The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Barque, by T. Jenkins Hains This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Black Barque A Tales of the Pirate Slave-Ship Gentle Hand on Her Last African Cruise Author: T. Jenkins Hains Illustrator: W. Herbert Dunton Release Date: November 20, 2017 [EBook #56017] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK BARQUE *** Produced by KD Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Transcriber’s Note: Footnotes have been collected at the end of each chapter, and are linked for ease of reference. Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation. Any corrections are indicated using an underline highlight. Placing the cursor over the correction will produce the original text in a small popup. The cover image has been created based on title page information, and is placed in the public domain. A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship Gentle Hand on Her Last African Cruise Works of T. JENKINS HAINS The Windjammers $1.50 The Black Barque 1.50 The Voyage of the Arrow 1.50 Bahama Bill 1.50 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY New England Building BOSTON MASS. “SPRANG WITH THE EASE OF A CAT UPON OUR POOP-RAIL.” (See page 227) The Black Barque A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship Gentle Hand on Her Last African Cruise By T. JENKINS HAINS AUTHOR OF “THE STRIFE OF THE SEA,” “THE WIND-JAMMERS,” ETC. Illustrated by W. HERBERT DUNTON colophon BOSTON L. C. PAGE & COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1905 By L. C. Page & Company (INCORPORATED) All rights reserved Published February, 1905 Fifth Impression, March, 1908. COLONIAL PRESS Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U.S.A. TO THE MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER Thornton Jenkins REAR-ADMIRAL UNITED STATES NAVY AND HIS COUSIN Sir Robert Jenkins, K.C.B. VICE-ADMIRAL ROYAL NAVY WHOSE SERVICES TO THE BLACK MAN SHOULD NOT BE FORGOTTEN THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED CONTENTS PAGE I. I Seek a New Ship 1 II. Captain Howard 8 III. The Barque 18 IV. Shanghaied 30 V. In the Fo’c’sle 39 VI. I Become “Cock of the Walk” 48 VII. Two Kinds of Hand-shakes 55 VIII. Our Bos’n 65 IX. I Make Another Friend 72 X. Yankee Dan and His Daughter 81 XI. We Make a Day of It 92 XII. How the Day Ended 100 XIII. A Surprising Salute 107 XIV. I Decide to Leave the Barque 117 XV. Others Decide Otherwise 128 XVI. A Taste of Cold Iron 135 XVII. Sir John and Miss Allen 144 XVIII. The Barque Has Ill Luck 152 XIX. And Still More Ill Luck 162 XX. What Happened in Madeira 171 XXI. The Strange Brig 180 XXII. “Stand to It!” 188 XXIII. What the Captain’s Chest Held 198 XXIV. The Captain Shows His Mettle 207 XXV. We Hear of Long Tom 218 XXVI. We Repel Boarders 225 XXVII. Our Captive 233 XXVIII. My First Glimpse of Slavery 241 XXIX. We Lay in Our Cargo 248 XXX. I Suspect Treachery 254 XXXI. I Meet Cortelli 264 XXXII. Open Mutiny 273 XXXIII. The Fight on Deck 280 XXXIV. The Cargo Breaks Loose 288 XXXV. Our Last Chance 296 XXXVI. The End of the Black Barque 305 XXXVII. The Last Strand of My Yarn 313 v vi THE SHIP’S COMPANY OF THE Gentle Hand OFFICERS WILLIAM HOWARD, master. RICHARD HAWKSON, first officer. JOHN GULL, second officer. SHERMAN HENRY, third officer. CREW PETER RICHARDS, American, boatswain. JOHN HEYWOOD, American, gunner (who relates the story). Able Seamen Ordinary Seamen Tim, American Johnson, Dane Bill, Norwegian Jones, Welshman Heligoland, Norwegian Anderson, Swede Guinea, Dago Holmberg, Swede Ernest, German Jennings, Dutch Martin, Scotch Pete, Dago Johns, German Tom, Cockney Jorg, Finn Jim, Englishman Pat, Irishman Gilbert, half-breed Kanaka Gus, Swede Johnson, Norwegian Pacetti, Dago Watkins, steward The “Doctor,” cook OWNERS AND PASSENGERS Yankee Dan, of Nassau, trader (Daniel Allen). Rose Allen, his daughter. Lord Renshaw, an outcast from society, with money in the enterprise. Sir John Hicks, bankrupt, engaged in the slave traffic. Mr. Curtis, engaged in the slave traffic. vii 1 CHAPTER I. I SEEK A NEW SHIP When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift upon that port’s dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French privateers and had fought under Napoleon’s eagles. The peace that had followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of support. I had come over from the States in an old tub of a barque called the Washington, after having served as mate for two years on the schooner General Greene. The war had taught me something, for I had served in the navy in one of the South Pacific cruises, and had fought in the frigate Essex. I was only a boy in years, but the service--and other matters hardly worth mentioning here--had hardened my nature and developed the disagreeable side of my character. I was mate of the old hooker, and could have made out well enough if the captain hadn’t been somewhat down on me, for I never cared especially for women, and I believed my experience justified my opinion of them,--but no matter. The old man seemed to think I couldn’t be happy without thrashing every day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small