I SUSPECT TREACHERY
The night we stood in for settlement, there was a bright moon nearly
full. We could hear the snore of the surf before midnight, and we
shortened the barque down to her topsails in order not to go too fast.
The breeze was fitful and squally off the land as usual, and bringing
with it the thick haze of pollen from the rank vegetation on shore. The
air being hot, the watch below stayed on deck and lay in the waterway or
behind the deck-house, trying to catch the draught blown on the deck
from the stretched canvas as it slid under the foot of the main and
foresails.
Martin was lying in the shadow of the foremast to keep the moon out of
his eyes, and he shifted his position every little while as the bright
light followed him around the mast. Beside him lay Anderson, and near
by, in the open moonlight, in total disregard for his eyes, was
stretched the long skipper, Shannon, prone upon his back, with his shirt
open to catch the breeze.
I sat near the fore-hatchway and watched the shadow of the fabric above
swing to and fro upon the deck planks, the lines of the rigging standing
out sharp and black on the white wood, the dark blots of the canvas
moving slowly within a certain radius with each easy roll of the long
swell. It was a bright tropic moon, and it was serenely beautiful. I
lounged there, enjoying the silvery light, and hated to sleep lest I
miss some of the rare beauty of the darker hours.
Gradually the men on watch settled themselves comfortably, and only the
steady tramp of the man on lookout upon the forecastle head, and
Hawkson’s step upon the poop told of life aboard. Once or twice the
mate’s hoarse voice sounded gruffly, asking Holmberg, who was at the
wheel, how she headed, and the answer came low and distinct through the
quiet night. The musical hiss and twinkle of the side-wash sounded
restful upon the ear after the day’s toil and heat, and seemed to tell
of cool sprays. I had the right to sleep, but only dozed, thinking of
the disagreeable work in store for us. We would probably take on many
blacks here, and nearly, if not quite, fill up with them. Those already
aboard gave forth an odour that was far from reassuring, coming as it
did up the open hatchway, and I dreaded several hundred more creatures
jammed below there, where they must of necessity die like vermin in a
box.
While I dozed, I became aware of a whispered conversation. Soon I
recognized Martin’s voice, though I could not quite hear his words. He
seemed to be talking to Shannon, who had now rolled over in the shadow
of the mast alongside of the Scot.
I listened again, for the fellow’s voice was eager, as it was when he
talked of any deviltry he expected to enjoy, and I noticed the same tone
he used to me when we first made our acquaintance, and when we discussed
the probability of the barque becoming a rover and preying upon any
vessel of smaller size.
“D’ye ken that? I say, ye long man, d’ye ken that?” said he in answer to
a question he had evidently asked. “’Tis as easy fer us as not. There’s
Anderson waiting to kill the mate, an’ Jorg willin’ to kill any one, and
there’s Pat, Gus, Gilbert, an’ the Doctor willin’ to follow. Hoot! we’d
make a finish, na fear. Why, ye c’u’d whollop half the crew yerself, ye
long cateran. Didn’t ye nigh do it the day ye made yer jump into the
hooker? Help ye? Now, now, c’u’d I have helped ye? Na, na, don’t ask
mericles. I let fly the jib, but ’twould have been murder an’ sudden
death to have gone aft then. All armed, an’ with that gunner man
fightin’ like a sack o’ wildcats, an’ the little fox havin’ a death-grip
on yer pipe. Talk sense an’ to the p’int.”
“You air a loose-jawed hell-dog, I wanter know,” said Shannon. “D’you
suppose it’s fear a-keepin’ me, hey? What’d you know about the coast,
anyways? What’d you want to try an’ tell me?” Then in a more friendly
tone: “I know you air a navigator. Good sailor, all right, an’ would
stick to a job, but there is a right time for business. I’m a-runnin’
this thing, an’ all you’ve got to do is wait till I says the word. I
think a whole lot o’ ye, Martin, an’ would hate to see you swing. There
ain’t no one I cares as much for, that’s a fact. An’ when a fellow like
me cares for a man,--I say a man, Martin, for that’s what you are, hey?
When a fellow like me says that, that same thing, it stands fer
something. If it don’t, I wanter know.”
This sort of flattery evidently pleased the Scot. He said something in a
low tone, and I felt convinced that he was easily within the power of
the long countryman of mine. It’s strange, but immediately after hearing
this, I must have lost consciousness, for when I awoke it was gray dawn
and a chill filled the air. The watch was called, and I turned out by
simply standing up and then sitting down again.
In a little while we washed down the damp decks, and I had a chance to
get a look to the northeast, when the haze of the surf blotted out the
shore-line. By the time the Doctor had his fire started and we had
something warm, the sun rose and disclosed the ruinous settlement of
Lagos.
The conversation I had heard disturbed me. There was something sinister
in its meaning, and, while I had no love for the barque, I did not care
to make a bad matter worse. However, I had no chance to talk the matter
over until we had run in and dropped our anchor close to the settlement,
and there Yankee Dan appeared on deck ready to go ashore for trading.
Howard and Curtis also turned out, and Miss Allen appeared at the
companion, very much interested in the distant shore, where the houses
were just visible in the morning sunshine.
