We reached the brig’s side, and a surly voice hailed us. “Whatcher want?” it said, in the deep baritone of the typical Yankee bos’n.
“Hoot, ye Yankee,” cried Martin, “we’ve come visitin’, d’ye ken that? A-visitin’, an’, if ye be so hospitable as ye have no reason t’ be, we’re dommed welcome. If we ain’t, I’ll ask ye to show us cause why, an’ maybe I ken prove ye’re wrong by the strength o’ logic,” and he held up two brawny hands like the paws of a tiger.
“Well, I don’t keer to have no drunken louts aboard this here vessel,” said the fellow, leaning over the rail so that I could get a glimpse of him. “Ef yer got any money, sing out whatcher want. This here’s a honest trading-brig, an’ kin give ye all a good nip o’ prime American whiskey for a mighty low price.”
The man was quite uncommon-looking. He must have stood six feet six, and was as lean as a flagstaff. 181His face was lined and burned, as though used to a tropical sun, and his eyes were faded and yellow.
“Ye be a rare raskil, an’ that’s a fact,” said Martin. “Is there anything ye widna do for the coin? Bide a bit, and let us coom aboard. ’Tis liquor I crave for the sake of me system.”
We ran the dingey alongside and prepared to mount the channels to the deck, but, on looking up, we noticed the long man had not moved or spoken, but had drawn forth a huge horse-pistol, which he poked over the rail.
“Youst hold on a bit with that,” said Bill. “We know you’re a trader all right by the smell o’ yer. We ain’t no men-o’-war’s men, so what’s that got to do with us?”
The tall man looked thoughtfully along the barrel of the weapon, and then put it out of sight. “Wall, come up, then, if ye know the smell so well.”
Thus invited, we quickly made our way aboard, and lost no time in purchasing some of the “good American whiskey,” which turned out to be the worst stuff afloat.
All idea of changing ships left me as I stepped on deck. She was without doubt a slaver, bound out in the same rascally enterprise we were. But, as she carried the American flag, she was free from British men-of-war, and consequently less afraid 182of detection. For, although slaving was now a piracy, no British ship could take her without slaves aboard, and there were only two or three small American cruisers in the South Atlantic, and these were too slow to capture a very fast ship. I wondered why Hawkson allowed us aboard her, knowing well that we were almost sure to tell of our affairs. Then I remembered his request to note her armament and crew.
The latter we found just below the hatches, all armed to the teeth with pistols, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes, awaiting the word of their captain to spring on deck and defend their ship should occasion arise. Our boat was a suspicious object that the long skipper had been watching for some time, and believed there was some game behind our innocent call. The six little guns on each broadside were all loaded, and we found that she would clear just as soon as water could be brought aboard.
After the men--there were twenty-six in all--had put aside their arms and received us as companions, we had the usual sailors’ orgy before starting back. Yarns were told, and, if ever there was a crew of unhung rascals, these self-confessed villains would have formed them.
Martin seemed pleased at last to find men who stopped at nothing, and before he left was talking piracy, and begging some of the hardiest to join 183him. He was very drunk, however, and his railings were counted as little, but I knew that he was really speaking, as drunken men often do, from their inmost hearts. One great hulking fellow, with red whiskers, took a little with the scheme, and another man, an Italian sailor, looked a bit queer about the eyes when the Scot talked of gold. The long skipper heard nothing of their ravings, for, after allowing us aboard the vessel, he retired to the cabin, where his mates were waiting to see the outcome of the visit. When they saw we were really only four able-bodied men of a strange barque, their interest appeared to fade away entirely. We finally shoved off, dizzy and sick with the poison imbibed, myself thoroughly disgusted with the slaver’s crew, and Martin and Ernest inviting them to a meeting ashore.
Hawkson took me aside when we returned, and asked a few questions. My disgust for my countrymen was too apparent not to be noticed, and the mate evidently thought it safe to trust me now anywhere, for I was allowed ashore again that evening.
Our liberty crews were unique and grotesque. There was little care for desertion, evidently on account of Henry’s ability to get the deserters without trouble from any island where access to the mainland could only be had by some large vessel that could be easily seen. And, as we were mongrel 184in the extreme, there was much to be expected from mixture.
Bill declared he should get very drunk at once on the wine he had heard so much about but never had tasted, and Martin declared he would do anything a true Christian sailor might be expected to do. His chum, Anderson, was surly and fierce, on account of his recent ill-treatment aboard, and talked openly of killing any one of our officers he might meet on the beach. Watkins had gone in the captain’s gig to attend to getting fresh provisions for the after-guard, and the black Doctor came with us, for it was to be our last run ashore, as we would clear at once. The signal had been set and a gun fired for the crew on the Desertas, and all was ready again for our voyage. The goats’ and hogs’ meat would be ready to be pickled, and would be stowed at sea.
We landed on the beach, and a crowd of the strangely dressed natives offered to pilot us around to see the town of Funchal. The men wore tight knee-breeches, and their thin, bare legs sticking out of enormous boots looked remarkably queer. A pair of them insisted on joining us, in spite of Martin’s threat and the Doctor’s pugnacity, and, after a scuffle or two, we let them lead the way to town. Our other boats had rowed up.
Hawkson had detained only Jorg and a couple 185of Swedes aboard, and I wondered vaguely if it were well to be so short-handed should a British man-of-war rise above the horizon. I did not know whether or not we could be taken, for, although English built, we were evidently under Yankee Dan’s charter. Still there must certainly be considerable treasure aboard, in order to do the trading, and, if searched and captured, there was a strong probability of losing it.
We finally reached the sailors’ harbour, that is, a wine-shop, and because I had not forgotten the effects of the last carouse I had in Nassau, I refused to drink. The swinish crew insisted, and the Doctor wished to know why I would not drink with him.
“Disha nigger’s as good as any white man, an’, if I am a slave, I belong to er man wat’s er m-a-an, an’ he’s done quit drinkin’ milk. I never did think much of you nohow, an’ I kin lick yo’ fur tuppence, dat I kin,” said he, advancing and showing his ugly, sharp teeth.
There was no earthly use of starting a fight, and there was little glory in handling a man who was bound by law to submit to the white man’s will. I therefore left the crowd and went alone through the town, hoping to see something besides debauch.
I strolled through the quaint streets, attracting more or less attention, and somehow I found myself 186straying in the direction of the inn where Yankee Dan and his daughter were staying. Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of my appearance, for, although I rated a gunner, and therefore a petty officer, I was dressed but little better than an average sailor, and my linen, though put on fresh for the beach, was not what I wished it to be. I soon recognized the place, and looked to see Mr. Curtis around, but he was evidently with the captain and Dan, making a settlement for the spars we had shipped, and fixing the barque’s papers.
I caught sight of the flutter of a dress on the broad loggia, and then saw Miss Allen sitting there in the breeze. An unaccountable impulse made me stop and head directly toward her, for she was the only thing that relieved the coarseness and roughness of the life I had led aboard the barque.
“Good evening, Miss Allen,” I said, stopping just in front of her.
“Good evening, John,” she answered, kindly, as if addressing an old servant, and she smiled and laid aside her book.
The tone disturbed me. Had she shown any interest besides that for a hopelessly familiar chat from a superior point of view, I might have passed on and nothing would have happened. As it was, my spirit rose a bit.
“I am as well as any man can be who is fastened 187to a ship he would like to get clear of,” said I, and walked boldly upon the porch where she sat.
“I wonder you can get along anywhere with your amazing impudence,” she answered. “Can you tell me what you would have me do to alleviate your suffering? If papa saw you here talking to me like this, I think you would even care less for a voyage with him in The Gentle Hand.”
“Hang your--I was about to say your father,” I answered, “but as this fate is liable to overtake all the men concerned, it would be unwise to tempt Providence. I didn’t come here, however, to carry tales to his daughter.”
“Will you kindly state just what brought you, then? You are an American, John, and I’m interested in you to that extent.”
“That is most kind,” I answered, “and I will make it perfectly plain before I leave.” Here I drew up a chair, and sat quietly down at a respectful distance. Her eyebrows raised a trifle at this action, and her smile hardened a bit, but I was aroused now and I paid no further attention to mere details.
“I suppose,” I said, “that you believe me suffering from sconce swellus.”
“It must be an extraordinary disorder for a sailor,” she answered.
“Translated into nautical language, it means swelling of the frontal bone, producing an ecstatic degree of self-complacency in a hitherto irresponsible mind,” said I, “and it is more often found to exist among young persons, much younger even than I am. I wished to say that my exalted rank on the barque was not such as to produce the disease.”
“I see,” said Miss Allen, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“In that case, I’ll proceed to tell you that slaving is not my chosen vocation, and, if you are unfortunate enough to marry Mr. Curtis, and thus control the sinews of the enterprise, I would like to have the crew diminished by one or two hands, beginning with me.”
189“Did it ever occur to you that the captain might be the person to whom you should make the request,” she answered, smiling a little.
“It did occur to me that he might be the one, but, on considering his peculiar and hasty actions, it occurred later to me that he might not.”
“Well, if you intend to wait until the misfortune overtakes me that you suggest, I’m afraid there is little use of your sublime impudence.”
“If that is really true,” said I, without hardly knowing what I was saying, “I will be content to be slaver, or even pirate, for that matter. If you really don’t intend to--”
“That will do, sir! Be still!” she cried, now aroused. Then she arose from her chair, and, looking like an angry goddess, turned about to face Mr. Curtis, who had stepped out of the house, and who had evidently lost very little of the last part of our conversation.
“Good evening, Miss Allen,” said he. “When you get through talking to that sailor about your private affairs, we might take a little stroll before dark.”
“I hardly feel it necessary under the circumstances,” said the girl.
“You might later on,” said he. His voice was cold, but his eyes held smouldering fires that flashed ominously.
190“Is that a threat?” said she, haughtily, as steps sounded on the gravel walk around the corner of the house.
“No fear,” I snapped out without thinking, and, as I did so, Hicks and Captain Howard swung around the corner and were alongside.
The old pirate stopped and looked at me a moment. “What’s this fellow doing here?” he asked, noting my attitude, which was not of respect to Mr. Curtis.
“I don’t know,” said he; “but if you will kindly lend me your cutlass, I’ll see if he has blood in him.”
