SHIP AHOY!
To a small craft like mine, a passage by sea on a dark night is
ordinarily an adventure full of peril and anxiety, and eye and ear
must be constantly strained to catch the gleam of approaching lights
or the warning throb of a propeller.
But in the lonely waters of the Gulf of Guinea there is--at any rate
at this season of the year--only one great danger--the surf-bound
shore; and the navigator who keeps a good offing and attends to the
lead, has little to fear.
Hence, as I crouched in the well with my few rags drawn round me for
warmth, I steered forward quite confidently, although I could not see
a hundred yards ahead, for I had laid my course obliquely off the
land, and, even making a liberal allowance for leeway, I must be
drawing pretty rapidly out to sea.
I had, indeed, no compass, nor was any star visible in the black
vault, but I could feel the wind and the run of the sea, and these I
knew to be constant enough to steer by quite safely. So I sailed on,
rising and falling easily on the great round swell, enjoying a strange
and novel sense of security; for ahead of me were no unknown rapids or
cataracts, no sunken rocks or hidden snags, but only a waste of waters
on which the morning light might show some friendly sail.
As to my pursuers, I had almost forgotten them. They had certainly put
off to follow me, but I had so long a start that I felt no fear of
their overtaking me, and thought it probable that they had already
given up the pursuit and put back.
When I had been sailing--as I judged--a little over an hour, the moon
struggled faintly through the clouds in the west, illuminating the sky
around and throwing a broad, unsteady wake of light. And right in the
middle of the wake, far away and small, but quite sharp and distinct,
I could see the black silhouette of the pursuing canoe, and could even
make out the paddles, rising and falling with machine-like regularity.
My confidence was shattered at a blow, for, far away as the canoe
appeared, it had shortened considerably the distance that at first
separated us. The chase bid fair to be a long one, and I might even
tire out my pursuers; but I knew the strength and endurance of the
Gold Coast canoe-men, and my hopes declined once more.
The moon soon sank below the horizon, and the pursuing craft was again
invisible in the darkness; but I knew she was there and that she was
creeping slowly up to me, and I looked often and anxiously into the
obscurity astern, although, of course, I could see nothing. I turned
over several plans of escape, but rejected them all. I thought of
changing my course by going closer to the wind on the chance that the
canoe-men might miss me in the darkness, and I even considered
lowering my sail to render my vessel still more difficult to see, and
then paddling straight out to sea. But I had so often had proof of the
amazing keenness of eyesight of African natives--especially of their
ability to see in almost complete darkness--that I did not trust
either of these plans, and they would both greatly diminish my speed.
On the other hand, if I turned more off the wind I should sail faster,
but then I might easily run ashore in the darkness; so, in the end, I
decided to hold on as I was going, and trust to tiring out the
canoe-men before they could overtake me, or fighting them when they
did.
Some little time had elapsed since the setting of the moon had hidden
my enemies from my sight, when a faint sound from astern made me prick
up my ears. Presently it was repeated, and I now clearly distinguished
voices--probably raised in altercation, but too distant to be
intelligible. Clearly the canoe was overhauling me, and I listened
intently to try if I could make out the thud of the paddles. It was
not yet audible, and the voices had now died away; but even as I was
listening, I was startled by a new sound that broke out loud and clear
in the stillness of the dark sea--a sound that instantly revived my
drooping hopes.
It was an accordion, raucously blurting out the rollicking air of
“Finnigan’s Wake.”
I peered about me in astonishment, but the darkness around was
impenetrable, until I lifted the boom and looked out under the foot of
the sail; then my heart bounded with joy, for out of the obscurity
shone a bright red light that sent a wavering thread of reflection
along the surface of the water.
A sailing vessel was approaching me on the opposite tack and the
glimmer of her port light must have been visible for some time (for
she was quite near now) but had been hidden from me by my sail; and
but for that unmelodious instrument I might not have seen her until
she had passed out of hail.
I instantly put up my helm and sheered down towards her, and as the
light shone straight over my bows, I raised my voice in a mighty
shout.
“Oh! the ship ahoy!”
The accordion stopped abruptly and I listened for an answer, but, as
none came, I hailed again.
“Ship ahoy!”
“Hallo!” shouted a voice in return.
“Heave-to and pick us up,” I sang out.
“Who are you?” demanded the invisible speaker.
“Shipwrecked seaman!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.
