The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pirate Slaver, by Harry Collingwood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Pirate Slaver A Story of the West African Coast Author: Harry Collingwood Illustrator: W.H. Overend Release Date: November 15, 2007 [EBook #23498] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PIRATE SLAVER *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Harry Collingwood "The Pirate Slaver" Chapter One. The Congo River. “Land ho! broad on the port bow!” The cry arose from the look-out on the forecastle of her Britannic Majesty’s 18-gun brig Barracouta, on a certain morning near the middle of the month of November, 1840; the vessel then being situated in about latitude 6 degrees 5 minutes south and about 120 east longitude. She was heading to the eastward, close-hauled on the port tack, under every rag that her crew could spread to the light and almost imperceptible draught of warm, damp air that came creeping out from the northward. So light was the breeze that it scarcely wrinkled the glassy smoothness of the long undulations upon which the brig rocked and swayed heavily while her lofty trucks described wide arcs across the paling sky overhead, from which the stars were vanishing one after another before the advance of the pallid dawn. And at every lee roll her canvas flapped with a rattle as of a volley of musketry to the masts, sending down a smart shower from the dew-saturated cloths upon the deck, to fill again with the report of a nine-pounder and a great slatting of sheets and blocks as the ship recovered herself and rolled to windward. The brig was just two months out from England, from whence she had been dispatched to the West African coast to form a portion of the slave-squadron and to relieve the old Garnet, which, from her phenomenal lack of speed, had proved utterly unsuitable for the service of chasing and capturing the nimble slavers who, despite all our precautions, were still pursuing their cruel and nefarious vocation with unparalleled audacity and success. We had relieved the Garnet, and had looked in at Sierra Leone for the latest news; the result of this visit being that we were now heading in for the mouth of the Congo, which river had been strongly commended to our especial attention by the Governor of the little British colony. Our captain, Commander Henry Stopford, was by no means a communicative man, it being a theory of his that it is a mistake on the part of a chief to confide more to his officers than is absolutely necessary for the efficient and intelligent performance of their duty; hence he had not seen fit to make public the exact particulars of the information thus received. But he had of course made an exception in favour of Mr Young, our popular first luff; and as I—Henry Dugdale, senior mid of the Barracouta—happened to be something of a favourite with the latter, I learned from him, in the course of conversation, some of the circumstances that were actuating our movements. The intelligence, however, was of a very meagre character, and simply amounted to this: That large numbers of African slaves were being continually landed on the Spanish West Indian islands; that two boats with their crews had mysteriously disappeared in the Congo while engaged upon a search of that river for slavers; and that a small felucca named the Wasp—a tender to the British ship-sloop Lapwing—had also disappeared with all hands, some three months previously, after having been seen in pursuit of a large brig that had come out of the river; these circumstances leading to the inference that the Congo was the haunt of a strong gang of daring slavers whose capture must be effected at any cost. It was for this service that the Barracouta had been selected, she being a brand-new ship especially built for work on the West African coast, and modelled to sail at a high speed upon a light draught of water. She was immensely beamy for her length, and very shallow, drawing only ten feet of water with all her stores and ammunition on board, very heavily sparred—too heavily, some of us thought— and, as for canvas, her topsails had the hoist of those of a frigate of twice her tonnage. She was certainly a beautiful model of a ship—far and away the prettiest that I had ever seen when I first stepped on board her—while her speed, especially in light winds and tolerably smooth water, was such as to fill us all, fore and aft, with the most extravagant hopes of success against the light- heeled slave clippers whose business it was ours to suppress. She was a flush-decked vessel, with high, substantial bulwarks pierced for nine guns of a side, and she mounted fourteen 18-pounder carronades and four long nine-pounders, two forward and two aft, which could be used as bow and stern-chasers respectively, if need were, although we certainly did not anticipate the necessity to employ any of our guns in the latter capacity. Our crew, all told, numbered one hundred and sixty- five. I was in the first lieutenant’s watch, and happened to be on deck when the look-out reported land upon the morning upon which this story opens. I remember the circumstance as well as though it had occurred but yesterday, and I have only to close my eyes to bring the whole scene up before my mental vision as distinctly as a picture. The brig was, as I have already said, heading to the eastward, close-hauled, on the port tack, under everything that we could set, to her royals; but the wind was so scant that even the light upper sails flapped and rustled monotonously to the sleepy heave and roll of the ship, and it was only by glancing through a port at the small, iridescent air- bubbles that drifted astern at the rate of about a knot and a half in the hour that we were able to detect the fact of our own forward movement at all. We had been on deck just an hour—for two bells had barely been struck—when the first faint suggestion of dawn appeared ahead in the shape of a scarcely-perceptible lightening of the sky along a narrow strip of the eastern horizon, in the midst of which the morning star beamed resplendently, while the air, although still warm, assumed a freshness that, compared with