The old fellow instantly drew forth the hanger he always carried whenever going ashore, and passed the hilt to Mr. Curtis. Hicks stood near, smiling contemptuously.
The affair began to have a serious look. I could hardly run with honour, and Miss Allen would sooner have cut off her right hand than ask him to withhold the blade.
“Sir John,” she cried, turning to Hicks, “if that man is harmed, you will live to be sorry for it. Heywood,” she said, turning to me, “go about your business.”
“Not while he has that weapon in his hand,” said I, “but if he will lay it aside, and step down on the beach here--” Here he made a pass that would have given me a bad stab had not Hicks 191knocked the thrust aside with his heavy walking-stick, which he now held before him like a sword.
Like a flash, Curtis turned upon him. The cutlass rose and fell like rapid flashes of lightning in the gathering darkness, but each stroke found the thick cane in its path, and Hicks remained unhurt.
Howard burst into a loud guffaw. “Go it, bullies!” he cried. “Poke him in the ribs, Curtis! Whang him on the knuckles, Hicks! Stand to it! Stand to it! No flinching!”
Yankee Dan’s daughter stood upon the porch, her hands clenched, and her breast heaving with excitement. “Stop them! Oh, do stop them, Heywood,” she gasped.
“If he does, I’ll stuff his hide for a figurehead,” cried Howard, sitting down to fully enjoy the scene. “Any one who stops such pretty play, my dear child, will surely learn trouble. Look at that, an’ that!”
Curtis had forced his adversary backward into the road, and several persons came running to see the scuffle. One of these had recklessly tried to seize the cutlass, and had received a couple of good slashes with the blade. The fellow screamed with pain. I started forward, but was instantly ordered back by Captain Howard.
The slight diversion gave Hicks a chance to recover himself from the suddenness of the attack, 192and land a blow upon Curtis’s knuckles, which caused him to drop his weapon. Then, in spite of Howard’s threats and the struggles of the combatants, they were separated just as Yankee Dan and the main official of the town appeared at the door of the inn, followed by a crowd of servants and sightseers.
“It’s a shame your men interfere with such sport,” said Captain Howard. “It’s an outrage, sir.”
Yankee Dan had evidently settled for the repairs on the barque, and the officer’s good-will was not held so high as formerly.
“Are you addressing me, sir?” asked the officer.
“I am, sir, I am. It’s a d----d outrage the way you allow these rogues to interfere with gentlemen. You owe me an apology for spoiling that sport.”
“You’ll get something entirely different if you entertain any such peculiar ideas regarding sport,” said the official.
“Tut, tut, stow the row!” said Yankee Dan. “Come inside, Rose,” he continued to his daughter, and she followed him out of sight.
Hicks came up at that moment and strode through the staring group, and I thought it about time to depart.
Curtis had disappeared, and a fellow handed Captain Howard his cutlass. The old sailor’s face remained 193as unmarked by passion as a piece of iron, while he called the official names that would have made a dog wince, and he thrust his cutlass back in its scabbard with easy carelessness. Then he called for something to drink, and seated himself comfortably again to enjoy it. I slipped off down the road, and he evidently forgot all about the incident and the part I took in it before I was out of sight. As I reached the landing, where we had left the small boat, I noticed the big man, the skipper of the Yankee trader, directing two of his crew to lift a large box. He apparently did not see me in the gloom of the evening, for it was now getting quite dark, and he ordered his men about in rough tones.
“You, Sile, fling your end aboard, and don’t get them slops wet, whatever you do. That Cap’n Howard don’t want no wet slops a-comin’ aboard his ship. Says he’s paid nine shillin’ sixpence fer them jumpers wot’ll sell fer five shillin’ anywhere outside London docks.”
I approached and stood by, looking on. Suddenly he noticed me.
“Hello, mate,” said he, “be ye a-goin’ aboard yer ship?”
There seemed little use staying ashore.
“Yes, I reckon I will when I get a boat,” I answered.
194“Well, hop right in there. I’ve got a bit o’ goods fer yer cap’n, and so long as I’ve got tew take ’em aboard, I’ll take ye along with ’em.”
I stepped into the boat, and was followed by four surly cutthroats, who sullenly took up the oars. The captain followed.
“Shove off!” he growled, and the men sent her clear. Then two natives appeared and clamoured for some payment, following the boat into the water.
“Get clear, you Guineas!” growled the tall man, giving one a rap over the head with the boat-hook, and the other a sharp crack on the knuckles, where he held the gunwale. This caused them to let go and retreat to the beach, spluttering a string of strange oaths, which the men heeded not the least, but let fall their oars, and in a moment had the boat heading out in the roadstead in the direction of The Gentle Hand.
“I s’pose you uns ain’t goin’ out fer a day or two yet?” said the tall skipper, after he had seated himself in the stern-sheets.
“I believe we’ll clear to-morrow,” I answered. “Our crew out on the Desertas must have bucanned enough goat to last half the tribes of the Senegal six months.”
“This feeding them blamed niggers is the very devil,” said he, seeming to be remarkably communicative for a captain who was talking to a strange 195sailor. “Them coons has ter be kept fat. Just as soon as they begin to pine, they goes almighty fast. Now there’s ole Zack Richards, who’s too mean to lay out anything except boiled rice. Why, he left a trail o’ dead men clean acrost to Cuba, an’ there warn’t an hour between bodies a-followin’ in his wake. You say you’re well heeled with grub?”
I told him everything was first-class aboard The Gentle Hand.
“Got plenty o’ rocks, hey? Plenty o’ real money ter back the game, hey? I s’pose they keeps a safe aboard, with iron doors an’ regular money lock, under the cabin. Never seen the cash outfit, hey?”
“No,” said I; “I’m only the gunner aboard, although I shipped as mate. I never got a chance to see what’s aft.”
“You’re most uncommon clever for a gunner, sink me! but I took ye for first officer, at least. ’Course you’ve been mate an’ master, too, for that matter. I c’u’d see that easy. I was just a-tellin’ Sile, when you came over to-day, what a crackin’ mate they had on that barque.” Here he looked hard at the surly man with the stroke oar, who nodded and spat abundantly over the side to emphasize his corroboration.
“Must be somethin’ of a wessel when she has fellers like you below mate’s ratin’. She is a good-lookin’ 196barque, but I reckon she’s pretty old. We’ll swing up on the port quarter best, and you can hail the deck. Tell ’em here’s a chest o’ slops fer Captain Howard wot goes in his cabin. He sent ’em off in this boat, an’ I won’t charge him nuthin’ fer freight.”
I bawled for a line, and Hawkson’s head appeared over the taffrail.
“Here’s a chest for the captain,” I said, “it has--”
“It goes in his cabin,” said the long man, interrupting. “Them’s his instructions.”
“What’s in it?” asked Hawkson.
“Just common slops,” said the long skipper, “though he’s paid a shillin’ or two more’n them cheap goods is worth. As fer me, I wouldn’t vally the whole contents o’ that chest ekal to the powder an’ lead to blow ’em ter Davy Jones,--an’ I don’t mind sayin’ it loud enough to be heard. He’s got a lock on it big an’ strong enough ter hold solid gold, an’ he’s kept the key. Pass a line an’ we’ll heave it up. I must be goin’. Reckon I’ll clear in a couple of hours.”
A couple of men dropped a line, which was quickly bent to one of the handles of the chest, and in a few moments it was aboard the barque. The small boat hung alongside for some minutes, while the long skipper swore and cursed at Sile for not having 197been more careful about the barque’s paint, as the chest scratched it a little. Then, hearing the men carrying the affair below, he waved his cigar, which shone in the darkness, and shoved off.
“You may lower down that signal, Haywood,” said Hawkson, after I had watched the long skipper disappear in the darkness.
Glancing aloft, it was too dark to see what signal he meant, so I hesitated, knowing all our bunting was generally hauled down at sunset.
“That pennant flying from the gaff,” said Hawkson, noting my slowness. “That’s been flying all afternoon for Mr. Gull on the Desertas. Signal agreed on to call him in. We’re bound out to-morrow, but didn’t have to tell the whole island about it.”
I went to the spanker-boom and sought the signal halyard. Then I hauled down the pennant, which I remembered noting during the day, but gave no particular thought. Rolling it up, I started forward to turn in when Hawkson stopped me.
“I wish you would keep a lookout aft there,” said he, “I’m going below and turn in a bit, and 199I want to be called when the old man comes aboard. Get your supper from Heligoland, and then lay aft until the gig comes alongside.”
On reaching the forecastle, I noticed Heligoland eye me sharply, then he brought forth a piece of paper folded squarely and sealed on the corners in very fine style.
I wondered at this, for I had not received a note from any one for a long time. Looking askance at the Norwegian, I slowly tore it open, and spread it forth under the forecastle lamp. At first I could make little out of it, for it was a scrawl and somewhat blotted. Then I finally made out the name Richards at the bottom of it, and started in to read it afresh.
“My dear friend Heywood,” it went, “when you get this note, I will be off the ship. There won’t be any use looking for me until I choose to turn up, but you will see me again before long. I wanted you to go with me, but it couldn’t be fixed. If you take care not to get killed, maybe I can help you live a bit longer.
Peter Richards.”
The letter was somewhat ambiguous, but Richards was something of a scholar, having been a mate and an officer on a man-of-war, so I thought that it was perhaps simply a way he had of saying good-bye. 200I knew he intended to jump the ship, and supposed, of course, he would not think of such a thing without taking me in his confidence. Here he had gone, and he made no excuse, save that it could not be fixed. I swore at him for fully a minute, and then Heligoland asked what it was. As he could not read any language, let alone English, it was safe to tell him the first thing that happened not to bear in any way upon the case. He seemed satisfied.
At eight bells I had eaten a bad meal cooked by the Norwegian sailor left in charge, and betook myself aft to the quarter-deck. The night was quite dark, and the lights on the shore twinkled brightly, sending their reflection streaming seaward over the oily swell that rolled in gently upon the sand. There was little wind, barely enough to feel, and I lounged over the taffrail until I found myself dozing.
It was close to two bells when I was roused by a peculiar sound in the lazarette beneath me. There was a noise as of some one sawing gently, and this was followed by a scraping like that caused by dragging something heavy across the deck.
