my incompetence.
I wish the ground would open and swallow me up.
“Let’s take a breath here,” Charlie Fox says to Bret, trying to calm
him. Sure, he can be clear and firm. Why not? He’s Charlie Fox,
prom king of Hayworth High and, apparently, all of Manhattan. “It’s
not her fault that—”
“I’m fine,” I mutter to him, though I feel like I could physically
burst from embarrassment. “It’s fine.”
“Is it?” Bret’s face is beet red. “This cost you your job. Is that
fine? The unemployment line’s fine?”
I want to say that it’ll be better than this, but there’s a lump in
my throat. I’ve never felt so humiliated. Every gorgeous person in
this gorgeous restaurant is smirking at me, like I’m the
entertainment for the night.
A cautionary tale.
“Bret, let’s just go.” Letty says, clearly uncomfortable. Bret shoots
me one last nasty look and flees after her, white-smeared crotch and
all, going, “Babe. C’mon, babe!”
I watch them go, reality sinking in.
I’m fired. The job I’ve been swallowing my pride to keep these
past months? It’s gone now. Which means all my bending over
backwards and biting my lip to keep Bret happy has been in vain.
And I’m back where I started, all over again.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Charlie says, as I turn, dejected. His
ridiculously handsome face is smiling at me, like this is no big deal.
“This is probably a blessing in disguise, if you think about it. I mean,
working for that asshole can’t have been fun.”
“Fun?” I echo in disbelief. I stare at him, my anger and
humiliation stinging sharper in my veins. “You think I took this job
for fun?!”
 He takes a step back, surprised. “OK, so I’ll make some calls and
fix it for you.”
“Oh will you? Will you really?” I snap back. “Well thanks, but I
don’t need a white knight galloping in. Especially one who doesn’t
remember me because I’m so invisible that he literally tries to walk
through me.”
He startles at this, the question in his eyes. Well, I’m this far in it
now.
“Hayworth High—got you through bio labs? Grace Sommerville.” I
sweep a hand down my general presence. Yes, I’m still wearing
glitter-bombed yoga pants. In a restaurant so expensive that the
prices aren’t listed on the menu. “Just peachy to see you again.”
“Grace,” he repeats, realization dawning.
“Yep. It’s a name and a lifestyle,” I say, heavy with sarcasm.
“Although clearly my natural grace hasn’t helped me out so far.
Maybe I should leave it off the resume for my next job – because
yes, I’m going to have to find another humiliating PA position now.” I
yell. “Not every person starts as the Prom King and only goes up
from there! Like, ‘Most Popular’ in the HHS yearbook wasn’t enough?
Let’s breezily shoot for ‘Most Popular’ in the country’s largest
metropolitan area!”
Beside him, the blonde date tries not to laugh. I can’t even be
mad at her. I’d laugh at me too right now.
I turn to go. The adrenaline is wearing off and I’m ten, maybe
twelve seconds from bursting into tears. “Have a nice life, Charlie
Fox! Go Hawks.”
And then I leave, safe in the knowledge I will never, ever see the
man again.
At least, that’s what I think at the time…
2
 GRACE

“IT WAS HUMILIATING ,” I exclaim, propping both elbows on the

front counter. It’s the morning after my grand cake debacle, and
luckily, my embarrassment has faded to a horrified kind of laughter
as I retell the night in all its cake-covered glory. “Everyone was
staring at me like one of those awful dreams when you’re in the
middle of 5 th Avenue, totally naked.”
“But you weren’t,” says my aunt, Skye, at the register of her little
gift shop in Brooklyn while her wife, Jen, is making change for a
customer. “That has to count for something, right?”
I laugh. “OK, you win: It could have, in fact, been worse.”
“I can’t believe Bret the Brat,” she adds, loyally. She’s my dad’s
sister, but she’s only ten years older than me, and officially my fairy
godmother since I moved to the city.
“And I just stood there! Why didn’t I have some kind of witty
comeback?” I wonder. “About his hair… Or his face… Or the fact he
still sleeps with a Mets shirt like a binky. I always think of them way
too late.”
Jen pats my hand. “Me too.”
“Sometimes she texts them to me days later,” Skye says, fondly.
To the customer, she says, “Thanks so much. Enjoy.”
He bought an incense burner, a bracelet with blue aventurine
stones, and a custom Sagittarius tea blend. I’m not sure if any
customer has ever purchased the exact same combination of items
here, but that’s the fun of the place. Part tea shop, part tarot and
mystical décor,
thus: The Brooklyn Mysteaque. For all your crystal, zodiac-
inspired knick-knack, hanging plant and loose-leaf needs.
Jen passes me a honey for my tea. “And his family are really
backing Bret up on this?”
“Mrs. Bassinger might not have, but she’s in Zurich. It’s done,” I
say. “Plus I called Mr. Bassinger this morning and pretty much
begged him not to fire me. Would you believe he stuck by Bret, the
rotten apple of his eye? I have to trust my son’s judgment, he said.”
Really, John? Do you?
But it’s behind me now. I take a deep breath and try to think
positive. “Maybe I’ll find something better next time. That won’t be
hard, right? Low bar!”