“Where away?” inquired the other.
“On your port bow,” I replied; and immediately I heard the
voice--presumably that of the look-out--repeating my answer to the
officer of the watch.
In a few seconds a new voice hailed me.
“Boat ahoy!”
“Hallo!” I roared.
“I’m going to heave-to. Come alongside as sharp as you can.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” I answered, and I certainly felt no temptation to
dawdle under the circumstances.
The red light grew rapidly brighter, and soon there loomed above it in
the darkness a great shape of deeper shade, which, as I approached,
took on the definite outline of the masts and sails of a brig. She was
hove-to with the fore-topsail aback, but was moving slowly forward.
I lowered my sail and ran alongside just as a rope ladder was tumbled
over about amidships, and to the rope side of this I immediately made
fast my painter with a “fisherman’s bend” so that the canoe should not
pull adrift.
“He’s alongside, sir,” a voice reported to the officer, who
immediately sang out--
“Swing the yards and sheet home the foresail.”
There was a tramp of feet followed by the squeak of parrel and sheave,
and the flapping of canvas, and then the voice of the officer sounded
from above:
“Come, tumble up, my man; I’ve got under way.”
“One moment, sir, while I make all fast,” I replied, for I was just
lowering and securing my mast.
When I had done this, I lashed the tiller over a little to give the
canoe a cast off from the vessel, so that she should tow clear without
bumping, and then I secured the well cover, as she would splash a good
deal while towing, and might take in a serious amount of water.
“Now then!” shouted the officer impatiently, “are you going to be all
night there? Here, give me the lantern and let’s have a look at him.”
I hauled on the painter and got on to the ladder, up which I ran
nimbly. As my head came above the bulwark rail, a lantern flashed full
in my face, and a startled voice exclaimed--
“Good God!”
The lantern was slapped down on the deck, there was a stamping of
feet, and with a simultaneous bang, the forecastle scuttle and the
doors of the companion hatch were slammed to. When I recovered from
the blinding glare of the lantern and looked around, the deck was
deserted.
I was struck dumb with amazement, but there was no time to marvel at
this astonishing conduct of the ship’s company. The pursuing canoe
must be close up by now, and I must look to the safety of my treasure.
Running across the deck, I looked out over the lee rail. The fishing
canoe could be dimly seen a little distance away on the lee-bow,
turning round and evidently making ready either to cross our bows or
run alongside under our lee, and her crew were hailing the brig
lustily. Now my canoe was towing on the weather side, so it was
important that the pursuers should be prevented from crossing our
bows, or they might dash alongside, cut my painter, and be off with
the freighted canoe towards the shore, whither we could not follow
them. So I took hold of the deserted wheel and put the helm a little
up, bringing the brig back on her course (for she was nearly
broaching-to); I then kept it up so that she fell off a little more,
and so headed straight for the fishing-canoe.
By this manœuvre I not only ascertained beforehand which side the
fishermen intended to board us, but left myself the means of dodging
them on either side; for if they crossed our bows I could up helm and
run before the wind, leaving them on the weather quarter, and luffing
back gradually as they fell astern; while if they tried to run
alongside under our lee, I could luff suddenly and leave them on the
lee quarter.
As soon as the brig headed towards them, they backed a stroke or two,
showing that they intended to board us on the lee-side, as is usual. I
kept the helm a little up, edging imperceptibly more off the wind, and
they continued to back their paddles to keep clear of the advancing
vessel. As the brig approached them, they began to paddle forward to
run alongside, but at this moment I jammed the helm hard up, and the
brig swung round and charged straight at the canoe. The terrified
fishermen, howling with fear, backed frantically for their lives to
escape the on-rushing bows that towered above them, and in the midst
of their confusion, I spun the wheel round in the opposite direction,
putting the helm hard down. The brig immediately came round on to her
course, presenting her stern to the fishermen, who must now have
grasped the object of the manœuvre, for they paddled furiously in a
wild effort to get alongside. But they were too late. They were now
dead astern of the brig and travelling only half as fast, and before I
could fairly get my breath, the darkness had hidden them from view.
All this time I had been conscious of confused noises and smothered
mutterings from the companion hatch, and now the doors cautiously
opened, revealing a huddle of heads standing black against the light
that streamed up from the cabin.
“Mother of God!” exclaimed a hushed and awestricken voice. “He’s
steering the ship! and phwhere will we be bound for, I’d like to
know?”
