RENCONTRE WITH SLAVE-TRADERS--ON BOARD AGAIN--A START, A MISFORTUNE, A
GHOST STORY, A MISTAKE, AND AN INVITATION TO DINNER.
On the evening of the second day after the capture of Jacko, as the
canoe was descending the river and drawing near to the sea-coast, much
to the delight of everyone--for the heat of the interior had begun to
grow unbearable--a ship's boat was observed moored to the wharf near the
slave-station which they had passed on the way up. At first it was
supposed to be one of the boats of the _Red Eric_, but on a nearer
approach this proved to be an erroneous opinion.
"Wot can it be a-doin' of here?" inquired Tim Rokens, in an abstracted
tone of voice, as if he put the question to himself, and therefore did
not expect an answer.
"No doubt it's a slaver's boat," replied the trader; "they often come up
here for cargoes of niggers."
"Och! the blackguards!" exclaimed Phil Briant, all his blood rising at
the mere mention of the horrible traffic; "couldn't we land, capting,
and give them a lickin'? I'll engage meself to put six at laste o' the
spalpeens on their beam-ends."
"No, Phil, we shan't land for that purpose; but we'll land for some
gunpowder an' a barrel or two of plantains; so give way, lads."
In another moment the bow of the canoe slid upon the mud-bank of the
river close to the slaver's boat, which was watched by a couple of the
most villainous-looking men that ever took part in that disgraceful
traffic. They were evidently Portuguese sailors, and the scowl of their
bronzed faces, when they saw the canoe approach the landing-place,
showed that they had no desire to enter into amicable converse with the
strangers.
At this moment the attention of the travellers was drawn to a gang of
slaves who approached the wharf, chained together by the neck, and
guarded by the crew of the Portuguese boat. Ailie looked on with a
feeling of dread that induced her to cling to her father's hand, while
the men stood with folded arms, compressed lips, and knitted brows.
On the voyage up they had landed at this station, and had seen the
slaves in their places of confinement. The poor creatures were
apparently happy at that time, and seemed totally indifferent to their
sad fate; but their aspect was very different now. They were being
hurried away, they knew not whither, by strangers whom they had been
taught to believe were monsters of cruelty besides being cannibals, and
who had purchased them for the purpose of killing them and eating their
bodies. The wild, terrified looks of the men, and the subdued looks and
trembling gait of the women showed that they expected no mercy at the
hands of their captors.
They hung back a little as they drew near to the boat, whereupon one of
their conductors, who seemed to be in command of the party, uttered a
fierce exclamation in Portuguese, and struck several of the men and
women indiscriminately severe blows with his fists. In a few minutes
they were all placed in the boat, and the crew had partly embarked, when
Phil Briant, unable to restrain himself, muttered between his teeth to
the Portuguese commander as he passed--
"Ye imp o' darkness, av I only had ye in the ring for tshwo minits--jist
tshwo--ah thin, wouldn't I polish ye off."
"Fat you say, sare?" cried the man, turning fiercely towards Briant, and
swearing at him in bad English.
"Say, is it? Oh, then _there's_ a translation for ye, that's understood
in all lingos."
Phil shook his clenched fist as close as possible to the nose of the
Portuguese commander without actually coming into contact with that
hooked and prominent organ.
The man started back and drew his knife, at the same time calling to
several of his men, who advanced with their drawn knives.
"Ho!" cried Briant, and a jovial smile overspread his rough countenance
as he sprang to a clear spot of ground and rolled up both sleeves of his
shirt to the shoulders, thereby displaying a pair of arms that might, at
a rapid glance, have been mistaken for a pair of legs--"that's yer game,
is it? won't I stave in yer planks! won't I shiver yer timbers, and
knock out yer daylights, bless yer purty faces! I didn't think ye had
it in ye; come on darlints--toothpicks and all--as many as ye like; the
more the better--wan at a time, or all at wance, it don't matter, not
the laste, be no manes!"
