Away on her course, before a strong north-easterly breeze, flew her
Majesty's brig _Gadfly_. Every stitch of canvas she could carry was
set, each sail was well trimmed, each brace hauled taut, and it might
have been supposed that we were eager to reach some port where friends
and pleasure awaited us. But it was far otherwise. We were quitting
England and our home, that spot which contains all a seaman holds most
dear, and were bound for a land of pestilence and death, the little
delectable coast of Africa, to be employed for the next three years in
chasing, capturing, or destroying, to the best of our power and ability,
all vessels engaged in the traffic of human flesh. We touched at the
Azores, and reached Sierra Leone, the chief port on that station,
without meeting with any adventure worth relating. We remained there a
week to wood and water, to perform which operations we shipped a dozen
stout Kroomen. These people come from a province south of Sierra Leone,
and are employed on board all vessels on that coast to perform such
occupations as would too much expose Europeans to the heat of the sun.
They are an energetic, brave, lively set of fellows, and very
trustworthy; indeed, I do not know how we should have got on without
them. They work very hard, and when they have saved money enough to buy
themselves one or more wives, according to their tastes, they return to
their own country to live in ease and dignity. As they generally assume
either the names of the officers with whom they have served, or of some
reigning prince or hero of antiquity, it is extraordinary what a number
of retired commanders and lieutenants, not to speak of higher
dignitaries, are to be found in Krooland. Sierra Leone has been so
often described that I will not attempt to draw a picture of its
romantic though deceitful beauties. Its blue sky and calm waters, its
verdant groves and majestic mountains, its graceful villas and flowering
shrubs, put one in mind of a lovely woman who employs her charms to
beguile and destroy those who confide in her.
On turning to my log, I find that on the --, at dawn, we unmoored ship,
and under all plain sail ran out of the river of Sierra Leone. As soon
as we were clear of the land we shaped a course for the mouth of the
Sherbro River, a locality notorious for its numerous slave depots. On
our way thither we chased several sail, but some of them got off
altogether, and others proved to be either British cruisers, foreign
men-of-war, or honest traders; so that not a capture of any sort or kind
did we make. It was for no want of vigilance, however, on our part;
early and late, at noon and at night, I was at the masthead on the
look-out for a sail. I knew that if I did not set a good example of
watchfulness, others would be careless; for I held the responsible post,
with all the honour and glory attached to it, of first lieutenant of the
_Gadfly_.
"Mr Rawson," said the captain one day to me, in a good-natured tone, as
I was walking the quarter-deck with him, "you will wear yourself out by
your never-ceasing anxiety in looking out for slavers. There may be
some, but my opinion is that they are a great deal too sharp-sighted to
let us catch them in the brig. We may chance to get alongside one now
and then in the boats and up the rivers, but out here it's in vain to
look for them."
He was new to the coast, and the climate had already impaired his usual
energy.
"Never fear, sir," I answered; "we may have a chance as well as others;
and at all events it shall not be said that we did not get hold of any
slavers for want of looking for them."
The next day we made the land about the mouth of the Sherbro River, and
had to beat up against as oppressive a wind as I ever recollect
experiencing. One is apt to fancy that the sky and water in that
climate must always be blue. Now, and on many other occasions, instead
of there being any cerulean tints in any direction, the sky was of a
dirty copper tinge, or rather such as is seen spread out like a canopy
over London on a calm damp day in November; while the sea, which rolled
along in vast and sluggish undulations, looked as if it was formed of
sheets of lead of the same hue. Looking astern, one almost expected to
see the wake we ploughed up remaining indelible as on a hard substance.
Over the land hung a mist of the same brownish-yellow hue, hiding
everything but the faint outline of the coast.
"This is what I call a right-down regular Harmattan," said the master,
who, like me, had been before in that delectable clime. The rest of the
officers were new to it. "It will put the purser's whiskers in curl if
he gives them a turn round with a marline-spike. Don't you smell the
earthy flavour of the sands of Africa?"
"In truth I think I do," said Jenkins, the second lieutenant, one of a
group who were collected on the weather side of the quarter-deck. "I
can distinguish the lions' and boa-constrictors' breath in it, too, if
I'm not mistaken. Not much of Araby's spicy gales here, at all events."
"Blue skies, and verdant groves, and spicy gales sound very pretty in
poetry, but very little of them do we get in reality," said the master.
"And when there is a blue sky there's such a dreadfully hot sun peeps
out of it, that one feels as if all the marrow in one's bones was being
dried up. But this won't last long. We shall have a change soon."
"Glad you think so," observed Jenkins; "I'm tired of this already."
"I didn't say the change would be for the better," answered the master.
"We may have a black squall come roaring up from off the land, and take
our topsails out of the bolt-ropes, or our topmasts over the side,
before we know where we are, if you don't keep a bright look-out for it;
and we shall have the rainy season beginning in earnest directly, and
then look out for wet jackets."
"A pleasant prospect you give us, Smith," said I. "I wish I could draw
a better, but my experience won't let me differ from you."