Suddenly a loud familiar voice broke out from below:
“Now, what’s all this damned nonsense you’re talking. Here, let me
come.” And as the heads were withdrawn, the companion doors flew open
and a bulky form arose from the hatch.
Half-way up, however, it stopped abruptly, and I heard it hoarsely
ejaculate:
“Great snakes!”
“Isn’t it the truth I was tellin’ ye, sorr?” asked a voice from below.
There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the companion
demanded in a stern but shaky voice--
“Who’s that at the wheel?”
“Shoore anny fool can see who it is,” murmured the voice from below.
“It’s I, Captain Bithery,” I replied. “Your old purser, Richard
Englefield.”
“Englefield!” exclaimed Bithery incredulously. “Then all I’ve got to
say is that you’ve most damnably altered for the worse since I saw you
last.”
He emerged slowly from the companion and stepped sideways across the
deck, keeping his face towards me, until he came to the lantern, which
he picked up and held above his head, advancing towards me with the
extremest caution and a singular scowl of terrified suspicion on his
face.
I gazed at him in blank amazement until it suddenly flashed upon me
that I was still wearing my horned wig; when, with a shout of
laughter, I untied the beard and, tearing off the hideous adornment,
flung it down upon the deck.
“Good God, Englefield!” ejaculated Bithery, “what an awful start you
gave me. What, in the name of fortune, induced you to come aboard in
these devil’s trappings? You’ve frightened the ship’s company into
fits.”
“I’m really very sorry, Captain,” said I, wiping away a tear with the
back of my hand. “The fact is, I have only just escaped from the
natives, and I had quite forgotten my ‘character costume.’”
“Well, Moloney’s not likely to forget it in a hurry,” responded
Bithery, with one of his dear old familiar lopsided grins. “He was
going round his rosary like a sprinter at Lillie Bridge when I came
through the cabin. Here, Moloney!” he shouted, “it’s only Mr.
Englefield. Come up and have a look at him.”
“Oi’ll see the gintleman in the morning,” replied Moloney faintly from
the cabin; on which the skipper chuckled and invited me to come below.
“We can’t leave the wheel,” said I.
“No, that’s true,” replied Bithery, and catching up the lantern, he
ran forward and pushed back the forecastle scuttle.
“Come up out of that, you infernal fools!” he bawled.
A man popped his head up through the opening and looked round the
deck.
“Is he gone, sir?” he asked anxiously.
“Gone!” roared Bithery. “Why, you confounded idiot, it’s my old purser
come aboard.”
“Dam funny-looking purser,” remarked the man, without offering to come
up any further.
Hereupon the Captain entered into a brief explanation, and the men
emerged one by one and reluctantly followed him down the deck.
“Whose trick at the wheel?” demanded Bithery.
“Bob Gummer’s, sir,” replied the men cheerfully, in chorus, and they
immediately retreated forward, leaving the unfortunate Gummer standing
alone.
“Take the wheel, Gummer,” said the Captain, and, as the man seemed
unwilling, he added sharply--
“Catch hold of it, man! It won’t bite you.”
As I let go the spokes, and the alarmed Gummer took charge (on the
opposite side of the wheel), Bithery again suggested that we should go
below.
“I must unload my canoe first,” I said.
“Oh, hang your canoe,” replied the Captain. “Come and have some grub.”
“But I’ve got about half a ton of gold in her,” said I.
“Half a ton of gold!” ejaculated the skipper. “Are you mad or are you
joking?”
“Neither,” I replied. “The fact is, I struck a fetish hoard and got
off with part of it, and that’s the reason I appeared in that striking
make-up.”
“Do you really mean it, Englefield? Half a ton! My eye!”
He ran to the bulwark and looked over at the canoe towing alongside;
then he lifted up his voice in a lusty shout:
“All hands stand by to bout ship!”
That shout broke the spell that had lain upon the brig since my
arrival. The afterguard came bundling out of the companion, the seamen
ran to their stations by sheets and braces, and the steersman spun the
wheel until its spokes were invisible.
“Helm’s a-lee!” roared Bithery.
The thunder of flapping canvas, mingled with the stamping of feet,
filled the deck with noise and confusion, above which presently rose
trumpet-like the voice of the skipper:
“Topsail haul!”
More thumping of sails and squealing of blocks, until the main-topsail
filled and the brig drew off on the starboard tack.
