Chapter Two.
We receive some important Intelligence.
We had barely got our canvas furled and the decks cleared when we saw a fine, handsome whale-boat, painted white, with a canvas awning spread over her stern-sheets, and the Portuguese flag fluttering from a little staff at her stern, shove off from the wharf and pull toward us. She was manned by four Krumen, and in the stern-sheets sat a tall, swarthy man, whose white drill suit and white, broad-brimmed Panama hat, swathed with a white puggaree, caused his suntanned face and hands to appear almost as black as the skins of his negro crew. The boat swept up to our gangway in very dashing style, and her owner, ascending the accommodation ladder, stepped in on deck with a genial smile that disclosed a splendid set of brilliantly white teeth beneath his heavy, glossy black moustache.
“Good-morning, sar,” said he to the first lieutenant, who met him at the gangway. “Velcome to Banana,” with a flourish of his hat. “Vat chip dis is, eh?”
“Her Britannic Majesty’s brig Barracouta,” answered Young. “You are the Portuguese consul here, I suppose?”
“No—no; I not de consul,” was the answer. “Dere is no consul at Banana. I am Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo, Portuguese trader, at your savice, sar; and I have come off to say dat I shall be happie to supply your chip wid anyting dat you may require—vattare, fresh meat, vegetabl’, feesh, no fruit—de fruit not ripe yet; plenty fruit by an’ by, but not ripe yet—parrots, monkeys—all kind of bird and animal, yes; and curiositie—plenty curiositie, sar.”
Here the skipper, who had been below for a few minutes, re-appeared on deck, and, seeing the stranger, advanced toward him, whereupon the first lieutenant introduced Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo in proper form.
“Glad to see you, señor,” remarked the skipper genially. “Will you step below and take a glass of wine with Lieutenant Young and myself?”
“Ver’ happie, captain, I am sure,” answered the señor with another sweeping bow and flourish of his Panama; and forthwith the trio disappeared down the hatchway, to my unbounded astonishment, for it was not quite like our extremely dignified skipper to be so wonderfully cordial as this to a mere trader.
“Ah, I’m afraid that won’t wash,” remarked Bates, catching the look of astonishment and perplexity on my face as I turned my regards away from the hatchway. “The captain means to pump the Portuguese, if he can, but from the cut of the señor’s jib I fancy there is not much to be got out of him; he looks to be far too wide-awake to let us become as wise as himself. I’ll be bound that he could put us up to many a good wrinkle if he would; but, bless you, youngster, he’s not going to spoil his own trade. He professes to be an honest trader, of course—deals in palm-oil and ivory and what not, of course, and I’ve no doubt he does; but I wouldn’t mind betting a farthing cake that he ships a precious sight more black ivory than white out of this same river. Look at that brig, for instance—the one flying Spanish colours, I mean. Just look at her! Did you ever set your eyes upon a more beautiful hull than that? Look at the sweep of her run; see how it comes curving round to her stern-post in a delivery so clean that it won’t leave a single eddy behind it. No drag there, my boy! And look at her sides: round as an apple—not an inch of straight in them! And do you suppose that a brig with lines like that was built for the purpose of carrying palm-oil? Not she. I should like to have a look at her bows; I’ll be bound they are as keen as a knife—we shall see them by and by, when she swings at the turn of the tide. Yet if that brig were overhauled—as she probably will be—nothing whatever of a suspicious character would be found aboard her, except maybe a whole lot of casks, which they would say was for stowing the palm-oil in. Well, here we are; but we shall have to keep our eyes open night and day to weather upon the rascally slavers; they are as sly as foxes, and always up to some new circumventing trick.”
With which reflection, followed by a deep sigh at the wily genius of the slaving fraternity in general, the worthy master turned upon his heel and retired below.
