On gaining the deck, all eyes were turned in the direction of the
strange ship. It was a clear, fine night, and the wind and sea moderate.
“Ah, that’s a merchant ship,” said Captain O’Loughlin, looking through
his night-glass. “I am sure of it. What has brought her so close in
with the French coast? It’s a great and unnecessary risk.”
The stranger was soon within hailing distance. The Onyx altered her
course, and then ran in a parallel line with the strange vessel; she
was a full-rigged ship, under top-gallant sails. The Lieutenant hailed
her, demanding from whence she sailed, and where bound to. They saw at
a glance she was an English ship, but she might be in the hands of a
prize crew, running for some French port.
A strong, manly voice replied that the vessel was the Flying Fish, from
Jamaica to London. She had been chased by a French frigate until close
in with the French coast, where she fell in with three English ships of
war. One gave chase to the Frenchman, and she continued her voyage. One
of the English vessels hailed her, asking name, &c.; told her she would
fall in with the Onyx, off Havre, and that there was little or no risk
of encountering an enemy as she was then steering; the wind was too
scant to keep off the land.
Captain O’Loughlin told the captain he had better get on the other
tack, and make the best of his way and sight the English coast. The
Flying Fish then put about, and after exchanging compliments, the two
ships separated; as did the friends, for the night. Nothing particular
occurred the following day, there being little or no wind, so the party
again assembled in the cabin, and Julian Arden resumed his narrative.
“As we sat, or rather reposed on the heaps of soft grass,” began Julian
Arden, “after finishing our meal, the stranger told me he should like
to know something about me; how I came to be mixed up in the French
Revolution, and what I intended doing with myself in such a pestiferous
climate as Sierra Leone. I merely told him my father was an English
gentleman of the name of Arden, and that my mother, some time after
his death, was, in a certain measure, forced to marry the Duke de
Coulancourt; and then I briefly related how I lost my poor mother and
sister, and my own sufferings in prison. I saw the tears in the eyes of
the two young girls, and felt flattered by the kind commiseration of
both father and daughters.
“‘Well, young gentleman,’ said the Englishman, ‘I think the best
thing, and indeed the only thing you can do, is to get a passage in
the first ship that touches here for England: arrived there, you will
easily discover your relatives. Now I will tell you who I am, and what
my intentions are, for I am not a resident here, I assure you, of my
own free will. My name is Packenham, I am colonel of the —— Regiment.
We were returning to England from the Cape, when we were sighted and
chased by a remarkably fast privateer under the tricolour. Our ship
was a new vessel, with a stout-hearted skipper, and a brave crew; and
after an action, sharp, and of long duration, we beat the fellow off;
but he so cut up our sails and rigging, and damaged our spars, that in
a succession of gales, some days after, we were close driven towards
the coast of Africa, and in a tremendous squall lost our fore-mast,
and finally went ashore two leagues to the eastward of the new town.
Fortunately, our ship was a strong one; she held together for two days,
and we all, captain and crew, got safely on shore. But scarcely had we
secured our baggage and effects before another hurricane, from a worse
point, knocked the vessel all to pieces. We proceeded to the town, and
strange enough I found settled there a very old friend and brother in
arms, a Captain Stanhope, who had been induced to come out here by
the Sierra Leone Company. He had a wife and eight children, and hoped
to support them on his half pay and the stipend allowed him by the
company. He is now with his two fine boys and four girls, all that’s
left, up at Fort Banca, which we must endeavour to reach to-night.
Our unfortunate skipper and his crew sailed in a miserably small
schooner with what was saved from the wreck, about three weeks after
our misfortune. I would not venture my children in her, so my friend
Stanhope got me a house, and these two comely young negresses to attend
on us, and I hired a negro, and here we have been waiting the arrival
of some merchant ship from England, or a man-of-war, but not one has
touched here since; and now these confounded _sans culottes_ have
knocked down our house and driven us into the woods. The best thing you
can do is to return to England with us. I will do my best to supply
your wants, having luckily saved all my own effects, for the moment we
perceived these French ships we all sent off our effects to Fort Banca;
of course, we could offer no resistance.’
“I returned Colonel Packenham my most sincere thanks for his generous
intentions. As the day wore on, we became anxious to know whether the
French had returned to their ships. I offered to go and endeavour to
discover, but one of the black attendants who was on the look out came
running into our retreat, saying—
“‘Massa! Massa! Pompey, he come!’
