“The 547 human beings—besides the crew and passengers (as they styled themselves), twenty-eight in number—were stowed in a vessel of 74 tons. The slaves were all stowed together, perfectly naked, with nothing on which to rest but the surfaces of the water-casks. These were made level by filling in billets of wood, and formed the slave-deck. The slaves who were confined in the hold—it being utterly impossible for the whole of them to remain on deck at one time—were in a profuse perspiration, and panting like so many hounds for water. The smell on board was dreadful. I was informed that, on the officers of the Cygnet boarding the slaver, the greater part of the slaves were chained together with pieces of chain, which were passed through iron collars round their necks; iron shackles were also secured round their legs and arms. After the officers had boarded, and the slaves were made to understand they were free, their acclamations were long and loud. They set to work, and, with the billets of wood which had hitherto formed their bed, knocked off each other’s shackles, and threw most of them overboard. There were several left, which were shown to me. We will leave it to the imagination of your readers what must have been the feelings of these poor people when they found they were again free—free through the energy and activity of a British cruiser. On examining the poor creatures, who were principally of the Kosso nation, I found they belonged to, and were shipped to, different individuals; they were branded like sheep. Letters were burnt in the skin two inches in length. Many of them, from the recent period it had been done, were in a state of ulceration. Both males and females were marked as follows: On the right breast ‘J’; on the left arm, ‘P’; over women’s right and left breasts, ‘S’ and ‘A’; under the left shoulder, ‘P’; right breast, ‘R’ and ‘RJ’; on the right and left breasts, ‘SS’; and on the right and left shoulder, ‘SS.’ This is the same vessel that cleared out from here about three weeks previous to her capture for Rio de Janeiro. The slaves were all embarked from the slave factories at Gallinas, under the notorious Don Luiz, and the vessel under way in five hours; and had there been the slightest breeze she would have escaped. Among the slaves there were two men belonging to Sierra Leone—a man named Peter, once employed by Mr. Elliott, the pilot. He stated that he had been employed by a Mr. Smith, a Popohman, to go to Sherbro to purchase palm-oil, and that whilst pursuing that object he was seized and sold by a Sherbro chief named Sherry.”
A RACE TO SUCCOUR
An Incident of the United States Revenue Service
THE records of the revenue men of the United States teem with heroic deeds done in the execution of their duty. The present story is typical of the thrilling determination of men who will not be beaten, and incidentally shows a healthy rivalry between the revenue men and the lifeboatmen.
On January 11, 1891, the three-masted schooner Ada Barker encountered a terrific storm which played shuttlecock with her, and after a fierce conflict pitched her on to the Junk of Pork, the euphonious name of a large rock near outer Green Island, off the coast of Maine. The Junk of Pork rises a sheer fifty feet out of the water, and all round it are reefs and boulders, a literal death-trap to any unfortunate vessel that should get caught there. The Ada Barker, after having her sails torn to shreds and her rigging hopelessly entangled, began to ship water, and though her men worked hard and long at the pumps, they could not save her; then she was bowled on to the outer reef at night; the bottom dropped out of her, and she heeled over. To the men on board it seemed that the end of all things had come, and they gave themselves up for lost.
“Though her men worked hard and long at the pumps, they could not save her”
As the ship heeled they heard the sound of something striking against a rock; then again, as the ship rebounded and fell forward once more. Eager to take the most slender chance of life, they scrambled to the side, and saw that the mast was hitting against the Junk of Pork.
“Boys!” cried the captain. “That’s our one chance!”
The sailors knew what he meant. They had looked about them. To jump into that boiling surf was to leap into the jaws of death; they would be smashed to pulp, or drowned like rats. They saw now, however, that the rock before them could be reached by scrambling up the mast, which was crashing against it. But they must hurry; and hurry they did. Like monkeys they swarmed up the mast, caring nothing for torn hands nor the flapping canvas, which slashed them like whipcords and threatened to knock them off into the cauldron below. They fought their elemental fight, and one by one six men dropped on to the Junk of Pork; and for hours and hours they clung to their precarious perch, buffeted by strong winds, swamped by heavy seas and crouching in terror as a mountain wave reared its head and, as if angry that the men had escaped, broke upon them with a thunderous roar. At other times they were flung headlong on the rock by a gust of wind which howled at them as if seeking to drown their voices as they yelled for help, in the hope that some ship might be near and hear them through the noise of the gale.