“Never heard of the chap—never mind—here’s saw wood.”
Tale of the English Sailor.
I was born at Shields, and bred to the sea, served my time out of that port, and got a berth on board a small vessel fitted out from Liverpool for the slave trade. We made the coast, unstowed our beads, spirits, and gunpowder, and very soon had a cargo on board; but the day after we sailed for the Havannah, the dysentery broke out among the niggers—no wonder, seeing how they were stowed, poor devils, head and tail, like pilchards in a cask. We opened the hatches, and brought part of them on deck, but it was of no use, they died like rotten sheep, and we tossed overboard about thirty a day. Many others, who were alive, jumped overboard, and we were followed by a shoal of sharks, splashing and darting, and diving, and tearing the bodies, yet warm, and revelling in the hot and bloody water. At last they were all gone, and we turned back to the coast to get a fresh supply. We were within a day’s sail of the land, when we saw two boats on our weather bow; they made signals to us, and we found them to be full of men; we hove-to, and took them on board, and then it was that we discovered that they had belonged to a French schooner, in the same trade, which had started a plank, and had gone down like a shot, with all the niggers in the hold.
“Now, give the old gentleman the small change of that, while I just wet my whistle.”
Mustapha having interpreted, and the sailor having taken a swig at the bottle, he proceeded.
We didn’t much like having these French beggars on board; and it wasn’t without reason, for they were as many as we were. The very first night they were overheard by a negro who belonged to us, and had learnt French, making a plan for overpowering us, and taking possession of the vessel; so when we heard that, their doom was sealed. We mustered ourselves on the deck, put the hatches over some o’ the French, seized those on deck, and—in half an hour they all walked a plank.
“I do not understand what you mean,” said Mustapha.