The Portuguese remained in the cabin for over an hour; and when he came on deck again, accompanied by the captain and the first lieutenant, I thought that the two latter looked decidedly elated, as though, despite the master’s foreboding, they had succeeded in obtaining some important information. The captain was particularly gracious to his visitor, going even to the length of shaking hands with him ere he passed out through the gangway, the first luff of course following suit, as in duty bound.
“Then we may rely upon you to send us off the fresh meat and vegetables early this afternoon?” remarked Young, as he stood at the gangway.
“Yais, yais; dey shall be alongside by t’ree o’clock at de lates’!” answered the Portuguese. “And as soon as you have receive dem you had better veigh and leave de creek. Give dat point”—indicating Boolambemba Point—“a bert’ of a mile and you veel be all right.”
“Yes, thanks, I will remember,” returned the first lieutenant. “And where are we to pick you up?”
“Hus–s–sh! my dear sair; not so loud, if you please,” answered Lobo, hastily leaving his boat and coming half-way up the gangway ladder again. “Dere is a leetl’ creek about two mile pas’ de point, on de nort’ bank of de river. I vill be on de look-out for you dere in a small canoe vid two men dat I can trus’. And you mus’ pick me up queevk, because if eet vas known dat I had consent to pilot you my t’roat would be cut before I vas a mont’ oldaire.”
“Never fear,” answered Young. “We will keep a sharp look-out for you and get you on board without anybody being a penny the wiser. Good-bye.”
The Portuguese bowed with another flourish of his hat, seated himself in the stern-sheets of his boat, gave the word to his Krumen, and a few minutes later was on the wharf, walking toward his factory, into the open door of which he disappeared.
“Come,” thought I, “there is something afoot already. The captain and the first luff have, between them, evidently contrived to worm some intelligence out of the Portuguese. I must go and tell Bates the news.”
Before I could do so, however, the captain, who had been standing near the gangway, listening to what was passing between Young and Lobo, caught sight of me and said—
“Mr Dugdale, be good enough to find Mr Bates, and tell him that I shall feel obliged if he will come to me for a few minutes in my cabin.”
I touched my hat, dived down the hatchway, and gave the message, whereupon the master stepped out of his cabin and made his way aft. He was with the captain nearly half-an-hour; and when he re-appeared he looked as pleased as Punch.
“I’ll never attempt to judge a man’s character by his face again,” he exclaimed, as he caught me by the arm, and walked me along the deck beside him. “Who would have thought that a piratical-looking rascal like that Portuguese would have been friendly disposed towards the representatives of law and order? Yet he has not only given the captain valuable information, but has actually consented to pilot the ship to the spot which is to serve as our base of operations, although, as he says, should the slavers get to know of his having done such a thing, they would cut his throat without hesitation.”
“Yes,” said I, “I heard him make that remark to Mr Young just before shoving off. And pray, Mr Bates—if the question be not indiscreet—what is the nature of the expedition upon which we are to engage this afternoon?”
“Well, I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you,” answered Bates, a little doubtfully. “Our movements are of course to be conducted with all possible secrecy, but if I tell you I don’t suppose you’ll go ashore and hire the town-crier to make public our intentions; and all hands will have to know—more or less—what we’re after, very soon, so I suppose I shall not be infringing any of the Articles of War if I tell you now; but you needn’t go and publish the news throughout the ship, d’ye see? Let the skipper do that when he thinks fit.”
“Certainly,” I assented. “You may rely implicitly upon my discretion.”