the close, muggy heat of the past night, seemed almost cold, so that involuntarily I drew the lapels of my thin jacket together and buttoned the garment from throat to waist. Quickly, yet by imperceptible gradations, the lightening of the eastern sky spread and strengthened, the soft, velvety, star-lit, blue-black hue paling to an arch of cold, colourless pallor as the dawn asserted itself more emphatically, while the stars dwindled and vanished one by one in the rapidly-growing light. As the pallor of the sky extended itself insidiously north and south along the horizon, a low-lying bank of what at first presented the appearance of dense vapour became visible on the Barracouta’s larboard bow; but presently, when the cold whiteness of the coming day became flushed with a delicate tint of purest, palest primrose, the supposed fog-bank assumed a depth of rich purple hue and a clear-cut sharpness of outline that proclaimed it what it was—land, most unmistakably. The look-out was a smart young fellow, who had already established a reputation for trustworthiness, and he more than half suspected the character of the cloud-like appearance when it first caught his attention; he therefore kept his eye upon it, and was no sooner assured of its nature than he raised the cry of— “Land ho! broad on the port bow!” The first luff, who had been for some time meditatively pacing the weather side of the deck from the binnacle to the gangway, with his hands clasped behind his back and his glance directed alternately to the deck at his feet and to the swaying main-royal-mast-head, quickly awoke from his abstraction at the cry from the forecastle, and, springing lightly upon a carronade slide, with one hand grasping the inner edge of the hammock-rail, looked long and steadily in the direction indicated. “Ay, ay, I see it,” he answered, when after a long, steady look he had satisfied himself of the character of what he gazed upon. “Wheel, there, how’s her head?” “East-south-east, sir!” answered the helmsman promptly. The lieutenant shut one eye and, raising his right arm, with the hand held flat and vertically, pointed toward the southern extremity of the distant land, held it there for a moment, and murmured— “A point and a half—east-half-south, distant—what shall we say—twenty miles? Ay, about that, as nearly as may be. Mr Dugdale, just slip below and let the master know that the land is in sight on the port bow, bearing east-half-south, distant twenty miles.” I touched my cap and trundled down to the master’s cabin, the door of which was hooked back wide open, permitting the cool, refreshing morning air that came in through the open scuttle free play throughout the full length of the rather circumscribed apartment in which Mr Robert Bates lay snoring anything but melodiously. Entering the cabin, I grasped the worthy man by the shoulder and shook him gently, calling him by name at the same time in subdued tones in order that I might not awake the occupants of the contiguous berths. “Ay, ay,” was the answer, as the snoring abruptly terminated in a convulsive snort: “Ay, ay. W hat’s the matter now, youngster? Has the ship tumbled overboard during the night, or has the skipper’s cow gone aloft to roost in the main-top, that you come here disturbing me with your ‘Mr Bates—Mr Bates’?” “Neither, sir,” answered I, with a low laugh at this specimen of our worthy master’s quaint nautical humour; “but the first lieutenant directed me to let you know that the land is in sight on the port bow, bearing east-half-south, distant twenty miles.” “W hat, already?” exclaimed my companion, scrambling out of his cot, still more than half asleep, and landing against me with a force that sent me spinning out through the open doorway to bring up prostrate with a crash in the cabin of the doctor opposite, half stunned by the concussion of my skull against the bulkhead and by the avalanche of ponderous tomes that came crashing down upon me as the worthy medico’s tier of hanging bookshelves yielded and came down by the run at my wild clutch as I stumbled over the ledge of the cabin-door. “Murther! foire! thieves! it’s sunk, burnt, desthroyed, and kilt intoirely that I am!” roared poor Blake, rudely awakened out of a sound sleep by the crashing fall of his pet volumes upon the deck and by a terrific thwack across the face that I had inadvertently dealt him as I fell. “Fwhat is it that’s happenin’ at all, thin? is it a collision? or is it a case of sthrandin’? or”—he looked over the edge of his cot and saw me sitting upon the deck, ruefully rubbing the back of my head while I vainly struggled to suppress my laughter at the ridiculous contretemps—“oh! so it’s you, thin, is it, Misther Dugdale? Bedad, but you ought to be ashamed of yoursilf to be playin’ these pranks—a lad of your age, that’s hitherto been the patthern of good behaviour! But wait a little, my man—sthop till I tell the first liftinint of your outhrageous conduct—” By this time I thought that the matter had gone far enough; more over, I had in a measure recovered my scattered senses, so I scrambled to my feet and, as I re-hung the book shelf and replaced the books, hurriedly explained to the good man the nature of the mishap, winding up with a humble apology for having so rudely broken in upon what he was pleased to call his “beauty shlape.” Understanding at once that my involuntary incursion into the privacy of his cabin had been the result of pure accident, “Paddy,” as we irreverently called him—his baptismal name was W illiam—very good- naturedly accepted my explanation and apology, and composed himself to sleep again, whereupon I retreated in good order and re-entered the master’s cabin. The old boy had by this time slipped on his breeches and coat, and was bending over the table with the chart of “Africa—West Coast” spread out thereon, and a pencil and parallel ruler in his hands. He indulged in one or two of the grimly humorous remarks that were characteristic of him in reference to my disturbance of the doctor’s slumbers; and then, pointing to a dot that he had just made upon the chart, observed— “If the first lieutenant’s bearing and distance are right, that’s where we are, about