On the quarter-deck of the slaver, and near the "companion," stood a man
of unique appearance--differing not only from the whites who composed
the crew, but also from the blacks and browns who constituted the cargo.
His costume, attitude, and some, other trivial circumstances, proclaimed
him as belonging neither to one nor the other.
He had just stepped up from the cabin, and was lingering upon the
quarter-deck.
Having the _entree_ of the first, and the privilege of remaining upon
the second, he could not be one of the "bales" of this human
merchandise; and yet both costume and complexion forbade the supposition
that he was of the slaver's crew. Both denoted an African origin--
though his features were not of a marked African type. Rather were they
Asiatic, or, more correctly, Arabian; but, in some respects, differing
also from Arab features. In truth, they were almost European; but the
complexion again negatived the idea that the individual in question
belonged to any of the nationalities of Europe. His hue was that of a
light Florentine bronze, with a tinge of chestnut.
He appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years of age; with a person
well proportioned, and possessing the following characteristics:--A fine
arched eyebrow, spanning an eye full and rotund; a nose slightly
aquiline; thin, well-modelled lips; white teeth--whiter from contrast
with the dark shading on the upper lip--and over all an ample
_chevelure_ of jet-black hair, slightly curling, but not at all woolly.
In nothing did he differ more, from the dark-skinned helots of the hold,
than in his costume. While none of these had any clothing upon their
bodies, or next to none, he, on the contrary, was splendidly
apparelled--his face, throat, arms, and limbs, from the knee to the
ankle, being the only parts not covered by a garment.
A sort of sleeveless tunic of yellow satin, with a skirt that just
reached below his knees, was bound around his waist by a scarf of
crimson China crape, the ends of which, hanging still lower, were
adorned with a fringe-work of gold. Over the left shoulder rested
loosely another scarf of blue _burnous_ cloth, concealing the arm over
which it hung; while half hidden beneath its draping could be perceived
a scimitar in its richly-chased scabbard, with a hilt of carved ivory.
A turban on the head, and sandals of Kordofan leather upon the feet,
completed his costume.
Notwithstanding the Asiatic character of the dress, and the resemblance
of the wearer to those East Indians known as Lascars, he was a true
African--though not of that type which we usually associate with the
word, and which suggests a certain _negroism_ of features. He was one
of a people entirely distinct from the negro--the great nation of the
Foolahs (Fellattas)--that race of shepherd warriors whose country
extends from the confines of Darfur to the shores of the Atlantic--the
lords of Sockatoo and Timbuctoo--those fanatic followers of the false
prophet who conspired the death of Laing, and murdered Mungo Park upon
the Quorra. Of such race was the individual who stood on the
quarter-deck of the slaver.
He was not alone. Three or four others were around him, who also
differed from the wretched creatures in the hold. But their dresses of
more common material, as well as other circumstances, told that they
were his inferiors in rank--in short, his attendants.
The humble mien with which they regarded him, and the watchful attention
to his every look and gesture, proclaimed the habitual obedience to
which they were accustomed; while the turbans which they wore, and their
mode of salutation--the _salaam_--told of an obeisance Oriental and
slavish.
To the richness of the young man's attire was added a certain
haughtiness of mien that proclaimed him a person of rank--perhaps the
chieftain of some African tribe.
And such, in reality, he was--a Foolah prince, from the banks of the
Senegal.
There, neither his presence nor appearance would have attracted more
than passing observation; but here, on the western side of the Atlantic,
on board a slave-ship, both required explanation.
It was evident that he was not in the same category with his unfortunate
countrymen "between decks"--doomed to perpetual captivity. There were
no signs that he had been treated as a captive, but the contrary.
How, then, was his presence on board the slave-barque to be accounted
for? Was he a passenger? In what relationship did he stand to the
people who surrounded him?
Such, though differently worded, were the interrogatories put by the
slave-merchant, as, returning from the fore-deck, after completing his
inspection of the cargo, his eyes for the first time fell upon the young
Fellatta.
"Blesh my shtars, Captain Showler!" cried he, holding up both hands, and
looking with astonishment at the turbaned individuals on the
quarter-deck. "Blesh my shtars!" he repeated; "what ish all thish?
S'help my Gott! theesh fellows are not shlaves, are they?"
"No, Mister Jessuron, no. They ain't slaves, not all on 'em ain't.
That 'ere fine fellow, in silk and satin, air a owner o' slaves hisself.
He air a prince."
"What dosh you say, Captin Showler? a prinshe?"
"Ye ain't 'stonished at that, air ye? 'Tain't the fust time I've had an
African prince for a passenger. This yeer's his Royal Highness the
Prince Cingues, son o' the Grand Sultan of Foota-toro. The other
fellows you see thar by him are his attendants--courteers as waits on
him. That with the yellow turban's `gold stick;' him in blue 's `silver
stick;' an' t'other fellow's `groom o' the chamber,' I s'pose."
"Sultan of Foota-toro!" exclaimed the slave-merchant, still holding up
the blue umbrella in surprise; "King of the Cannibal Islandsh! Aha, a
good shoke, Captain Showler! But, serious, mine friend, what for hash
you tricked them out in this way? They won't fetch a joey more in the
market for all theesh fine feathers."
"Seerus, Mister Jessuron, they're not for the market. I sw'ar to ye the
fellur's a real Afrikin prince."
"African fiddleshtick!" echoed the slave-merchant with an incredulous
shrug. "Come, worthy captin, what'sh the mashquerade about?"
"Not a bit of that, ole fellur! 'Sure ye the nigger's a prince, and my
passenger--nothing more or less."