She smiled somewhat sadly at me as I went aft and loosed the covers from
the stern guns, and saw that the priming was in good order. I had begun
to think the poor girl out of place long before, and I now felt a sort
of hatred for her father, who could expose her to such scenes without
any apparent pity. But the trader had become callous from experience in
the slaving business, and saw nothing unusual in cooping up a shipful of
human beings. They were no more than so many cattle to him, and, as to
his daughter’s feelings, he had offered her a chance to stay ashore. If
she preferred the scenes of violence, it was no concern of his.
Before I had a chance to see Hawkson, the shore boat was called away.
Bill, Jones, Jennings, and myself manned the whale-boat, and we were
soon heading in over the swell for the slave factory that was known to
exist a short distance inland. Hicks and Gull accompanied the trader
ashore, and the latter stood at the steering-oar to pilot us through the
surf. In spite of the calm weather in the Bight of Benin, there is
sometimes a heavy swell that sets in from many miles offshore, where
some passing disturbance of the atmosphere has caused a heavy blow. The
swell is long and heaving, and not so easily noticed until it begins to
rise in the shoal water. Then its size develops, and it goes up in a
wall until the top breaks and the whole mass goes roaring shoreward in a
great smother of foam. From the sea side, the height of the breakers is
hard to judge, and they are very apt to be underestimated on a calm day.
Mr. Gull stood up as we neared the first line of snoring water, and I
could see by his face that he was a bit nervous. This had its effect on
me, for no one with any nervousness should attempt to go through a heavy
surf. The situation calls for absolute coolness.
“Easy now,” came the order, and we lay waiting for a smooth spell. By
some strange freak of nature, seas always roll in sequences. That is,
they will run in twos and three or sixes and nines, with a “smooth”
between. A surfman will always watch to see how they are running before
going in. Gull counted three heavy fellows that roared and thundered in
a most appalling manner, and then, grasping the long steering-oar
firmly, sung out to give way lively.
We went racing for the beach, and were doing well when, on looking over
the stern, I saw an enormous sea rising and coming quickly after us. It
rose like a wall astern and towered above the boat. Then instantly it
broke with a roar and rush, and we were hurled before it. Gull tried to
hold her true, keeping her stern to the surge, but she took a slew and
the oar broke. Then she swung sideways and rolled over and over with the
rush, and when I came to the surface of the foam, half-strangled by
being so quickly rolled out of the boat, she lay bottom up some ten
fathoms distant, floating in the smother.
No one was visible, and I struck out for the craft, as there was no
bottom and the beach was fifty fathoms distant. Suddenly I saw Bill
spattering and struggling, trying to reach the wreck, but showing
plainly that he could not swim a stroke. Ernest suddenly appeared
alongside of him, and, being able to swim after a fashion, he aided him
to reach the gunwale, where both held on firmly, ducking the following
seas that flowed over them.
Jennings managed to keep his grip on the boat, and was alongside,
holding on, when I noticed a form floating face downward pass me.
I was a fairly good swimmer, although it is a strange fact that few real
sailormen can swim at all. I grasped the body and lifted the head clear
of the water with my hand just as another sea broke heavily over me,
dragging and crushing me down with its weight.
My heart seemed bursting when I arose, still holding the insensible man,
and my first intake of breath nearly strangled me. However, I was a
powerful fellow, and in a few strokes managed to get started for the
upturned boat that now floated some distance nearer shore.
In a few minutes I reached her, and Bill relieved me for a moment while
I passed a line over the craft’s bottom. On the other side I found Jones
and Yankee Dan both safe and holding on. Together we managed to hold
Hicks, whom I now recognized, clear of the water. He had been struck on
the head by the boat or an oar and knocked insensible. Gull was nowhere
about, and for some time we gave him up for lost, but he had swum in on
a broken thwart.
In a little while we heard shouting, and saw him standing on the sand
with a couple of black fellows, who, at his direction, plunged in and
came toward us. The negroes helped us ashore, and we hauled the boat up
clear of the surf. It was a close call, and Hicks still appeared either
dead or senseless. We carried him up the beach and laid him under a
palm, and set to work chafing his wrists and ankles.
In a little while he opened his eyes and noticed me.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, faintly, trying to sit up. Bill caught
his head and held it, while Gull passed his arm under him.
“Trying to quit the expedition,” said Yankee Dan, bluffly. “You were
trying to leave us, my boy, but this fellow, Heywood, here, nabbed you
in time, and swam in to the boat with you. Otherwise you’d ’a’ been
drowned, an’ that’s a fact. You’d ’a’ been drowned sure.”
Hicks looked at me seriously for some moments and then spoke:
“It’s hard to owe one’s life to a fool, but here’s my hand, Heywood,”
said he, with a faint smile.
“It’s as hard to acknowledge the favour from one, sir,” I answered, with
some little feeling, but then I remembered the time at Funchal, and I
smiled and held out my hand, which he grasped firmly, and rose to his
feet.
Sir John Hicks was a man of rather unsavoury reputation, but he was not
a man who would be gross enough to forget.