“Well, the studio’s yours for as long as you need it,” Skye says,
nodding to the back staircase.
“That’s why you’re my favorite aunt,” I beam.
She laughs. “I’m your only aunt.”
“Details, details.” I’ve been living up there for the past year, since
the Miles-Nadia debacle. Back then, I was on the cusp of my adult,
settled life. Miles was graduating law school, thanks to me working
to support us, doing all the household chores, and generally being
the sympathetic quasi-spouse. It was a grind, but that’s what
partners did, right? As he kept pointing out, it was only fair that I
carried the load for now, because once he started pulling in the big
bucks, things would change.
Things changed, alright. At his grad party, I gave Miles a five-
hundred-dollar monogrammed briefcase I’d saved up for. He gave
me a vague, We’re-just-not-happy-are-we? dumping speech.
“God,” I realize. “It’s been a whole year. How is that possible?”
“You dodged a bullet.” Jen nods sagely. “Two bullets. So,” she
changes the subject. “What do you think you’ll search for, jobs
wise?”
“It depends,” I quip brightly. “Who’s looking for someone with
dog-wrangling, cake-fetching skills?”
“Come on,” Jen laughs. “You do way more than that.”
 I nod. I know I do. In fact, I’m pretty much the most kickass,
efficient, resourceful assistant out there—solving all problems and
discreetly avoiding emergencies at every turn. It’s not all dog
shampooing and cake deliveries: I’ve done everything from co-
ordinate a 200-kid zoo-themed birthday party on a yacht floating
down the Hudson (complete with two giraffes, and a zebra, on
board) to tracking a shipment of Grecian antique urns through every
freeport in Monaco. You’d think that would be simple, given that it’s
a principality under one square mile. And yet…
Just give me a cape, and call me Super PA.
Or, even better, give me a job with benefits and a decent
paycheck, I’m not picky.
I didn’t exactly plan on this for a career. When I started at an
education non-profit straight out of college, they promised me that if
I paid my dues with the assistant gig, I’d be promoted to a real job
soon. But then our funding got cut, and I was laid off, and the only
jobs available were more PA positions. Rinse and repeat for six
years, and now I’m pretty much the most experienced assistant in
the game. I usually love the variety and challenges, but right now, it
isn’t the source of comfort and pride that it usually is.
“I just thought I’d have things figured out,” I say with a wistful
sigh. “Career, love, a home… I’m nearly thirty, and that’s ancient!”
Jen snorts. “Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean!”
“Aw, babe,” Skye says. “Everyone is lost at twenty-eight.”
“We were.” Jen bobs her head in agreement. “Totally.”
“Thank you, but yeah right,” I snort. “You already had your
amazing apartment…”
“Yeah,” Jen says, “because I hadn’t worked up the nerve to quit
my lifeless corporate job.”
“And you were working here, at least,” I tell Skye.
“True.” Skye pushes a few curls behind her ear. “But I was in love
with this girl from my local herb-gardening group, but she was—”
“… Oblivious,” Jen says, smiling. “I was still trying to make a
relationship work with someone else.”
“I was heartsick,” Skye says. “Jen was miserable at her job.”
 “We were watering our balcony gardens with tears!” Jen insists.
They’re playing it up for me, but it’s still nice to hear. “I just
thought I’d have a few dominoes lined up by now.”
“Dominoes?” Skye asks.
“Yeah. Like… Some of the pieces. The ones that eventually fall
into place. That’s what your thirties are supposed to be, right?”
Skye and Jen exchange a look. They’re always exchanging looks.
This is, fundamentally, what I long for: The person who is always
waiting to meet my eyes. With commiseration, with knowing.
Jen clears her throat. “Have you maybe watched 13 Going on 30
too many times?”
“It’s an excellent film!” I protest. “And a great life plan, too. Who
wouldn’t want to be thirty, flirty, and thriving?”
They laugh.
The chimes over the door sound, and two teenagers wander in.
“Welcome!” Skye says. “Can we help with anything?”
The short-haired girl smiles hesitantly. “Um. I saw that you
posted about these special love teas… ?”
“In that TikTok video?” Skye smiles, pointing. “Back corner.”
“Perfect.”
The long-haired girl wanders to the stand of special blends,
leaning close to read the labels. She picks up the Heartbreak
Soother. It’s our bestseller.
“If there’s anything specific that we can help you with,” Jen says.
“Just ask. We have something for everything.”
“Um, okay.” The girl blinks very fast, trying not to cry. “Is there
anything for, like… If the person you like starts going out with one of
your supposed friends?”
Jen and Skye glance to me, a bit awkwardly.
But I give her a big smile. “That would be the limited edition
‘Grace Under Fire’ blend. To the left there.”
“Or maybe our Revenge Roobois,” Skye suggests cheerfully. “We
recommend serving that one cold.”
Another random document with
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Prince’s; Masters governing themselves in purchasing, according to
the Course they design to steer.