“Oh yes, of course,” retorted the master ironically. “A midshipman is a perfect marvel in the way of prudence and discretion; everybody knows that! However,” he continued, in a much more genial tone, “I will do you the justice to say that you seem to have your ballast pretty well stowed, and that you stand up to your canvas as steadily as any youngster that I’ve ever fallen in with; so I don’t suppose there’ll be very much harm in trusting you. You must know, then, that there’s a bit of a creek, called Chango Creek, some fourteen or fifteen miles up the river from here; and in that creek there is at this moment lying snugly at anchor, quite unconscious of our proximity, and leisurely filling up her complement of blacks, a large Spanish brig called the Mercedes hailing from Havana. She is a notorious slaver, and is strongly suspected of having played the part of pirate more than once, when circumstances were favourable. Moreover, from what our Portuguese friend Lobo says, she was in the river when the Sapphire’s two boats with their crews disappeared; and according to the dates he gives, she must also have been the craft that the plucky little Wasp was in chase of when last seen. There is very little doubt, therefore, that the Mercedes is the craft—or, at all events, one of them—which it is our especial mission to capture at any cost; and we are therefore going to weigh this afternoon for the purpose of beating up her quarters. Lobo has undertaken to pilot us as far as the mouth of the creek; and as he tells us that the brig is fully a hundred tons bigger than ourselves, is armed to the teeth, and is manned by a big crowd of desperadoes, every man of whom has bound himself by a fearful oath never to lay down his arms while the breath remains in his body, I shouldn’t wonder if we find out before all is done that we have undertaken a pretty tough job.”
“It would seem like it, if Señor Lobo’s information is to be relied upon,” said I, an involuntary shudder and qualm thrilling me as my vivid imagination instantly conjured up a vision of the impending conflict. “But I suppose every precaution will be taken to catch the rascals unawares?”
“You may be sure of that,” answered the master, peering curiously into my face as he spoke. “Captain Stopford is not the man to court a reverse, or a heavy loss of life, by unduly advertising his intentions. But you look pale, boy! You are surely not beginning to funk, are you?”
“No,” said I, a little dubiously, “I think not. But this will be my first experience of fighting, you know—I have never been face to face with an enemy thus far—and I must confess that the idea of a hand-to-hand fight—for I suppose it will come to that—a life-and-death struggle, wherein one has not only to incur the awful responsibility of hurling one’s fellow-creatures into eternity, but also to take the fearful risk of being hurled thither one’s self, perhaps without a moment of time in which to breathe a prayer for mercy, is something that I, for one, can hardly contemplate with absolute equanimity.”
“Certainly not,” assented Bates kindly, linking his arm in mine as he spoke; “certainly not; you would be something more or less—less, I should be inclined to say—than human if you could. But, as to the responsibility of hurling those villains into eternity, do not let that trouble you for a single moment, my lad; in endeavouring to put down this inhuman slave-trade we are engaged upon a righteous and lawful task—lawful and righteous in the eyes of God as well as of man, I humbly believe—and if the traffickers in human flesh and human freedom and human happiness choose to risk and lose their lives in the pursuit of their hellish trade, the responsibility must rest with themselves, and in my humble opinion the earth is well rid of such inhuman monsters. And as to the other matter—that of being yourself hurried into eternity unprepared—it need not occur, my boy; no one need die unprepared. What I mean is, of course, that all should take especial care to be prepared for death whenever it may meet us, for we know not what a day, or an hour, or even a moment may bring forth; the man who walks the streets of his native town in fancied security is actually just as liable to be cut off unawares as are we who follow the terrible but necessary profession of arms; the menaces to life ashore are as numerous as they are afloat, or more so; the forms of accident are innumerable. And therefore I say that all should be careful to so conduct themselves that they may be prepared to face death at any moment. And if they are not, they may easily become so; for God’s ear is always open to the cry of His children, and I will take it upon myself to say that no earnest, heartfelt prayer is ever allowed to go unanswered. So, if you have any misgivings about to-night’s work, go to God and ask for His mercy and protection and help; and then, whatever happens, you will be all right.”
So saying, the good old fellow halted just abreast the hatchway, which we had reached at this point in our perambulation fore and aft the deck, and, gently urging me toward it suggestively, released my arm and turned away. I took the hint thus given me and, without a word—for indeed at that moment I was too deeply moved for speech—made my way below to the midshipmen’s berth, which I found opportunely empty, and there cast myself upon my knees and prayed earnestly for some minutes. When I arose from this act of devotion I was once more calm and unperturbed; and from that moment I date a habit of prayer that has been an inexpressible comfort and support to me ever since.
