THE STRANGE BRIG
We reached the brig’s side, and a surly voice hailed us. “Whatcher
want?” it said, in the deep baritone of the typical Yankee bos’n.
“Hoot, ye Yankee,” cried Martin, “we’ve come visitin’, d’ye ken that?
A-visitin’, an’, if ye be so hospitable as ye have no reason t’ be,
we’re dommed welcome. If we ain’t, I’ll ask ye to show us cause why, an’
maybe I ken prove ye’re wrong by the strength o’ logic,” and he held up
two brawny hands like the paws of a tiger.
“Well, I don’t keer to have no drunken louts aboard this here vessel,”
said the fellow, leaning over the rail so that I could get a glimpse of
him. “Ef yer got any money, sing out whatcher want. This here’s a honest
trading-brig, an’ kin give ye all a good nip o’ prime American whiskey
for a mighty low price.”
The man was quite uncommon-looking. He must have stood six feet six, and
was as lean as a flagstaff. His face was lined and burned, as though
used to a tropical sun, and his eyes were faded and yellow.
“Ye be a rare raskil, an’ that’s a fact,” said Martin. “Is there
anything ye widna do for the coin? Bide a bit, and let us coom aboard.
’Tis liquor I crave for the sake of me system.”
We ran the dingey alongside and prepared to mount the channels to the
deck, but, on looking up, we noticed the long man had not moved or
spoken, but had drawn forth a huge horse-pistol, which he poked over the
rail.
“Youst hold on a bit with that,” said Bill. “We know you’re a trader all
right by the smell o’ yer. We ain’t no men-o’-war’s men, so what’s that
got to do with us?”
The tall man looked thoughtfully along the barrel of the weapon, and
then put it out of sight. “Wall, come up, then, if ye know the smell so
well.”
Thus invited, we quickly made our way aboard, and lost no time in
purchasing some of the “good American whiskey,” which turned out to be
the worst stuff afloat.
All idea of changing ships left me as I stepped on deck. She was without
doubt a slaver, bound out in the same rascally enterprise we were. But,
as she carried the American flag, she was free from British men-of-war,
and consequently less afraid of detection. For, although slaving was now
a piracy, no British ship could take her without slaves aboard, and
there were only two or three small American cruisers in the South
Atlantic, and these were too slow to capture a very fast ship. I
wondered why Hawkson allowed us aboard her, knowing well that we were
almost sure to tell of our affairs. Then I remembered his request to
note her armament and crew.
The latter we found just below the hatches, all armed to the teeth with
pistols, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes, awaiting the word of their
captain to spring on deck and defend their ship should occasion arise.
Our boat was a suspicious object that the long skipper had been watching
for some time, and believed there was some game behind our innocent
call. The six little guns on each broadside were all loaded, and we
found that she would clear just as soon as water could be brought
aboard.
After the men--there were twenty-six in all--had put aside their arms
and received us as companions, we had the usual sailors’ orgy before
starting back. Yarns were told, and, if ever there was a crew of unhung
rascals, these self-confessed villains would have formed them.
Martin seemed pleased at last to find men who stopped at nothing, and
before he left was talking piracy, and begging some of the hardiest to
join him. He was very drunk, however, and his railings were counted as
little, but I knew that he was really speaking, as drunken men often do,
from their inmost hearts. One great hulking fellow, with red whiskers,
took a little with the scheme, and another man, an Italian sailor,
looked a bit queer about the eyes when the Scot talked of gold. The long
skipper heard nothing of their ravings, for, after allowing us aboard
the vessel, he retired to the cabin, where his mates were waiting to see
the outcome of the visit. When they saw we were really only four
able-bodied men of a strange barque, their interest appeared to fade
away entirely. We finally shoved off, dizzy and sick with the poison
imbibed, myself thoroughly disgusted with the slaver’s crew, and Martin
and Ernest inviting them to a meeting ashore.
Hawkson took me aside when we returned, and asked a few questions. My
disgust for my countrymen was too apparent not to be noticed, and the
mate evidently thought it safe to trust me now anywhere, for I was
allowed ashore again that evening.
Our liberty crews were unique and grotesque. There was little care for
desertion, evidently on account of Henry’s ability to get the deserters
without trouble from any island where access to the mainland could only
be had by some large vessel that could be easily seen. And, as we were
mongrel in the extreme, there was much to be expected from mixture.