This Food is accounted more salutary to Slaves, and nearer to
their accustomed way of Feeding than salt Flesh. One or other is
boiled on board at constant times, twice a day, into a Dab-a-Dab[33]
(sometimes with Meat in it) and have an Overseer with a Cat-of-nine-
tails, to force it upon those that are sullen and refuse.
The further Management and Caution to be taken with Slaves on
board, till their delivery in the West-Indies, I shall intermix with what I
know of the method of Trade at Whydah, and Angola, because
Cautions where a Cargo is of one Language, is so much the more
requisite.
Whydah is the greatest trading Place on the Coast of Guinea,
selling off as many Slaves, I believe, as all the rest together; 40 or 50
Sail (French, English, Portuguese, and Dutch) freighting thence
every year. The King is absolute as a Boar; making sometimes fair
Agreements with his Country Neighbours, it being often the Interest
of Traders to be honest (perhaps the only reason that makes them
so) but if he cannot obtain a sufficient number of Slaves that way, he
marches an Army, and depopulates. He, and the King of Ardra
adjoining, commit great Depredations inland.
On the Ships he lays these Impositions, and to prove his Folly,
does it mostly for the benefit of those that rule him; First, of having
the Refusal of all Goods; Secondly, the Value of twenty Slaves from
every Ship, small or great, as a Duty; and Thirdly, forces his own
upon them at an advanced Price.
The French, Dutch, and English, have each a House, or mud Fort,
about three Miles from the Sea, keeping Tents at the Beach for the
convenient receiving and securing their Cargoes as it comes from
the Ship, and transmitting the Returns; which, by a dangerous
double Barr upon the Coast, is rendred impassable sometimes (by
the alteration of the Winds) for a fortnight together; the Negroes only
know how to paddle thro’ it, and when they think it safe, a Signal is
made to the Ships, from those Tents, by hoisting their Flags.
 The chief of either Factory that gets first on board any Ship coming
into the Road, has a right to serve her with Boats and Servants, and
has a Due of seven Slaves for it.
The Commanders, with their Surgeons, (as skilled in the Choice of
Slaves) attend the whole time on shore, where they purchase, in
what they call a fair open Market.
The Mates reside on board, receiving from time to time their
Master’s Directions as to the Goods wanted, and to prepare the Ship
for the Reception and Security of the Slaves sent him; where this is a
Rule always observed, to keep the Males apart from the Women and
Children, to handcuff the former; Bristol Ships triple such as are
sturdy, with Chains round their Necks; and to keep your own Men
sober, and on a barricado’d Quarter-deck: tho’ the natural Cowardice
of these Creatures, and no other Prospect upon rising, but falling into
the hands of the same Rogues that sold them, very much lessens
the Danger: Nevertheless, it is adviseable at all times, to have a
diligent Watch on their Actions, yet (abating their Fetters) to treat
them with all Gentleness and Civility.
At Angola, the first Man is the King, the second, Mabuca, third,
Mafucar, fourth, Machangee, fifth, Captain More, and the sixth,
Madam Barsse; Names expressive of some [34]Virtue; and where
they chuse a white Man’s, (common at many parts of the Coast) it is
from the Qualities they admire in such, and strive to imitate.
Here they force about twenty Servants, which the Ship is obliged
to pay, after the rate of six Fathom of Guinea Cloth per month, and
every Sunday Morning, two Knives to each of them.—Their Business
is to attend every Morning, and carry up your Goods safe to the
Factory, where others take the Charge, and are accountable for all
Losses.
The Bum-boy again supervises the Slaves, to do justice between
Buyer and Seller, and by the Custom or Law of the Country, the Ship
is to stand charged with neither them or other Effects, till delivered
into the Boat. However, considering what are their Courts of Justice,
it will behove all Masters to have a diligent Inspection upon the
Slaves themselves, and to keep good Locks and Bolts upon their
Goods: for it is here, as at Whydah, the commonest People, who
cannot arrive at, or forbid Trade, are all Thieves and Beggars, the
King and Courtiers chief, but openly more honest, because they get
more by it.
Your Gold-takers are, Peter Griffin, (the King’s Brother-in-law)
Thomas Boon, and John Brown. Sometimes Ships settle an Agency
at Mumbalar, or other neighbouring Place, and get considerable
Trade; I have known 70 Slaves purchased there in a Month, with the
additional Duty of six Pieces, and giving to the Servants who fetched
up the Goods, each a single Annabass, a bundle of Beads, three
Knives, and a Dram: with all, let your Agreements be as positive as
possible, for they are very difficultly kept to their Words.
When we are slaved and out at Sea, it is commonly imagined, the
Negroes Ignorance of Navigation, will always be a Safeguard; yet, as
many of them think themselves bought to eat, and more, that Death
will send them into their own Country, there has not been wanting
Examples of rising and killing a Ship’s Company, distant from Land,
tho’ not so often as on the Coast; but once or twice is enough to
shew, a Master’s Care and Diligence should never be over till the
Delivery of them. Some Negroes know well enough, that the
preserving one white Man may answer their Purpose in an
Exchange; however, generally speaking, we allow greater Liberty in
our Passage, as conducive to their Health; we let them go at large
on the Ship’s Deck, from Sun-rise to Sun-set, give such as like it,
Pipes and Tobacco, and clean and air their Dormitories every day.