While I rested half upon the rail, with my eyes fixed upon the lazarette hatch, I became aware of the sound of voices in the water astern, coming from seaward. Soon I distinguished the gentle 201rippling of water from a boat’s stem, and heard Mr. Gull’s voice tell his men to take in their sail.
“Don’t seem to be any one on deck,” he growled, surlily, as the boat came under the counter directly beneath me.
“Give me your painter,” I said, quietly, reaching over for it, and then, as it was tossed up, taking it forward to the mizzen lanyards, where I proceeded to make it fast.
While doing this, I became aware of two men standing on the taffrail, carrying a heavy chest, which they were balancing upon the rail while bending on a line to it. At first I thought they were from the boat alongside, but instantly remembered the height of our quarter above the rail of the small boat, and knew no one could have climbed up so quickly.
“Stand from under,” growled one, whose voice sounded very like that of the red-headed villain Martin had taken into his drunken confidence aboard the brig. Then the chest disappeared over the rail, and the other man quickly caught a turn with the line about a belaying-pin, to ease it off. I was now close beside them, and had no difficulty in recognizing the silent one as the Guinea we had met in the brig that morning.
“Over with you!” growled the fellow who had first spoken. “Don’t be all night about letting that 202go,” and, suiting his action to his words, he sprang upon the rail and dropped over.
“What the blazes is this?” roared Mr. Gull from below, as the chest landed in his boat.
The fellow saw me as he slipped over the rail, and flung his knife at my face, the blade just grazing my cheek. Before I could recover myself, both the men had cleared the side and had dropped below. I rushed to the rail and peered over. Below there were fierce oaths and the sound of a desperate struggle, and in an instant several voices roared out for the watch on deck. Mr. Gull could be heard and dimly seen cursing and grappling with a man who strove to get over the boat’s stern into the water, while a black mass of men struggled in the boat’s bottom, yelling and cursing wildly in a strenuous combat.
The sudden uproar aroused Hawkson, who came bounding up the companion, with a cutlass in one hand and pistol in the other.
“What’s the row?” he bawled, making to the side.
“You may search me,” I answered. “Looks like a lot of lunatics below there.”
“Shore grog, I reckon. I’ll string that Martin up for this, an’ give Jones a dozen--Break away there, you blackguards, an’ come aboard, or I’ll fire into ye,” he bellowed, levelling his pistol.
203“Hold on!” I cried. “It’s Mr. Gull and his men.”
“Mr.--what?” he asked, peering over. “Sink me, if it ain’t! What’s the matter below there? D’ye want any help?”
At that moment a shadow shot out of the gloom, and we saw a boat swing quickly alongside of the one already fast to us.
“Now, then, cut loose there,” drawled the voice of the long skipper, and instantly the blackness was streaked with flashes, as the weapons rang out.
Then some of our men began clambering aboard by the painter in the mizzen, while Hawkson roared and fired his pistol at the new boat.
Bawling for men to follow, we slid down the lines still trailing over the stern, but, before we could reach the boat beneath, it was pulled from under us, and then we were left hanging over the black water. By the time Hawkson and I climbed back on deck, the scuffle below had ceased, and the long skipper was bawling out a hoarse farewell from the darkness seaward, and being answered by Mr. Gull from his boat in fitting terms.
When lanterns were brought out, it was seen that several of our men were seriously hurt, and lay upon the pile of provisions in the boat. The chest had disappeared, and was evidently in the possession of the skipper of the Yankee brig. At this, 204Hawkson plunged below, and came up a few minutes later with the news that the barque’s treasure-chest was missing, and that she must consequently be made ready for sea at once.
The affair was now perfectly plain. Our men were nearly all ashore, and it was impossible to get them before morning. The long skipper had put a couple of men in the chest, sent them aboard, and they had worked the treasure-chest on deck, mistaking Mr. Gull’s boat for their own, which they had evidently arranged to have on hand at the appointed time. But for the last part of the game, everything would have gone quietly. The empty slop-chest, with its large lock, was the only evidence, besides some wounded men, to show that we had been boarded and robbed in the most approved pirate fashion.
We stood about, gazing at the empty chest with its lock, which was put on to guard against inquisitive persons opening it before the men within desired to come out. Forgetting entirely that we were within the sacred precincts of the captain’s cabin, Hawkson stood gazing at the affair lying open before him, swearing at the tricky skipper who had so easily hoodwinked him, and apparently lost as to the best method of regaining the chest.
Suddenly the sound of voices came down the companion, and the noise of a boat bumping alongside. 205He sprang to the poop, cutlass in hand, ready-to repel boarders, and the rest followed in his wake, all armed now and in a temper for business.
We arrived just in time to meet Captain Howard and Hicks, who climbed up the ladder to starboard, and were on their way aft followed by Watkins, the steward.
Mr. Gull had already started to explain matters, and tell how he had been overpowered, but our formidable appearance caused the old fellow to draw his cutlass and stand on guard.
“What’s this mean? D’ye dare mutiny?” he roared, and it was some moments before Hawkson could explain that mutiny was our last thought, but that our principal desire was to meet the long trader and his crew. I was afraid I would suffer from suspicion in the affair, but Mr. Gull told how he sent me forward with his painter to make it fast in the mizzen, and nothing was said to me about the matter.
“Allen carried most of the specie ashore the day after we came in,” I heard Hicks say to Mr. Gull. “There was nothing of any value in that chest, but, as it’ll be dead calm all night, we’ll have a try at him to-morrow if he’s in sight. He won’t get far, and, if we only had all hands here, we could board him where he lays.”
Howard, after seeing that everything was all 206right aboard, and that Mr. Gull had brought a ton or more of goat meat, went below, while we rove a tackle and unloaded the stuff on deck, the men hurt in the fracas being allowed to turn in.
It was nearly midnight before the rest of us went into the forecastle, which now somewhat resembled a hospital, and I stretched out in my pew, wondering what would become of Mr. Curtis and Miss Allen if the barque sailed in the morning with our trader aboard.
Before the light of the early morning filtered below, we were aroused by the entrance of the liberty crew.
“Youst look at the mess,” cried Bill, staggering down the companion. “Jump below, friend Martin, an’ see the horsepittle they’ve made in this fo’c’sle.”
“Hoot, ye Scandinavian imp, is any one hurt? Mark ye, if there’s any fighting to be done, I’ll do it! Ye ken that? I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” And he followed Bill below, and after him trooped Big Jones, Ernest, and the rest. There was noise enough when we told our yarn of the evening before, and all except Anderson took a peep from the hatch seaward to try and raise the brig, which had cleared during the night. She was out of sight, however, and they came swarming below again, where the surly Swede was thanking the fates the barque had been robbed, and only mourned because none of her officers were killed or wounded.
208Jennings and Jorg, the Finn, were about the only men who had received no hurt from the fracas, except myself. Even Heligoland had received a bad scratch from a stray bullet, and all of Gull’s crew were more or less bruised and banged about by the villains. One of the boat’s crew took a crack over the head that had put him out for many minutes, and another a stab from a knife that rendered his hand useless for the time being. Owing to the darkness, no one had received a bullet from the long skipper’s fire.
Before we had time to speculate upon what we would do, Hawkson’s voice bawled out for all hands, and Henry appeared at the hatch.
We turned out and saw smoke flying from the galley-pipe, and heard the voice of the Doctor singing off the effects of shore grog while he hustled the breakfast. In a few minutes we had eaten, and were manning the windlass to heave short.
There was a gentle breeze blowing, and the topsails were loosened, the canvas falling from the yards and hanging hauled up at the clews, ready to sheet home at the word. Far away seaward, the Desertas--the barren rocks infested only by wild goats--stood out sharply against the southern sky. Nothing white like a royal, however, broke the line of blue, and it was evident that our friend, the brig, had made a good offing during the night, in spite 209of the lack of wind. While Jim and Tom, our two Liverpool cockneys, squeaked out a song, to which Gus and Ernest added their guttural grunts, the starboard watch hove on the windlass brakes, and began to take the slack out of our cable. Before we had taken twenty feet, however, we noticed a boat coming from the shore, and soon recognized Yankee Dan, the trader. In a few minutes he was alongside bawling for Captain Howard. Then he climbed over the side, and, without stopping to pay his fare, started aft.
“It’s a nice mess he’s made ashore,” he said, as Hawkson appeared on the poop. “Don’t he know he’ll have to fight? What’s he afraid of, anyway?”
“Who?” asked the mate.
“The old man, of course. Who else? Hasn’t he insulted that Guinea officer ashore there? Don’t he know he’s playing mighty strange, not showin’ up when time’s called? Where is he?”
“Below,” said Hawkson, “but he’ll be on deck if he hears you, fast enough. What’s the trouble?”
I had reached the starboard quarter gun by this time, and saw a smooth poll, like the knob of a door, poked up the companion.
“Who’s making that racket?” growled a voice, and Howard’s face appeared over the coamings.
“Ain’t you goin’ to meet your man?” bawled the trader.
210“What man, you nigger-thief?” growled Howard.
“I’ll settle with you afterward,” said the trader, coming close to him. “You better attend to one quarrel at a time. Are you goin’ to fight or not? You know the man well enough, the officer you insulted yesterday.”
“Where is he?” growled the old villain.
“On the beach, waitin’ for you. Are ye blind?”
“That’ll do the anchor. Get the small boat ready,” said he to the mate. “I reckon we’ll wait a bit and see what’s up ashore.”
In a moment after, he had disappeared down the companion. Howard came stiffly on deck again, buckling on a cutlass. His face expressed nothing, and, as he went toward the gangway, he called for his steward to bring him a glass of grog. The effect of this was instantaneous.
He limbered up, and, as Holmberg, Bill, and myself brought the boat to the steps, he was pacing fore and aft, cursing at our delay.
“I’ll have my breakfast when I come back,” he growled to Watkins. “No fear, I’ll take the stiffness out of somebody.”
Then he climbed down the side ladder and sprang into the boat, followed by Yankee Dan.
“Shove off!” he growled. Then he turned to the trader. “Where’s this fracas to be, and what’s 211it about? What am I fighting for, you nigger-thief?” And he broke into a high, cackling laugh, while his face hardly changed in expression, his fishy eyes roving in their gaze toward the beach.