Upon returning to the deck the first object that caught my eyes was our gig, with the first luff and little Pierrepoint—our junior mid but one—in the stern-sheets, pulling toward the very handsome Spanish brig—already spoken of as lying at anchor a short distance inside of us—upon a visit of inspection. That the inspection to which she was subjected was pretty thorough was sufficiently attested by the fact that the gig remained alongside her a full hour, the British brig and the Dutch barque being in their turn afterwards subjected to a similarly severe examination; but, as Bates had predicted, nothing came of it, all their papers being perfectly in order, while a rigorous search failed to discover anything of an incriminating character on board either of them.
“Of course not,” commented the master, when he learned the substance of the first luff’s report to the skipper; “of course not. Bless ye, the people that trade to this river aren’t born fools, not they! Just consider the matter for a moment. Let’s suppose, for argument’s sake, that the Spaniard yonder is a slaver. Would she ship her cargo here in the very spot that would be first visited by every man-o’-war that enters the river? Of course she wouldn’t; she’d go away up the river into one of the many creeks that branch into it on either side for the first twenty miles or so, and ship her blacks there, watching for the chance of a dark night to slip out and get well off the land before daylight. If she came in here at all, it would be to fill up her water and lay in a stock of meal upon which to feed her niggers when she’d got ’em; and you may depend on it that when a slaver comes in here upon any such errand as that, a very bright look-out is kept for cruisers, and that, upon the first sight of a suspicious-looking sail in the offing, her irons, her meal, and everything else that would incriminate her are bundled ashore and hidden away safely among the bushes, while her water would be started and pumped out of her long enough before a man-o’-war could get alongside of her. What is that Spanish brig taking in?” he continued, turning to little Pierrepoint, who, with the first lieutenant, had visited her.
“Nothing,” answered the lad. “She only arrived yesterday; and her hold is half full of casks in which she is going to stow her palm-oil.”
“Of course,” remarked the master sarcastically, turning to me. “What did I say to you this morning? Whenever a ship is found in an African river with a lot of casks aboard, that ship is after palm-oil—at least, so her skipper will tell ye. And that’s where they get to wind’ard of us; for unless they’ve something more incriminating—something pointing more directly to an intention to traffic in slaves—than mere casks, we daren’t touch ’em. But, you mark me, that brig’s here to take off a cargo of blacks; and unless I’m greatly mistaken she’ll have vanished when we turn up here again to-morrow.”
It was just six bells in the afternoon watch when two boats—one containing fresh water in casks, and the other loaded to her gunwale with fresh meat—mostly goat-mutton strongly impregnated with the powerful musky odour of the animal—appeared paddling leisurely off to the Barracouta under the guidance of four powerful but phenomenally lazy Krumen, who would probably have consumed the best part of half-an-hour in the short passage from the wharf to the brig had not our impatient first luff dispatched a boat to tow them alongside. The water was pumped into the tanks, the provisions were passed up the side and stowed away below in the coolest part of the ship; and no sooner were the boats clear of the ship’s side than the boatswain’s whistle shrilled along the deck, followed by the gruff bellow of “All hands unmoor ship!” the messenger was passed, the anchor roused up to the bows, and in a few minutes the Barracouta, under her two topsails, and wafted by a light westerly zephyr, was moving slowly down the narrow channel toward the estuary of the river.