In a few minutes a fine able-bodied negro made his appearance; he was
startled at seeing me in the attire of a French sailor, but the Colonel
told him it was all right, that I was an Englishman.
“‘Ah! see him berry glad, massa,’ continued Pompey. ‘De debils be all
gone bord ship. De burn and carry off ebery ting, cuss ’em. De sure
come again to-morrow.’
“‘Well, then, Pompey, we must set out at once for Banca, we shall find
canoes on the river bank.’
“‘Certain sure, massa. Massa Stanhope ab dem ready for you.’
“‘Well, then,’ continued the Colonel, ‘pack up our traps and let us be
moving, its only two miles to the river. Banca, young gentleman, is a
fort or an island up the river.’
“I helped the young ladies to get all the little chattels they had
brought away hastily from their house in the town, and insisted on
taking my share of the burdens. The negro girls laughed and chatted as
if the whole affair was a piece of amusement, and off we started. It
was not so very easy to get through the entangled wood; the Colonel and
Pompey led the way, whilst I assisted the daughters, cutting away the
brambles and overhanging branches with an axe Pompey gave me. Having
cleared the wood, we soon got over the rice grounds, and in an hour we
reached the banks of the river. There we found two large canoes, with
some negroes belonging to Captain Stanhope. We all embarked, and were
paddled up the river, with the tide in our favour, for the island on
which Fort Banca stood.
“‘I could scarcely suppose,’ I remarked to Miss Cherry Packenham, who
sat next to me in the canoe, ‘that this part of the world had a climate
so destructive to human life, the scenery is so beautiful. This is a
fine open view, and the air, though hot, not overpoweringly so.’
“‘Ah! you will be deceived by all you see,’ said the young girl; ‘this
is rather a favourable month, and this year has altogether been less
destructive to human life. There is Fort Banca. I hope those horrid
French ships will not attempt to come up the river, and fire upon the
fort.’
“‘It looks very strong,’ I observed, ‘and, from its position, difficult
to attack.’
“‘Papa says it’s all outward show; for if an enemy gets up the river,
they would soon knock it to pieces.’
“Just as it began to grow dusk, we reached the landing place at Fort
Banca. Colonel Packenham’s friend, Captain Stanhope, was waiting to
receive him.
“‘In the name of Fate,’ said the Captain, shaking his friend the
Colonel by the hand, ‘why did you not come up the river in the boats,
instead of taking to the woods? The jungle is dangerous.’
“‘Faith, I thought my two little girls would have a worse chance if
the enemy opened fire on the boats,’ returned the Colonel, ‘and I was
so anxious for them that I started on the first opening of the fire
from the French ships. Cowardly rascals to fire into the streets of the
town, and our flag hauled down!’
“‘Well, here you are, safe and sound,’ said the Captain, looking at me
with surprise; ‘but who is this young man—a French prisoner?’
“‘Not exactly; an Englishman under false colours.’
“The Colonel then introduced me to his friend, who very kindly welcomed
me. We were all made very comfortable. I was located with the Colonel’s
family, and for a few days we enjoyed quietness and peace. I was in
dangerous company, for Miss Packenham had every quality besides beauty
to engage the affections of our sex. Captain Stanhope’s daughters were
exceedingly agreeable and pretty; and altogether, life would have been
exceedingly agreeable in Fort Banca, had not there been several deaths,
owing to the crowded state of the fort. We were not long, however, left
in fancied security.
“One morning the alarm was sounded; the topsails of a large ship were
seen ascending the river, and very soon it was ascertained, by the
arrival of a canoe, that the French frigate, the Felicité, and my old
ship, were coming up to attack the fort. All who could carry arms
were called to aid in the defence. I gladly offered myself, and was
enrolled amongst the defenders of the fort. The two frigates, having
taken up a position, at once opened fire upon us, to which we replied
with spirit. I felt most anxious to give my old tyrant as large a dose
of shot as I could, and the second day, for some reason or other, he
dropped behind the Felicité. We learned afterwards my old captain
had been mortally wounded by a splinter, and died the following day;
but the first lieutenant having the command, the frigate was brought
into place again, and commenced a determined and fierce fire against
us. We had several killed, numbers wounded, and two of our best guns
dismounted, besides our walls knocked about our ears. The enemy gave
us no peace, night or day. At length, nearly worn out, our ammunition
almost exhausted, and half our little garrison _hors de combat_,
it was agreed, after a long consultation, to abandon the fort. The
inhabitants of the town, therefore, began removing their effects in
canoes and boats, intending to go up the river to a negro settlement,
till the French fleet sailed. To deceive the enemy we kept up the best
cannonading we could, though, in truth, the walls were nearly in ruins.