We gave way with a will, and were out of hailing distance of the barque before Hicks appeared on deck. I could see him waving, but, as the captain sat with his back facing aft steering, I thought it was little use to call his attention to the matter.
We were heading, under the trader’s guidance, to a spot on the shore out of sight of the town, and in a little cove where there was no surf from the heave of the swell. Here the craft was beached, and we sprang out to drag her up. Then the trader and our skipper stepped ashore. Out from a thicket of laurel sprang a trio of men, all wearing the Portuguese uniform, and then I recognized one of them as the dago officer who had been talking to the trader the evening before, and whom our old captain had cursed so villainously. Under the arm of a younger man was a bunch of swords, such as were used at the time for fencing in the army,--little long, thin blades of the rapier pattern, and sharp as needles.
“Sorry to have kept you folks waitin’ so long,” said Yankee Dan, “but the old man had overslept himself. I reckon he’ll fight fast enough. We’re ready when you say the word.”
212The younger officer passed him the hilts of a couple of rapiers, and politely begged that he try their temper and make a choice.
While he did so, our old skipper tossed aside his coat, and stood forth in a none too clean shirt and flowing trousers, held up by a broad leathern sword-belt. This he began to unbuckle unconcernedly, and, as he finished, he wrapped it around the scabbard of his hanger and drew forth the blade.
“I haven’t much time to waste on these Guineas,” said he, breaking into a sudden cackling laugh which ended abruptly. His face wore the same mahogany mask-like look it always presented, and his eyes were lustreless and fixed as those of a dead mackerel. “If there’s any game goin’, let it start, for we’ve a job in the offing to attend to.”
“Here,” said the trader, presenting him the hilt of a rapier he had chosen, “drop that meat-axe and bear a hand. We’ll settle our little affair later.”
“I’ll settle you, if you don’t sheer off,” growled Howard. “If the dago wants to fence, let him come in. This is the sword for me, and, if he’s finky about it, I’ll chase him clean up his chimney before he’ll get clear of it.”
Yankee Dan threw down his sword in disgust.
“Don’t let him worry on my account,” said the officer, in good English. “Let him keep whatever 213weapon he chooses. Perhaps he would like to have a pistol also.”
It seemed strange that the officer, who was a high official not far below the governor himself, should want to fight a duel with a man like Howard. He evidently intended to kill him, for he took no pains to hinder his clearing with his ship, and appeared eager to come to a personal settlement.
A line was drawn across the sand, and the two combatants advanced to it, the officer not above middle age and graceful, his sword held in proper manner before him and his feet set at the right distance apart, while his left hand he held poised at a level with his shoulder in the rear.
Howard grasped his scabbard in his left hand, with its belt wrapped about it, and, holding it high above him, advanced his cutlass’s point, and proceeded to work with no more concern than if he were prodding a lazy sailor.
The sun had risen, and the sea was a beautiful blue offshore, the gentle rippling along the beach sounding musically. The breeze just rustled the foliage overhead, and made a low, continuous clicking which blended with the sound of the steel. The air was warm, but fresh with the odour of the sea, and the two men facing each other felt its bracing influences, for they were hard at it in an instant, 214the old skipper breaking forth into a high, cackling laugh, as he swung his weapon with marvellous quickness. It was evidently great sport for him, and he was enjoying it.
The dago’s glinting black eyes shone fiercely as he thrust and lunged, with the black lust of murder in his heart, determined to rid the world of a villain. He was an expert swordsman, and accounted Howard a dead rascal. But the ways of Providence are strange. It won’t do to trust that the wicked will be punished and the good go unscathed. The ways of the Almighty Power are inscrutable, and to dictate a policy against crime, with oneself as the avenger, is a dangerous undertaking. The Almighty has a way of his own for dealing with all things, and the fallible human being is not consulted with a view to proving who or which is best.
The very confidence of the officer made me nervous. His fierce smile seemed to hold contempt and disdain for his antagonist, who, with his old scabbard held high in rear, ambled about the sandy shore like some old reptile, the perspiration starting out on the top of his bald poll and running down his expressionless face in little streams.
Once he was pricked sorely in the side, but the old fellow only laughed in his high, cackling voice, and swung his cutlass with renewed vigour.
215Four, five, ten minutes passed, and the conflict waxed hotter and the men began to breathe heavily. The officer’s face was pale and calm with a fixed resolution. His breath came in sharp, rasping jerks, but his eye was bright and watchful, and he was much lighter and quicker on his feet.
Suddenly he lunged out and pressed the old man fiercely. Howard’s scabbard sank lower and lower behind him until he let it trail upon the ground. He was getting tired, though his face showed nothing. The officer stabbed him badly in the arm, and there was a look in his eyes that told of the finish. With a movement quick as lightning, the sailor transferred his sword to his left hand, and came on with his fresh wrist, working with the precision of the trained fencer.
Then the old man stopped, stepped back a pace, evidently thoroughly blown with the exertion. It looked like the end now, and I began to feel sorry for him, standing there to be spitted by the implacable dago.
“To the death,” hissed the officer in good English, and lunged out with a vigour that seemed to defy a parry.
It seemed to me his sword must go half a fathom beyond the old man’s body, and I gave a little exclamation of sympathy. Then something strange happened. Howard dropped his point and jerked 216his sword backward. It sheered off the thrust to starboard, and, before the officer could recover, the cutlass rose and fell like a flash in the sunshine. The blade landed fairly on his antagonist’s head, and down he went on the sand like a poleaxed bullock, while Howard broke forth into his cackling laugh, and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Then he turned and strode toward the boat, where Bill held his coat and hat. The rest crowded around the wounded man, and cried out in excited tones.
“Shove her off,” growled our captain; “he isn’t hurt much, but it’s too hot for this kind of play. He, he, he! I’d a good notion to break his head, Dan, he looked so wicked, hey! ’Twouldn’t do to hurt one of those fellows if we want to come again. He’ll be all right in a week. Hi, hi, hi! but he hated me right fairly, hey?”
“I’ll call it quits,” said Yankee Dan, smiling, as he climbed aboard. We shoved off, and were soon on our way to The Gentle Hand.
As we sent the craft sheering through the clear water, I had a chance to look shoreward, for I faced aft with the stroke oar. Upon the yellow sand several forms now moved in a body, and, as they opened a bit, I saw the wounded officer walking away leaning upon the arm of his young comrade.
“Hi, hi, hi!” cackled Howard, “what an appetite 217a little play gives one, hey? Would you like to try your hand, you man-eater, to-morrow?”
“I’m no butcher; the pistol is good enough for me,” said Yankee Dan.
In less than half an hour we were back again aboard, and as the trader clambered over the side, he was greeted by his daughter. He was evidently surprised, for he threw his head back until his beard, sticking upward from his throat beneath his collar, stood out straight in a most aggressive manner. It evidently had its effect on the young lady’s spirits.
“You don’t seem overpleased to have me here again,” she said before he had spoken.
Yankee Dan gave a loud grunt of protest.
“Are you going clear to the coast, and be aboard when we take ’em on, hey?” said he, with a show of sarcasm in his harsh voice.
“I’m going with you, and you may put me ashore with Aunt Mary at St. Helena, or on board some vessel bound for New York, so I can get to Uncle Henry’s. I’m not going to stay ashore here,” she answered.
219Then the father turned away; the interview ended as Hawkson came up.
Fearing trouble for the vessel in her dismasted condition when she arrived, her treasure had been removed ashore, so that in case some prying man-of-war should happen to take charge on suspicion, it would be safe. This alone saved the enterprise from failure that morning, but, when the story of the brig’s rascally skipper had been related to the trader, he instantly started ashore with Mr. Gull and a couple of men, to get the gold at once from Mr. Curtis, in order that there might be no delay in getting to sea and overhauling the brig, if only to give him a lesson in trading etiquette. At this time slave-traders were not overscrupulous in their dealing, and among themselves were little better than pirates, for they would seldom hesitate to overhaul or rob each other, knowing that the slaver robbed could get no redress without admitting guilt of similar transactions.
By the time he returned, the barque was hove short, and her sails ready to sheet home, and the young lady, who had already gone below to her cabin, was not given much thought by either her father or the old skipper. As the boat drew up alongside, I noticed Mr. Curtis aboard, but he took no thought of me as he came on deck. In an instant we had hooked the boat on and whisked her 220on deck, and in less than five minutes we were starting out to sea before a light westerly breeze that sent us along about five knots.
I cleared the guns and loaded them all, and then a man was sent aloft to keep a lookout for a sail, which we all hoped might be the Yankee brig. We were on our course for the African coast, but might alter it if occasion offered.
The old barque sailed well with her new topmasts, and, if anything, she showed a bit faster, as her main was now a foot higher and her new-cut topsail a little deeper. Much of her fine gear was gone, but what we had purchased in Funchal was of the best quality, and we had lines enough to rig another ship. Altogether she made a good showing, and even Mr. Gull’s crew, who had eaten much goat meat, and in consequence were in prime condition, were not sorry to get back aboard her.
All day we held to the southward over an almost glassy ocean, ruffled here and there by the falling breeze, and by sunset we were rewarded by Big Jones’s yell from the foretop: “Sail dead ahead, sir.”
We were going too slow to tell just what the vessel might be before dark. Her royals were showing white on the clear blue line, and the sun went down before even her topsails rose above the horizon. The white of her cloth, however, gave us 221some hope, for Americans used white canvas, and the brig could not be very far ahead of us, and undoubtedly bound on the same course.
It was calm all night, but somehow the barque slid along, and by daylight the fellow ahead could be made out plainly not over three miles distant. It was the brig, and the long skipper was evidently not much disturbed at our approach, for he took in his after stunsails and wallowed along slowly over the smooth swell.
We were through breakfast before we knew anything of Howard’s plans, although there had been much speculation among the men forward, some, who had suffered in the fracas the evening before, being especially anxious to try conclusions with the men who had inadvertently dropped the chest and themselves on top of them and their goat meat in the small boat.