While Briant gave utterance to these liberal invitations, he performed a
species of revolving dance, and flourished his enormous fists in so
ludicrous a manner, that despite the serious nature of the fray the two
parties were likely to be speedily engaged in, his comrades could not
restrain their laughter.
"Go it, Pat!" cried one.
"True blue!" shouted another.
"Silence!" cried Captain Dunning, in a voice that enforced obedience.
"Get into the canoe, Briant."
"Och! capting," exclaimed the wrathful Irishman, reproachfully, "sure ye
wouldn't spile the fun?"
"Go to the canoe, sir."
"Ah! capting dear, jist wan round!"
"Go to the canoe, I say."
"I'll do it all in four minits an' wan quarter, av ye'll only shut yer
eyes," pleaded Phil.
"Obey orders, will you?" cried the captain, in a voice there was no
mistaking.
Briant indignantly thrust his fists into his breeches pockets, and
rolled slowly down towards the canoe, as--to use one of his own
favourite expressions--sulky as a bear with a broken head.
Meanwhile the captain stepped up to the Portuguese sailors and told them
to mind their own business, and let _honest_ men alone; adding, that if
they did not take his advice, he would first give them a licking and
then pitch them all into the river.
This last remark caused Briant to prick up his ears and withdraw his
fists from their inglorious retirement, in the fond hope that there
might still be work for them to do; but on observing that the
Portuguese, acting on the principle that discretion is the better part
of valour, had taken the advice and were returning to their own boat, he
relapsed into the sulks, and seated himself doggedly in his place in the
canoe.
During all this little scene, which was enacted much more rapidly than
it had been described, master Jacko, having escaped from the canoe, had
been seated near the edge of the wharf, looking on, apparently, with
deep interest. Just as the Portuguese turned away to embark in their
boat, Ailie's eye alighted on her pet; at the same moment the foot of
the Portuguese commander alighted on her pet's tail. Now the tails of
all animals seem to be peculiarly sensitive. Jacko's certainly was so,
for he instantly uttered a shriek of agony, which was as quickly
responded to by its adopted mother in a scream of alarm as she sprang
forward to the rescue. When one unintentionally treads on the tail of
any animal and thereby evokes a yell, he is apt to start and trip--in
nine cases out of ten he does trip. The Portuguese commander tripped
upon this occasion. In staggering out of the monkey's way he well-nigh
tumbled over Ailie, and in seeking to avoid her, he tumbled over the
edge of the wharf into the river.
The difference between the appearance of this redoubtable slave-buying
hero before and after his involuntary immersion was so remarkable and
great that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognise him.
He went down into the slimy liquid an ill-favoured Portuguese, clad in
white duck; he came up a worse-favoured monstrosity, clothed in mud!
Even his own rascally comrades grinned at him for a moment, but their
grins changed into a scowl of anger when they heard the peals of
laughter that burst from the throats of their enemies. As for Briant,
he absolutely hugged himself with delight.
"Och! ye've got it, ye have," he exclaimed, at intervals. "Happy day!
who'd ha' thought it? to see him tumbled in the mud after all by purty
little Ailie and Jacko. Come here to me Jacko, owld coon. Oh, ye swate
cratur!"
Briant seized the monkey, and squeezed it to his breast, and kissed it--
yes, he actually kissed its nose in the height of his glee, and
continued to utter incoherent exclamations, and to perpetrate
incongruous absurdities, until long after they had descended the river
and left the muddy Portuguese and his comrades far behind them.
Towards evening the party were once more safe and sound on board the
_Red Eric_, where they found everything repaired, and the ship in a fit
state to proceed to sea immediately.
His Majesty King Bumble was introduced to the steward, then to the cook,
and then to the caboose. Master Jacko was introduced to the ship's crew
and to his quarters, which consisted of a small box filled with straw,
and was lashed near the foot of the mizzen-mast. These introductions
having been made, the men who had accompanied their commander on his
late excursion into the interior, went forward and regaled their
messmates for hours with anecdotes of their travels in the wilds of
Africa.