The departure of the inhabitants from the town and fort could not be
seen from the ships, for the island and sudden curve of the river
completely concealed our movements.
“I must now mention a circumstance I failed to do before. Amongst the
persons who took refuge in the fort was an English settler, calling
himself John Sinclair; he said he was of good family, from Hampshire,
was about eight-and-twenty, tall, rather well-looking, and strong and
active. Still, you could not call him a gentleman. He possessed a
considerable sum of money when he arrived from England, with which he
purchased land and negroes, male and female. For two years he led a
wild, irregular life; was said to have committed some very bad acts,
in fact, he began to be shunned and feared; but, all of a sudden he
sold his land, purchased a house in the new town, kept five or six
negroes, and set up a kind of store, and, up to the arrival of Colonel
Packenham, lived tolerably quiet. It seems he saw the Colonel’s eldest
daughter, and openly declared his admiration of her, and became so
marked in his endeavours to intrude himself on Miss Packenham’s
presence, that the Colonel got angry, and some harsh words ensued;
after this John Sinclair kept quiet. He was in the fort when we
arrived, and made himself useful, avoided offending the Colonel, but
seemed to take a positive dislike to me, and one day had the impudence
to tell me I was half a Frenchman. It was no time to quarrel, therefore
I merely replied I would take an opportunity to convince him I was
entirely an Englishman. The increasing dangers of the siege so occupied
us all that I thought little about John Sinclair. I passed all my spare
time in the company of the Colonel’s daughters, and every day increased
the feeling of affection I experienced for Cherry Packenham.
“When the garrison had resolved that the townspeople and all the
females should leave, the Colonel was persuaded to leave also with his
daughters, for we were only going to keep up a mock defence of the
place, to give the inhabitants time to get some miles up the river, out
of all fear of pursuit. I saw my kind friends off, and that the two
girls and their two black attendants were in a good rowing boat, and
bade them farewell for a couple of days. To my surprise, I observed
John Sinclair leave in a fast boat, with his four negroes pulling. I
did not dwell long on the circumstance, but in the evening I happened
to hear his name mentioned by Captain Stanhope. ‘He left in his boat
this morning,’ said I.
“‘Yes,’ returned the captain, ‘but he said he should be back to-night;
he is a bad fellow; I have my suspicions that some years of his life
he has either been a pirate or a slave-dealer; and there’s something
mysterious now in his movements.’
“The next day we perceived the Felicité warping nearer to us, so we
prepared for our departure, as the fort would be demolished in a few
hours. Leaving the British colours flying, after discharging our three
cannons—the only guns fit for service—at the frigate, we embarked in
two six-paddled canoes, Captain Stanhope, his two sons, myself, and six
soldiers in one, and Lieutenant Markham, a sergeant, and eight men in
the other. As we pulled up the river with the flood-tide, we heard a
tremendous fire opened upon the old crumbling walls of the fort, and
then suddenly cease. ‘Ah!’ said Captain Stanhope, ‘they have found
out that the birds are gone.’ We pulled on till the tide turned, and
anchored for the night in a little creek, erected two tents we had
brought with us, and made ourselves comfortable till the turn of the
tide.
“‘This would be a bad adventure a month later,’ said Captain Stanhope
as we rested, the Captain and Lieutenant smoking their pipes. I had not
imbibed that taste, so sat enjoying a bottle of good wine, and thinking
of Cherry Packenham. I asked, ‘Why?’ ‘Because,’ said the Captain, ‘some
of us would be sure to catch the fever, for where we are going the
country is scarcely cleared, and the jungles are pestiferous.’
“‘How far up have our friends gone?’ I demanded.
“‘Perhaps not more than two or three leagues; there is a deserted
village, and plenty of huts which will afford shelter till those
infernal Frenchmen take themselves off. I am sure, having no chance of
plunder, they will be away from this coast in a few days. We shall then
return to the town, and repair the damage.’
“The next morning early we took down our tents, packed up, and started
with the first of the flood. This was a suffocatingly hot day, the
river on both sides covered with an impenetrable jungle. About three
o’clock we came in sight of the clearance, where the huts were; we
saw the canoes all at anchor before the place, and numbers of the
inhabitants crowding down to the river’s bank. ‘There is something
wrong,’ said Captain Stanhope, and we paddled rapidly up. I felt, even
then, I could not say why, unaccountably uneasy. As soon as we reached
the banks, several persons met us, all eager to speak.
