Murray proved to be right, for the distant reports which came from
somewhere on the far side of the island proved to be the last fired by
the man-o'-war, which, shorthanded though she was, and desperately
attacked by the powerful well-manned schooners, had kept up a continuous
fight, so cleverly carried on that it had at last ended by the running
ashore of one of the big slaving craft, and the pounding of the other
till in desperation the skipper, who proved to be the cunning Yankee
hero of the lugger trick,--the twin brother of the scoundrel Huggins who
had met his fate in the explosion,--set his swift craft on fire before
taking, with the remnants of the crew, to the woods.
It was not until a couple of days later that, after extinguishing the
fire on board the second schooner and setting sail with her for the
harbour, Captain Kingsberry commenced firing signal guns to recall his
scattered crew, and communication was made by the help of Caesar.
"Yes, Massa Murray Frank," he said eagerly; "Caesar soon show um way to
where big gun go off."
He, too, it was who gave signals which resulted in the collection of as
many of the plantation slaves as were wanted to bear the wounded men in
palanquins through the maze-like cane brakes and down to the shore,
where a shady hospital was started in which Dr Reston could rule
supreme, his patients chuckling to one another as they luxuriated in the
plantation coffee, sugar, molasses, fruit and tobacco, and thoroughly
enjoyed themselves--so they said--in the jolliest quarters that had ever
fallen to their lot.
Caesar, too, in his actions was certainly one of the greatest of the
Caesars, for in spite of a terribly scorched face, and burned and
wounded arms and hands, he worked almost without ceasing. Scores of his
fellow-slaves flocked to help, and under his guidance the captain and
crew of the _Seafowl_ were perfectly astounded by the extent of the
plantation buildings, and the arrangements that existed for carrying on
the horrible trade and keeping up the supply from the far-off African
coast.
It was a busy time for the _Seafowls_, as they called themselves, but
they had the prisoners to deal with, for those left alive of the crews
of the two schooners had managed to reach the familiar shelter of the
dense shores, from which they did not wait to be hunted out, but
utilised some of the light boats of whose existence they were well
aware, and sickened by the terrible lesson they had received, made sail
for one of the neighbouring bays.
It was, as has been said, a busy time for the _Seafowls_, for there were
the two captured schooners to get afloat and the fired rigging to
restore before they were fit to take to a destined port as prizes.
There were vile barracks to burn, and plenty of other arrangements to
make as to the destination of certain newly-arrived prisoners who had to
be saved from their terrible fate.
Briefly, although the sailors called it a good holiday, it was a period
of the hardest work, but what with prize money and tasks that paid
mentally every lad and man who thought, it was a time of pleasure; and
it was not till towards the end of the _Seafowl's_ stay that Caesar came
on board the sloop of war one evening with his face flushing with
excitement and showing all his teeth.
"Caesar find um at last, massa," he cried.
"Find? Find? Not Mr Allen?" said Murray.
"Yes, massa. Find good ole Massa Allen."
"Then he is not dead?"
"Yes, massa. No massa. Huggins no kill um. Shut um up. Tell um,
massa, dat um poor crack looney."
"What! Lunatick!"
"Yes, massa, looney, mad. Shut um up."
"Where? And have you seen him?"
"Yes, massa. Tullus find um in niggah hut shut up, and take me dah."
"Then that Huggins has not killed him?"
"No, massa; shut um up. Say um mad man. Berry bad. Get more bad
ebbery day till Tullus find um. Black slabe woman 'top wiv him. Massa
Huggins say kill her if she let um go."
"Poor creature!" said Murray, wrinkling up his brow.
"Yes, sah; berry poor creature, sah. Caesar berry sorry. Massa Allen
good massa, and Caesar lub um."
"But where is he now? Not dead?"
"Yes, massa been die berry much all um time. Couldn't quite go die till
poor Caesar come, and den he shake hand. Say `Good-bye, Caesar, lad.
Tell Massa Murray Frank. Tell um t'ink de bes' ob a poor weak man.'"
"Mr Allen said that, Caesar?" said Murray.
"Yes, sah. Caesar cry bofe eyes. Tullus cry and slabe woman cry when
we put um in de groun' fas' asleep. Everybody lub poor Massa Allen,
sah. Gone dead. Say go to sleep happy now. No more slabe trade now.
No more poor niggah leap overboard now Massa Murray Frank and Bri'sh
sailor come."
"Well, Mr Murray," said the captain, about an hour later, "I hope you
are ready to return to your duties."
"Yes, sir, certainly," said the lad, staring.
"I'm glad of it. And, by the way, this is a very favourable opportunity
for saying a few words in season to you. Let me tell you that I am not
at all satisfied with the way in which your duties have been carried
out, any more, I may say, than I have been with the way in which I have
been served by your brother officers. I look for something better in
the future, sir, something decidedly better in the future, I may say;"
and he stalked aft and went below.
"Did you hear what Captain Kingsberry said, sir?" said Murray to the
chief officer, who just then came limping up with his spy-glass beneath
his feeble arm.
"Yes, Murray, every word. My dear boy, it is a way he has. There,
there, my lad, I think amongst us we've given the slave-trade its
heaviest blow."