It is well-known, and generally acknowledged, that all sublunary things,
pleasant as well as unpleasant, must come to an end. In the course of
two days more the sojourn of the crew of the _Red Eric_ on the coast of
Africa came to a termination. Having taken in supplies of fresh
provisions, the anchor was weighed, and the ship stood out to sea with
the first of the ebb tide. It was near sunset when the sails were
hoisted and filled by a gentle land breeze, and the captain had just
promised Ailie that he would show her blue water again by breakfast-time
next morning, when a slight tremor passed through the vessel's hull,
causing the captain to shout, with a degree of vigour that startled
everyone on board, "All hands ahoy! lower away the boats, Mr Millons,
we're hard and fast aground on a mud-bank!"
The boats were lowered away with all speed, and the sails dewed up
instantly, but the _Red Eric_ remained as immovable as the bank on which
she had run aground; there was, therefore, no recourse but to wait
patiently for the rising tide to float her off again. Fortunately the
bank was soft and the wind light, else it might have gone ill with the
good ship.
There is scarcely any conceivable condition so favourable to quiet
confidential conversation and story-telling as the one in which the men
of the whale-ship now found themselves. The night was calm and dark,
but beautiful, for a host of stars sparkled in the sable sky, and
twinkled up from the depths of the dark ocean. The land breeze had
fallen, and there was scarcely any sound to break the surrounding
stillness except the lipping water as it kissed the black hull of the
ship. A dim, scarce perceptible light rendered every object on board
mysterious and unaccountably large.
"Wot a night for a ghost story," observed Jim Scroggles, who stood with
a group of the men, who were seated on and around the windlass.
"I don't b'lieve in ghosts," said Dick Barnes stoutly, in a tone of
voice that rendered the veracity of his assertion, to say the least of
it, doubtful.
"Nother do I," remarked Nikel Sling, who had just concluded his culinary
operations for the day, and sought to employ his brief interval of
relaxation in social intercourse with his fellows. Being engaged in
ministering to the animal wants of his comrades all day, he felt himself
entitled to enjoy a little of the "feast of reason and the flow of soul"
at night:
"No more duv I," added Phil Briant firmly, at the same time hitting his
thigh a slap with his open hand that caused all round him to start.
"You don't, don't you?" said Tim Rokens, addressing the company
generally, and looking round gravely, while he pushed the glowing
tobacco into his pipe with the point of a marline-spike.
To this there was a chorus of "Noes," but a close observer would have
noticed that nearly the whole conversation was carried on in low tones,
and that many a glance was cast behind, as if these bold sceptics more
than half expected all the ghosts that did happen to exist to seize them
then and there and carry them off as a punishment for their unbelief.
Tim Rokens drew a few whiffs of his pipe, and looked round gravely
before he again spoke; then he put the following momentous question,
with the air of a man who knew he could overturn his adversary whatever
his reply should be--
"An' why don't ye b'lieve in 'em?"
We cannot say positively that Tim Rokens put the question to Jim
Scroggles, but it is certain that Jim Scroggles accepted the question as
addressed to him, and answered in reply--
"'Cause why? I never seed a ghost, an' nobody never seed a ghost, an' I
don't b'lieve in what I can't see."
Jim said this as if he thought the position incontestable. Tim regarded
him with a prolonged stare, but for some time said nothing. At last he
emitted several strong puffs of smoke, and said--
"Young man, did you ever _see_ your own mind?"
"No, in course not."
"Did anybody else ever see it?"
"Cer'nly not."
"Then of course you don't believe in it!" added Rokens, while a slight
smile curled his upper lip.
The men chuckled a good deal at Jim's confusion, while he in vain
attempted to explain that the two ideas were not parallel by any means.
At this juncture, Phil Briant came to the rescue.
"Ah now, git out," said he. "I agree with Jim intirely; an' Tim Rokens
isn't quite so cliver as he thinks. Now look here, lads, here's how it
stands, 'xactly. Jim says he never seed his own mind--very good; and he
says as how nobody else niver seed it nother; well, and wot then? Don't
you observe it's 'cause he han't got none at all to see? He han't got
even the ghost of one, so how could ye expect anybody to see it?"