So light was the draught of air that now impelled us, that, although every cloth was quickly spread to woo it, the ship was a full hour and a half reaching as far as Boolambemba Point, where we met the full strength of the river current; and when we bore away on our course up the river, our patience was severely taxed by the discovery that, even with studding-sails set on both sides from the royals down, we could scarcely do more than hold our own against the strong rush of the tide and current together. Slowly, however, and by imperceptible degrees, by hugging the northern shore as closely as we dared, with the lead constantly going, we managed to creep insidiously past the mangrove and densely bush-clad river bank until, just as the sun was dipping into the horizon astern in a brief but indescribably magnificent blaze of purple and scarlet and gold, we reached the place of our rendezvous with Señor Lobo. And soon afterwards we had the satisfaction of discovering that gentleman making his way toward us out of the narrow creek, his conveyance being a small native canoe about fifteen feet long, roughly hewn and hollowed out of a single log, and propelled by two natives, who apparently regarded clothes as an entirely unnecessary superfluity, for they were absolutely naked. They were fine, powerful specimens of negro manhood, however, and smart fellows withal, for they propelled their ungainly little craft along at a truly wonderful pace with scarcely any apparent effort, sheering her alongside the brig in quite respectable style without obliging us to start tack or sheet in order to pick them up, and shinning up the side with the agility of a couple of monkeys as soon as they had securely made fast the rope’s-end that was hove to them.
Our impatience at the slow progress that we had thus far made was somewhat relieved by Lobo’s assurance that we might confidently rely upon a brisk breeze speedily springing up that would carry us to our destination as soon as was at all desirable; his opinion being that our best chance of success lay in the postponement of our attack until about two o’clock in the morning, by which time the moon would have set, and the slaver’s crew would probably be wrapped in their deepest slumber. So far as his prognostication relative to the wind was concerned, it was soon confirmed, a strong breeze from the southward springing up, under the impulsion of which, and with considerably reduced canvas, we reached our destination, so far as the brig was concerned, about five bells in the first watch.
This spot was situated on the northern bank of the river, at a distance, up-stream, of about thirteen miles from Boolambemba Point. It was at the mouth of a creek, named Chango Creek, and in a small bay or roadstead about a mile long by perhaps half that width formed by six islands, the largest of which was nearly two miles long by half-a-mile wide, while the smallest and most easterly of all was a very diminutive affair, of perhaps not more than an acre in area, densely overgrown, like the rest of them, with thick, impenetrable bush. In the very centre of this small roadstead, to which we had been piloted by the Portuguese trader, we anchored the brig in two and a half fathoms of water; when, the canvas having been furled, and all our preparations for the attack having been fully made before dark, a strong anchor-watch was set, and everybody else turned in to get an hour or two’s sleep, strict injunctions being laid upon the master, who had charge of the watch, to keep a bright look-out, and to have all hands called at two bells precisely in the middle watch. As for Lobo, he took leave of us directly that our anchor was down, and, rousing out his sable crew, who were fast asleep and snoring melodiously underneath the long-boat, took to his canoe, once more and almost immediately vanished among the deep black shadows of the islets that hemmed us in.
I know not what were the feelings of others on board the brig on that eventful night, or how those two short hours of inaction were spent in other parts of the ship, but I am convinced that when we all went below to turn in, a very general conviction had spread among us that the enterprise upon which we were shortly to engage was one that would prove to be more than ordinarily difficult and dangerous, and while not one of us probably had a moment’s doubt as to its ultimate result, I believe the feeling was pretty general that the struggle would be fierce and obstinate, and that our loss would probably be unusually heavy. I gathered this from the demeanour of the ship’s crew generally, officers as well as men; the former revealing the feeling by the extreme care with which they scrutinised and personally superintended the several preparations for the expedition, and the latter by the grim and silent earnestness with which they performed their share of the work. True, there was some faint attempt at jocularity among a few of the occupants of the midshipmen’s berth as we sought our hammocks, but it was manifestly braggadocio, utterly lacking the true ring of heartiness that usually characterised such attempts, and it was speedily nipped in the bud by Gowland, the master’s mate, who gruffly recommended the offenders to “say their prayers and then go to sleep, instead of talking nonsense.” Though I was not one of the offenders I took his advice, earnestly commending myself to the mercy and protection of the Almighty, both in the coming conflict and throughout the rest of my life, should it please Him to spare it, after which I sank quickly into a deep, untroubled sleep.