ON THE CONGO RIVER.
Van kept a good watch upon the red-whiskered sailor during the voyage,
and every day he became more and more satisfied that he was no other
than Doc Clancy, alias John Moreland.
At length the stormy Atlantic was crossed, and one day, when the sun was
so hot that it fairly melted the pitch on her decks, the _Mary Newman_
came to anchor at the mouth of the Congo River, on the African coast.
Lank Edwards, the mate, had been as good as his word, and had indeed
been a friend to our hero during the voyage.
Though Van did not like the life of a sailor any too well, he got along
fairly enough, thinking all the while that he would yet corner the
murderer of his uncle, and be the means of having him conveyed to the
United States to stand trial.
As it was past noon when the ship came to anchor, the captain concluded
to wait till morning before he proceeded ten miles up the river to a
trading station.
A canvas awning was stretched over the deck, and the crew of the _Mary
Newman_ lay under this in a listless manner, waiting for the sun to go
down so they could get the cool breeze which invariably comes after
nightfall in that latitude.
Van noticed that the red-whiskered sailor appeared to be very uneasy,
and he concluded to watch him closely.
The afternoon passed and darkness came, and with it the cooling breeze
they so much desired.
Van was in the second watch, and, consequently, he turned into his bunk
soon after mess.
But it was so warm below decks that he could not sleep, and after
tossing about for perhaps an hour, he went on deck and crawled into a
fold of the main jib, which made a first-class hammock.
It was cool and refreshing, and the boy soon fell asleep.
He was awakened perhaps two hours later by a wild commotion on deck.
In the twinkling of an eye he dropped from the sail and gazed about him.
A heavy smoke completely blinded him for a moment, and then he knew what
was the matter.
The ship was on fire!
Even as this fact occurred to him, a bright column of flame leaped from
the forward hatch, and the tarred rigging catching fire, it seemed as if
a hundred writhing, fiery serpents were shooting skyward.
Under the supervision of the captain and mates the sailors were trying
manfully to subdue the flames, and Van rushed forward and joined them.
But the fire kept on increasing, and at the end of fifteen minutes the
captain saw it was useless to attempt to save the ship.
Reluctantly he gave the order to lower the boats, and convey what could
be saved of the cargo ashore.
Van ran into the forecastle to get the few things he possessed before
the ship was abandoned.
As he reached his bunk a cry of horror escaped his lips.
By the light of the blazing rigging he saw the body of a man lying in a
pool of blood in the bunk he had so lately occupied.
"Great heavens!" exclaimed the boy, "this is the work of the
red-whiskered sailor, and I firmly believe he mistook this man for me.
Poor fellow! he no doubt crawled in my bunk after I left it, thinking it
was cooler there. I am now sure the man with the thumbless hand is Doc
Clancy."
But there was no time for any further speculation, and Van knew this
well.
Seizing his little bundle, he dashed up the companion way and ran to
assist the crew in loading the boats.
One of these was missing, as well as two of the crew, and the captain
was at a loss to understand it.
Van ran his eye over the group of sailors, and saw that the
red-whiskered fellow was one of the missing ones.
He quickly informed the mate of what he knew.
"It was he who set ther ship afire, then!" exclaimed Lank Edwards.
"We'll chase him up an' catch him yet, see if we don't."
The flames were now gaining rapid headway, and it behooved those on
board the doomed vessel to be as expeditious as possible.
Two of the boats were loaded and sent to the shore, which was less than
half a mile distant.
When these returned, the captain considered it no longer safe to stay
aboard.
All hands tumbled into the boats and pushed off.
By the time they reached the shore the vessel was entirely enveloped in
a pillar of flame, and though the sight was a truly grand one, the
sailors did not relish it to any great degree.
"Well, boys," said the captain, sadly, "I have got enough money to pay
you what wages are coming to you. I might as well do it right here, as
we will never go aboard the good _Mary Newman_ again."
He proceeded to count out the money, and each man was called up in his
turn.
Van received seventeen dollars and fifty cents for the time he put in
aboard the ship.
"Now, then," observed the captain, when all had been paid off, "I
propose that we get in the boats and row up the river to a little town
called Sonhow."
"To-night?" asked the mate.
"Yes; right away."
"How about hunting after the fellow who fired the ship?"
"There is no proof that anyone did do it. I believe the two who are
missing were burned up before they could get out of the forecastle."
"Well, I don't," returned the mate.
"All right, Mr. Edwards," spoke up the captain, a little testily, "every
one is welcome to his own opinion. If you want to start out on a
wild-goose chase, why, go on; I am going to Sonhow."
All save three sided with the captain, and they at once started for the
boats.
Those who remained were our hero, the mate, and a young sailor named
Gregory.
Van was determined to try and find the trail of Doc Clancy, and the mate
was with him because he liked the boy for his pluck and earnestness in
hunting down the murderer of his uncle.
Gregory wanted to find the red-whiskered man, because the sailor who had
been murdered was his half-brother.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" called out the captain from
the water's edge.
"We have decided to stay where we are till daylight," replied the mate.
"All right, then. Come down here and we will divide up the things, and
as there are three boats, you may have one of them."
The three walked to the spot.
The main part of the burned vessel's cargo consisted of trinkets,
calicoes, cheap jewelry, etc., to trade with the natives for various
African products.
All that had been saved from the ship was four cases of these, a number
of firearms, and a good supply of sea-biscuit and salt.
The three that decided to wait were given one of the cases, six rifles,
a dozen revolvers, with ample ammunition for both, and a barrel of
sea-biscuit and about one-fourth of a sack of salt.
"You might need the guns and pistols if you stay around this wild
country very long," said the captain, as the two boats pushed off and
headed up the river.
"Good-by!" cried Van. "We are going to find the man who burned the ship.
Success to you all!"
The sailors gave a cheer, and in a few minutes the boats were lost in
the darkness.
Our hero and his two companions then sat down in their boat and watched
the still burning hull of the _Mary Newman_.
It must have been near midnight ere the hull sank from sight, and then
the three lay down in the bottom of the boat and slept till sunrise.
Van, who was an excellent shot with the rifle, managed to shoot a couple
of birds resembling partridges, and these made them a fair breakfast.
Then they pushed off their boat and started up the river.
They had not proceeded over a mile when they came upon the two boats
which had left them the night before.
They seemed to be drifting down the river with not a soul in either of
them, and curious to know what was the matter, they rowed toward them
with all their might.
When they reached them, ejaculations of horror went up from all three.
In the boats were the dead bodies of the captain and those who had set
out with him, literally hacked to pieces.
"Great God!" groaned Van. "Is this to be our fate, I wonder?"
Neither the mate or Gregory chose to answer his question, but pushed
away from the horrible sight with all possible speed.
Just then a rifle shot rang out on the still morning air.
The mate threw up his arms and fell to the bottom of the boat.
Van seized his rifle and turned his gaze to the shore.
Standing at the edge of a clump of tall reeds was Doc Clancy!