twelve miles off Shark Point, and therefore in soundings. Did you see the land, Mr Dugdale? What was it like?” “It made as a long stretch of undulating hills sloping gently down to the horizon at its southernmost extremity, and extending beyond the horizon to the northward,” I replied. “Ay, ay, that’s right; that’s quite right,” agreed the master. “It is that range of hills stretching along parallel with the coast on the north side of the river, and reaching as far as Kabenda Point,” indicating the markings on the chart as he spoke. “Well, let us go on deck and get a cast of the lead; it is time that we ascertained the exact position of the ship, for the deep-water channel is none too wide, and although there seems to be plenty of water for us over the banks on either side, I have no fancy for trusting to the soundings laid down here on the chart. These African rivers are never to be depended upon, the shoals are constantly shifting, and where you may find water enough to float a line-of-battle ship to-day, you may ground in that same ship’s launch a month hence.” He rolled up the chart, tucked it under his arm, gathered up his parallel ruler, pencil, and dividers, and together we left the cabin and made our way up the hatchway to the deck, where we found the first luff still perched upon the carronade slide, anxiously scanning the horizon on either bow under the sharp of his hand. As we reached the deck a spark of golden fire flashed out upon the horizon on our lee bow, and the sun’s disc soared slowly into view, warming the tints of a long, low-lying broken bank of grey cloud that stretched athwart his course into crimson, and fringing its skirts with gold as his first beams shot athwart the heaving water to the ship in a tremulous path of shimmering, dazzling radiance. The lieutenant caught a glimpse of us out of the corner of his eye as we emerged from the hatchway, and at once stepped down off the slide on to the deck. “Good-morning, Bates,” said he. “Well, here we are, with the land plainly in view, you see; and I am glad that you have come on deck to tell us just where we are, for all this part of the world is quite new ground to me. We are closer in than I thought we were, for just before the sun rose the horizon ahead cleared, and I caught sight of what looked like the tops of trees, both on the port and on the starboard bow—you can’t see them now for the dazzle, but you will presently, when the sun is a bit higher—and there seemed to be an opening or indentation of some sort between them, which I take to be the mouth of the river.” “Ay, ay,” answered Bates, “that will be it, no doubt.” He sprang on to the slide that Young had just vacated, took a long look at the land, and then, turning to the helmsman, demanded, “How’s her head?” “East-south-east, sir,” answered the man for the second time. W ith this information the master in his turn took an approximate bearing of the southernmost extremity of the range of hills, after which he stepped down on to the deck again and, going to the capstan, spread out his chart upon the head of it, calling me to help him keep the roll open. The lieutenant followed him, and stood watching as the master again manipulated his parallel ruler and dividers. “Yes,” remarked Bates, after a few moments’ diligent study, “that’s just about where we are,” pointing to the mark that he had made upon the chart while in his own cabin. “And see,” he continued, glancing out through the nearest lee port, “we have reached the river water; look how brown and thick it is, more like a cup of the captain’s chocolate than good, wholesome salt water. We will try a cast of the lead, Mr Young, if you please, just to make sure; though if we are fair in the channel, as I think we are, we shall get no bottom as yet. Nor shall we make any headway until the wind freshens or the sea-breeze springs up, for we are already within the influence of the outflowing current, and at this season of the year—which is the rainy season—it runs very strongly a little further in.” The lead was hove, but, as Bates had anticipated, no bottom was found; whereupon the master rolled up his chart again, gave orders that the ship was to be kept going as she was, and returned to his cabin, while the watch mustered their buckets and scrubbing-brushes and proceeded to wash decks and generally make the brig’s toilet for the day. Our worthy master was right; we did not make a particle of headway until about nine o’clock, when the wind gradually hauled round aft and freshened to a piping breeze before which we boomed along in fine style until we came abreast of a low, narrow point on our port hand, protected from the destructive action of the Atlantic breakers by a shoal extending some three-quarters of a mile to seaward. Abreast of this point we hauled up to the northward and entered a sort of bay about half-a- mile wide, with the low point before-mentioned on our port hand, and a wide mud-bank to starboard, beyond which was an island of considerable extent, fringed with mangroves and covered with thick bush and lofty trees. On the low point on our port hand were two “factories,” or trading establishments, abreast of which were lying two brigs and a barque, one of the brigs flying British and the other Spanish colours, while the barque sported the Dutch ensign at her mizen-peak. We rounded-to just far enough outside these craft to give them a clear berth, and let go our anchor in four fathoms of water. It was a queer spot that we now found ourselves in; queer to me at least, who was now entering upon my first experience of West African service. We were riding with our head to the north-west under the combined influence of wind and tide together, with the low point—named Banana Peninsula, so the master informed me, though why it should be so named I never could understand, for there was not a single banana-tree upon the whole peninsula, as I subsequently ascertained. Let me see, where was I? I have gone adrift among those non-existent banana-trees. Oh yes, I was going to attempt to make a word-sketch of the scene which surrounded us after we had let go our anchor and furled our canvas. The sea-breeze was piping