Having given my Sentiments of the way and method of Trade at
different parts of the Guinea Coast, I have still some remaining
Observations to make under the chief Articles of it, viz. Slaves, Ivory,
and Gold.
 S L AV E S .
Slaves become so (we are told) in this Country, by War, by Mulcts on
some particular Crimes, or Debts which they are unable to
discharge; and they are bought by us (some say) not as Merchants,
but Christians, to preserve them from Sacrifice and Cannibals, to
convey them to a Land flowing with more Milk and Honey, to a better
Living, better Manners, Virtue, and Religion; let us examine each of
these Pretences.
First, the Negroes. By War for the most part is meant Robbery of
inland, defenceless Creatures, who are hurried down to the Coast
with the greater Cruelty, as it is from a contented, tho’ a very poor
Life. Trade has improved the Robbers, but as all are not alike expert,
or alike Villains, it is alterable, ebbs and flows, and at some places
we have never yet had any.
2. The Negroes become Slaves to one another, by Mulcts imposed
on some sort of Crimes, or Debts contracted beyond their Ability to
discharge. Few come to us this way; for tho’ much Artifice and
Revenge might mix in their Palaavers (Justiciary Courts) yet their
Jurisdiction extends not beyond their own Towns, when Self-
preservation will teach them more regard to Justice for their own
sakes, lest the Relations of those sentenced should revenge it, and
also because the Barbarity would encrease an Enmity to the Rulers,
the Punishment falling on Neighbours of the same Country,
Complexion, Language, and Religion.
We who buy Slaves, say we confer a Good, removing them to a
better state both of Temporals and Spirituals; the latter, few have the
Hypocrisy (among us) to [35]own, and therefore I shall only touch on
the former.
 They live indeed, according to our European Phrase, very poor
and mean, destitute almost of the common Necessaries of Life; but
never starve, that is peculiar to trading Republicks; then who is judge
of their Wants, themselves, or we? Or what does Poorness mean?
more than a sound, to signify we have that which another does not
want. Do not many men in politer Nations, renounce the World for
Cloisters and Desarts, and place a greater happiness in preserving
their Innocence, than enjoying even the Necessaries of Life; nay,
often ravished with the neglect of them. Wherever therefore
Contentment can dwell, tho’ under the meanest Circumstances, it is
a barbarous Corruption to stile such poor, for they have every thing
they desire, or, which is much the same, are happily ignorant of any
thing more desirable.
To remove Negroes then from their Homes and Friends, where
they are at ease, to a strange Country, People, and Language, must
be highly offending against the Laws of natural Justice and
Humanity; and especially when this change is to hard Labour,
corporal Punishment, and for Masters they wish at the D——l.
We are Accessaries by Trade, to all that Cruelty of their
Countrymen, which has subjected them to the Condition of Slaves,
little better in our Plantations, than that of Cattle; the Rigour of their
usage having made some hundreds of them at Jamaica run away
into barren Mountains, where they chuse to trust Providence with
their Subsistance, rather than their Fellow-Christians (now) in the
Plantations.
Slaves differ in their Goodness; those from the Gold Coast are
accounted best, being cleaned limbed, and more docible by our
Settlements than others; but then they are, for that very reason,
more prompt to Revenge, and murder the Instruments of their
Slavery, and also apter in the means to compass it.
To Windward they approach in Goodness as is the distance from
the Gold Coast; so, as at Gambia, or Sierraleon, to be much better,
than at any of the interjacent places.
To Leeward from thence, they alter gradually for the worse; an
Angolan Negro is a Proverb for worthlessness; and they mend (if we
may call it so) in that way, till you come to the Hottentots, that is, to
the Southermost Extremity of Africa.
I have observed how our Trading is managed for Slaves, when
obliged to be carried on aboard the Ship.—Where there are
Factories, (Gambia, Sierraleon, the Gold Coast, Whydah, Calabar,
Cabenda, and Angola,) we are more at large; they are sold in open
Market on shore, and examined by us in like manner, as our Brother
Trade do Beasts in Smithfield; the Countenance, and Stature, a
good Set of Teeth, Pliancy in their Limbs and Joints, and being free
of Venereal Taint, are the things inspected, and governs our choice
in buying.
The bulk of them are country People, stupid as is their distance
from the Converse of the Coast-Negroes, eat all day if Victuals is
before them; or if not, let it alone without Complaint; part without
Tears with their Wives, Children, and Country, and are more affected
with Pain than Death: yet in this indocile State, the Women retain a
Modesty, for tho’ stripped of that poor Clout which covers their
Privities (as I know the Whydahs generally do) they will keep
squatted all day long on board, to hide them.
Whydah Slaves are more subject to Small-Pox, and sore Eyes;
other parts to a sleepy Distemper, and to Windward, Exomphalos’s.
There are few Instances of Deformity any where; even their Nobles
know nothing of chronical Distempers, nor their Ladies, of the
Vapours. Their flattish Noses are owing to a continued grubbing in
their Infancy against their Mother’s Backs, being tied within the
Tomee, whether upon Travel or Business, for a year or two, the time
of their sucking.
