WHAT HAPPENED IN MADEIRA
The days following that storm were full of labour for all on board the
barque. Rigging a jury maintopmast, and securing the yards that had
remained fast to the line ahead, and which had acted as a sea anchor or
drag and thereby saved us, we made the best of our way to Madeira. The
voyage was uneventful and long, owing to our wrecked condition, but it
ended at last.
During the days of toil the temper of the men grew worse, and at one
time Martin and Anderson began to talk pretty freely in the watch below.
Howard tied the Scandinavian up in the rigging, and was about to use
even more severe methods, but Hawkson and Hicks prevailed. He was
apprised of the murmurings forward by his steward, Watkins, who took
care he lost very little of what went on.
Hawkson and Hicks, backed by Mr. Gull and Henry, however, knew that to
precipitate trouble would ruin whatever prospects the voyage still held,
and they made it plain to the trader that his influence was also
necessary to curb the captain’s temper. Together they held him in check,
and we made harbour without coming to desperate measures.
The behaviour of Mr. Curtis after the storm was most peculiar. He prayed
very often, and seemed to develop a most pious disposition. This went to
the extent of asking permission to have the men mustered on Sundays, so
that by standing on the break of the poop he could address and harangue
them upon religious matters.
The idea tickled Howard so keenly that he not only agreed to it, but
insisted that it should happen twice a week until the men were in better
temper. It was being enforced when the towering sides of Pico Ruivo rose
above the eastern horizon.
Miss Allen had not been especially impressed by these harangues, and
this day joined Hicks upon the poop, while the affair took place. Hicks
had been below, but had appeared forward talking confidentially to
Martin, and had passed a package which the brawny Scot had taken below
very hurriedly just as all hands mustered. When Hicks reached the poop,
coming up the cabin companion, we were already standing under the break,
lounging in various attitudes of inattention.
I hardly remember what Mr. Curtis said on this occasion, but he pointed
to the distant mountains and waxed very eloquent. We had seen this land
before, but he had not.
“It is the prayers of us poor sinners,” said he, stretching forth his
hand, “that has at last saved our barque from storm and calm. We are
poor, weak mortals, and must ask for help.”
“Who calls er mon like me er weak mortil, hey?” came a voice from the
crowd, and there stood Martin, the empty bottle in hand, his eyes shifty
and dangerous.
“I’m a true Christian man, d’ye ken that, an’ if ye dare say I be ither,
I’ll wallop ye like er babe.”
Curtis was off the poop in an instant, and there was a mix-up that
promised much in the way of diversion, for whatever our preacher lacked,
it was not a quick temper. He seized the tipsy Scot by the hair with
both hands, and, in spite of the hoots and wallops he received, was
making a very fair job of him when Jones and Henry separated them.
Howard stood on the poop and cackled away, enjoying the scene, refusing
to do anything to Martin unless Curtis ordered it. This the younger
man’s vanity would not permit, and upon the whole it was just as well,
for it made the feeling a little less uncomfortable forward, which was a
good thing for a vessel going into a harbour where crews might be
scarce.
There was some hesitancy on Hawkson’s part about going in with such a
large crew, for trading-vessels generally were not heavily manned. It
might create enough comment to attract the attention of a man-of-war,
and even though our papers might be fixed satisfactorily, a boarding of
the barque would be hazardous to a slaving enterprise. At all events, it
was decided that Mr. Gull should take a boat’s crew and land upon the
Desertas, the rocks about a dozen miles to the southward. Here they
would kill as many wild goats and hogs as they could, and await the
barque’s signal before venturing in, bucanning the meat for the voyage
back.
We soon anchored in the open roadstead not very far from the beach. The
town of Funchal lay before us to the north’ard, its terraces and
vineyards rising from the water up the steep sides of the mountains. A
very pretty place it was, and in a short time the captain’s gig was
called away to take him ashore. Richards silently brought the boat to
the ladder, and sat stiff and motionless, a regular man-o’-war
cockswain. The whole after-guard, except Henry and Watkins, clambered
into the boat, Yankee Dan and his daughter accompanied by Hicks and
Curtis.
The old trader had been somewhat subdued in spirits during the latter
part of the trip across, owing to our loss of gear and the leaky
condition of the vessel. Now he spoke with his usual spirits, which rose
as the distance between him and the shore lessened.
“Sink me!” said he, “if I don’t try to show these dagoes how to drive a
trade for them topmasts.”
“I wouldn’t, if you intend staying ashore,” said Hicks.
“Will I stay ashore?” said Miss Allen.
“Until we can ship you to the Continent,” said her father. “It won’t be
long before we put you and Curtis aboard some ship for Havre. Then
you’ll both be safe.”