strong from the westward, while the tide was ebbing down the creek from the northward, and under these combined influences the Barracouta was riding with her head about north-west. Banana Peninsula lay ahead of us, trending away along our larboard beam and slightly away from us to the southward for about half-a-mile, where it terminated in a sandy beach bordered by a broad patch of smooth water, athwart which marched an endless line of mimic breakers from the wall of flashing white surf that thundered upon the outer edge of the protecting shoal three-quarters of a mile to seaward. The point was pretty thickly covered with bush and trees, chiefly cocoa-nut and other palms—except in the immediate vicinity and in front of the two factories, where the soil had been cleared and a sort of rough wharf constructed by driving piles formed of the trunks of trees into the ground and wedging a few slabs of sawn timber in behind them. The point, for a distance of perhaps a mile from its southern extremity, was very narrow—not more than from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards wide—but beyond that it widened out considerably until it merged in the mainland. On the opposite side of the creek, on our starboard quarter and astern of us, was what I at first took to be a single island, but which I subsequently found to be a group of about a dozen islands, of which the smallest may have been half-a-mile long by about a third of a mile broad, while the largest was some nine or ten miles long by about three miles broad. These islands really constituted the northern bank of the river for a distance some twenty-four miles up the stream, being cut off from the mainland and from each other by narrow canal-like creeks running generally in a direction more or less east and west. The land all about here was low, and to a great extent swampy, the margin of the creeks being lined with mangroves that presented a very curious appearance as they stood up out of the dark, slimy-looking water, their trunks supported upon a network of naked, twisted roots that strongly suggested to me the idea of spiders’ legs swollen and knotted with some hideous, deforming disease. The trees themselves, however, apart from their twisted, gnarled, and knotted roots, presented a very pleasing appearance, for they had just come into full leaf, and their fresh green foliage was deeply grateful to the eye satiated with a long and wearisome repetition of the panorama of unbroken sea and sky. Beyond the belt of mangroves the islands were overgrown with dense bush, interspersed with tall trees, some of which were rich with violet blossoms growing in great drooping clusters, like the flowers of the laburnum; while others were heavily draped with long, trailing sprays of magnificent jasmine, of which there were two kinds, one bearing a pinky flower, and the other a much larger star-like bloom of pure white. The euphorbia, acacia, and baobab or calabash-tree were all in bloom; and here and there, through openings between the trunks of the mangroves, glimpses were caught of rich splashes of deep orange-colour, standing out like flame against the dark background of shadowed foliage, that subsequent investigation proved to be clumps of elegant orchids. It appeared that we had entered the river at precisely the right time of the year to behold it at its brightest and best, for the spring rains had only recently set in, and all Nature was rioting in the refreshment of the welcome moisture and bursting forth into a joyous prodigality of leaf and blossom, of colour and perfume, of life and glad activity. The forest rang with the calls and cries of pairing birds; flocks of parrots, parrakeets, and love-birds were constantly wheeling and darting hither and thither; kingfishers flitted low across the placid water, or watched motionless from some overhanging branch for the passage of their unsuspecting prey; the wydah bird flaunted his gay plumage in the brilliant sunshine, where it could be seen to the fullest advantage; and butterflies, like living gems, flitted happily from flower to flower. Astern of us, some three miles away, lay Boolambemba Point, the southernmost extremity of the group of islands to which I have already alluded, where the embouchure of the river may be said to begin, the stream here being about three and a half miles across, while immediately below it abruptly widens to a breadth of about five and a half miles at the indentation leading to Banana Creek, in the narrow approach to which we were lying at anchor. Of course it was not possible for us to distinguish, from where we were lying, much of the character of the country on the southern or left bank of the river, but it appeared to be pretty much the same as what we saw around us; that is to say, low land densely covered with bush and trees along the river margin, with higher land beyond. About half-a-mile beyond us, broad on our starboard bow as we were then lying, the anchorage narrowed down to a width of less than half-a-mile, the western extremity of the group of islands already referred to there converging toward Banana Peninsula in a low, mangrove-wooded point. Beyond this, however, could be seen a stretch of water about a mile and a half wide, which I subsequently learned ran for several miles up at the back of the islands, between them and the mainland, in the form of a narrow, shallow, canal-like creek that Bates, the master, seemed to think might well repay the trouble of careful inspection, since the narrow maze of channels to which it gave access offered exceptional facilities for the embarkation of slaves, and a choice of routes for the light-draught slavers from their places of concealment into the main channel of the river. Chapter Two. We receive some important Intelligence. We had barely got our canvas furled and the decks cleared when we saw a fine, handsome whale- boat, painted white, with a canvas awning spread over her stern-sheets, and the Portuguese flag fluttering from a little staff at her stern, shove off from the wharf and pull toward us. She was manned by four Krumen, and in the stern-sheets sat a tall, swarthy man, whose white drill suit and