“‘What’s the matter? what’s the matter?’ said Captain Stanhope.
“‘We have bad news to tell you, Captain,’ said a gentleman of the name
of Creigh, an Irish settler—‘John Sinclair carried off, in the night,
Colonel Packenham’s two daughters, and the two negro girls.’
“‘Good God!’ I exclaimed, jumping ashore in an agony of mind
indescribable. ‘Has no one pursued them? Which way did they go? Who
helped this villain to commit such an outrage?’
“‘We can’t say,’ said several bystanders; ‘the Colonel slept in one
of the huts, with his daughters, their female attendants, and the
negro Pompey. In the morning the colonel was found gagged and bound,
lying on the floor of the hut, and not a soul else was to be seen. All
the colonel could say was, that in his sleep he was seized, a blanket
forcibly held over his face and head to stifle his shouts; he was then
gagged and bound, and the blanket left round his head; had he not
received assistance he would have been shortly suffocated; he is very
ill!’
“‘Who has gone after the ruffians?’ demanded Captain Stanhope, boiling
with rage.
“‘No one as yet,’ returned several persons, together. ‘Most of the men
have gone across the country to —— to see for provisions; all here are
mostly women and children; we waited till you came up with the men.’
“I requested to be shown where the colonel was, whilst Captain Stanhope
picked out half-a-dozen active men, and three or four active guides.
The captain could not go himself, for he was lame, but his two sons
promised to accompany me in the steamer. It was well known that they
must have been carried off in Sinclair’s boat, for it was gone. In a
most agitated state of mind, I ran to the hut where the colonel was,
and entering, found him in a high fever and quite delirious. The only
medical man we had was with him; nor could we learn anything from his
ravings. It was no use waiting, so in less than two hours we were
ready to start, well armed, for pursuit. Captain Stanhope’s two sons,
Lieutenant Dobbs, and four of his men, and myself, with four good negro
guides, formed the party in pursuit; each carried six rounds of ball
cartridge, and provisions for four days. The provision was very simple,
consisting of merely biscuit, cheese, and gourds full of rum. We could
shoot plenty of game for food if required. It was surmised by Captain
Stanhope that Sinclair would go no farther up the river than —— ——, he
might then carry their boat over a track of land to a lake about two
miles from the river’s brink. This lake was above twenty miles long,
and from it ran a river communicating with the sea. At the mouth of
this river was a negro village, and sometimes vessels touched at this
place. It had been suspected latterly that Sinclair had associates on
the coast, who had a vessel somewhere; at all events, we could easily
see if the boat had been carried over land or abandoned, for the tide
went no higher up the river, and the current without the tide was too
fierce to stem.
“Accordingly, we started in our long light canoe, easy of carriage, and
proceeded up the river, through a wild and entangled country, clothed
with wood and jungle to the very water’s edge, and full of wild beasts.
It was very evident no landing could be effected on either shore,
except at great risks, and quite impossible to force females through.
At length we came to the end of the tide, and to the spot indicated.
Our negroes at once pointed to the cleared space, and on grounding
our canoe, we at once saw the tracks of many feet, also the marks of
hauling a boat up the sloping bank. It was too late to cross to the
lake that day, so the canoe was hauled up, a tent rapidly constructed
of branches of trees and a quantity of matting, brought for that
special purpose.
“With the earliest dawn we commenced our way to the lake, dragging our
canoe over a narrow slip of swampy country. The track of the other
boat and the marks of many feet could also be seen, and amongst them
those of the feet of the two black girls, but no trace of the feet of
the two Misses Packenham, so we conjectured they had been carried in
the boat. It was a dead level, and no doubt at times was overflowed
by either the waters of the lake or the river. About noon we reached
the borders of as dismal and gloomy a lake as could be imagined, the
shores being covered with low entangled masses of vegetation. No trees
or high land on either side, the water black, and a hot breeze swept
over its surface; there were no islands, and its length appeared about
twenty miles, by three and sometime five miles in breadth. From where
we were no river could be seen running into it, and yet it must be fed
by either streams or springs, for the negroes said where it ran into
the sea the stream was broad and rapid, but before reaching the sea
it dwindled away into the several small unnavigable streams, running
through dangerous sands, bordering a safe kind of creek where small
vessels often anchored, and where slaves were often shipped. They also
said that the people were very wild and bad, and would seize and sell
any one they could get for slaves.