"Oh, hold yer noise, Paddy," exclaimed Dick Barnes, "an' let's have a
ghost story from Tim Rokens. He b'lieves in ghosts, anyhow, an' could
give us a yarn about 'em, I knows, if he likes. Come along now, Tim,
like a good fellow."
"Ay, that's it," cried Briant; "give us a stiff 'un now. Don't be
afeard to skear us, old boy."
"Oh, I can give ye a yarn about ghosts, cer'nly," said Tim Rokens,
looking into the bowl of his pipe in order to make sure that it was
sufficiently charged to last out the story. "I'll tell ye of a ghost I
once seed and knocked down."
"Knocked down!" cried Nikel Sling in surprise; "why, I allers thought as
how ghosts was spirits, an' couldn't be knocked down or cotched
neither."
"Not at all," replied Rokens; "ghosts is made of all sorts o' things--
brass, and iron, and linen, and buntin', and timber; it wos a brass
ghost the feller that I'm goin' to tell ye about--"
"I say, Sling," interrupted Briant, "av ghosts wos spirits, as you
thought they wos, would they be allowed into the State of Maine?"
"Oh, Phil, shut up, do! Now then, Tim, fire away."
"Well, then," began Rokens, with great deliberation, "it was on a
Vednesday night as it happened. I had bin out at supper with a friend
that night, and we'd had a glass or two o' grog; for ye see, lads, it
was some years ago, afore I tuk to temp'rance. I had a long way to go
over a great dark moor afore I could git to the place where I lodged, so
I clapped on all sail to git over the moor, seein' the moon would go
down soon; but it wouldn't do: the moon set when I wos in the very
middle of the moor, and as the road wasn't over good, I wos in a state
o' confumble lest I should lose it altogether. I looks round in all
directions, but I couldn't see nothin'--cause why? there wasn't nothin'
to be seen. It was 'orrid dark, I can tell ye. Jist one or two stars
a-shinin', like half-a-dozen farden dips in a great church; they only
made darkness wisible. I began to feel all over a cur'ous sort o'
peculiar unaccountableness, which it ain't easy to explain, but is most
oncommon disagreeable to feel. It wos very still, too--desperate still.
The beatin' o' my own heart sounded quite loud, and I heer'd the
tickin' o' my watch goin' like the click of a church clock. Oh, it was
awful!"
At this point in the story the men crept closer together, and listened
with intense earnestness.
"Suddently," continued Rokens--"for things in sich circumstances always
comes suddently--suddently I seed somethin' black jump up right ahead o'
me."
Here Rokens paused.
"Wot was it?" inquired Gurney, in a solemn whisper.
"It was," resumed Rokens slowly, "the stump of a old tree."
"Oh, I thought it had been the ghost," said Gurney, somewhat relieved,
for that fat little Jack-tar fully believed in apparitions, and always
listened to a ghost story in fear and trembling.
"No it wasn't the ghost; it was the stump of a tree. Well, I set sail
again, an' presently I sees a great white thing risin' up ahead o' me."
"Hah! _that_ was it," whispered Gurney.
"No, that wasn't it," retorted Rokens; "that was a hinn, a white-painted
hinn, as stood by the roadside, and right glad wos I to see it, I can
tell ye, shipmates, for I wos gittin' tired as well as frightened. I
soon roused the landlord by kickin' at the door till it nearly comed off
its hinges; and arter gettin' another glass o' grog, I axed the landlord
to show me my bunk, as I wanted to turn in.
"It was a queer old house that hinn wos. A great ramblin' place, with
no end o' staircases and passages. A dreadful gloomy sort o' place. No
one lived in it except the landlord, a dark-faced surly fellow as one
would like to kick out of his own door, and his wife, who wos little
better than his-self. They also had a hostler, but he slept with the
cattle in a hout-house.