experience. We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my failings. The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough, so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third mate, who was the captain’s son. It wasn’t the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me. They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I didn’t care very much. The only man aboard who seemed interested to any extent was old Richards, the second mate. Richards had served on the frigate Essex in her famous cruise, and after the war he had chosen to try his hand in merchant ships, for the change of the man-o’-war’s man’s life from action to slothful peace had been too much for him. Silent and thoughtful, he had listened to me and was pained at my speech. He was called old Richards because of his quiet manner, although he was not much over thirty-five, and I bore with his sour looks while I went to the quarter-deck to finish my little say with the skipper. As an American man-o’-war’s man, it was my duty to invite the captain ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and, sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence. I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it, while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and return. I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends upon its finding something it is not looking for. “Bon jaw,” he said. I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face. “I’m a Yankee sailor,” said I, “and if you want any business with me you’ll have to speak something I understand. And besides,” I added, edging closer to him, “I don’t allow fellows to talk about me in a foreign language,--unless I’ve got a good reason to think they’re saying something truthful. You savvey? Or I’ll make a handsome monkey of you by changing that figurehead you’ve got there.” A sudden scowl came over the fellow’s face and went again. “I kin give you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do you a favour.” “‘Virtue is its own reward,’” I said, reaching into my pocket as though for a piece of money. “Cast loose!” “It’s on account of that reward I reckon you don’t practise it,” grinned the fellow. “Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--” “Shut up!” I snapped. “If you are an American or English, let’s have your lay. “Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that’s your game, you better slant away. Don’t you see I’ve enough ship for the rest of my life, hey?” The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They were enormous. “Look a-here now, don’t you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all these here swabs a-looking on? You look like 2 3 4 5 6 you had sense enough to go below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there’s a ship without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you’ll come go along with me, an’ talk the matter over, there’ll be no harm done except to the spirruts,--an’ they’s free.” I was very thirsty and could talk no French, so, more to be guided to a place to quench my thirst on good ale than by curiosity, I allowed him to lead me up the dock. I noticed several of the loungers upon the pier-head scowl at me as I went my way, and one tall, fierce-looking fellow, who had been glancing at me frequently, gradually fell away from the group of loafers and strolled up behind us. I paid no further attention to these fellows, but, as I reached the street with its babble of unfamiliar language, a sudden feeling came upon me. I don’t know what it was, but I was only a boy, and the future seemed dark and lonely. I turned and looked back at the Washington. She was the only thing American in sight, and the months I spent aboard her were not to be thrust aside lightly. They had all been too full of work and sorrow. “Good-bye, old barkey,” I cried, holding my right hand high up,--“good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you.” I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man gave a sneer. “Very sentimental and proper feeling,” said he. “A ship’s like a person, more or less, an’ when one gets used to her he don’t like to give her up.” “What do you know about sentiment, you swine?” I asked, fiercely. “I’ve a good notion to whang you for your insolence.” “A very fine spirit,” he commented, as though to himself, as he walked ahead, “a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here’s the ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better.” 