 I V O R Y.
Ivory is a Commodity sold all the Coast over, but, like the Slaves,
more in some parts than others, and supplied thence to all the
Western World. It is in Teeth or Screvelios. The Teeth are the large,
weighing from 30 to an hundred weight, are worth double the other
at home; these selling for ten or twelve pounds, when those do not
for above 5l. a hundred.
The Screvelios are small, from fifteen down to four Pounds weight;
among these last are sold us to Windward, the Teeth of the
Hippopotamus, or Sea-Horse, catched in the Rivers Nunes and
Gambia, about 16 Inches long, a white Ivory, but so brittle as not to
be easily worked.
The Rule upon the Coast is, that when four will weigh an hundred
weight, they shall all be accounted Teeth, and paid for as such, tho’
one or two of them be never so small; for the more Teeth encrease in
their weight, the better the Ivory, and makes amends for the
smallness of the other.
At Gambia, the points of them are often found broken, from the
Elephant’s grubbing against rocky Ground; at other times, you see
them flawed, or they are light in proportion to their bigness,
Circumstances that abate their value.
I have been often ruminating, how the trading Negroes come by
these Elephants Teeth, and find they exchange our European
Commodities with the inland Natives for them; but whether they
again shoot the Elephants, or find their Teeth in travelling through the
Woods and Desarts, is uncertain. Their Rivers and Canoos indeed,
help to extend their Knowledge a vast way through the Country, and
there are some Accounts that tell us, the Negroes scituated upon
these Rivers (like the Americans) make Excursion, or Voyages of a
month or two, from their Habitations.
Mr. Plunket of Sierraleon, and others of above twenty years
experience in those parts, have informed me, that Elephants move
and change their Pasture in very large Herds; that they have seen
Droves upon the Banks of the Gambia, of a thousand and fifteen
hundred together; that they are bold, have a tough Case, forage less
than Horses, and look out much better: from the Circumstance of
number, and boldness of their March (said to be in a line) they seem
secured from any attacks of the timorous Natives, who must come
very near, or their Skin is impenetrable by Fire-arms. Besides, Ivory
was the Trade of Guinea, before the use of them, to which I may
add, the weighty Teeth come to Sale in a less number than the
Screvelios; altogether persuading me, they are not shot, but that the
larger Size are Teeth of Elephants who have died naturally, and
which being grown to their utmost Perfection and Solidity, withstand
a very considerable Elapse of time, without decay or mouldering;
and that the Screvelios are probably such as are shed when young,
the like as we meet in the human Species, or as Bucks do their
Horns, which the Natives by practice know where to look for.
 GOLD.
The Gold of Guinea is mostly traded for at the Gold Coast (thence
denominated) and is either in Fetish, in Lump, or in Dust.
The Fetish-Gold is that which the Negroes cast into various
Shapes, and wear as Ornaments at their Ears, Arms, and Legs, but
chiefly at their Head, entangled very dextrously in the Wool; it is so
called, from some Superstition (we do not well understand) in the
Form, or in their Application and Use, commonly mixed with some
baser Metal, to be judged of by the Touch-Stone, and skill of the
Buyer you employ.
The Lump, or Rock Gold, is in pieces of different weights,
pretended to be brought our of Mines. I saw one of these which Mr.
Phips had at Cape Corso, weighing thirty Ounces, they are always
suspected to be artificial, and by the cunning Fellows in Trade, cast
so, to hide some baser mixture of Silver, Copper or Brass: wherefore
it is not safe trusting to the antique, dirty look, but to cut or run it for
satisfaction.
Dust Gold is the common Traffick, the best comes hither from the
neighbouring inland Kingdoms of Dinkira, Akim, and Arcana, and is
got (we are told) out of the River-Sands. Tagus in Portugal was once
so famed;
Omnis arena Tagi, quodque in mare volvitur aurum.
Juvenal. Satir. 3.
The Natives dig Pits nigh the Water-falls of Mountains abounding
with this Metal; the Ponderosity of their Particles sinking them there:
and then with incredible Pains and Industry, they wash the Earth and
Sand in Trays and Vessels till it all swims off, and they espy at
bottom now and then two or three shining Grains of Gold that pays
them (without great Fortune) only as Labourers.
 This is the most probable Account, how they come by their Gold
on this Coast: For if it were through Mines, and from Kingdoms so
nearly bordering on our Factories as Arcana (whence the best and
purest) it would long since, I imagine, have tempted us, or the Dutch
to have dispossessed the Natives, and worked them solely to our
own use.
Gold Dust is not gathered at any part of the same River, it’s said,
but at convenient Spots nearest the Mountains; because when too
distant from the Floods that wash through Mines, their Weight buries
them too deep, or disperses their Particles too widely, to answer the
Labour of Searching.
Masters of Ships customarily hire a Native, at so much per month,
for this part of the Trade; he has a quicker sight at knowing, and by
Practice, readier at separating the drossy and false Gold, with which
the true has ever some Mixture, to impose on unskilful People. This
impure Stuff is called Crackra, a Pin or brass Dust, current upon the
Gold Coast among themselves, but is a gross Cheat in Traffick,
some of it is very bad.