Gus, a stout Swede, and Pat, a heavy-built little Irishman, showed bandaged arms which they wished avenged, and Jennings, a Dutchman, who was a good sailor, poked his swathed head over the rail and swore an unintelligible oath at the Yankee. Hawkson stood upon the poop and watched the brig steadily, until Hicks and Howard came from below.
“Will he fight?” asked Hicks, coming to the old mate’s side.
222“Did you ever see a Yankee sailor that wouldn’t?” said Hawkson. “No fear! You’ll see all the fighting you want, if we come in range,--an’ we’re mighty near that now.”
“We’ll take him before eight bells,” said Howard, without interest, as though it were a thing he did every day. “Get the small arms ready, and stand by.”
We were nearing the brig, although only going about three knots an hour, and when within about a mile of her, a puff of white flew from her starboard quarter, and in a few moments later a six-pound shot landed with a loud bang against our side, and smashed through into the ’tween-decks, drowning the faint boom of the gun with its slamming around below.
“He, he, he!” laughed Howard, his ugly mouth showing barely a trace of amusement. “He means fight without any talk. That’s plain enough. Suppose you pop him one or two, just to try the range.”
Hawkson stepped down on the main-deck and went to a forward gun.
“Keep her off a couple of points,” he bawled to Henry, and, as the barque yawed a little, he fired.
We watched to see the shot strike, and saw a jet of water thrown against the brig’s side, telling plainly that the ball had struck at or below the water-line. Several men cheered, but behind me 223I heard a fierce oath. Turning, I saw Martin glaring savagely at Hawkson, while near him stood Anderson with a scowl on his face. Even as I looked in surprise, the wily Scot caught my eye, and his look changed.
“’Tis a pity it didn’t hit him and cut his mast out. Ye may ken it’s far better to knock out a spar in a chase,” said he to me, in a low voice that Hawkson could not hear. His tone was not natural, however, and I wondered at him for some time afterward, and thought of the possible ways the long skipper could have heard of the barque’s treasure-chest in the lazarette that he had run off with so handily. We were soon busy firing the guns of the port broadside as fast as we could serve them at the enemy, now well within range.
Shot were striking the barque often, for the Yankee was making excellent practice with his light guns, but no one had been injured aboard. This being cut up did not suit Howard. He valued the old vessel too highly to have her hurt badly, and knew also the difficulty of repairing old timbers.
“Let her head up half a point,” said he, and we were soon dead astern of the brig and creeping up toward her, our own guns unable to fire, and receiving only the fire of one little six-pounder they brought on the poop. This single gun made havoc with our sails, hitting them time and again, and 224tearing our outer jib so badly that it was useless. We drew closer, and suddenly the Yankee ceased firing. We were very close to him now, and the long skipper could be easily seen leaning indolently upon the poop-rail, watching us with apparent unconcern.
Hawkson took up a speaking-trumpet and bawled out.
“Heave that vessel to, or we’ll sink you,” he roared.
The long captain put his hand to his ear, as if unable to understand, and the hail was repeated.
“I can’t heave her to,” drawled the fellow. “There’s too many men aboard her, an’ they won’t let me.”
Yankee Dan now came from below, where he had taken his daughter for protection, and gazed at the brig.
“It’s Long Tom Shannon,” said he, “and it would have been a lot better if we hadn’t come up with him. It’s strange you didn’t know him, the worst rascal on the coast.”
There was no one in sight aboard the brig save the skipper and the man at the wheel, but we knew she had a full crew. The barque hauled up rapidly, even while the mate and skipper spoke, and we stood at the port guns, ready to let loose a broadside that would finish our enemy.
“Hard aport,” came the order, and we expected to swing quickly to starboard, and thus bring each gun to bear at close range, our heavier battery of twelve-pounders being sufficient to cripple any vessel the size of the brig, who, with her little six-pounders, could hardly hope for escape.
Some one, I think it must have been Martin, let fly the jib-sheet as a little air filled it, and prevented our paying off rapidly, and, as we went, we had the satisfaction of seeing the brig port his helm also, and swing up ahead of us, while he opened again with his gun on the poop. Hawkson saw the mistake, or trick, whichever it was, with the head-sheet, 226and, roaring out orders to flatten it in, he sprang down upon the main-deck, followed by Gull and Henry, and rushed forward to the braces.
A shot from the brig’s six-pounder struck Pete, a dago, and cut him almost in half, flinging him bodily upon Anderson, both going into the starboard scuppers in a heap. Then, before the long Yankee captain realized what we were about, we had braced sharp on the starboard tack forward, and he, thinking we would haul up to bring our battery to bear, came up into the wind, and, falling off, drifted down upon us until it was certain we would be alongside in a few minutes.
“Tumble up here, ye bullies,” he cried, in his drawling tones, and, as he spoke, his men came bounding from below, rushing for the starboard fore-rigging, to come aboard us the instant the vessels fouled. Luckily the battery was loaded, and in an instant Hawkson was at the guns with Gull, Henry, and myself, bawling for men to leave the main-braces and lend a hand, while Howard himself rolled the wheel hard up again.
The brig fell off until her jib-boom came across the poop, where Hicks and a couple of men tried to bear it off astern. They only partly succeeded, but they managed to keep it clear of the backstays and prevent fouling, while the brig’s crew fired several shot into us, getting in return our four heavy 227twelves, that did some execution among them, several men falling upon the deck at the discharge. Howard jumped forward on the poop, calling for men to repel boarders, and, after firing the last gun, we swarmed up the poop-ladder to check the piratical-looking crew that had now left everything on the brig’s deck, and was climbing into her chains, armed with cutlass and pistol, for a spring aboard us.
The long skipper balanced himself on the fore sheer-pole, with his cutlass swinging in his hand and a belt stuck full of pistols. In an instant he gave a yell for his men to follow, and sprang with the ease of a cat upon our poop-rail, right among us. It was a long jump, and only possible for a man of great length of limb.
“Come on, Brannigan,” he drawled out to his mate, making a slash at Howard’s bare poll, but the old skipper warded off the blow, while we rushed in upon him. Then we were favoured by a most singular turn of fortune, aided by Hawkson’s skill.
A lively little puff of wind filled our spreading canvas and shoved the barque ahead. Before the brig could quite reach us, we had drawn a couple of fathoms clear. One fellow threw a grappling-hook over our rail, but Bill cut the line. Hawkson jumped for the forebrace, calling for men to follow, and, before the brig’s crew realized it, we had extended 228the couple of fathoms into a dozen, and were slipping along before the light breeze very handsomely indeed.
In vain did the Yankee crew fire at us with their small arms. Not a soul was hit, and, while their helmsman rolled the wheel up to follow in our wake, I trained the heavy stern-chasers upon him, and sent a couple of shots through his foresail, which rendered that piece of canvas worse than useless. While these affairs were taking place, Shannon was having a lively time of it on our poop. He sprang away from the first rush upon him, but so covered our men that his own could not deliver an effective shot without danger of killing their leader. He bawled lustily for his mate, Brannigan, and, being so hard pressed, he could not turn to see what had happened, wondering why he had been so suddenly deserted.
Then he heard shouting recede astern, and, as he listened to Mr. Brannigan’s tongue expressing the grossest possible encomiums upon us, he realized the game was up. He sprang backward a space and turned to clear the rail, preferring to take his chances swimming back to his vessel than to accept our hospitality. At this instant, however, Yankee Dan sprang upon him from behind and clasped him firmly around the legs, at the same time calling for some one to bring a lashing to make him fast. The 229plucky trader would have had a hard time of it but for Henry. Shannon tore him clear, and was about to heave him over the side also, when the ferret-faced man, with a bound like a monkey, fastened those terrible fingers of his into Shannon’s throat. It was useless to try to shake him off, for well I knew the fatal strength of his grip. We let him hold on while we passed a line about the struggling man, hoping we would get him fast before the strangle would kill.
The long man’s struggles were terrific. Twice he flung Gull and myself from him, giving Yankee Dan a kick that shot him clear across the deck, and landed him helpless to leeward. Big Jones alone managed to keep his hold beside Henry, and I heard the high, cackling laugh of old Howard enjoying the struggle. Up and down, sometimes all in a tangle, we rolled over and over that poop, Shannon gradually getting blue in the face and weakening under that horrible grip. But he was an American, and fought with the steadiness of a man who was used to taking trouble lightly. Finally we drew the line close about him, pinning his arms to his sides, and then passed a gasket over his ankles. Then Henry let go, but the want of air had done its work, and the long fellow lay limp as a rag. We stood up, gasping for breath from our exertions, and then Howard’s high cackle sounded upon our ears.
230“Hi, hi, hi! don’t kill him. Throw a bucket of water over the fellow,” he cried. “We want that man. We need that long rascal.”
Ernest started to get a draw-bucket, but, before he left the poop, Watkins came from below with a bottle of spirits, and, running to the long skipper, raised his head and poured a little into his mouth. This nearly finished Henry’s work, but, instead of choking to death, Shannon gave a gasp and choke, blowing the liquor out of his mouth.
At this instant a shot from the brig struck the deck close to Watkins, ripping a great rent in the white planks, and driving a cloud of splinters among us. One of these long pieces of pine struck the old steward in the middle of the back. It drove clear through his body, and came out several inches in front, piercing him through and through. He gave a sharp scream, dropped the bottle, and rose to his feet with staring eyes. Then he drew forth a pistol and pointed it at my head. Before he could pull the trigger, he staggered and fell, the weapon exploding harmlessly, and when we reached him he was dead.
Howard came to where he lay, and gazed down upon him for an instant, while Gull, Hawkson, and the rest went at the long stern-chasers, and opened fire again upon the brig, which was still within close range. I stood but a moment gazing at the old 231steward, with somewhat mixed feelings in regard to him, and, as Howard ordered a couple of men to carry him below, I joined the rest at the guns.
We now delivered such a heavy and accurate fire upon the pirate slaver that it soon silenced him, and in half an hour we were well out of range, leaving him with his foremast over the side and several of his numerous crew killed and wounded.