7 CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN HOWARD I might as well say in the beginning that, while I have a sailor’s taste for liquor, I’m not especially noted as a drunkard or spirit-wholloper. By the latter I mean given to ruffianism or brawling while under its influence. It is because of a naturally refined and peaceful disposition that I am so constituted, and I take no glory on that account. It is nonsense to suppose all sailors ruffians and all tales of the sea coarse, because some swabs have found that the hand of a knowing mate or skipper lies heavy upon an empty pate. The story of many voyages on American ships is gentle and uneventful as the daily run of a lady’s carriage. For evidence, read their logs. We entered the den of our little ferret-faced companion, and had no sooner sat at a table to order the ale than I was aware of the tall, dour man who had followed us from the pier-head. My second mate was too much taken up with the inmates of the place to notice anything else. I might as well confess Richards was a very pious fellow, and it must have been much against his wish to have been where he was. The tall man paid little attention to him, but looked at me. He did not come into the room, but stood in the doorway, his fierce eyes fixed upon my face, and his long, drooping moustache hanging below his jowls, giving him a most sinister appearance. Our companion appeared not to perceive his presence at first, and only when he tilted his mug and threw his head back did his weasel eyes seem to fall in with those of the stranger. “Come in, you terrier!” I cried. “Come in and have a mug to soak your whiskers in. Sink me, but barbers must be scarce around here. Soldier o’ the guard, hey? No one but a Voltigeer-r-r o’ the guard-r-rd would wear such hangers.” “Young man,” said the stranger, quietly, “your language is rather unseemly, and should not be applied to one of the cloth. Hark ye! I am a man of peace, sir. I am Richard Raymond, chaplain of the Guerrière frigate. I never indulge.” He raised a lean, sinewy hand and shook his head gently at the proffered ale. “May the devil seize me if you ain’t the holy joe I’m looking for!” I cried. “Sit down, man, sit down.” “Not in such a place. I but came to plead with you not to fill yourself with that liquid. It is ruinous.” Here he looked across the room where the proprietor was attending to a group of sailors who were about a table. “It is ruinous, I say, and here I implore you not to drink too much. As a man of God, I ask you, and the chaplain of the Guerrière,” and he raised his eyes aloft and clasped his hands as if in prayer. I now noticed his clothes were somewhat clerical in cut, though shabby. At this moment, a buxom maid brought some fresh mugs, foaming full, and I tossed her a piece of money. She looked at me and smiled, saying something I failed to understand. Then casting a look at the tall man in the door, she laughed and went her way. “And why not on the frigate now?” I asked Mr. Raymond, who still seemed to be absorbed in prayer. “Lost, man, lost!” said my little companion, taking a fresh mug. “Don’t you know she was lost?” “Well,” I cried, “what difference? Should a holy man desert his ship any the sooner for being holy, hey? Answer me that. Why didn’t you get lost in her? Sink me, but I like a man who will do something more than talk for the good of a soul. I like a bit o’ sacrifice now and again to show the meaning true. I’d like to see our friend drink this mug of ale to save me from the devil, for, if he’ll drink it, I vow I’ll not buy another for myself.” “Deliver us from evil,” moaned Raymond. “Oh, Henry, I couldn’t do it,” and his eyes rolled up. “So your name is Henry, is it?” I asked my little companion. He looked queerly at me. “Why didn’t you say so before?” I asked, roughly. “You never asked me,” said he. “The chaplain has known me many years.” “Well,” I cried, rising and advancing upon Mr. Raymond, “you’ll either drink this ale or get it in the face, for I’ll not be badgered by every hairy heaven-yelper I run against. Drink!” and I held the mug toward him. His fierce eyes gleamed curiously, and he reached for the tankard. Then he raised it to his lips, and the long moustache was buried half a foot in the foam. When he let it down it was empty. The next instant something crashed against my head, and I saw many stars. Then came a blank. It must have been some minutes before I came to, and, when I did, I found myself lying upon the floor with my Mr. Henry and the barmaid wiping the blood from my face. The tall man had disappeared, and I struggled to my feet, my head whirling. Upon the floor lay pieces of the mug. “Did that sky-pilot do it?” I asked, feebly. Henry grinned. “Ah, ah, pauvre garçon, pauvre, pauvre--what eet is, boy? Pauvre boy. C’est poar boy, poar boy,” said the stout girl, wiping my clothes gently and laying a hand on my shoulder. The effect of a little sympathy was strange, especially from a woman. “Never mind,” I said, taking her hand from my shoulder and holding it a moment. “Get some fresh ale. There is no damage done. If that fellow was a man of peace, I should not like to come across his breed as man of war. Sit down, you son of a fox,” I continued to Henry, “and let’s have your yarn, and if I see you so much as grin, this shop will be unlucky.” We drew up again to the table. “I should think,” said Richards, “you have had your say long enough now, and would listen to reason. Steady yourself and get back into some ship before you get in jail. I don’t care any more for the hooker you just left than you do, and wouldn’t go back in her if there was any other vessel wanting hands.” “I feel flattered at your attentions, my dear Peter,” said I. “It is good of you to follow me to take care of one so young. My morals are pretty bad, and I need a nurse.” “That is certain,” said the