The way to separate, is by copper Blow-pans, shaped like Fire-
Shovels; into this your Gold-taker throws three or four Ounces at a
time, and by gently tossing, and blowing upon it, the lightest being
the false, flies off: the larger Grains he discriminates by his sight, and
separates by his Fingers with a wonderful dexterity.
Their way of counting Gold at the Factories, is by Ounces,
Bendees, and Marks, lesser are Dumbays, and Doccys, or Toccus;
12 of this, or 24 of that, make an Accy, (about 5s.)
All reserve it in Leather Pouches, and at London, the Gold-Smith
runs it down in a [36]Crucible at two pence per Ounce; it’s kept
dissolved for the Evaporation of Dross, (perhaps one Ounce in a
hundred) and then cast into a solid Bar; a Chip from it he sends to
the Assay-master in the Tower, who by his Office is Judge, and on a
small Fee, signs back a Note of it’s Value, that is, how much above,
or under Sterling; and so amounts to a Shilling or two over or under
4l. a Troy Ounce.
 Our Return upon the Gold Coast.
At our coming hither in October 1721, we understood every where
that the Pyrates under the Command of Roberts, had been
plundering the Ships down the whole Coast, but were then supposed
gone off: the latest Account of any who had suffered, being in August
last. We therefore, under no Apprehension of their Return, divided
the Provisions had been sent hither from England to us, and leaving
the Weymouth (the worst disabled Ship of the two) in Cape Corso
Road, stretch’d away to Windward again, the Beginning of
November, in order to mann, by the Purchase of Slaves, and
impressing Sailors from the Merchant Vessels; the latter we had little
Occasion of, their ill Treatment, and bad Diet (or a Pretence of it)
making them all Volunteers that could be spared.
At Succonda we heel’d and scrubbed Ship, a Ledge of Rock
shooting from the western Point nigh a League, making it a smoother
Sea than any of the neighbouring Places; and this little Check given
to the Water, we observed, made the Bay flow a foot or two higher
than any part of the plain Coast.
At Dixcove, the Windermost of our Gold-Coast Factories, we
heard by the Carlton, that the Soldiers who had come out under our
Convoy for the African Company’s Service at Gambia, had unhappily
mutiny’d with Captain Massey one of their Officers; disdaining the
bad usage of the Merchants who had the Command and Victualling
of them, they spiked up the Guns, and retir’d to the Ship which had
brought them over, (the Bumper) and there by a joint Consent of
George Lowther the second Mate, and some of the Sailors,
proceeded to Sea; the Effect of which, see in the History of the
Pyrates.
At Apollonia we found all our old Acquaintance were gone: The
Queen that had two or three Months ago sent off a Dashee of four
Accys, was lately, with her People, forced to move to Assinee.
There are a numerous People called Santies, or Assanties,
extending a long way on the back of them, who derive a
considerable Trade to the Coast, particularly at Anamaboo. This
Nation, provoked by the frequent Depredations and Panyarrs of the
Apollonians, had lately been down and drove them from their
Habitations; tho’ themselves, unwilling to own the Roguery, say it
has proceeded from the Instigation of Jan Conny their Neighbour
and Competitor. At Assinee therefore, we found them preparing to
revenge this Injury, buying up all our trading Arms at a good Price,
and giving a Fowl for every Flint we could spare, (there being no
such thing in the Country.) They are as fearless as any of the Colour,
both in Trade and War, and promise themselves an Amendment of
their Fortune, which, by accounts since, I hear they have
accomplished against Conny.
At Cape Three Points we found our Water-Pond almost dried up,
tho’ the Wind at S. E. had lately brought on two or three heavy
Showers of Rain, and they failing, constant thick Fogs in the day,
and what is very unusual at the distance we anchor, Dews in the
night on board: The Current to Westward. In this Bay, two or three
Evenings running, we saw a monstrous Fish heavily moving about
the Ship, divided into eight or ten different Parts, each as large as a
Thornback, sinking immediately at the throwing over a Hook; the
Sailors call it a Devil-Fish. Fire-Flies also, (common to warm
Latitudes,) flew about in the night; an Insect that makes the like light
in the Air, as Glow-Worms on the Ground.
What I shall farther observe from this Cruise or the Circuit we have
made, I never yet met either of those useful Animals, a Dog or a
Horse, among the Natives; the latter, Bosman (who writes of Guinea)
says, are numerous in-land; and of the other, their Bark turns to a
Howl in three or four Broods, their Ears and Colour inclining to a Fox.
Those I have seen, and not hitherto mentioned, are, among
Quadrupeds, the Cat, Hare, Rat, Lizzard, Boar, Porcupine, Civet-
Cat, Camelion, and Petto or Sluggard, from the Slowness of his
March; he will grow lean in the time he takes to ascend a Tree, and
never comes down till he has devoured all the Fruit. Birds, the
Parrot, Paraquet, Pheasant, Partridge, Wild-Duck, Turtle-Dove,
Snipe, Kite, and others. Fish, the Jack, Plaise, Sole, Bream,
Thornback, Dab, Lobster, Crab, Shrimp, &c. Reptiles, the Toad,
Scorpion, Centipes.