"`Ye won't be fear'd,' says the landlord, as he hove ahead through the
long passages holdin' the candle high above his head to show the way,
`to sleep in the far end o' the house. It's the old bit; the new bit's
undergoin' repairs. You'll find it comfortable enough, though it's
raither gusty, bein' old, ye see; but the weather ain't cold, so ye
won't mind it.'
"`Oh! niver a bit,' says I, quite bold like; `I don't care a rap for
nothin'. There ain't no ghosts, is there?'
"`Well, I'm not sure; many travellers wot has stayed here has said to me
they've seed 'em, particklerly in the old part o' the buildin', but they
seems to be quite harmless, and never hurts any one as lets 'em alone.
I never seed 'em myself, an' there's cer'nly not more nor half-a-dozen
on 'em--hallo!--'
"At that moment, shipmates, a strong gust o' cold air came rushin' down
the passage we was in, and blow'd out the candle. `Ah! it's gone out,'
said the landlord; `just wait here a moment, and I'll light it;' and
with that he shuffled off, and left me in the blackest and most thickest
darkness I ever wos in in all my life. I didn't dare to move, for I
didn't know the channels, d'ye see, and might ha' run myself aground or
against the rocks in no time. The wind came moanin' down the passage;
as if all the six ghosts the landlord mentioned, and a dozen or two o'
their friends besides, was a-dyin' of stommick-complaint. I'm not easy
frightened, lads, but my knees did feel as if the bones in 'em had
turned to water, and my hair began to git up on end, for I felt it
risin'. Suddenly I saw somethin' comin' along the passage towards me--"
"That's the ghost, _now_," interrupted Gurney, in a tremulous whisper.
Rokens paused, and regarded his fat shipmate with a look of contemptuous
pity; then turning to the others, he said--
"It wos _the landlord_, a-comin' back with the candle. He begged pardon
for leavin' me in the dark so long, and led the way to a room at the far
end o' the passage. It was a big, old-fashioned room, with a
treemendius high ceiling, and no furniture, 'cept one chair, one small
table, and a low camp-bed in a corner. `Here's your room,' says the
landlord; `it's well-aired. I may as well mention that the latch of the
door ain't just the thing. It sometimes blows open with a bang, but
when you know it may happen, you can be on the look-out for it, you
know, and so you'll not be taken by surprise. Good-night.' With that
the fellow set the candle down on the small table at the bedside, and
left me to my cogitations. I heerd his footsteps echoin' as he went
clankin' along the passages; then they died away, an' I was alone.
"Now, I tell ye wot it is, shipmates; I've bin in miny a fix, but I
niver wos in sich a fix as that. The room was empty and big; so big
that the candle could only light up about a quarter of it, leavin' the
rest in gloom. There was one or two old picturs on the walls; one on
'em a portrait of a old admiral, with a blue coat and brass buttons and
white veskit. It hung just opposite the fut o' my bunk, an' I could
hardly make it out, but I saw that the admiral kep his eye on me
wheriver I turned or moved about the room, an' twice or thrice, if not
more, I saw him wink with his weather eye. Yes, he winked as plain as I
do myself. Says I to myself, says I, `Tim Rokens, you're a British tar,
an' a whaler, an' a harpooner; so, Tim, my boy, don't you go for to be a
babby.'
"With that I smoked a pipe, and took off my clo's, and tumbled in, and
feeling a little bolder by this time, I blew out the candle. In gittin'
into bed I knocked over the snuffers, w'ich fell with an awful clatter,
and my heart lep' into my mouth as I lep' under the blankets, and
kivered up my head. Howsever, I was uncommon tired, so before my head
was well on the pillow, I went off to sleep.
"How long I slep' I can't go for to say, but w'en I wakened it wos
pitch-dark. I could only just make out the winder by the pale starlight
that shone through it, but the moment I set my two eyes on it, wot does
I see? I seed a sight that made the hair on my head stand on end, and
my flesh creep up like a muffin. It was a--"
"A ghost!" whispered Gurney, while his eyes almost started out of his
head.
