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Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
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THE BLACK BARQUE
A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship
=Gentle Hand=
on Her Last African Cruise
A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship
=Gentle Hand=
on Her Last African Cruise
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Works of
T. JENKINS HAINS
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The Windjammers $1.50
The Black Barque 1.50
The Voyage of the Arrow 1.50
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L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
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“SPRANG WITH THE EASE OF A CAT UPON OUR POOP-RAIL.”
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
Black Barque
A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship
Gentle Hand
on Her Last African Cruise
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By
T. JENKINS HAINS
AUTHOR OF
“THE STRIFE OF THE SEA,” “THE WIND-JAMMERS,” ETC.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
=Illustrated by=
W. HERBERT DUNTON
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: colophon]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Copyright_, 1905
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
---
_All rights reserved_
Published February, 1905
Fifth Impression, March, 1908.
_COLONIAL PRESS_
_Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO THE
MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER
=Thornton Jenkins=
REAR-ADMIRAL UNITED STATES NAVY
AND HIS COUSIN
=Sir Robert Jenkins, K.C.B.=
VICE-ADMIRAL ROYAL NAVY
WHOSE SERVICES TO THE BLACK MAN SHOULD NOT
BE FORGOTTEN
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
--------------
PAGE
I. I SEEK A NEW SHIP 1
II. CAPTAIN HOWARD 8
III. THE BARQUE 18
IV. SHANGHAIED 30
V. IN THE FO’C’SLE 39
VI. I BECOME “COCK OF THE WALK” 48
VII. TWO KINDS OF HAND-SHAKES 55
VIII. OUR BOS’N 65
IX. I MAKE ANOTHER FRIEND 72
X. YANKEE DAN AND HIS DAUGHTER 81
XI. WE MAKE A DAY OF IT 92
XII. HOW THE DAY ENDED 100
XIII. A SURPRISING SALUTE 107
XIV. I DECIDE TO LEAVE THE BARQUE 117
XV. OTHERS DECIDE OTHERWISE 128
XVI. A TASTE OF COLD IRON 135
XVII. SIR JOHN AND MISS ALLEN 144
XVIII. THE BARQUE HAS ILL LUCK 152
XIX. AND STILL MORE ILL LUCK 162
XX. WHAT HAPPENED IN MADEIRA 171
XXI. THE STRANGE BRIG 180
XXII. “STAND TO IT!” 188
XXIII. WHAT THE CAPTAIN’S CHEST HELD 198
XXIV. THE CAPTAIN SHOWS HIS METTLE 207
XXV. WE HEAR OF LONG TOM 218
XXVI. WE REPEL BOARDERS 225
XXVII. OUR CAPTIVE 233
XXVIII. MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF SLAVERY 241
XXIX. WE LAY IN OUR CARGO 248
XXX. I SUSPECT TREACHERY 254
XXXI. I MEET CORTELLI 264
XXXII. OPEN MUTINY 273
XXXIII. THE FIGHT ON DECK 280
XXXIV. THE CARGO BREAKS LOOSE 288
XXXV. OUR LAST CHANCE 296
XXXVI. THE END OF THE BLACK BARQUE 305
XXXVII. THE LAST STRAND OF MY YARN 313
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SHIP’S COMPANY
OF THE
=Gentle Hand=
OFFICERS
WILLIAM HOWARD, master.
RICHARD HAWKSON, first officer.
JOHN GULL, second officer.
SHERMAN HENRY, third officer.
CREW
PETER RICHARDS, American, boatswain.
JOHN HEYWOOD, American, gunner (who relates the story).
_Able Seamen_ │ _Ordinary Seamen_
TIM, American │JOHNSON, Dane
BILL, Norwegian │JONES, Welshman
HELIGOLAND, Norwegian │ANDERSON, Swede
GUINEA, Dago │HOLMBERG, Swede
ERNEST, German │JENNINGS, Dutch
MARTIN, Scotch │PETE, Dago
JOHNS, German │TOM, Cockney
JORG, Finn │JIM, Englishman
PAT, Irishman │GILBERT, half-breed Kanaka
GUS, Swede │JOHNSON, Norwegian
│PACETTI, Dago
-------
WATKINS, steward │THE “DOCTOR,” cook
OWNERS AND PASSENGERS
YANKEE DAN, of Nassau, trader (Daniel Allen).
ROSE ALLEN, his daughter.
LORD RENSHAW, an outcast from society, with money in the
enterprise.