 P Y R AT E S .
As Roberts the Pyrate, by the bold Sweep made in August, had
struck a Pannick into the Traders, we were several times in our late
Cruise alarmed with Stories of their being again to Windward; which
kept us Plying, till others contradicting such Report, and considered
with the rashness of the Attempt, returned us to our Rendesvouz in
Cape Corso Road, where we had scarce well arrived, before Mr.
Phips received Intelligence by two or three Canoos dispatched to
him, of Vessels chased and taken by them a few Leagues off,
committing great Cruelties. They were well manned, we understood,
having increased their number greatly by this double Expedition, and
the Reputation of their Success; the Seamen every where entering,
notwithstanding our neighbourhood, and where they refused, by
report, ’twas oftner thro’ Fear, than any detestation of the Practice.
The Conclusion from our Advices, was to follow them to Whydah;
for avoiding this Road, (which it might be imagined they would do, in
respect to our being there) the next and chiefest Place for Booty was
there. We missed them however by 24 hours, but following quickly to
Cape Lopez, luckily fixed the Limits of their Navigation; their
Drunkenness, Inadvertency, and Disorder, making them fall an easy
Prize to us.
Discipline is certainly an excellent Path to Victory; we see it
through all Nations, who in some ages are warlike, in others
effeminate. Courage, locutory or military, like a Trade, is gained by
an Apprenticeship. The Coward to-day, may seven years hence
become a brave Fellow, and metamorphosed again, perhaps by a
bad Wife, or other adverse Fortune. What makes our Militia laughed
at, even by Men draughted from them? only because they want that
constant Discipline, the red Coat and martial Law, that makes the
other terrible: Every Man in standing Troops, is in a School of
Exercise, where, if not dull, he may acquire the Tread, the Talk, and
Courage of a Hero.[37] Subordination is an Essential to it in this very
Discipline; the Gentleman brought up ever so tamely, finding a
Courage with his Commission, and for the most part, increasing as
he becomes a Captain, a Colonel, or a General. The Pyrates, tho’
singly Fellows of Courage, yet wanting such a Tye of Order, some
Director to unite that Force, were a contemptible Enemy, neither
killed nor wounded us a man in taking them, and must ever, in the
same Circumstances, be the Fate of such Rabble.
We found in the three Ships about 200 Englishmen, 60 or 70 stout
Negro Slaves, great plenty of trading Goods, and, what more
attracted the Eye, a large quantity of Gold Dust, by computation, 8 or
10000l. the Searches made, and the Diligence of the Officers in
those Searches, imagining themselves to have some share in the
Heap, makes that Sum very probable; the Pyrates themselves giving
out double: for all which, the Commander at home obtained the
Privy-Seal.
The People, their Wives, and Widows, who thought themselves
injured in this Seclusion, petitioned the Lords-Commissioners of the
Admiralty, the Secretaries, and other Officers of State, for a Recall of
this Grant; sine Auspiciis. The Officers joined also in a Petition for
the E—— of B——y’s Interposition, to obtain for them the Division of
any Sum they might prove, over and above what was suggested in
obtaining the Privy-Seal;—and with the same Success.
To return from this Excursion; the number of our Prisoners gave a
great deal of fatigue and uneasiness, during a six Weeks Passage,
lest the danger of a Halter should prompt them to some desperate
Attempt for their Liberty; but arriving safe at Cape Corso again, they
were there brought to their Tryals, hang’d, or acquitted; the Court
allowing for the Office of Register,
l. s. d.
26 Days Attendance, at 30s. per
Diem, for which at home ⅓ was 26 00 0
deducted
 The Provost, 7s. 6d. per Diem 9 15 0

The General of the Coast gave the Table, which made the whole
Charge rest upon those two Articles, the cheapest since the
Reformation.
 St. George de E L M I N A .
During our Stay in the Road, an Officer or two of us took an Interval
to wait on Mr. Butler, the Director-General for the Dutch at St.
George de Elmina, three Leagues to Windward; he received us so
much the more kindly, that in eighteen years which he had resided
on the Coast, he had seldom been visited by his Countrymen, and of
late, not at all, which he imputed to the Misunderstandings that were
frequently happening between him and his Neighbour, Mr. Phips, on
account of Trade; they could not pay him this Compliment without
offending the other. His Table had ten Dishes of Victuals, an
extraordinary Shew in a part of such Scarcity, with variety of Beer
and Wine, and an attendance of six Negro Servants, each a gold
Chain about his Neck, the largeness distinguishing Grandeur, as fine
Cloth or Lace does a Livery.
After Dinner, Mr. Butler gave us four gold Rings a-piece, (the Make
of the Country) a Trifle, he said, to remember him, and then shewed
us their Apartments and Store-houses, large, and well stocked.
