I MEET CORTELLI
While the trader, Mr. Gull, and Hicks were ashore, there was no chance
whatever of communicating any of my suspicions concerning Martin and
Shannon. Just what these rascals intended to do was certainly a matter
of doubt, and, after all, the talk had been so characteristic of the
Scot that I feared I was taking it too seriously to give it a thought.
We tramped over the loose sand to the factory, a couple of miles inland,
and the heat of the marsh was awful. Hicks, who had hardly recovered
from the accident of the morning, had difficulty in keeping up, for his
head was still giddy from the effects of the blow he had received upon
it. The black fellows, who had sighted our barque before daylight, had
thought nothing of a run to the beach, and they went ahead at a great
rate along the jungle path, caring neither for briars, spines, or any of
the various prickling things that make even a well-shod man hesitate
before treading on them. They were a tall and powerful set of men, all
armed with old flint-lock muskets of ancient pattern; doubtless some of
them had been used in the first war between the States and England. We
finally arrived and were ready for business. The compound, or slave
corral, was an immense enclosure completely out of sight from the beach,
and away from the prying eyes of any cruiser that might be prowling
along the coast. Felado Cortelli, the half-breed Italian slaver, whose
presence had cursed the West African coast for years, was in charge, and
he came forth to meet us. Our lack of arms seemed to give him amusement,
but when he heard how we had been rolled over in the surf, he laughed
loudly.
Within two hours from the time we left the surf, our arrangements had
been made, and we were leading between two and three hundred blacks to
the beach, where payment was to be made, and they were to be shipped
aboard, Cortelli’s own guard of coast pirates making the escort for the
unfortunates.
Our boat came alongside with its first load of human freight. Hicks and
Curtis stood at the quarter-rail watching the creatures, and for the
first time in many days seemed on speaking terms. They appeared to
comment upon a girl who was crying and sobbing bitterly, and who was
shackled to a huge buck, who sat stolidly gazing out to sea.
The oily swell rocked the boat but little; the barque, however, rolled
lazily like a huge log, swinging her long spars slowly from side to
side, and the momentum of each swing hove her down until her channels
brought up with a smacking jar upon the surface.
This made it necessary for the boatman to use some caution, for, if the
small boat’s gunwale caught anywhere upon the vessel’s side while she
was on her downward swing, it would instantly be forced under and the
craft upset.
Cortelli stood at the break of the poop, talking to the trader, and, as
the girl was told to make ready for a spring aboard, he looked over the
side and grinned. The poor creature was frightened and shrank back,
delaying the unloading.
“Stir her up,” said the Guinea to one of his bullies.
A black pirate laid the lash, and she screamed.
“Hold on there!” cried Hicks, leaning over the side. “If you do that
again, I’ll pistol you.”
His face was flushed, and his hand sought his broad leather belt, where
hung his cutlass and long-barrelled pistol belonging to the barque’s
supply.
“Sho, man, what’s the matter?” asked Yankee Dan, and the Guinea scowled
savagely.
“Dis gal free,” said the big buck, standing up, as he heard the
conversation. “He no right to take her--nor me. I Begna Sam, no slave.
Lib right ashore till you come. Den he cotch us both, an’ say we slave
’cause long sailor, Shannon, he say he buy us.”
Cortelli grinned. It was not the first time he had practised this trick,
and, if the blacks had no friends strong enough to protest, they
invariably went with the rest of the cargo.
“Where are the girl’s people?” asked Hicks.
“What difference does it make?” asked Yankee Dan. “I see no difference
whether they’re ashore here or back in the timber, do you?”
Mr. Curtis nodded encouragingly. It was evident he had no scruples how
or where the girl had been kidnapped.
The Guinea, Cortelli, shrugged his fat shoulders, and shot a venomous
look at the Englishman.
“Shall I find out where each black resides when at home?” he asked,
sarcastically. Then he turned away.
Hicks, instead of following him, leaned over the rail. A strange look of
sadness came into his eyes. He was a hard men among hard men, and he had
revolted at the squeal of a black woman. I watched him a moment, and
looked to see something more happen.
He evidently saw that to send the girl ashore meant to doom her to
Cortelli’s will. There was only one way, and, as she stepped on deck
with the big buck, Sam, he went to him and asked about the girl’s
people. She was being separated from her old mother and crippled sister,
neither of whom were of any value as slaves. Begna Sam was hustled below
with the rest, and Hicks went back on the poop.
“Bring her mother and sister aboard,” said he to Cortelli. “I’ll give
you full price for both.”