“As we launched our canoe, the wind began to blow with great violence
from the sea; we were just at the end of the rainy season. The last
week in October the rains were over, but sudden gales and squalls were
frequent. By keeping close in with the western shore we were enabled
to traverse the lake, but the twenty miles took us till dark, so we
were forced to pull our canoe upon a bank, and make the best shelter
we could for the night, amidst a frightful storm of rain, thunder, and
lightning. The next morning it cleared, but blew tremendously in from
the sea. We resolved to leave our boat, and make for the negro village
on foot across a sandy waste. I was standing on the summit of a small
hillock of sand, gazing in the direction of the negro village, when I
saw a man coming across one of the streams that ran through the sands
towards me. I soon discovered he was a negro with a bandage round his
head; he had no clothing except his waist-cloth: to my intense joy, as
he came nearer I recognised Pompey, Colonel Packenham’s faithful negro.
He recognised me before I knew him, and the poor fellow’s joy was
great. His head and hair were matted with blood. Some of our party soon
joined us. Pompey, in his own way, gave the account of their seizure.
He said he was sleeping, covered with a piece of matting, outside his
master’s hut, and the first thing that woke him was a blow on the head
with a piece of wood, but as he strove to get up, a negro—he saw him
plain enough—struck him senseless with a hatchet: in fact the poor
fellow had a frightful gash in his head. When he recovered he found
himself in a large boat, full of negroes and three white men, with the
Misses Packenham crying bitterly in each other’s arms, and their two
black servants. When he attempted to move, the negroes rowing the boat
kicked and beat him, so he lay still. When they arrived at the halting
place, they stripped him, gave him a cloth and an old piece of canvas
to tie over the bleeding cut in his head, and then dragged the boat
over the land with the two young girls in her; all the rest had to
walk. Pompey was made to assist in dragging the boat; then they passed
down the lake, and got, by pulling the boat through the shallows,
into the creek before the negro town. There was a fine schooner at
anchor before the village, and on board this vessel they carried the
distracted girls, and thrust Pompey into the hold, which was fitted
up for two hundred slaves, of which there were one hundred and thirty
on board. It was a Spanish vessel, and carried twelve hands; sixty or
seventy slaves remained to ship, but from the heavy gale and neglecting
proper precautions, she went ashore from the force of the wind, though
there was no sea; in the confusion Pompey made his escape, with several
other slaves; but they separated before Pompey fell in with us.
“We all now assembled and consulted as to how we should proceed. We
were ten well-armed men; the storm had wonderfully befriended us, for
it was very certain had the schooner remained afloat, it would by this
time have been at sea, and the unfortunate girls lost. It was horrible
to think what might be their fate. As I said, we were ten in all,
well-armed and determined men. We thought it probable that we should
have to contend with the crew of the schooner, and John Sinclair and
his associates; but if we could get at the place where the slaves were
confined—for when the schooner stranded they were taken out of her and
confined in the great sheds erected for the purpose of holding them
till ready to be embarked—by giving them freedom we should greatly
embarrass our enemies. So being resolved, and ready to set out, we
followed Pompey, who undertook to take us round the base of the hill,
so that we should not be perceived till ready to make a rush upon
the sheds. I asked Pompey where he thought the two young ladies were
confined. He said he was sure they were in the cabin of the schooner.
She was, though ashore, nearly upright, but they could not get her off
before the next rise in the tide, and that would not be for four days.
“After an hour’s walking and wading, we got safely to the back of the
hills sheltering the cove and the slave station, and then, by a rugged
path, well known to Pompey—for he himself had once been a prisoner
there and about to be shipped when he escaped—we came nearly in view
of the station, when our ears were saluted by the reports of muskets,
the shouts, cries, and fierce yells of negroes; and, rushing forward,
we beheld below us a scene of indescribable contention. Some two or
three hundred negroes were furiously attacking a number of white men,
who tried to save themselves behind the huts, firing and killing many
of the negroes. With the white men were a number of blacks fighting on
their side. Lying on the beach was the schooner, and on her decks were
several men, trying to bring the two eight-pounders she had on board
to bear upon the liberated slaves, of whom a large party were carrying
combustibles to fire the schooner, which lay high and dry.
“‘Good God!’ I exclaimed, ‘we have no time to lose; the blacks will
fire the schooner; let us make for the vessel.’
“We rushed down the hill, and in five minutes were in the midst of the
conflict. Ten or twelve blacks and three whites lay stark and stiff on
the ground.