Before Tim Rokens could reply, something fell with a heavy flop from the
yard over their heads right in among the men, and vanished with a
shriek. It was Jacko, who, in his nocturnal rambles in the rigging, had
been shaken off the yard on which he was perched, by a sudden lurch of
the vessel as the tide began to move her about. At any time such an
event would have been startling, but at such a time as this it was
horrifying. The men recoiled with sharp cries of terror, and then burst
into laughter as they observed what it was that had fallen amongst them.
But the laughter was subdued, and by no means hearty.
"I'll be the death o' that brute yet," said Gurney, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead; "but go on, Rokens; what was it you
saw?"
"It _was_ the ghost," replied Rokens, as the men gathered round him
again--"a long, thin ghost, standin' at my bedside. The light was so
dim that I couldn't well make it out, but I saw that it was white, or
pale-like, and that it had on a pointed cap, like the cap o' an old
witch. I thought I should ha' died outright, and I lay for full five
minits tremblin' like a leaf and starin' full in its face. At last I
started up in despair, not knowin' well wot to do; and the moment I did
so the ghost disappeared.
"I thought this was very odd, but you may be sure I didn't find fault
with it; so after lookin' all round very careful to make quite sure that
it was gone, I lay down again on my back. Well, would ye b'lieve it,
shipmates, at that same moment up starts the ghost again as bold as
iver? And up starts I in a fright; but the moment I was up the ghost
was gone. `Now, Tim Rokens,' says I to myself, always keepin' my eye on
the spot where I'd last seed the ghost, `this _is_ queer; this is quite
remarkable. You're dreamin', my lad, an' the sooner ye put a stop to
that 'ere sort o' dreamin' the better.'
"Havin' said this, I tried to feel reckless, and lay down again, and up
started the ghost again with its long thin white body, an' the pointed
cap on its head. I noticed, too, that it wore its cap a little on one
side quite jaunty like. So, wheniver I sot up that 'ere ghost
disappeared, and wheniver I lay down it bolted up again close beside me.
At last I lost my temper, and I shouts out quite loud, `Shiver my
timbers,' says I, `ghost or no ghost, I'll knock in your daylights if ye
carry on like that any longer;' and with that I up fist and let drive
straight out at the spot where its bread-basket should ha' bin. Down it
went, that ghost did, with a clatter that made the old room echo like an
empty church. I guv it a rap, I did, sich as it hadn't had since it was
born--if ghosts be born at all--an' my knuckles paid for it, too, for
they was skinned all up; then I lay down tremblin', and then, I dun know
how it was, I went to sleep.
"Next mornin' I got up to look for the ghost, and, sure enough, I found
his _remains_! His pale body lay in a far corner o' the room doubled up
and smashed to bits, and his pointed cap lay in another corner almost
flat. That ghost," concluded Rokens, with slow emphasis--"that ghost
was the _candle_, it wos!"
"The candle!" exclaimed several of the men in surprise.
"Yes, the candle, and brass candlestick with the stinguisher a-top o't.
Ye see, lads, the candle stood close to the side o' my bed on the table,
an' when I woke up and I saw it there, it seemed to me like a big thing
in the middle o' the room, instead o' a little thing close to my nose;
an' when I sot up in my bed, of coorse I looked right over the top of it
and saw nothin'; an' when I lay down, of coorse it rose up in the very
same place. An', let me tell you, shipmates," added Tim, in conclusion,
with the air of a philosopher, "_all_ ghosts is o' the same sort.
They're most of 'em made o' wood or brass, or some sich stuff, as I've
good cause to remimber, for I had to pay the price o' that 'ere ghost
before I left that there hinn on the lonesome moor, and for the washin'
of the blankets, too, as wos all kivered with blood nixt mornin' from my
smashed knuckles. There's a morial contained in most things, lads, if
ye only try for to find it out; an' the morial of my story is this--
don't ye go for to b'lieve that everything ye don't 'xactly understand
is a ghost until ye've got to know more about it."