The little fat scoundrel glanced at him quickly to see if he were in
earnest. Hicks looked him squarely in the eyes and repeated his request.
Then the Guinea went to the rail and said something to the black bullies
in the small boat that made them grin, and the next boat brought off the
desired pair. Hicks had a separate place made for the three near the
open hatchway, and afterward paid for them from his own pocket. Then he
went aft, followed by the smiles and winks of half the starboard watch,
and even Hawkson, who came to the edge of the poop, could scarce
suppress amusement. An exhibition of human feeling appeared very strange
to the men of _The Gentle Hand_.
All that day we made landings in the heavy surf, taking a few shackled
blacks aboard at a time, being aided a little by the filthy and indolent
denizens of the ruinous village, who came to the shore and squatted
around under the trees to give comment upon the affair. They were good
surfmen, and sometimes helped to run out the boats when promised a drink
of rum. They were all half-breed Guineas and scum from the
slaving-ships, but some had skins as black as the negro slaves they were
watching. Cortelli appeared to be the chief among them, and it was said
he sometimes seized upon some of the blackest and sold them. They gave
him a wide berth as he strode among them, and jumped at each word he
uttered, no despot creating greater awe among his subjects than this
filthy little fat rascal, whose black eyes had pointed the way to death
or worse to so many unfortunates of that inhospitable region.
It was dark before the last boat-load had been stowed below hatches, for
several boats had capsized in the surf, and the delay of rescuing the
shackled prisoners from drowning had taken much time. Only three were
lost, the pirate guard, which had contracted to do most of the rowing,
proving the best kind of boatmen, and the way they swam about in the
breakers was a thing to wonder at. Sharks were swarming about the
barque, and must have been also in the surf, but the black men gave them
little thought.
The final payment was made in good yellow gold to Cortelli, and he
passed over the side into his own boat, followed by the farewells of the
trader, who appeared to feel that he had not been badly cheated in his
purchase. The black bullies rowed the Italian rapidly shoreward, while
that worthy squatted over his bag of money, which he made fast to a
buoy, in case of accident, and, drawing a long pistol, cocked back the
flint. It was evident that he would take no chances in that country,
where a piece of yellow metal may be worth several human lives. The last
I saw of him, he was explaining to his steersman that an accident meant
certain death to him, the steersman, at least, and therefore the utmost
caution should be exercised in going through the surf. The money could
not sink, but he never had had accidents, and was not going to begin at
this time.
Then the order came from our quarter-deck to heave short, and we were
ready to make the desperate run for the other side. Hawkson had kept a
boat going all day between the ship and shore, taking in fresh water,
and our stores were in good condition. We had taken in enough for an
army at Funchal.
“Lay forrads, all ye starbowlins,” bawled Henry, “an’ wake her up.” Then
the feeling that we were indeed homeward bound over the middle passage
took a strong hold of us, and we hove heavy on the windlass brakes.
“‘Ole Stormy, ’e was a good ole man,’” piped a sailor.
“‘Yo, ho! Oh, we storm along,’” bellowed the watch in chorus, and, with
the wild, crazy song, we walked the anchor in, while the rest sheeted
home the topsails and romped up with the t’gallant-halyards.
In a few minutes the land-breeze bore us off, and we braced in the yards
for a run off the land to the southward. We would try to go clear of
everything, and then haul up and go across with every rag we could crack
on her.
Bill, Ernest, and myself raced up the main-ratlines to loose the royal
and the topmast stun’sails. In the dim light of the early evening, I saw
the low shore of the African continent for the last time. When I
finished with the gaskets, I waited a few moments, watching it fade into
the gloom of the tropic night, and thinking of the hell of sorrow and
suffering the poor creatures bore who were cursed by birth upon its hot
lowlands and stinking marshes. Even while I looked, the plaintive murmur
from the wretches below hatches told plainly they knew their voyage to
death and slavery had begun, and I thought I could make out the wild and
sad refrain of some savage song. Over three hundred black creatures
packed below! I thanked Heaven there had been no more to take, for I
knew they would have packed another three hundred into her if they had
been ready for sale. They would make the run with these without further
risk, and trust to landing them in better condition, thus securing a
much higher price.
I started down the ratlines, but, before going over the futtock-shrouds,
I looked at the last bit of light on the western sky-line.
It seemed to me I saw a bit of a speck showing on the darkening horizon.
Bill was opposite me, and I called to him to look. He gazed steady for a
few seconds.
“Youst like a brig’s royals, them little dots,” said he, and went on
down the ratlines to the deck.
I followed, and forgot to report the object in the hurry and hustle to
get the anchor in on deck and everything shipshape for sea.