“Pompey kept screaming to his countrymen that we were not come against
them, but against Sinclair and the people of the schooner.
“The blacks raised a tremendous yell, and made a rush upon Sinclair
and five white men, who were defending a large shed; but John Sinclair
and his men saw us at once, and levelled their muskets at us as we
advanced, wounding two of our party slightly. They then, cutlass and
pistol in hand, made for the schooner, just as the crew, having brought
the bow gun to act, fired it loaded with grape amongst the infuriated
slaves, killing several and wounding numbers. This only exasperated
them ten-fold. I was the youngest and fastest on foot of our little
band, and, with a cutlass and pistol, I rushed after John Sinclair, to
cut him off before he could get into the schooner. His five companions
were some yards ahead—most anxious to reach the vessel, knowing they
could make a desperate fight of it from her deck. I came within a yard
of him, and, in my bitterness of feeling, I could have shot him, but I
did not. He heard me calling on him, and, turning, deliberately fired
his pistol, with a frightful curse, within a foot of my face. The ball
merely raised the skin of my cheek, and then I made a cut at him with
my cutlass, but he was a strong, powerful man—he knocked up the weapon,
and made a cut at me, but slipped and stumbled. The next instant three
or four negroes threw themselves, with yells horrible to hear, upon
the man, and casting him upon the beach, despite all I could do, beat
his brains out with hatchets; but the same instant the gun from the
schooner was levelled at them, and stretched many of them, bleeding and
wounded, beside their victim. A body of more than one hundred and fifty
negroes now rushed frantically at the schooner; our party, excepting a
few wounds and bruises, were all right, and Lieutenant Dobbs called out
to those on the schooner’s deck to surrender, and give up the two young
ladies on board, and their attendants, or the blacks would fire the
vessel and murder them. Their reply was a volley of oaths and pistol
shots. So we swung ourselves up by the ropes from the bowsprit, the
blacks following, yelling with fury; but the nine men on board did not
stop to resist us—they swung down over the quarters and made a rush for
their boat, launched her, and pulled out into the bay. The schooner was
gained by the maddened negroes, who commenced ransacking every part of
her for spirits, and, having hauled up a cask, they broke in the head,
and, with the yells and shouts of demons, commenced a negro orgie.
“Whilst this was going on, Lieutenant Dobbs and I broke open the
cabin door, which was locked, and a bar placed across it. A cry of
despair came from the cabin; I rushed in, and, with inexpressible
delight, beheld the two sisters locked in each other’s arms, and the
two horrified black girls on their knees beside them. But a faint
light entered the cabin from bulls’ eyes on the deck, the skylight
having been covered over. At first the two girls, who were paralysed
by the firing and the hideous uproar above, did not recognise us as
deliverers, but the sound of my voice re-assured them. Starting up,
they threw themselves into my arms, and embraced me as a brother, with
hysterical emotion, and bursting into a flood of tears.
“Pompey came rushing into the cabin, saying—‘Massa, massa, be quick; de
fire de ship, and turn debbles wid drink; de turn and kill us, may be!’
The men above called out also to be quick, for the negroes were raving
mad, and had set fire to the fore-cabin of the schooner.
“Having assured the terrified girls that their father was alive and
quite safe—I did not like to say he was in a fever—we hurried on deck.
It was a scene of horror. The negroes had drunk the spirit as if it
were water; some howling and yelling, leaping about the deck, others
lying about stupefied. Flames were coming up from the fore-cabin, and a
set of drunken negroes were dancing around it, hand in hand, screaming
and yelling.
“‘We must be off this instant,’ said Henry Stanhope; ‘they will surely
turn upon us, if only one black rascal gives the signal. We have ropes
ready to lower the females over the side.’
“In a few minutes the men flung themselves over the side, whilst
Lieutenant Dobbs and I lowered the almost fainting girls, when, as
Henry Stanhope expected, two or three of the drunken wretches cried
out, ‘Let us kill the whites; don’t let them have the women.’ This
was in their own language, which of course I did not understand, but
Pompey, in his way, told us what they said. However, we all got out of
the schooner safely—her fore-mast, rigging, and sails a sheet of flame.
The negroes, all that could, threw themselves pell-mell over the side,
for it was getting too hot for them, whilst we, supporting and partly
carrying the poor girls, hurried from the place, avoiding the huts, and
making the best of our way to our boat, which we reached at night-fall,
thanking God that we had so fortunately succeeded in rescuing the
Misses Packenham, and escaped from the drunken fury of the liberated
slaves.”