SIR JOHN HICKS, bankrupt, engaged in the slave traffic.
MR. CURTIS, engaged in the slave traffic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BLACK BARQUE
CHAPTER I.
I SEEK A NEW SHIP
When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift
upon that port’s dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served
in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French
privateers and had fought under Napoleon’s eagles. The peace that had
followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant
sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of
support.
I had come over from the States in an old tub of a barque called the
_Washington_, after having served as mate for two years on the schooner
_General Greene_. The war had taught me something, for I had served in
the navy in one of the South Pacific cruises, and had fought in the
frigate _Essex_. I was only a boy in years, but the service--and other
matters hardly worth mentioning here--had hardened my nature and
developed the disagreeable side of my character. I was mate of the old
hooker, and could have made out well enough if the captain hadn’t been
somewhat down on me, for I never cared especially for women, and I
believed my experience justified my opinion of them,--but no matter.
The old man seemed to think I couldn’t be happy without thrashing every
day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell
me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not
sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and
discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small
experience.
We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas
was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my
failings.
The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough,
so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the
prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third
mate, who was the captain’s son.
It wasn’t the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the
outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very
pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main
deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me.
They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him
instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I
didn’t care very much.
The only man aboard who seemed interested to any extent was old
Richards, the second mate. Richards had served on the frigate _Essex_ in
her famous cruise, and after the war he had chosen to try his hand in
merchant ships, for the change of the man-o’-war’s man’s life from
action to slothful peace had been too much for him. Silent and
thoughtful, he had listened to me and was pained at my speech. He was
called old Richards because of his quiet manner, although he was not
much over thirty-five, and I bore with his sour looks while I went to
the quarter-deck to finish my little say with the skipper.
As an American man-o’-war’s man, it was my duty to invite the captain
ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best
natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two
years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my
argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand
against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To
lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and,
sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore
and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence.
I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it,
while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the
nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome
to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the
muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning
my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I
thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and
return.
I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had
lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor
has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the
pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed
busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog
that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends
upon its finding something it is not looking for.
“Bon jaw,” he said.
I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face.
“I’m a Yankee sailor,” said I, “and if you want any business with me
you’ll have to speak something I understand. And besides,” I added,
edging closer to him, “I don’t allow fellows to talk about me in a
foreign language,--unless I’ve got a good reason to think they’re saying
something truthful. You savvey? Or I’ll make a handsome monkey of you by
changing that figurehead you’ve got there.”
A sudden scowl came over the fellow’s face and went again. “I kin give
you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do
you a favour.”
“‘Virtue is its own reward,’” I said, reaching into my pocket as though
for a piece of money. “Cast loose!”
“It’s on account of that reward I reckon you don’t practise it,” grinned
the fellow. “Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--”
“Shut up!” I snapped. “If you are an American or English, let’s have
your lay.
“Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that’s your game, you better
slant away. Don’t you see I’ve enough ship for the rest of my life,
hey?”
The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through
mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me
again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an
unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any
movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They
were enormous.
“Look a-here now, don’t you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all
these here swabs a-looking on? You look like you had sense enough to go
below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there’s a ship
without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you’ll come
go along with me, an’ talk the matter over, there’ll be no harm done
except to the spirruts,--an’ they’s free.”
I was very thirsty and could talk no French, so, more to be guided to a
place to quench my thirst on good ale than by curiosity, I allowed him
to lead me up the dock. I noticed several of the loungers upon the
pier-head scowl at me as I went my way, and one tall, fierce-looking
fellow, who had been glancing at me frequently, gradually fell away from
the group of loafers and strolled up behind us. I paid no further
attention to these fellows, but, as I reached the street with its babble
of unfamiliar language, a sudden feeling came upon me. I don’t know what
it was, but I was only a boy, and the future seemed dark and lonely. I
turned and looked back at the _Washington_. She was the only thing
American in sight, and the months I spent aboard her were not to be
thrust aside lightly. They had all been too full of work and sorrow.
“Good-bye, old barkey,” I cried, holding my right hand high
up,--“good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you.”
I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He
was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to
this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his
eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man
gave a sneer.
“Very sentimental and proper feeling,” said he. “A ship’s like a person,
more or less, an’ when one gets used to her he don’t like to give her
up.”
“What do you know about sentiment, you swine?” I asked, fiercely. “I’ve
a good notion to whang you for your insolence.”
“A very fine spirit,” he commented, as though to himself, as he walked
ahead, “a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here’s the
ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better.”