The Castle, taken from the Portuguese in 1638, is a Quadrangle,
like that of Cape Corso, but has a double Ditch round, cut out of a
Rock, which like Basins hold the Rain-water, and give additional
Strength; a populous Negro Town at the foot of it, under their
Protection.
From hence, we retired for the Afternoon to a Summer-house in
his Garden, and in the Evening his Officers attended us to the Boat,
where we were still followed with Marks of undeserved Respect,
three or four Rooves of Brasil Sugar, (then a Commodity) and at
putting off, a Salute of nine Guns. The worst part of our Fare came
afterwards, when we could not commend this Hospitality and
Generosity of Mr. Butler, without indirect Reflections upon our own
Castle.
On the 1st of May 1722, we left Cape Corso, (for my own part, I
hope till Doom’s-Day) and on the third, came down to Whydah. Here
we took a Sailor out of a Portuguese Ship, that had been a
Confederate in seizing Captain Rowry’s Vessel, as mentioned before
at St. Thomas’s; he, on the Reflection of his Crime, and a Fear of
worse Evil, cut his Throat, and died. About this time I was appointed
Purser to the Weymouth, (a Bursier, the Officer in Colleges, that
takes care of their Accounts) every body being dead almost, that
could do it: and with Reluctancy in me, because not skill’d in the
Employ, and neither Cooper, Steward, or Necessaries on board; but
the Indulgence I expected on these accounts from a worthy
Commander, and some little Advantage in quitting the Surgeon’s
Employ, were Persuasives.
From Whydah, both Men-of-War steered away for Cape Lopez, to
wood and water, in order for the West-Indies.
 Cape L O P E Z .
Cape Lopez makes a safe and pleasant Bay, our anchoring in 20
Fathom Water, the Cape N W B N, the Watering-place S B E, each a
mile and half distance.
Coming in, we bring the Cape S. S. W. to avoid what most Charts
lay down, the Shoal called Frenchman’s Bank, about a League and
half N. N. E. from the Cape; and some say there are other Shoals
between that and the Main to the Northward.
The Cape is low and steep, yet looks bluff with Trees, has some
Savannahs behind, the resort of Buffaloes; I have seen a dozen
head at a time here, which, when you are minded to hunt or shoot,
the Negroes are ready to assist. The Bay is well stored with Fish,
and the Country affords Plantains, Goats, Fowls, and particularly
grey Parrots, all cheap; but their principal trading Commodities are
Wax in Cakes, and Honey, exchanged with us on easy terms, for
Linnen, Calicos, Stuffs, Pewter Spoons, Knives, &c. and it is the Seal
of all Bargains, to take hold of one another’s Hands and say,
Palaaver suquebah.
Pou, or Wood, is after the rate of a Fathom, for an old Guinea
Sheet; their Water free, and easy come at, but is a standing Pool,
and not so well-tasted therefore as Springs.
The Natives are harmless and inoffensive, never sell one another.
But when Ships come in, flock towards the Bay with Wax, Honey, a
few Teeth, and little Gold; which last, I rather believe, is brought
thither, because not one of them seemed to know the Value of it.
They are timorous, and therefore have their Habitations at a distance
from the Sea, few of them venturing on board a Ship; feared, I
suppose, by the Tricks have formerly been put upon them by our
Traders: so that we barter altogether on shore, where they attend for
that purpose.
Their familiar Salute at meeting, is by clapping their hands two or
three times, to one another. To a Superior, (the Cabiceer, or the
Aged) they bend the Knee, raising first their Hands to the out-parts of
their Shoulders or Arms, then patting the other’s Hands gently three
times, they cry Chamba at each time, and retreat with three times
clapping their own hands:—to profess an extraordinary Friendship to
you, they raise your Hand as high as they can reach.
Many of them have borrowed Names from the Europeans that put
in here, and are pleased when you will adopt them to wear such a
Cognizance of your Remembrance; they do not sollicit this Favour till
after several views, that they see something to be admired, or that
the Person asked, has a fancied Sympathy of Temper, or likeness
with themselves.
As they come down to trade in Tribes, each has a Captain or
Leader, who always craves or claims some Dashee, before you
strike a Bargain with any of the other Negroes; a Bottle of Brandy, a
Sabre, Knife, or any ordinary Apparel is acceptable; the Chief loves
to distinguish himself by an Imitation of our Dress, and is often so
preposterously set out with Hat, Wig, and Breeches, that he makes a
fifty times more ridiculous, and scaramouch Figure, than any of his
naked Dependants.
Jacobus was one of these; he takes on him the Title of King,
without knowing the meaning, and came on board to visit us in a
very antick Figure; an old Sailor’s Wig turned upside down, half a
pair of Breeches, Jacket, Hat, &c. yet this Man seemed to be
reverenced much by the others, and in drinking, two of them always
held up a Cloth before his Face, that he might not be seen; the
Custom seems to have a State in it, and borrowed perhaps from
some neighbouring Monarch: He of Monomotapa, it is said, never
drinks, but the Court put up their Prayers with a loud Voice, which
being heard by others, is transmitted over the whole Town.
As Jacobus and his Company grew drunk, (for they swallowed
nothing but Bumpers of Brandy) I observed this Respect was laid