The storm increased, but the brig, brought under snug canvas, rides
buoyantly over seas. "Hillo, youngster, you are afraid of drowning are
you?" cried old Joe Growler, as he saw Jack's eye watching the heavy
seas, which came rolling up as if they would engulf the vessel. "This
is nothing to what you may have to look out for, let me tell you." Jack
thought the sea rough enough as it was, but he made no reply, for old
Joe seldom passed him without giving him the taste of his toe or of a
rope's end. The other sailors laughed and jeered at Jack. He was not,
however, afraid of the heavy seas. He soon got accustomed to the look
of them. He had a feeling also that God, who had put it into the heart
of the negro to help him on the topgallant yard, would not desert him.
The other men often reminded him of that awful name, but, alas, they
used it only to blaspheme and curse.
During the day the weather appeared finer, though the brig still lay
hove to; but at night the wind blew fiercer and fiercer, the sea broke
more wildly than ever. Towards morning a loud report was heard, as if a
gun had been fired on board: the fore-topsail had been blown from the
bolt-ropes. Before another sail could be set a terrific sea struck the
ship, washing fore and aft. "Hold on, hold on for your lives," sung out
the master. Jack grasped the main rigging, so did Sambo and others; but
two men were forced from their hold by the water and carried overboard.
A flash of lightning revealed their countenances full of horror and
despair. A shriek--their death wail--reached his ears. Jack never
forgot those pale terror-struck faces.
When morning broke, the crew no longer seemed inclined to jeer and laugh
at Jack. The ship was labouring heavily. About noon, the carpenter,
who had been below, appeared on deck with a countenance which showed
that something was the matter. "What's wrong now?" asked the captain.
"Why, the ship's sprung a leak, and if we don't look out we shall all go
to the bottom," answered the carpenter gruffly. He and the captain were
on bad terms. "All hands man the pumps," sung out the captain. The men
looked sulkily at each other, as if doubting whether or not they would
obey the order. "Let's get some grog aboard; and no matter, then,
whether we sink or swim," said one. "Ay, hoist up a spirit cask, and
have one jolly booze before we die," chimed in another. It was evident
that they would if they could break into the spirit room, and steeping
their senses in liquor, die like brute beasts. Sambo and Jack, however,
rushed to the pumps to help the mates rig them. When the captain saw
the hesitation of the rest of the crew, uttering a dreadful oath, he
entered his cabin, and immediately returned on deck with a pistol in
each hand. "Mutiny--mutiny!" he exclaimed. "You know me, my lads--just
understand I'll shoot the first man who disobeys me." Strange, that the
men who an instant before would not have hesitated to rush into the
presence of their Maker, were now afraid of the captain and his pistols.
Without another word they went to the pumps. The labour was incessant,
but they were able to prevent the water from increasing. All day, and
through the next night, they pumped on. In the morning the storm began
to break; and soon, the wind shifting, the brig was put on her proper
course. Still the water poured in through the leak; but as the sea went
down, half the crew were enabled to keep it under. It was hard work
though, watch and watch at the pumps. The captain and his mates walked
the deck with their pistols in their belts, ready to shoot any man who
might refuse to labour. Jack and Sambo were the only ones who pumped
away with a will. Several days passed thus. At length the water grew
of a yellowish tinge, and a long line of dark-leaved trees appeared, as
if growing out of the sea. Jack was told that they were mangrove
bushes, and that they were on the coast of Africa. A canoe came off
from the shore full of black men. One of them, dressed in a cocked hat
and blue shirt, with a pair of top boots on his legs, but no other
clothing, stepped on board. He told the captain that he was son to the
king of the country; and having begged hard for a quid of tobacco and a
tumbler of rum, offered to pilot the brig up the river. The brig's head
was turned in shore, and passing through several heavy rollers which
came tumbling in, threatening to sweep her decks, she was quickly in
smooth water, and gliding up with the sea breeze between two lines of
mangrove bushes. The men required to shorten sail, had slackened at
their labours at the pumps. This neglect allowed the water to gain on
them; so the captain, instead of ordering the anchor to be let go, when
some way up the river, ran the brig on shore. He did this to save her
from sinking, which in another ten minutes she would have done. It was
now high tide; and the captain hoped when the water fell to get at the
leak and repair damages. He was come to trade in palm oil, ivory, and
gold dust, besides gums and spices, and any other articles which might
sell well at home. He had brought Manchester goods--cottons, and
cloths, and ribbons; and also other merchandise from Birmingham, such as
carpenters' tools, and knives and daggers, and swords and pistols and
guns, to give in exchange for the productions of the country.
The king's son remained on board, and acted as interpreter. Numbers of
natives came down to the banks of the river, and a brisk trade
commenced. No vessel had been there for some time, and the captain
congratulated himself on quickly collecting a cargo. The men, meantime,
had to work in the mud under the ship's bottom to stop the leak; and the
hot sun came down on their heads, and at night the damp mists rose
around them, and soon the dreadful coast-fever made its appearance. One
by one they sickened and died. Jack's heart sank within him when he
heard their ravings as the fever was at its height. They died without
consolation, without hope, knowing God only as a God of vengeance, whose
laws they had systematically outraged. The mates died, and the
carpenter and the boatswain, till two men only of the crew besides the
captain and Jack's friend, Sambo, remained alive. The captain thought
that he had discovered the means of warding off disease, and always
talked of getting the brig afloat, and returning home with a full cargo.
He seemed to have no sorrow for the death of his shipmates, and cursed
and swore as much as ever. At last Jack felt very ill, and one morning
when he tried to get up he could not. Sambo came and looked at him, and
telling him not to fear, returned on deck and sent off for a
cocoa-nut-bottle full of some cooling liquid. When it came, no mother
could have administered the beverage with greater gentleness than did
Sambo. Though it cooled his thirst, still Jack thought he was going to
die. The fever grew worse and worse, and for many days Jack knew
nothing of what was taking place around him.
While he had been well he had never said his prayers; but now the
recollection of them came back to his mind, and he kept repeating them
and the verses he had learned from his mother over and over again.