While Tim Rokens was thus recounting his ghostly experiences, and
moralising thereon, for the benefit of his comrades, the silent tide was
stealthily creeping up the sides of the _Red Eric_, and placing her
gradually on an even keel. At the same time a British man-of-war was
creeping down upon that innocent vessel with the murderous intention of
blowing her out of the water, if possible.
In order to explain this latter fact, we must remind the reader of the
boat and crew of the Portuguese slaver which was encountered by the
party of excursionists on their trip down the river. The vessel to
which that boat belonged had been for several weeks previous creeping
about off the coast, watching her opportunity to ship a cargo of slaves,
and at the same time to avoid falling into the hands of a British
cruiser which was stationed on the African coast to prevent the
villainous traffic. The Portuguese ship, which was very similar in size
and shape to the _Red Eric_, had hitherto managed to elude the cruiser,
and had succeeded in taking a number of slaves on board ere she was
discovered. The cruiser gave chase to her on the same afternoon as that
on which the _Red Eric_ grounded on the mud-bank off the mouth of the
river. Darkness, however, favoured the slaver, and when the land breeze
failed, she was lost sight of in the intricacies of the navigation at
that part of the coast.
Towards morning, while it was yet dark, the _Red Eric_ floated, and
Captain Dunning, who had paced the deck all night with a somewhat
impatient tread, called to the mate--"Now, Mr Millons, man the boats,
and let some of the hands stand-by to trim the sails to the first puff
of wind."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered the mate, as he sprang to obey.
Now it is a curious fact, that at that identical moment the captain of
the cruiser addressed his first lieutenant in precisely the same words,
for he had caught a glimpse of the whaler's topmasts against the dark
sky, and mistook them, very naturally, for those of the slaver. In a
few seconds the man-of-war was in full pursuit.
"I say, Dr Hopley," remarked Captain Dunning, as he gazed intently into
the gloom astern, "did you not hear voices? and, as I live, there's a
large ship bearing right down on us!"
"It must be a slaver," replied the doctor; "probably the one that owned
the boat we saw up the river."
"Ship on the larboard bow!" shouted the look-out on the forecastle.
"Hallo! ships ahead and astern!" remarked the captain, in surprise.
"There seems to be a `school' of 'em in these waters."
At this moment the oars of the boats belonging to the ship astern were
heard distinctly, and a light puff of wind at the same time bulged out
the sails of the _Red Eric_, which instantly forged ahead.
"Ship ahoy!" shouted a voice from the boats astern in a tone of
authority; "heave-to, you rascal, or I'll sink you!"
Captain Dunning turned to the doctor with a look of intense surprise.
"Why, doctor, that's the usual hail of a pirate, or something like it.
What it can be doing here is past my comprehension. I would as soon
expect to find a whale in a wash-tub as a black flag in these waters!
Port, port a little" (turning to the steersman)--"steady--so. We must
run for it, anyhow, for we're in no fightin' trim. The best answer to
give to such a hail is silence."
Contrary to expectation the boats did not again hail, but in a few
minutes the dark hull of the British cruiser became indistinctly visible
as it slipped swiftly through the water before the freshening breeze,
and neared the comparatively slow-going whaler rapidly. Soon it came
within easy range, and while Captain Dunning looked over the taffrail
with a troubled countenance, trying to make her out, the same voice came
hoarsely down on the night breeze issuing the same peremptory command.
"Turn up the hands, Mr Millons, and serve out pistols and cutlasses.
Get the carronades on the forecastle and quarterdeck loaded, Mr
Markham, and look alive; we must show the enemy a bold front, whoever he
is."
As the captain issued these orders, the darkness was for an instant
illuminated by a bright flash; the roar of a cannon reverberated over
the sea; a round-shot whistled through the rigging of the _Red Eric_,
and the next instant the foretopsail-yard came rattling down upon the
deck.
Immediately after, the cruiser ranged up alongside, and the order to
heave-to was repeated with a threat that was calculated to cause the
hair of a man of peace to stand on end. The effect on Captain Dunning
was to induce him to give the order--
"Point the guns there, lads, and aim high; I don't like to draw first
blood--even of a pirate."