white, broad-brimmed Panama hat, swathed with a white puggaree, caused his suntanned face and hands to appear almost as black as the skins of his negro crew. The boat swept up to our gangway in very dashing style, and her owner, ascending the accommodation ladder, stepped in on deck with a genial smile that disclosed a splendid set of brilliantly white teeth beneath his heavy, glossy black moustache. “Good-morning, sar,” said he to the first lieutenant, who met him at the gangway. “Velcome to Banana,” with a flourish of his hat. “Vat chip dis is, eh?” “Her Britannic Majesty’s brig Barracouta,” answered Young. “You are the Portuguese consul here, I suppose?” “No—no; I not de consul,” was the answer. “Dere is no consul at Banana. I am Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo, Portuguese trader, at your savice, sar; and I have come off to say dat I shall be happie to supply your chip wid anyting dat you may require—vattare, fresh meat, vegetabl’, feesh, no fruit—de fruit not ripe yet; plenty fruit by an’ by, but not ripe yet—parrots, monkeys—all kind of bird and animal, yes; and curiositie—plenty curiositie, sar.” Here the skipper, who had been below for a few minutes, re-appeared on deck, and, seeing the stranger, advanced toward him, whereupon the first lieutenant introduced Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo in proper form. “Glad to see you, señor,” remarked the skipper genially. “Will you step below and take a glass of wine with Lieutenant Young and myself?” “Ver’ happie, captain, I am sure,” answered the señor with another sweeping bow and flourish of his Panama; and forthwith the trio disappeared down the hatchway, to my unbounded astonishment, for it was not quite like our extremely dignified skipper to be so wonderfully cordial as this to a mere trader. “Ah, I’m afraid that won’t wash,” remarked Bates, catching the look of astonishment and perplexity on my face as I turned my regards away from the hatchway. “The captain means to pump the Portuguese, if he can, but from the cut of the señor’s jib I fancy there is not much to be got out of him; he looks to be far too wide-awake to let us become as wise as himself. I’ll be bound that he could put us up to many a good wrinkle if he would; but, bless you, youngster, he’s not going to spoil his own trade. He professes to be an honest trader, of course—deals in palm-oil and ivory and what not, of course, and I’ve no doubt he does; but I wouldn’t mind betting a farthing cake that he ships a precious sight more black ivory than white out of this same river. Look at that brig, for instance—the one flying Spanish colours, I mean. Just look at her! Did you ever set your eyes upon a more beautiful hull than that? Look at the sweep of her run; see how it comes curving round to her stern-post in a delivery so clean that it won’t leave a single eddy behind it. No drag there, my boy! And look at her sides: round as an apple—not an inch of straight in them! And do you suppose that a brig with lines like that was built for the purpose of carrying palm-oil? Not she. I should like to have a look at her bows; I’ll be bound they are as keen as a knife—we shall see them by and by, when she swings at the turn of the tide. Yet if that brig were overhauled—as she probably will be—nothing whatever of a suspicious character would be found aboard her, except maybe a whole lot of casks, which they would say was for stowing the palm-oil in. Well, here we are; but we shall have to keep our eyes open night and day to weather upon the rascally slavers; they are as sly as foxes, and always up to some new circumventing trick.” W ith which reflection, followed by a deep sigh at the wily genius of the slaving fraternity in general, the worthy master turned upon his heel and retired below. The Portuguese remained in the cabin for over an hour; and when he came on deck again, accompanied by the captain and the first lieutenant, I thought that the two latter looked decidedly elated, as though, despite the master’s foreboding, they had succeeded in obtaining some important information. The captain was particularly gracious to his visitor, going even to the length of shaking hands with him ere he passed out through the gangway, the first luff of course following suit, as in duty bound. “Then we may rely upon you to send us off the fresh meat and vegetables early this afternoon?” remarked Young, as he stood at the gangway. “Yais, yais; dey shall be alongside by t’ree o’clock at de lates’!” answered the Portuguese. “And as soon as you have receive dem you had better veigh and leave de creek. Give dat point”—indicating Boolambemba Point—“a bert’ of a mile and you veel be all right.” “Yes, thanks, I will remember,” returned the first lieutenant. “And where are we to pick you up?” “Hus–s–sh! my dear sair; not so loud, if you please,” answered Lobo, hastily leaving his boat and coming half-way up the gangway ladder again. “Dere is a leetl’ creek about two mile pas’ de point, on de nort’ bank of de river. I vill be on de look-out for you dere in a small canoe vid two men dat I can trus’. And you mus’ pick me up queevk, because if eet vas known dat I had consent to pilot you my t’roat would be cut before I vas a mont’ oldaire.” “Never fear,” answered Young. “We will keep a sharp look-out for you and get you on board without anybody being a penny the wiser. Good-bye.” The Portuguese bowed with another flourish of his hat, seated himself in the stern-sheets of his boat, gave the word to his Krumen, and a few minutes later was on the wharf, walking toward his factory, into the open door of which he disappeared. “Come,” thought I, “there is something afoot already. The captain and the first luff have, between them, evidently contrived to worm some intelligence out of the Portuguese. I must go and tell Bates the news.” Before I could do so, however, the captain, who had been standing near the gangway, listening to what was passing between Young and Lobo, caught sight of me and said— “Mr Dugdale, be good enough to find Mr Bates, and tell him that I shall feel obliged if he will come to me for a few minutes in my cabin.” I touched my hat, dived down the hatchway, and gave the