We had lost two men, Pete, the dago, and Watkins, the steward, while a fellow named Guinea was badly wounded in the leg, and a German sailor, named Johns, had received a bullet through the arm. Altogether a heavy loss for a vessel without a fighting crew. We had had a narrow escape from being boarded by a stronger force, and, while I knew we would have given a good account of ourselves, our officers showed good judgment in not engaging too closely a force of Americans with our mongrel crowd. The brig was at our mercy before we finished, but there was nothing to be gained by taking her, and Howard seemed more than satisfied in having taken her skipper. I expected him to lay the barque across the brig’s bow, and fire at her until she sank, but instead he kept straight away on his course, without thought of revenge further than the chastisement already administered.
As we loaded the guns for the last time, holding 232the fire in reserve, a voice broke upon our ears that had grown familiar of late.
“I wanter know! I wanter know! What the devil has happened around here, anyway?” it drawled. “Am I a soger, an’ this here a battlefield covered with blood and glory, or am I on a stinking slave-ship? That’s what’s worryin’ me.”
And then Shannon proceeded to pronounce the grossest possible things upon us.
Captain Shannon had recovered and had tried to rise into a sitting position, but the lines upon him were none too softly drawn, and he found himself stiff as a mummy, being lashed from above his able elbows to his long and pointed shoes.
Mr. Curtis, who had arrived on deck in time to take part in the fracas, now insisted that our captive be set free on the promise that he would not attempt to either make further disturbances or go overboard.
“Disturbance! I wanter know,” said Shannon, “who’s the one makin’ the disturbance? Here I just politely hopped aboard your ole barque, an’ some gorilla in breeches nabs me by the mizzen and jest naturally stops my bazoo. Why didn’t ye finish the job instead o’ bringing me to again to swing me at your yard-arm.”
“We don’t intend to swing you,” said Curtis. 234“If you behave yourself, we’ll promise not to harm you until--until--”
“Until what, I wanter know?” said Shannon.
It was evident that Mr. Curtis had meant to say that he would deliver him over to the authorities of law and order at the first port touched, but, upon consideration, this seemed manifestly absurd. The Gentle Hand was not hunting authorities for law and order just at the time, and the matter must necessarily be settled by the parties interested, which, after all, is considered not unfair by most human beings who do not care to bother their neighbours with their personal affairs.
While this was taking place, Miss Allen, who had remained below to escape injury during the engagement, now appeared on deck, and instantly noticed the captive. She gazed at him in astonishment, and asked how he came aboard.
He seemed as much surprised at seeing a woman aboard a slaver as if she had been a naval officer in uniform. As he solemnly swore that he would not fight any more, his lashings were cast adrift below his waist, and he was raised to his feet.
“Well, I wanter know,” was his first comment, as he stood looking at the trader’s daughter. “Be you goin’ to make the middle passage, miss?”
The “middle passage” was that from the slave coast, with human freight, to the point of destination 235of the slave, and the term was used to distinguish that part of the voyage from the one out and the return. The term was American, but applied as well to British ships, who, like ourselves, sailed first out of some English port. Miss Allen smiled at the long fellow and looked into his faded yellow eyes, but she disdained to answer him, and he was hustled forward by several men, while he broke forth afresh in a low tone, pouring a stream of the foulest invective upon them in the easy and indolent manner that was characteristic of his speech.
During the following fortnight we made good way to the southward, passing the high peak of Teneriffe the third day out of Funchal, leaving it a dark cloud upon the eastern horizon. We held our course now closer in toward the coast, but still distant enough to be offshore from any cruiser that might be watching for slave-ships.
Then we crossed the line and stood in through the Guinea Current for the Gulf, heading straight for the Bight of Benin.
Our captive had by this time given abundant evidence that he could be trusted about the decks without danger of his trying to escape. In fact, he appeared to take a fancy to The Gentle Hand.
Martin, who appeared drawn to the fellow, several times announced that it was a shame to keep his hands in irons, and, after repeating this to Henry 236and Mr. Gull for some days, it reached Hawkson and the captain.
We were now three men short in the crew, and an extra man, especially of Shannon’s build and energy, was a matter to be considered. The mate held out strenuously for either putting the long fellow ashore or hanging him forthwith, but, as Curtis, Hicks, and the rest were absolutely set against such a measure as capital punishment, and the land was some distance off, the inevitable took place. That is, Shannon was practically shanghaied into the ship, but chose to sign articles of his own free will to become a member of her crew, and was regularly installed.
His great delight was to dwell humourously upon the adventure of the treasure-box in Funchal, telling at some length how Brannigan, his mate, who had come aboard in the chest, had dropped right upon Jennings, the Dutch sailor’s back, when he went over the side. This accounted for the state of Jennings’s head, for the skipper assured us that Mr. Brannigan was a man of parts, and could do up a whole ship full of square-heads. He explained how angry he had become at the mistake he had made in taking Mr. Gull’s boat for the one meant for him, and how he had thrashed each member of the boat’s crew for not pulling harder and getting under the stern half a minute sooner. The 237only thing that prevented our capture in the last encounter was the fact that Brannigan had failed to jump aboard, but if he had, the two of them could easily have taken the barque.
While we had some doubts about the last statement, we were entertained to a high degree, and Shannon became rapidly a favourite. More especially as we had already had some evidence of his prowess, and a look from his faded eyes following a drawling request for tobacco or other commodity had the usual effect of producing considerable attention from the person addressed. His arms, of course, had been delivered aft, but he had a way of gazing at one that made a person feel that his good-will was of the utmost value. Martin was his devoted companion, and Anderson, who had been badly bruised and stunned by the shot that had killed Pete, even forgave the damage and appeared much more friendly than we had reason to expect. Bill and I had several talks over the Scot’s peculiar manner with the stranger, and we became more friendly and confidential over the subject. Big Jones kept his own counsel, and seemed to admire the long limbs of the Yankee skipper, yet did not care too much for his company.
Jorg, with a gang of helpers consisting of Tom and Tim, two Liverpool dock-rats of the other watch, and Ernest and Heligoland, kept hard at 238work repairing the damage done us by the brig’s six-pounders, and were hardly finished by the time we sighted the low coast near Lagos.
The haze which hangs over the surf in the Guinea Gulf hides the land until a vessel is almost upon it. We were close in, and could hear the dull thunder of the swell falling upon the sand before we realized that the run was over, and the work of trading and capturing human beings would begin.
No time was lost after we came to soundings. The boats were made ready and the anchors gotten over the bows, while the topsails, though clewed up, were left hanging ready to sheet home at a moment’s warning. A man was posted in the foretop all day, and everything done to prevent a surprise of some prowling man-of-war. Even Hawkson showed signs of peculiar alertness, and his nervousness, though slight, was quickly transmitted to both Gull and Henry.
Only old Howard seemed impervious to the excitement, and ambled about the poop unconcernedly, watching the shore until we had reached the mouth of a low, marshy river.
The breeze was off the land, and the barque was hove to, while the small boat was manned and sent in with Yankee Dan and Hicks to see if there were any negroes to be procured.
I managed to pull stroke oar, and went more to 239see how the business was to be conducted than anything else. We had half a dozen muskets in the boat, with powder and lead, to use in defence, if necessary, or in trade if possible. Yankee Dan was so nervous that Hicks insisted on taking the tiller as we headed for the beach, and he picked up a loaded gun and laid it handy upon the stern-sheets in case of emergency.
The breeze being light and offshore, the heat of the equatorial sun was intense. It was about nine o’clock in the morning when the barque stood in, and it was nearly eight bells now, the sun being at its height, and the sky a brazen dome of heat above us.
It took quite half an hour to pull in, for the shore was really several miles distant, and by the time we neared the huge white combers rolling in upon the sand, we were so hot that under other conditions an upset in the breakers would have been welcomed by all hands.
As it was, we skirted the shore just outside the lift of the outer breaker, and soon found an opening over the bar at the river mouth. Hicks headed in through this opening, regardless of consequences, and we were soon carried by the current well in behind the southern point of sand. Here we found the marshy banks of the river stretching away inland, and upon one just behind a little rise covered 240with low trees, we saw the slave factory, as the pens were called where the unfortunates were corralled.
There was not a sign of life anywhere, and the only sound that broke the glaring stillness was the deep-toned roar of the surf outside.
Suddenly there was a sharp “ping,” and a crack upon the boat’s gunwale, followed by the report of a rifle.
“Way enough,” said Hicks, calmly. And we rested on our oars, with our chins on our shoulders, trying to see who had welcomed us so cordially.
Yankee Dan stood up and waved his hat from side to side, in token of friendship, and almost instantly a man strode out from the palisade, now but fifty fathoms distant.
“Stop that firing and come aboard,” bawled the trader.
“Give way together,” said Hicks, and we sent the boat rapidly towards the beach, and ran her nose high and dry on the sand.
A heavy-built, squat Guinea, as the Portuguese here are called, greeted us as we sprang ashore. He was a villainous-looking scoundrel, and his rifle and knife did little to improve his formidable appearance. His white teeth showed in an ugly smile, as he explained in broken English that we had been mistaken for the boat of a British cruiser that had been lately on the coast, and he had fired at us accordingly.
Hicks was not ready to believe his lie, and, had it not been for the trader, would undoubtedly have pistolled him where he stood, but Dan was used to the tricks of the pirates, and knew better than to show his feelings. Several rascally black men armed with rifles now came from the palisade, and we seized our rifles from the boat to be ready for any tricks. The Guinea, however, only grinned and shrugged his shoulders, and invited us to his place to consider business. His followers, dressed 242only in gee-strings and ammunition-belts, laid aside their arms in token of friendship, and thus reassured we filed into the enclosure.
If I had at any time doubted my distaste for the life I was leading, there could have been no chance for such a thing after entering that “factory” where slaves were made. Of all the horrible places on earth, save perhaps the hold of the overdue slaver at the end of the middle passage, that filthy den was the most awful. In the mire made by their own dung, like a lot of hogs, the cursed sons of Ham lay or stood in the fierce sunshine, awaiting the coming of some pirates like ourselves to take them to a foreign land, and sell them into comparative comfort and luxury to work for their white masters. Ugly they were in the extreme, their black, brutish faces having nothing more human about them than those of apes, but even monkeys should be shown some consideration if they would be made to live. Women with infants were kept in a separate pen, but the older ones were thrown in with the men, without a vestige of clothing, not even a clout or gee-string. The younger girls the Guinea kept in his own house, having over fifty that he formed into a seraglio for himself and guards.