sailor, with conviction that angered me not a little. Richards’s manner was a bit trying to me at all times when I wanted to have a say, and this time I lost patience. Yet, 8 9 10 11 12 13 when I thought of it afterward, I saw a steady head would have kept me out of much trouble. He was a perfectly balanced man. He would neither lose his head with joy, nor sink with despair at some seeming desperate trouble. He had learned this by experience, and his steady eyes were not those of a dullard. He felt as much as any one, as I soon learned when I gave him the sharp edge of my tongue. He was not a large man, but rather small and wiry. His size, I often thought, had governed his actions, for aboard ship a small man cannot talk too loud. Since he had served with me, I had reason to believe his body had little to do with his mind. “Peter,” I said, acidly, “I’m looking for a ship. Will you go along in her with me?” “That I will,” he said, but I thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time. “Then, my weasel,” said I, turning to Mr. Henry, “you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, I’ll hold my mate to his word if I ship in nothing better than a West Indian sugar-boat. Sail in, my bully. Let’s have the old tune I’ve heard so often.” Henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. We were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. I have always had this happen when there were others around, but I take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that I was a well-put-up man. I had nothing whatever to do with my birth. “You see,” said he, “I don’t make any bones wot I’m up to. I’m after men sech as you an’ me. My father were a Yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as I have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time I think of her.” “You can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue,” I growled. “Perhaps so,” he assented; “maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that’s why I’m lookin’ out fer men wot’s men. I get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an’ I stands in with the crowd. No shanghai business with me. It don’t pay. Why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? A matter o’ a pound or two an’ a good name fer fair dealin’ gone. Oh, no! I don’t run fer bad ships. I only takes the clippers, an’ I give handsome.” “What’s the hooker’s name?” I asked. “That’s just what I’m coming to if you’ll only say the word to go in her. They want a mate, and they’ll pay a big whack for a good man.” “Name, you wolf,” I repeated, draining my mug. “Give the name, or pay for this ale and clear.” “I’ll take you to her--” He was interrupted by the entrance of a small man who strode quickly into the room and sat at once in an empty chair near the door. As the newcomer entered, Henry half-rose and saluted, receiving a slight nod of recognition in return. “Who’s your friend?” I asked, gruffly. “Sh-h! not so loud,” and he scowled at me. “That’s Captain Howard.” “Who the saints is Captain Howard? Can he drink ale?” I asked. “I wouldn’t ask him if I were you. He’s not a man of peace,” and he looked at me slantwise. “I see,” I answered, and I looked the stranger over carefully. He was quite small in stature and his face was pale. His hands were soft, white, and effeminate-looking. Upon one finger a huge diamond sparkled. Just then he turned his gaze to meet mine, and I must admit his eyes gave me quite a turn. They were as glassy and expressionless as those of a fish. His whole smooth face, in fact, seemed to express nothing but vacancy. I had never seen a human face so devoid of expression. There was hardly a line in it save about the drooping corners of his mouth. “He don’t look dangerous,” I said, with a chuckle. “However, I’m not hunting trouble, and, if you think he’ll be offended at my acquaintance, he can go without it.” “He’s related to the great English house,--them--them ar’stocrats, ye know. That’s the way he’s got the king’s pardon.” “Pardon for what?” I asked. He glanced sidewise at me with that ferret look upon his face. “You’ve heard, sure? No? Well, then, that’s the skipper that held up the Indian Prince.” Then I remembered well enough. He was the little fellow with the pirate crew that had held up the big East-Indianman in the China Sea some years back. It was he who took the treasure and squandered it in mad riot in the streets of Singapore, and defied the authorities. Here, indeed, was the man feared by both whites and savages of the Eastern seas, sitting in this little ale-house as unconcerned as though nothing unusual had happened to excite curiosity. I was so taken up looking at him and wondering at his foul crimes that he had received and drunk off his liquor before I realized what had happened. As he left, I seized my mug and drank it. “Come along,” I said. “Show me your ship,” and Mr. Henry paid the score and started for the door, while I followed. As I reached it, I turned to see what Richards would do, but he was game. “Here comes your nourse, sonny,” he said. “I was paid off yesterday, and don’t mind a change if it’s for better,” and he looked so serious that I burst out laughing. 14 15 16 17