message, whereupon the master stepped out of his cabin and made his way aft. He was with the captain nearly half-an-hour; and when he re- appeared he looked as pleased as Punch. “I’ll never attempt to judge a man’s character by his face again,” he exclaimed, as he caught me by the arm, and walked me along the deck beside him. “W ho would have thought that a piratical-looking rascal like that Portuguese would have been friendly disposed towards the representatives of law and order? Yet he has not only given the captain valuable information, but has actually consented to pilot the ship to the spot which is to serve as our base of operations, although, as he says, should the slavers get to know of his having done such a thing, they would cut his throat without hesitation.” “Yes,” said I, “I heard him make that remark to Mr Young just before shoving off. And pray, Mr Bates —if the question be not indiscreet—what is the nature of the expedition upon which we are to engage this afternoon?” “Well, I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you,” answered Bates, a little doubtfully. “Our movements are of course to be conducted with all possible secrecy, but if I tell you I don’t suppose you’ll go ashore and hire the town-crier to make public our intentions; and all hands will have to know—more or less— what we’re after, very soon, so I suppose I shall not be infringing any of the Articles of War if I tell you now; but you needn’t go and publish the news throughout the ship, d’ye see? Let the skipper do that when he thinks fit.” “Certainly,” I assented. “You may rely implicitly upon my discretion.” “Oh yes, of course,” retorted the master ironically. “A midshipman is a perfect marvel in the way of prudence and discretion; everybody knows that! However,” he continued, in a much more genial tone, “I will do you the justice to say that you seem to have your ballast pretty well stowed, and that you stand up to your canvas as steadily as any youngster that I’ve ever fallen in with; so I don’t suppose there’ll be very much harm in trusting you. You must know, then, that there’s a bit of a creek, called Chango Creek, some fourteen or fifteen miles up the river from here; and in that creek there is at this moment lying snugly at anchor, quite unconscious of our proximity, and leisurely filling up her complement of blacks, a large Spanish brig called the Mercedes hailing from Havana. She is a notorious slaver, and is strongly suspected of having played the part of pirate more than once, when circumstances were favourable. Moreover, from what our Portuguese friend Lobo says, she was in the river when the Sapphire’s two boats with their crews disappeared; and according to the dates he gives, she must also have been the craft that the plucky little Wasp was in chase of when last seen. There is very little doubt, therefore, that the Mercedes is the craft—or, at all events, one of them— which it is our especial mission to capture at any cost; and we are therefore going to weigh this afternoon for the purpose of beating up her quarters. Lobo has undertaken to pilot us as far as the mouth of the creek; and as he tells us that the brig is fully a hundred tons bigger than ourselves, is armed to the teeth, and is manned by a big crowd of desperadoes, every man of whom has bound himself by a fearful oath never to lay down his arms while the breath remains in his body, I shouldn’t wonder if we find out before all is done that we have undertaken a pretty tough job.” “It would seem like it, if Señor Lobo’s information is to be relied upon,” said I, an involuntary shudder and qualm thrilling me as my vivid imagination instantly conjured up a vision of the impending conflict. “But I suppose every precaution will be taken to catch the rascals unawares?” “You may be sure of that,” answered the master, peering curiously into my face as he spoke. “Captain Stopford is not the man to court a reverse, or a heavy loss of life, by unduly advertising his intentions. But you look pale, boy! You are surely not beginning to funk, are you?” “No,” said I, a little dubiously, “I think not. But this will be my first experience of fighting, you know— I have never been face to face with an enemy thus far—and I must confess that the idea of a hand- to-hand fight—for I suppose it will come to that—a life-and-death struggle, wherein one has not only to incur the awful responsibility of hurling one’s fellow-creatures into eternity, but also to take the fearful risk of being hurled thither one’s self, perhaps without a moment of time in which to breathe a prayer for mercy, is something that I, for one, can hardly contemplate with absolute equanimity.” “Certainly not,” assented Bates kindly, linking his arm in mine as he spoke; “certainly not; you would be something more or less—less, I should be inclined to say—than human if you could. But, as to the responsibility of hurling those villains into eternity, do not let that trouble you for a single moment, my lad; in endeavouring to put down this inhuman slave-trade we are engaged upon a righteous and lawful task—lawful and righteous in the eyes of God as well as of man, I humbly believe—and if the traffickers in human flesh and human freedom and human happiness choose to risk and lose their lives in the pursuit of their hellish trade, the responsibility must rest with themselves, and in my humble opinion the earth is well rid of such inhuman monsters. And as to the other matter—that of being yourself hurried into eternity unprepared—it need not occur, my boy; no one need die unprepared. W hat I mean is, of course, that all should take especial care to be prepared for death whenever it may meet us, for we know not what a day, or an hour, or even a moment may bring forth; the man who walks the streets of his native town in fancied security is actually just as liable to be cut off unawares as are we who follow the terrible but necessary profession of arms; the menaces to life ashore are as numerous as they are afloat, or more so; the forms of accident are innumerable. And therefore I say that all should be careful to so conduct themselves that they may be prepared to face death at any moment. And if they