Yankee Dan showed at once his familiarity with the business in hand, and instantly began negotiations by prodding a stalwart black in the ribs, and 243pinching his biceps, while the poor creature smiled and grinned, jabbering something unintelligible, but at the same time trying to show that he was a powerful fellow and should be taken away to work.
The hot stench of the pen made me sick, and for a time I was nauseated to a degree. Gradually I became used to it, but noticed that Gus and another man were upset. As for Hicks, he simply kept his handkerchief to his nose and gasped. I hardly think he realized what slaving was when he embarked in the enterprise, for the voyage was still a thing just begun, and, with a hold full of the filthy creatures, the smell can better be imagined than described. I can only say that it was more nauseating, penetrating, and more unlike any odour I ever before encountered.
In a short time, Yankee Dan, who could speak any language separately and fluently, and who could curse and swear in all combined, had, with some persuasion and some forceful epithets, convinced the Guinea that he meant business, and would take on the fifty-four human beings enclosed there at a certain figure. Three other white men now entered, and the wrangling became animated, the bargain, however, being finally closed with the understanding that we would leave the vicinity by noon the next day, and pay in gold and arms.
I was glad enough to get clear of the vile place, 244and, as we men were not invited to the slaver’s house to take a drink to show good feeling, we missed the foulness it contained. Hicks accompanied Dan to the “palace,” and I must give him credit that he did so with less grace than he usually showed upon occasions of invitation. The rest of us sought the shade of the river-bank, where some scrub-palms offered shelter from the terrible sunshine. Here we were joined by some of the slaver’s guard, who now sought every opportunity to propitiate our good-will, telling yarns and explaining the interesting back country, where the curse of the bar and shackle had laid its grisly hand.
One of the guards, although a black, had been to London as a free man, having never been a slave, but belonging to a Congo tribe that held sway to the southward of St. Paul de Loando, and which, owing to its control of a part of the coast, had to be treated with respect by the villains that scoured the Bight.
This fellow spoke English fairly well, and he described at length how the slave-trade was being ruined by the men-of-war that hunted and cruised between the Congo and Senegal. These vessels were sometimes quite small, some being only brigs of ten to twelve guns, but most of them were very fast and heavily manned, quite able to overhaul and capture even the fast flyers that plied the trade 245against the law. One of these cruisers, an American, called the Hornet, was a sloop of war of the fastest type, having overhauled the Bat, a schooner of some two hundred tons, which had the record of being the fastest vessel that had ever sailed out of New Orleans.
This conversation was interesting, especially as the cruiser was last seen off Lagos only a month before, and I wished more than ever that I had taken more pains not to have joined the expedition. Then I thought of the young girl aboard, and wondered at her father bringing her into such scenes of danger and bloodshed, with the shadow of the hangman’s noose from the yard-arm continually over the black barque and her crew.
Gus, the Swede, spoke uneasily of the future, but the great black pirate only showed his teeth and swore softly in Portuguese. For him life meant very little indeed, and if he could capture a nice young girl now and then and get ammunition for his rifle, it was all he desired. No man-of-war should take these small pleasures from him if desperate fighting could prevent it, and, as for danger, he lived on it. It was in the very air of the deadly swamps and forests, and he survived solely because he was fit.
Pointing to an indistinct object across the river, he broke forth fiercely:
246“That’s all left of a fine village. Plenty rum, plenty slaves, plenty powder. Now all gone. Why? Man-of-war fire it and destroy. Some day man-of-war try factory here. Want to be here den,” and he patted his rifle-stock affectionately. Part of the gang to which he belonged were now up the river hunting villages and scattered bands of negroes, but they were becoming scarce, and the death-rate being high, it hardly paid going up after them.
In a little while Hicks and Dan came back, accompanied by the half-dozen Portuguese and some black fellows, and we started to the ship to make ready for our cargo. Slaves were more plentiful to the eastward perhaps, but we would take what we could get and hurry along, trusting to evade a cruiser until the cargo was made up.
We took one of the Guinea fellows back with us to pilot us through the surf on the bar, and arrived alongside without accident.
A line of heads peered over the topgallant-rail, watching curiously our passenger, and, as the boat fell alongside, the drawling tones of Shannon broke forth.
“What’s niggers at now, stranger?” said he, addressing the Guinea.
“Way down, way down. Bucks runnin’ for ten to twenty. Fine gals thirty and forty,” cried the 247fellow from the boat, evidently thinking he was addressing our commander.
Shannon gave a great sigh, and looked wistfully at the shore.
“An’ here I am,” said he, “without a ship. It’s hard luck. I wanter know, I wanter know.”
The next day was a busy one aboard The Gentle Hand. All the boats were gotten out early, and the barque headed in shore again. We had stood off at night, for fear of a current setting us into the breakers, and we did not care to let go an anchor.
By two bells (nine o’clock) in the forenoon, we were close in to the bar at the river mouth, the breeze giving us way at the rate of about five knots, but, as we drew under the land, it became puffy and showed signs of dying out altogether. It was decided not to go in any closer, so the foreyards were left full, the main backed, and the forestaysail hauled amidship, heaving the barque to with a slight reach to the southward.
Pretty nearly all hands tumbled into the boats and rowed through the broiling sunshine for the beach, it being the captain’s object to get all the cargo aboard at once, and stand off to work along to the eastward.
249By noon the first boat-load of the poor creatures arrived. There were fourteen of them closely packed and manacled in the bottom of the craft. As they drew nearer, they set up a chattering like a crowd of monkeys, and the Guinea in charge rapped them severely over the head with a stout stick, bidding them be quiet. Their white eyeballs and teeth shone in contrast to their skins, and the excitement they were undergoing made them show both eyes and teeth much more than usual, giving them a strange, wild look. Streaks of mud and filth showed upon their black bodies. The men had little kinky beards upon their chins and lips, and the women had huge bunches of wool on their heads, which were simply great nests of dirt and vermin. Poor creatures, they were hardly human, but for all that I felt sorry for them when I thought of the ’tween-decks of the barque under that torrid sun.
Henry hustled them on deck, and Jorg, with a couple of men, sent them below at once to get them out of the way. By eight bells, we had the crowd below, where they kept chattering until Gull went among them with a long whip, and touched them up lustily whenever they made a noise. Martin, Anderson, Bill, Shannon, and myself went in for the last boat-load.
The heat was terrible, and the breeze was almost imperceptible after the bar was crossed, making all 250hands quiet and sullen with the exertion. Inside the river mouth the same glaring quiet prevailed, broken only now and then by the sound of a gull’s scream, the dull, heavy rumble of the swell only adding to the desolate stillness.
“’Tis a good coast for the business,” said Martin, in a low tone to the long sailor, who was rowing stroke oar. I held the tiller, and had charge, but Martin appeared to think my rating did not command silence, and I let him speak.
The fellow Shannon only looked over his shoulder up the turbid stream that flowed around the distant point of marsh in the direction of the heavy forest beyond.
“What better place d’ye want? ’Twould be a good one to find ye in that glade,” continued the Scot.
“There’s mighty little water on the bar, Scotty,” said Shannon. “What the devil would become of yer ship, I wanter know?”
“Lighten her more, lighten her. Take out her guns and ballast. She’d be a floatin’ fort until ye were ready to go to sea full o’ niggers. Mon, mon, na mon-o’-war c’u’d come after ye, an’ as fer small boats--hoot!” And he gave a cry of contempt at the idea.
“Joust whin would ye do these things, friend Martin?” asked Bill.
251“Shut up, ye square-head. Keep silence when men are speakin’, or I’ll be fer whollopin’ ye the minit we hit the beach,” growled Martin.
Then they rowed on in the heat without a word, the regular clank of the oar-locks sounding over the glassy surface of the stream with the regularity of the ticking of a clock.
We ran the boat up near the “factory,” and the villainous Guinea in charge brought down the last instalment of the slaves. Some of them were young girls barely in their teens, but all without any clothing whatever. The sun would have flayed a white man and cooked him to death in half an hour, but they appeared not to suffer with the heat. Some of the girls were made to spring into the river, with a line attached, in order that they might get a last bath before entering the hell in store for them. One tried to remain under water and drown herself; at least the Guinea feared that was her design, for he hauled her in hand over hand, and administered several whacks to brace her up, while I sat and tried to invent some new opprobrious epithet to call him, finally exhausting the English language without apparent effect.
One girl, who had left behind her brother and relatives, on account of their not coming up to Yankee Dan’s standard of fitness for a middle passage, was tearful and sad. This poor creature was 252flung into the water, and held by a strapping black buck, who used a bunch of grass to scrub her clean. Her piteous screams had no effect on him, so, when my patience was quite exhausted by the heat, I seized an oar. He was bending over, and wore nothing but a gee-string. The swing of the oar landed fair on his buttocks with all the weight and strength I could put into it, and he shot forward with a crack, making a very creditable dive into deep water. It was only because payment had not been complete that bloodshed was averted when he arose, for he made straight for his rifle, which had to be forced from him by half a dozen pirates as fierce and powerful as himself. Finally we had the crowd all aboard, and shoved off for the barque, meeting the boat with the Portuguese fellow, who had gone aboard for the pay, just as we cleared the breakers.
Arriving aboard, we soon had the blacks below, and, as payment had been made in gold for our cargo, we had nothing further to do with the scoundrels on the beach. The yards were swung, and we stood offshore to take advantage of the light breeze and work along the coast to the eastward, in the hope of picking up the rest of our cargo before some prying ship-of-war should overhaul us. For several days we worked along without any luck. One or two places Dan knew of had been deserted since the law against slaving had begun to be enforced, and 253we had to row in through a heavy surf to find this out. This caused the loss of one boat and the drowning of a sailor named Tom, an English cockney chap of little account. During this part of the cruise, I had much to do on the poop, keeping the battery in order and ready for instant action. I saw something of the life aft, and the feeling between Mr. Curtis and Hicks, which had shown itself that night in the town of Funchal. These two men, whose interests were identical, seldom spoke directly to each other now, and only when the trader’s daughter appeared on deck did they show anything but polite hatred in their speech. Curtis was sarcastic, and Hicks was almost as savage by the time we reached Lagos and ran in to finish loading. Miss Allen seemed to avoid both as much as possible, although it was quite evident that she favoured the bolder of the two adventurers. Curtis was anything but a coward, but Hicks had a certain reckless gallantry about him that could hardly fail to attract.