"Ship ahoy! Who are you, and where from?" inquired Captain Dunning,
through the speaking-trumpet.
"Her British Majesty's frigate _Firebrand_. If you don't heave-to, sir,
instantly, I'll give you a broadside. Who are you, and where bound?"
"Whew!" whistled Captain Dunning, to vent his feelings of surprise ere
he replied, "The _Red Eric_, South Sea whaler, outward bound."
Having given this piece of information, he ordered the topsails to be
backed, and the ship was hove-to. Meanwhile a boat was lowered from the
cruiser, and the captain thereof speedily leaped upon the whaler's
quarterdeck.
The explanation that followed was not by any means calculated to allay
the irritation of the British captain. He had made quite sure that the
_Red Eric_ was the slaver of which he was in search, and the discovery
of his mistake induced him to make several rather severe remarks in
reference to the crew of the _Red Eric_ generally and her commander in
particular.
"Why didn't you heave-to when I ordered you," he said, "and so save all
this trouble and worry?"
"Because," replied Captain Dunning drily, "I'm not in the habit of
obeying orders until I know that he who gives 'em has a right to do so.
But 'tis a pity to waste time talking about such trifles when the craft
you are in search of is not very far away at this moment."
"What mean you, sir?" inquired the captain of the cruiser quickly.
"I mean that yonder vessel, scarcely visible now on the lee bow, is the
slaver, in all likelihood."
The captain gave but one hasty glance in the direction pointed to by
Captain Dunning, and next moment he was over the side of the ship, and
the boat was flying swiftly towards his vessel. The rapid orders given
on board the cruiser soon after, showed that her commander was eagerly
in pursuit of the strange vessel ahead, and the flash and report of a
couple of guns proved that he was again giving orders in his somewhat
peremptory style.
When daylight appeared, Captain Dunning was still on deck, and Glynn
Proctor stood by the wheel. The post of the latter, however, was a
sinecure, as the wind had again fallen. When the sun rose it revealed
the three vessels lying becalmed within a short distance of each other
and several miles off shore.
"So, so," exclaimed the captain, taking the glass and examining the
other vessels. "I see it's all up with the slaver. Serves him right;
don't it, Glynn?"
"It does," replied Glynn emphatically. "I hope they will all be hanged.
Isn't that the usual way of serving these fellows out?"
"Well, not exactly, lad. They don't go quite that length--more's the
pity; if they did, there would be less slave-trading; but the rascals
will lose both ship and cargo."
"I wonder," said Glynn, "how they can afford to carry on the trade when
they lose so many ships as I am told they do every year."
"You wouldn't wonder, boy, if you knew the enormous prices got for
slaves. Why, the profits on one cargo, safely delivered, will more than
cover the loss of several vessels and cargoes. You may depend on't they
would not carry it on if it did not pay."
"Humph!" ejaculated Glynn, giving the wheel a savage turn, as if to
express his thorough disapprobation of the slave-trade, and his extreme
disgust at not being able, by the strength of his own right arm, at once
to repress it. "And who's to pay for our foretopsail-yard?" he
inquired, abruptly, as if desirous of changing the subject.
"Ourselves, I fear," replied the captain. "We must take it
philosophically, and comfort ourselves with the fact that it _is_ the
foretopsail-yard, and not the bowsprit or the mainmast, that was carried
away. It's not likely the captain of the cruiser will pay for it, at
any rate."
Captain Dunning was wrong. That same morning he received a polite note
from the commander of the said cruiser, requesting the pleasure of his
company to dinner, in the event of the calm continuing, and assuring him
that the carpenter and the sail-maker of the man-of-war should be sent
on board his ship after breakfast to repair damages. Captain Dunning,
therefore, like an honest, straightforward man as he was, admitted that
he had been hasty in his judgment, and stated to Glynn Proctor,
emphatically, that the commander of the _Firebrand_ was "a trump."