are not, they may easily become so; for God’s ear is always open to the cry of His children, and I will take it upon myself to say that no earnest, heartfelt prayer is ever allowed to go unanswered. So, if you have any misgivings about to-night’s work, go to God and ask for His mercy and protection and help; and then, whatever happens, you will be all right.” So saying, the good old fellow halted just abreast the hatchway, which we had reached at this point in our perambulation fore and aft the deck, and, gently urging me toward it suggestively, released my arm and turned away. I took the hint thus given me and, without a word—for indeed at that moment I was too deeply moved for speech—made my way below to the midshipmen’s berth, which I found opportunely empty, and there cast myself upon my knees and prayed earnestly for some minutes. W hen I arose from this act of devotion I was once more calm and unperturbed; and from that moment I date a habit of prayer that has been an inexpressible comfort and support to me ever since. Upon returning to the deck the first object that caught my eyes was our gig, with the first luff and little Pierrepoint—our junior mid but one—in the stern-sheets, pulling toward the very handsome Spanish brig—already spoken of as lying at anchor a short distance inside of us—upon a visit of inspection. That the inspection to which she was subjected was pretty thorough was sufficiently attested by the fact that the gig remained alongside her a full hour, the British brig and the Dutch barque being in their turn afterwards subjected to a similarly severe examination; but, as Bates had predicted, nothing came of it, all their papers being perfectly in order, while a rigorous search failed to discover anything of an incriminating character on board either of them. “Of course not,” commented the master, when he learned the substance of the first luff’s report to the skipper; “of course not. Bless ye, the people that trade to this river aren’t born fools, not they! Just consider the matter for a moment. Let’s suppose, for argument’s sake, that the Spaniard yonder is a slaver. Would she ship her cargo here in the very spot that would be first visited by every man-o’- war that enters the river? Of course she wouldn’t; she’d go away up the river into one of the many creeks that branch into it on either side for the first twenty miles or so, and ship her blacks there, watching for the chance of a dark night to slip out and get well off the land before daylight. If she came in here at all, it would be to fill up her water and lay in a stock of meal upon which to feed her niggers when she’d got ’em; and you may depend on it that when a slaver comes in here upon any such errand as that, a very bright look-out is kept for cruisers, and that, upon the first sight of a suspicious-looking sail in the offing, her irons, her meal, and everything else that would incriminate her are bundled ashore and hidden away safely among the bushes, while her water would be started and pumped out of her long enough before a man-o’-war could get alongside of her. W hat is that Spanish brig taking in?” he continued, turning to little Pierrepoint, who, with the first lieutenant, had visited her. “Nothing,” answered the lad. “She only arrived yesterday; and her hold is half full of casks in which she is going to stow her palm-oil.” “Of course,” remarked the master sarcastically, turning to me. “W hat did I say to you this morning? W henever a ship is found in an African river with a lot of casks aboard, that ship is after palm-oil—at least, so her skipper will tell ye. And that’s where they get to wind’ard of us; for unless they’ve something more incriminating—something pointing more directly to an intention to traffic in slaves— than mere casks, we daren’t touch ’em. But, you mark me, that brig’s here to take off a cargo of blacks; and unless I’m greatly mistaken she’ll have vanished when we turn up here again to-morrow.” It was just six bells in the afternoon watch when two boats—one containing fresh water in casks, and the other loaded to her gunwale with fresh meat—mostly goat-mutton strongly impregnated with the powerful musky odour of the animal—appeared paddling leisurely off to the Barracouta under the guidance of four powerful but phenomenally lazy Krumen, who would probably have consumed the best part of half-an-hour in the short passage from the wharf to the brig had not our impatient first luff dispatched a boat to tow them alongside. The water was pumped into the tanks, the provisions were passed up the side and stowed away below in the coolest part of the ship; and no sooner were the boats clear of the ship’s side than the boatswain’s whistle shrilled along the deck, followed by the gruff bellow of “All hands unmoor ship!” the messenger was passed, the anchor roused up to the bows, and in a few minutes the Barracouta, under her two topsails, and wafted by a light westerly zephyr, was moving slowly down the narrow channel toward the estuary of the river. So light was the draught of air that now impelled us, that, although every cloth was quickly spread to woo it, the ship was a full hour and a half reaching as far as Boolambemba Point, where we met the full strength of the river current; and when we bore away on our course up the river, our patience was severely taxed by the discovery that, even with studding-sails set on both sides from the royals down, we could scarcely do more than hold our own against the strong rush of the tide and current together. Slowly, however, and by imperceptible degrees, by hugging the northern shore as closely as we dared, with the lead constantly going, we managed to creep insidiously past the mangrove and densely bush-clad river bank until, just as the sun was dipping into the horizon astern in a brief but indescribably magnificent blaze of purple and scarlet and gold, we reached the place of our rendezvous with Señor Lobo. And soon afterwards we had the satisfaction of discovering that gentleman making his way toward us out of the narrow creek, his conveyance being a small native canoe about fifteen feet long, roughly hewn and hollowed out of a single log, and propelled