Forward I had been entertained several times by Martin’s brutal jests regarding affairs aft, and, as the girl had always been civil to me, it was all I could do not to chastise the rogue for his foul tongue. My apparent apathy, however, gave him cause to believe I favoured him, and soon he spoke of things that caused me to pay attention and watch him more closely.
The night we stood in for settlement, there was a bright moon nearly full. We could hear the snore of the surf before midnight, and we shortened the barque down to her topsails in order not to go too fast.
The breeze was fitful and squally off the land as usual, and bringing with it the thick haze of pollen from the rank vegetation on shore. The air being hot, the watch below stayed on deck and lay in the waterway or behind the deck-house, trying to catch the draught blown on the deck from the stretched canvas as it slid under the foot of the main and foresails.
Martin was lying in the shadow of the foremast to keep the moon out of his eyes, and he shifted his position every little while as the bright light followed him around the mast. Beside him lay Anderson, and near by, in the open moonlight, in total disregard for his eyes, was stretched the long skipper, 255Shannon, prone upon his back, with his shirt open to catch the breeze.
I sat near the fore-hatchway and watched the shadow of the fabric above swing to and fro upon the deck planks, the lines of the rigging standing out sharp and black on the white wood, the dark blots of the canvas moving slowly within a certain radius with each easy roll of the long swell. It was a bright tropic moon, and it was serenely beautiful. I lounged there, enjoying the silvery light, and hated to sleep lest I miss some of the rare beauty of the darker hours.
Gradually the men on watch settled themselves comfortably, and only the steady tramp of the man on lookout upon the forecastle head, and Hawkson’s step upon the poop told of life aboard. Once or twice the mate’s hoarse voice sounded gruffly, asking Holmberg, who was at the wheel, how she headed, and the answer came low and distinct through the quiet night. The musical hiss and twinkle of the side-wash sounded restful upon the ear after the day’s toil and heat, and seemed to tell of cool sprays. I had the right to sleep, but only dozed, thinking of the disagreeable work in store for us. We would probably take on many blacks here, and nearly, if not quite, fill up with them. Those already aboard gave forth an odour that was far from reassuring, coming as it did up the open 256hatchway, and I dreaded several hundred more creatures jammed below there, where they must of necessity die like vermin in a box.
While I dozed, I became aware of a whispered conversation. Soon I recognized Martin’s voice, though I could not quite hear his words. He seemed to be talking to Shannon, who had now rolled over in the shadow of the mast alongside of the Scot.
I listened again, for the fellow’s voice was eager, as it was when he talked of any deviltry he expected to enjoy, and I noticed the same tone he used to me when we first made our acquaintance, and when we discussed the probability of the barque becoming a rover and preying upon any vessel of smaller size.
“D’ye ken that? I say, ye long man, d’ye ken that?” said he in answer to a question he had evidently asked. “’Tis as easy fer us as not. There’s Anderson waiting to kill the mate, an’ Jorg willin’ to kill any one, and there’s Pat, Gus, Gilbert, an’ the Doctor willin’ to follow. Hoot! we’d make a finish, na fear. Why, ye c’u’d whollop half the crew yerself, ye long cateran. Didn’t ye nigh do it the day ye made yer jump into the hooker? Help ye? Now, now, c’u’d I have helped ye? Na, na, don’t ask mericles. I let fly the jib, but ’twould have been murder an’ sudden death to have gone aft then. All armed, an’ with that gunner man fightin’ like 257a sack o’ wildcats, an’ the little fox havin’ a death-grip on yer pipe. Talk sense an’ to the p’int.”
“You air a loose-jawed hell-dog, I wanter know,” said Shannon. “D’you suppose it’s fear a-keepin’ me, hey? What’d you know about the coast, anyways? What’d you want to try an’ tell me?” Then in a more friendly tone: “I know you air a navigator. Good sailor, all right, an’ would stick to a job, but there is a right time for business. I’m a-runnin’ this thing, an’ all you’ve got to do is wait till I says the word. I think a whole lot o’ ye, Martin, an’ would hate to see you swing. There ain’t no one I cares as much for, that’s a fact. An’ when a fellow like me cares for a man,--I say a man, Martin, for that’s what you are, hey? When a fellow like me says that, that same thing, it stands fer something. If it don’t, I wanter know.”
This sort of flattery evidently pleased the Scot. He said something in a low tone, and I felt convinced that he was easily within the power of the long countryman of mine. It’s strange, but immediately after hearing this, I must have lost consciousness, for when I awoke it was gray dawn and a chill filled the air. The watch was called, and I turned out by simply standing up and then sitting down again.
In a little while we washed down the damp decks, and I had a chance to get a look to the northeast, 258when the haze of the surf blotted out the shore-line. By the time the Doctor had his fire started and we had something warm, the sun rose and disclosed the ruinous settlement of Lagos.
The conversation I had heard disturbed me. There was something sinister in its meaning, and, while I had no love for the barque, I did not care to make a bad matter worse. However, I had no chance to talk the matter over until we had run in and dropped our anchor close to the settlement, and there Yankee Dan appeared on deck ready to go ashore for trading. Howard and Curtis also turned out, and Miss Allen appeared at the companion, very much interested in the distant shore, where the houses were just visible in the morning sunshine.
She smiled somewhat sadly at me as I went aft and loosed the covers from the stern guns, and saw that the priming was in good order. I had begun to think the poor girl out of place long before, and I now felt a sort of hatred for her father, who could expose her to such scenes without any apparent pity. But the trader had become callous from experience in the slaving business, and saw nothing unusual in cooping up a shipful of human beings. They were no more than so many cattle to him, and, as to his daughter’s feelings, he had offered her a 259chance to stay ashore. If she preferred the scenes of violence, it was no concern of his.
Before I had a chance to see Hawkson, the shore boat was called away. Bill, Jones, Jennings, and myself manned the whale-boat, and we were soon heading in over the swell for the slave factory that was known to exist a short distance inland. Hicks and Gull accompanied the trader ashore, and the latter stood at the steering-oar to pilot us through the surf. In spite of the calm weather in the Bight of Benin, there is sometimes a heavy swell that sets in from many miles offshore, where some passing disturbance of the atmosphere has caused a heavy blow. The swell is long and heaving, and not so easily noticed until it begins to rise in the shoal water. Then its size develops, and it goes up in a wall until the top breaks and the whole mass goes roaring shoreward in a great smother of foam. From the sea side, the height of the breakers is hard to judge, and they are very apt to be underestimated on a calm day.
Mr. Gull stood up as we neared the first line of snoring water, and I could see by his face that he was a bit nervous. This had its effect on me, for no one with any nervousness should attempt to go through a heavy surf. The situation calls for absolute coolness.
“Easy now,” came the order, and we lay waiting 260for a smooth spell. By some strange freak of nature, seas always roll in sequences. That is, they will run in twos and three or sixes and nines, with a “smooth” between. A surfman will always watch to see how they are running before going in. Gull counted three heavy fellows that roared and thundered in a most appalling manner, and then, grasping the long steering-oar firmly, sung out to give way lively.
We went racing for the beach, and were doing well when, on looking over the stern, I saw an enormous sea rising and coming quickly after us. It rose like a wall astern and towered above the boat. Then instantly it broke with a roar and rush, and we were hurled before it. Gull tried to hold her true, keeping her stern to the surge, but she took a slew and the oar broke. Then she swung sideways and rolled over and over with the rush, and when I came to the surface of the foam, half-strangled by being so quickly rolled out of the boat, she lay bottom up some ten fathoms distant, floating in the smother.
No one was visible, and I struck out for the craft, as there was no bottom and the beach was fifty fathoms distant. Suddenly I saw Bill spattering and struggling, trying to reach the wreck, but showing plainly that he could not swim a stroke. Ernest suddenly appeared alongside of him, and, being 261able to swim after a fashion, he aided him to reach the gunwale, where both held on firmly, ducking the following seas that flowed over them.
Jennings managed to keep his grip on the boat, and was alongside, holding on, when I noticed a form floating face downward pass me.
I was a fairly good swimmer, although it is a strange fact that few real sailormen can swim at all. I grasped the body and lifted the head clear of the water with my hand just as another sea broke heavily over me, dragging and crushing me down with its weight.
My heart seemed bursting when I arose, still holding the insensible man, and my first intake of breath nearly strangled me. However, I was a powerful fellow, and in a few strokes managed to get started for the upturned boat that now floated some distance nearer shore.
In a few minutes I reached her, and Bill relieved me for a moment while I passed a line over the craft’s bottom. On the other side I found Jones and Yankee Dan both safe and holding on. Together we managed to hold Hicks, whom I now recognized, clear of the water. He had been struck on the head by the boat or an oar and knocked insensible. Gull was nowhere about, and for some time we gave him up for lost, but he had swum in on a broken thwart.
262In a little while we heard shouting, and saw him standing on the sand with a couple of black fellows, who, at his direction, plunged in and came toward us. The negroes helped us ashore, and we hauled the boat up clear of the surf. It was a close call, and Hicks still appeared either dead or senseless. We carried him up the beach and laid him under a palm, and set to work chafing his wrists and ankles.
In a little while he opened his eyes and noticed me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, faintly, trying to sit up. Bill caught his head and held it, while Gull passed his arm under him.
“Trying to quit the expedition,” said Yankee Dan, bluffly. “You were trying to leave us, my boy, but this fellow, Heywood, here, nabbed you in time, and swam in to the boat with you. Otherwise you’d ’a’ been drowned, an’ that’s a fact. You’d ’a’ been drowned sure.”
Hicks looked at me seriously for some moments and then spoke:
“It’s hard to owe one’s life to a fool, but here’s my hand, Heywood,” said he, with a faint smile.
“It’s as hard to acknowledge the favour from one, sir,” I answered, with some little feeling, but then I remembered the time at Funchal, and I smiled 263and held out my hand, which he grasped firmly, and rose to his feet.
Sir John Hicks was a man of rather unsavoury reputation, but he was not a man who would be gross enough to forget.