Bill declared he should get very drunk at once on the wine he had heard
so much about but never had tasted, and Martin declared he would do
anything a true Christian sailor might be expected to do. His chum,
Anderson, was surly and fierce, on account of his recent ill-treatment
aboard, and talked openly of killing any one of our officers he might
meet on the beach. Watkins had gone in the captain’s gig to attend to
getting fresh provisions for the after-guard, and the black Doctor came
with us, for it was to be our last run ashore, as we would clear at
once. The signal had been set and a gun fired for the crew on the
Desertas, and all was ready again for our voyage. The goats’ and hogs’
meat would be ready to be pickled, and would be stowed at sea.
We landed on the beach, and a crowd of the strangely dressed natives
offered to pilot us around to see the town of Funchal. The men wore
tight knee-breeches, and their thin, bare legs sticking out of enormous
boots looked remarkably queer. A pair of them insisted on joining us, in
spite of Martin’s threat and the Doctor’s pugnacity, and, after a
scuffle or two, we let them lead the way to town. Our other boats had
rowed up.
Hawkson had detained only Jorg and a couple of Swedes aboard, and I
wondered vaguely if it were well to be so short-handed should a British
man-of-war rise above the horizon. I did not know whether or not we
could be taken, for, although English built, we were evidently under
Yankee Dan’s charter. Still there must certainly be considerable
treasure aboard, in order to do the trading, and, if searched and
captured, there was a strong probability of losing it.
We finally reached the sailors’ harbour, that is, a wine-shop, and
because I had not forgotten the effects of the last carouse I had in
Nassau, I refused to drink. The swinish crew insisted, and the Doctor
wished to know why I would not drink with him.
“Disha nigger’s as good as any white man, an’, if I am a slave, I belong
to er man wat’s er m-a-an, an’ he’s done quit drinkin’ milk. I never did
think much of you nohow, an’ I kin lick yo’ fur tuppence, dat I kin,”
said he, advancing and showing his ugly, sharp teeth.
There was no earthly use of starting a fight, and there was little glory
in handling a man who was bound by law to submit to the white man’s
will. I therefore left the crowd and went alone through the town, hoping
to see something besides debauch.
I strolled through the quaint streets, attracting more or less
attention, and somehow I found myself straying in the direction of the
inn where Yankee Dan and his daughter were staying. Then I began to feel
a bit ashamed of my appearance, for, although I rated a gunner, and
therefore a petty officer, I was dressed but little better than an
average sailor, and my linen, though put on fresh for the beach, was not
what I wished it to be. I soon recognized the place, and looked to see
Mr. Curtis around, but he was evidently with the captain and Dan, making
a settlement for the spars we had shipped, and fixing the barque’s
papers.
I caught sight of the flutter of a dress on the broad loggia, and then
saw Miss Allen sitting there in the breeze. An unaccountable impulse
made me stop and head directly toward her, for she was the only thing
that relieved the coarseness and roughness of the life I had led aboard
the barque.
“Good evening, Miss Allen,” I said, stopping just in front of her.
“Good evening, John,” she answered, kindly, as if addressing an old
servant, and she smiled and laid aside her book.
The tone disturbed me. Had she shown any interest besides that for a
hopelessly familiar chat from a superior point of view, I might have
passed on and nothing would have happened. As it was, my spirit rose a
bit.
“I am as well as any man can be who is fastened to a ship he would like
to get clear of,” said I, and walked boldly upon the porch where she
sat.
“I wonder you can get along anywhere with your amazing impudence,” she
answered. “Can you tell me what you would have me do to alleviate your
suffering? If papa saw you here talking to me like this, I think you
would even care less for a voyage with him in _The Gentle Hand_.”
“Hang your--I was about to say your father,” I answered, “but as this
fate is liable to overtake all the men concerned, it would be unwise to
tempt Providence. I didn’t come here, however, to carry tales to his
daughter.”
“Will you kindly state just what brought you, then? You are an American,
John, and I’m interested in you to that extent.”
“That is most kind,” I answered, “and I will make it perfectly plain
before I leave.” Here I drew up a chair, and sat quietly down at a
respectful distance. Her eyebrows raised a trifle at this action, and
her smile hardened a bit, but I was aroused now and I paid no further
attention to mere details.