by two natives, who apparently regarded clothes as an entirely unnecessary superfluity, for they were absolutely naked. They were fine, powerful specimens of negro manhood, however, and smart fellows withal, for they propelled their ungainly little craft along at a truly wonderful pace with scarcely any apparent effort, sheering her alongside the brig in quite respectable style without obliging us to start tack or sheet in order to pick them up, and shinning up the side with the agility of a couple of monkeys as soon as they had securely made fast the rope’s-end that was hove to them. Our impatience at the slow progress that we had thus far made was somewhat relieved by Lobo’s assurance that we might confidently rely upon a brisk breeze speedily springing up that would carry us to our destination as soon as was at all desirable; his opinion being that our best chance of success lay in the postponement of our attack until about two o’clock in the morning, by which time the moon would have set, and the slaver’s crew would probably be wrapped in their deepest slumber. So far as his prognostication relative to the wind was concerned, it was soon confirmed, a strong breeze from the southward springing up, under the impulsion of which, and with considerably reduced canvas, we reached our destination, so far as the brig was concerned, about five bells in the first watch. This spot was situated on the northern bank of the river, at a distance, up-stream, of about thirteen miles from Boolambemba Point. It was at the mouth of a creek, named Chango Creek, and in a small bay or roadstead about a mile long by perhaps half that width formed by six islands, the largest of which was nearly two miles long by half-a-mile wide, while the smallest and most easterly of all was a very diminutive affair, of perhaps not more than an acre in area, densely overgrown, like the rest of them, with thick, impenetrable bush. In the very centre of this small roadstead, to which we had been piloted by the Portuguese trader, we anchored the brig in two and a half fathoms of water; when, the canvas having been furled, and all our preparations for the attack having been fully made before dark, a strong anchor-watch was set, and everybody else turned in to get an hour or two’s sleep, strict injunctions being laid upon the master, who had charge of the watch, to keep a bright look-out, and to have all hands called at two bells precisely in the middle watch. As for Lobo, he took leave of us directly that our anchor was down, and, rousing out his sable crew, who were fast asleep and snoring melodiously underneath the long-boat, took to his canoe, once more and almost immediately vanished among the deep black shadows of the islets that hemmed us in. I know not what were the feelings of others on board the brig on that eventful night, or how those two short hours of inaction were spent in other parts of the ship, but I am convinced that when we all went below to turn in, a very general conviction had spread among us that the enterprise upon which we were shortly to engage was one that would prove to be more than ordinarily difficult and dangerous, and while not one of us probably had a moment’s doubt as to its ultimate result, I believe the feeling was pretty general that the struggle would be fierce and obstinate, and that our loss would probably be unusually heavy. I gathered this from the demeanour of the ship’s crew generally, officers as well as men; the former revealing the feeling by the extreme care with which they scrutinised and personally superintended the several preparations for the expedition, and the latter by the grim and silent earnestness with which they performed their share of the work. True, there was some faint attempt at jocularity among a few of the occupants of the midshipmen’s berth as we sought our hammocks, but it was manifestly braggadocio, utterly lacking the true ring of heartiness that usually characterised such attempts, and it was speedily nipped in the bud by Gowland, the master’s mate, who gruffly recommended the offenders to “say their prayers and then go to sleep, instead of talking nonsense.” Though I was not one of the offenders I took his advice, earnestly commending myself to the mercy and protection of the Almighty, both in the coming conflict and throughout the rest of my life, should it please Him to spare it, after which I sank quickly into a deep, untroubled sleep. Chapter Three. The Night Attack. From this sleep I was aroused—in a few minutes, it seemed to me, although really it was nearly two hours later—by a boisterous banging upon the mess-table, followed by the voice of the marine who executed the functions of steward to the mess, exclaiming— “‘All hands,’ gentlemen, please! The captain and the first liftenant is already on deck.” This was followed by the rasping scrape of a lucifer match, by the feeble light of which the man’s face was seen bending over the lantern which he was endeavouring to light. “Ay, ay, Jerry, look alive with the lantern, man!” responded the master’s mate. “W hat is the night like?” he continued, as he swung himself out of his hammock and hastily proceeded to thrust his long legs into his breeches. “Dark as pitch, sir; blowing more than half a gale of wind, and threatening rain,” was the cheering answer. “A pleasant prospect, truly,” muttered Good, my especial chum, as we jostled each other in the confined space wherein we were struggling into our clothing. “It might be worse, however,” responded Gowland, as he knotted a black silk handkerchief tightly about his loins. “The darkness and the roar of the wind among the trees will help capitally to mask our approach, while I dare say that the craft which we are going to attack will be in such a snug berth that nobody will think it worth while to keep a look-out, blow high or blow low. I say, Pierrepoint, are you told off for the boats?” Pierrepoint intimated that he was. “Then put that rubbishy toasting-fork away and get a cutlass, boy, as Dugdale has. Of what use do you suppose a dirk would be in a hand-to-hand fight with a great burly Spaniard? W hy, none at all. I can’t understand, for my part, why such useless...