“Shorten sail and heave the brig to, Mr. Jobling,” said the skipper.
“Mr. Englefield has some heavy stuff to unload from his canoe; and we
shall want a dozen kernel bags.”
“Very well, sir,” replied Jobling; and recognising me for the first
time, he exclaimed, “How d’ye do, Mr. Englefield?” and then added,
“Good Lord! You _are_ an ugly-looking beggar!”
The remark, if over candid, was not, I fear, without truth; for as I
stood there, naked but for my kilt, emaciated, dirty, with a
half-grown beard and a bristly poll, my appearance must have been
unprepossessing in the extreme; and perhaps Bob Gummer was less
unreasonable than I had at first thought him.
As soon as the canvas had been reduced and the brig hove-to, I took a
couple of kernel bags and went down the ladder. Throwing back the well
cover, I crawled in under the canoe’s deck and dragged a pair of
bunches of manillas from the forward part of the cargo into the well;
and as I was stuffing them into a bag, the skipper came down the
ladder with a rope having a pair of sharp hooks spliced into an eye at
the end.
“I’ve passed this through a snatch block above,” he explained; “but
you had better follow each bag up the ladder, in case of accidents.”
I stuck the hooks through the neck of the strong canvas bag and gave
the word to hoist, and as the first instalment went up I followed,
holding on to it, until it swung in over the rail.
The skipper soon reappeared and was evidently greatly excited, for he
came scuttling down the ladder, and leaning over the well, exclaimed--
“It’s all right, Englefield, they’re the right stuff. By gum! But
you’ve struck it rich this time, and no mistake. It pays to be a
lunatic.”
I had another bag ready by now, and the skipper convoyed this to the
deck, sending down a couple of empty bags on the hooks.
So the unloading went on, the skipper’s wonder and delight increasing
as bag after bag went aloft.
“You ought to see the stuff, my boy,” he chuckled when twenty-four had
been trans-shipped. “I’ve stowed it on the lower bunk in the spare
berth that you are to have. It’s a sight, I can tell you; reminds me
of the Arabian Nights or the vaults of the Bank of England. Are these
hooks secure? All right; heave up!” and away went number twenty-five
over the rail.
The twenty-ninth was a light load with only one bunch in it, and this
was the last of the cargo. As it vanished inboard, I drew up the
drop-rudder and ascended the ladder.
“Is it all out?” asked the Captain, popping up out of the companion
like a Jack-in-the-box.
“The cargo is all out,” I answered. “There is only the canoe to hoist
in.”
“You don’t want the canoe, do you?” said Bithery. “Why not send her
adrift?”
“I couldn’t do it, Captain,” I replied. “She’s as much to me as the
_Lady Jane_ is to you. You’ll understand when I spin you the yarn.”
“Very well,” said the skipper. “Get the canoe hoisted on deck, Mr.
Jobling;” and the mate, with a gang of hands, got to work with such
will that, in a few minutes, I had the satisfaction of seeing the
trusty little craft, that had brought me through so many dangers,
reposing peacefully on the deck.
“Where did you get this canoe, Englefield?” asked Bithery, sniffing
round her with a puzzled air. “I didn’t know they made this sort of
craft in these parts. I’ve seen nothing but dug-outs.”
“I built her myself,” I replied; “built her of bark and branches in
the forest;” whereupon the skipper seized me by the arm and dragged me
to the companion.
“Come below and pitch us the yarn,” said he. “I am in the humour to
believe anything, and my flesh is beginning to creep in anticipation.”
So I went below, and having been furnished with a country cloth, put
it on toga-wise, when I looked, as Bithery remarked, “like a Roman
Emperor--a rather dirty one,” and thus sat down at the table.
How sumptuous the cabin looked, with its polished wood, its red silk
curtains, its swinging lamp, and the white cloth, and glittering table
appointments! Quite spacious, too, after my tiny lair on the island.
But I am afraid my attention was principally concentrated on the
eatables--the ox tongue, the boiled fowls, the yellow Canary potatoes,
and other unfamiliar delicacies, at which I found myself glaring with
wolfish enjoyment.
“My eye, Englefield,” exclaimed the Captain, as I sent up my plate for
the fourth time, “you’ve got a pretty good twist on you. You won’t be
long filling out at this rate.”
“How are the Pereiras?” I asked, disregarding his remark.