I had realized before this that Mr. Curtis was looked to as the fowl who
was laying the golden egg for the enterprise, while Dan was to do the
trading. His daughter was the principal tie between them, and she was,
doubtless, the innocent lever the trader had used to get the younger man
interested in slaving. It looked as if there would soon be a marriage.
The girl had nodded to me as I took the stroke oar, and I will admit I
felt interested in her future. Whatever Sir John Hicks felt, he kept it
well to himself, for he joined the conversation right merrily, although
his behaviour toward Mr. Curtis was unnecessarily polite. We rowed
swiftly over the swell of the blue roadstead, and ran the boat’s nose
upon the sand, the light surf splashing into the stern-sheets just
enough to cause some scrambling for dry places. Then the boat was
surrounded by natives, who plunged into the water regardless of their
white breeches, and offered to carry the passengers ashore.
Jones and myself, however, placed a short board for Miss Allen to sit
upon, and then raised it to the height of our shoulders with her upon
it, bearing her aloft, while she gave a bit of a scream and fastened her
fingers in our hair for support. Then we strode ashore to the dry beach
above high water, with small regard for the scowling dagoes who failed
to earn their silver.
The rest were so busily engaged in getting ashore dry that they failed
to note that I seized the little hand upon my head and kissed it
fervently, much to Big Jones’s delight and the young lady’s
embarrassment.
“You know what they’d do to you if they knew you were so rude,” said
she, flushing.
“I’ve risked death for less pleasure,” said I, touching my forehead.
“Then the fool-killer surely was not in the neighbourhood. You forget
your position,” said she, haughtily.
“I was a mate once,” I answered.
“Well, you’re not now. If it were not that Sir John--I mean, Mr. Curtis
would kill you, I should report your insolence.”
“’Tis a small deed to die for,” said I, “and, if I must go, perhaps I
had better make my end doubly certain--”
At this moment Yankee Dan’s voice called, and I turned in time to see
him approaching.
Jones, who had walked toward the boat, glanced back uneasily at me, but
I touched my forelock, having no cap, and left Miss Allen. The big
Welshman did not hear all of our conversation, but, lest he retail part
of it to the men, I took the trouble to make it plain to him that such a
trick would be reckoned as a great discourtesy to the lady and myself,
and that a necessary settlement would therefore take place. Jones, in
spite of his size, was a man of keen discernment and not without
discretion. He was silent.
As the island was well wooded with fine large trees, it was but a short
time before we had our topmasts on the beach ready to take aboard and
set up. Jorg took charge of the spars, and we floated them alongside and
hoisted them on deck, where he at once set to work upon them. Much of
the ironwork from the wreck we had saved, and this shortened the job
very considerably. Within a week from the day we dropped anchor,
gant-lines were rigged and the new spars sent aloft. The backstays were
then set up and the t’gallant-masts were sent up, one of these having
been saved from the wreck and the other cut ashore.
The work of rigging kept all hands busy day and night, so we saw little
of the town of Funchal. We went ashore once to buy a second-hand suit of
t’gallantsails and royals, which were to be used as good weather canvas,
and have an old maintop-sail recut, but there was little time even for
sampling the wines I had heard so much about.
While we lay there, a large American brig came in and anchored near us.
She was evidently a trader by her look, and by her build and rig she
appeared very fast and rakish. She flew the American ensign, and I was
interested in her. As soon as we had a little respite from rigging, I
asked permission to visit the stranger, and, to my surprise, it was
granted. Neither Hawkson nor Howard appeared the least interested in the
vessel, and had neither received a visit from her captain nor made a
visit to him. When Bill, Ernest, Martin, and myself took the small boat
that evening and started over to her, Hawkson called me aside.
“Take a peep below hatches if ye get the chance, and see what sort o’
guns she carries. Maybe ye’ll care to change ships,” said he, with his
ugly smile.
As something of this nature had really been finding place in my mind, I
suppose I flushed a bit. I had intended to desert, should the brig clear
first, for slaving was no more to my taste now than formerly. From
Richards’s silent behaviour I felt that I would not have to go alone,
and I intended to broach the subject to the bos’n that very night.
“All right,” I answered, with a sinking of spirits I tried to conceal.
“I’ll search her if I get the chance.”
What Hawkson meant was evident as soon as we came within a half-mile of
her to leeward. A most horrible odour, peculiar and penetrating, seemed
to come from her. I had never known it before, but Bill stopped rowing
at once and turned toward her.
“Niggers,” said he, spitting in disgust.
“Aboard of her?” I asked.
“Not youst now, maybe, but she’s been full of niggers more’n once.
There’s youst a smell left behind, and it never leaves.”