"S'help you gott, ish it so?"
"So help me that!" emphatically replied the skipper. "It's just as I've
told ye, Mister Jessuron."
"Blesh my soul!--a passenger, you shay?"
"Yes; and he's paid his passage, too--like a prince, as he is."
"But what's hish business here in Shamaica?"
"Ah! that's altogether a kewrious story, Mister Jessuron. You'll hardly
guess his bizness, I reckon?"
"Lesh hear it, friend Showler."
"Well, then, the story air this: 'Bout twelve months ago an army o'
Mandingoes attacked the town of Old Foota-toro, and, 'mong other
plunder, carried off one o' his daughters--own sister to the young
fellur you see there. They sold her to a West India trader; who, in
course, brought the girl over here to some o' the islands; which one
ain't known. Old Foota-toro, like the rest o' 'em, thinks the slaves
are all fetched to one place; and as he's half beside himself 'bout the
loss of this gurl--she war his favourite, and a sort of a court belle
among 'em--he's sent the brother to search her out, and get her back
from whoever hez purchased her on this side. There's the hul story for
you."
The expression that had been gathering on the countenance of the Jew,
while this relation was being made to him, indicated something more than
a common interest in the tale--something beyond mere curiosity. At the
same time, he seemed as if trying to conceal any outward sign of
emotion, by preserving, as much as possible, the rigidity of his
features.
"Blesh my soul!" he exclaimed, as the skipper had concluded. "Ash I
live, a wonderful shtory! But how ish he ever to find hish sister? He
might ash well look for a needle in a hayshtack."
"Wall, that's true enough," replied the slave-skipper. "As for that,"
added he, with an air of stoical indifference, "'taint no business o'
mine. My affair hez been to carry the young fellur acrost the Atlantic;
an' I'm willin' to take him back on the same tarms, and at the same
price, if he kin pay it."
"Did he pay you a goodsh price?" inquired the Jew, with evident interest
in the answer.
"He paid like a prince, as I've told you. D'ye see that batch o' yellow
Mandingoes by the windlass yonder?"
"Yesh-yesh!"
"Forty there air--all told."
"Wen?"
"Twenty on 'em I'm to have for fetchin' him acrost. Cheap enough, ain't
it?"
"Dirt sheep, friend Showler. The other twenty?"
"They are _hisn_. He's brought 'em with him to swop for the sister--
when he finds her."
"Ah, yesh! if he finds the girl."
"In coorse, if he finds her."
"Ach!" exclaimed the Jew, with a significant shrug of his shoulders;
"that will not be an easy bishness, Captin Showler."
"By Christopher Columbus, old fellow!" said the trader, apparently
struck with an idea; "now I think of it, you might gie him some help in
the findin' o' her. I know no man more likely than yourself to be able
to pilot him. You know everybody in the island, I reckon. No doubt he
will pay you well for your trouble. I'm rayther anxious he should
succeed. King Foota-toro is one of my best sources of supply; and if
the gurl could be found and took back, I know the old nigger would do
the handsome to me on my next trip to the coast."
"Well, worthy captin, I don't know that there's any hope, and won't hold
out any to hish royal highnesh the prince. I'm not as able to get about
ash I ushed to was; but I'll try my besht for you. As you shay, I might
do something towardsh putting him in the way. Well, we'll talk it over;
but let ush first settle our other bishness, or all the world will be
aboard. Twenty, you shay, are his?"
"Twenty of them 'ere Mandingoes."
"Hash he anything besides?"
"In cash? no, not a red cent. Men and women are the dollars of his
country. He hez the four attendants, you see. They air his slaves like
the others."
"Twenty-four, then, in all. Blesh my soul! What a lucky fellow ish
this prinsh. Maybe I can do something for him; but we can talk it over
in the cabin, and I'm ready for something to drink, worthy Showler."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, as, on turning round, he perceived the group of
girls before mentioned. "Blesh my soul! Some likely wenches. Just the
sort for chambermaids," added he, with a villainously significant look.
"How many of that kind hash you got, good Showler?"
"About a dozen," jocularly responded the skipper; "some splendid
breeders among 'em, if you want any for that bizness."
"I may--I may. Gad! it's a valuable cargo--one thing with another!
Well, let ush go below," added he, turning towards the companion.
"What's in your locker? I musht have a drink before I can do bishness.
Likely wenches! Gad--a valuable cargo!"
Smacking his lips, and snapping his fingers as he talked, the old
reprobate descended the companion stairway--the captain of the slaver
following close behind him.
We know not, except by implication, the details of the bargaining that
took place below. The negotiation was a secret one--as became the
nature of any transaction between two such characters as a slave-dealer
and a slave-stealer.
It resulted, however, in the purchase of the whole cargo; and in so
short a time, that just as the sun sank into the sea, the gig, cutter,
and long-boat of the slaver were lowered into the water; and, under the
darkness of night, the "bales" were transported to the shore, and landed
in the little cove whence the skiff of the slave-merchant had put out.
Amongst them were the twenty Mandingoes, the attendants of the prince,
and the "wenches," designed for improving the breed on Jessuron's
plantation: for the slave-merchant was also a land-proprietor and
planter.
The skiff was seen returning to the shore, a cable's-length in the wake
of the other boats. Now, however, a fourth personage appeared in it,
seated in the stern, face to face with the owner. The gaily-coloured
costume, even in the darkness, shining over the calm shadowy surface of
the sea, rendered it easy to recognise this individual as the Foolah
prince. The wolf and the lamb were sailing in the same boat.
Volume One, Chapter VIII.