“Mister or Miss?” he inquired, eyeing me sideways, like a parrot
examining a doubtful banana.
“Both,” I replied.
“Why, the fact is,” said he, “they have been worried to death about
you. You see, there were all sorts of unpleasant rumours that seem to
have reached them, I don’t quite know how, and made them very anxious
and miserable; and then, only last week, we all got a very nasty
knock. A fellow at Cape Coast (one of Miller Brothers’ people) bought
a gold watch from some natives from the interior and he showed it to
me. I noticed a Ramsgate jeweller’s name on the dial, and what I took
to be your initials on the back--but you know what these infernal
monograms are, all scrolls and flummery--so I bought it and showed it
to Pereira, and he knew it at once. We couldn’t find out where the
natives got it from, but there it was; and it so upset the Pereiras
that they made up their minds to fit out an expedition and go up
country to make inquiries.”
“You don’t mean that Pereira was going himself?”
“My impression was that they were both going. They seemed to think
that you might be hung up somewhere in the interior, and that it might
be possible to get you away by purchase or ransom. However, you seem
to have ransomed yourself pretty completely.”
“Where are you bound now?” I asked with some anxiety.
“I _was_ bound to Grand Bassam (I left Axim late this afternoon), but
I was only going to look for chance cargo. I shall give up the trip
now, and as soon as we have got enough offing to clear Cape Three
Points, I shall put her nose straight for Quittáh. Mr. Jobling!” he
bawled through the open skylight.
“Sir!” said the mate, taking a bird’s-eye view of the cabin through
the opening.
“How’s her head, Mr. Jobling?”
“South by east a quarter east, sir,” replied the mate.
“Put her east by south and set the stu’nsails, and let me know when
you see the light on Cape Three Points.”
The mate repeated the order and vanished, and I could soon feel by the
altered motion of the vessel that we were heading east.
As soon as the table was cleared, and the spirits and cigars set on
it, the Captain mixed a glass of grog, lit a cigar, and settled
himself in a corner of the cushioned locker with the air of a man who
is about to be entertained. The second mate had turned in and the mate
was on deck, so we had the cabin to ourselves.
“Now, my boy,” said the Captain, “let’s have the yarn from the
beginning.”
After all my exertions and the enormous meal I had made, I should have
preferred to idle away the evening and turn in early; but the
skipper’s curiosity had to be satisfied, so I plunged into the
narrative of my adventures without preamble.
The account which I gave him was necessarily sketchy and condensed,
but even so, eight bells had been struck and the watch changed before
he rose to see me to my berth.
“You see I’ve covered the gold up for to-night,” he said, as he shook
me by the hand. “To-morrow morning I will let you have an empty chest
to stow it away in.”
I turned back the covering and gazed complacently at the glittering
mass spread out on the bunk, and putting no little strain on its stout
oak bottom. Fortune had favoured me at last. I was a rich man, and if
only I prospered as well in the adventure that lay before me, I felt
that I should indeed be a happy one.
The whole of the next day we sailed parallel to the coast, and some
twenty miles off the land; and as the brig sped on with all her flying
kites abroad and the good Guinea current helping her along, I paced
the deck with a buoyant heart, resplendent in one of Jobling’s white
drill suits, and washed and shaven as became a civilised man of
fortune.
By sunset we were well past Winnebah; before I turned in, the lights
of the shipping in Accra roadstead were visible; and when I came on
deck at daybreak, the low shore was full in sight and the roaring surf
of Adda was under our lee. I looked shorewards at the spouting
breakers with solemn interest, for that snowy surf marked the mouth of
the great Firráo (or Volta) River, whose upper waters I had crossed
so recently, a fettered captive, fresh from the horrors of the mine.
And then I thought of the rascally Salifu and of honest Isaaku and his
family, friends and foes now scattered abroad in the great continent;
and of poor Aminé, so tender, so loving and so true, sleeping under
her cairn in the lonely forest. And so I grew pensive and sad, while I
watched the dreary shore of the Bight of Benin creep along the horizon
until Cape St. Paul lay well on our quarter.
Then indeed I roused from my melancholy with a sudden burst of joyous
anticipation; for the skipper had turned every rag out of the flag
locker and was covering the brig from deck to truck with bunting.
A German steamer tugged at her anchor ahead; busy surf-boats crawled
to and fro like many-legged beetles; and plain on our port bow were
the white roofs and soft green palms of Quittáh.