The fog and the heat continued, and the wind, which put one in mind of
the blast of a furnace, was equally steady, so, that we slowly beat up
till we got close in-shore. It was dark when we made our approach to
the mouth of the Sherbro, and when we were off it we furled everything,
and let the vessel go where she might, in the hopes that should there be
a slaver inside ready to sail she might take the opportunity of running
out while the land-wind lasted, and, not seeing us, might fall into our
clutches. Every light was dowsed on board, and the bells were even not
allowed to be struck. There we lay, like a log on the water, or, as
Jenkins said, like a boa-constrictor ready to spring on its prey.
Besides the regular look-outs, we had plenty of volunteer eyes peering
into the darkness, in hopes of distinguishing an unsuspecting slaver.
We of course kept the lead at the bottom, to mark the direction we were
driving; but we did not move much, as the send of the sea on shore was
counteracted by the wind blowing off it. Everybody made sure of having
a prize before morning. Jenkins said he was certain of having one, and
the master was very sanguine. The first watch passed away, and nothing
appeared, but neither of them would go below.
"I think we must have driven too much to the southward," said Jenkins to
the master, growing impatient. "The written orders for the night are to
hold our position. Don't you think we had better make sail back again?"
"What! and show our whereabouts to the slaver, if there is one?"
answered the master. "Besides, we haven't driven the sixteenth of a
mile, except off-shore; and there isn't much odds about that. Hark! did
not you hear some cries coming from in-shore of us?"
We listened, but if sounds there were they were not repeated; and as
Jenkins had the middle watch, I turned in, desiring to be called if
anything occurred. I was on deck again just as the light of day was
struggling into existence through the heavy canopy which hung over us;
and as the sun, which must have been rising in the heavens, got higher,
so the mass of vapour over the land increased in density and depth. At
first it hung just above the mangrove bushes, and we could see the tops
of a few lofty palm-trees on shore, and some distant mountains popping
their heads above it; but by degrees they and the whole scene before us
were immersed in it.
The people's breakfast was just over when the captain came on deck.
"No success, Mr Rawson, last night," said he. "We'll try my plan now.
I'm convinced that there must be slavers up that river; so we'll send
the cutter and pinnace up to look after them. Desire Mr Jenkins to be
prepared to take the command of them, and let Mr Johnston go also."
"Ay, ay, sir," I answered. "Shall I get the boats ready, sir?"
"Yes, you may, at once," was the answer.
And the boats' crews were soon busily engaged in making the necessary
arrangements for their departure. With three cheers from the ship, away
they pulled towards the mouth of the Sherbro. We watched them
anxiously; for although the wind was off-shore, the swell which rolled
in threw up a heavy surf on the bar, which at times makes the entrance
to that river very dangerous. There was, however, every probability of
Jenkins finding a smooth place to get across, and if not, he was ordered
to return.
The crews gave way with a will, and the boats flew across the dark,
slow, heaving undulations, now on the summit of one of the leaden rises,
and now lost to view from the deck. At last they reached the irregular
line of white foam, which danced up glittering and distinct against the
dark mass of land and fog beyond. Into it they seemed to plunge, and we
saw no more of them, for the wall of breakers and the height of the
swell entirely shut out all view beyond. With hearty wishes for the
safety of our shipmates, we hoisted the topsails and ran off the land.
When we had run some eight or ten miles by the log, it came on a dead
calm, and there we lay, rolling and tumbling about, as the master said,
like a crab in a saucepan, without being able to help ourselves. At
length it cleared up a little in the north-west, and a line of whitish
sky was seen under the copper. The line increased in size and blueness,
till our topsails were filled with a fine strong breeze from that
quarter. The brig was then kept away, in order to run down to the
southernmost extremity of our station.
I had just gone aloft to have a look round, when my eye fell on a sail
broad on our starboard bow, which, from the size of her royals, just
appearing above the horizon, I judged to be a large square-rigged
vessel. I descended to the cabin to inform the captain, and to ask
leave to make sail in chase.
"What, another of your phantom slavers, Rawson?" he answered, laughing.
"Make sail, by all means; but I'm afraid we shall not be much the
wiser."
Hauling up a little, I soon had every stitch of canvas on the brig which
she could carry, with starboard fore-topmast studding-sails. We drew
rapidly on the chase, and in half-an-hour could see nearly down to her
topsails. The breeze freshened, and we went through the water in
earnest.
"A thumping brig; there's no doubt about it," said the master. "Observe
the rakish cut of her sails; one can almost smell the niggers on board
her."
"She's carrying on, too, as it she was in a hurry to get away from us,"
I remarked.
"So she is," said the captain, coming on deck. "But it strikes me that
those slave-dealers generally send faster craft to sea than she appears
to be. It's only some of your wise governments who don't care about the
slavers being caught who send out slow-coaches, which are fit for
nothing but carrying timber."
"Then why should she be in such a hurry?" I observed.
"A sail right ahead!" sang out the man at the mast-head.
"Because she's in chase of something else," remarked the captain,
laughing. "Hand me the glass. I thought so. What do you make out of
that ensign which has just blown out at her peak?"