“Where, then, are these wretched people now, if indeed they are still alive?”
“I presume,” answered he, “that, if still alive, as you say, they are where I last heard of them; namely, at Matadi’s village; a place on the south bank of the Congo, about one hundred miles, or rather more, from its mouth. But why do you take such a profound interest in them?” he asked. “Possibly you are contemplating the formation of an expedition for their rescue, as soon as you have effected your escape from me?” and he laughed satirically.
My reply and his laugh were alike cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps on the companion-ladder outside the cabin, and the next moment the boatswain made his appearance in the doorway with the intimation that a craft of some sort had just been made out, at a distance of about three miles broad on the starboard bow; and he wished to know whether the course of the brigantine was to be altered or not.
Mendouca sprang to his feet and hurried on deck, I following him.
On our first emergence from the brilliantly-lighted cabin the night appeared to be dark; but as our eyes accommodated themselves to the change of conditions, it became apparent that the cloudless sky was thickly gemmed and powdered with stars of all magnitudes, from those of the first order down to the star-dust constituting the broad belt of the Milky Way, all gleaming with that soft, resplendent lustre that is only to be witnessed within the zone of the tropics. Moreover, there was a young moon, a delicate, crescent-shaped paring, about two days old, hanging low in the western sky, yet capable, in that pure, translucent atmosphere, of yielding quite an appreciable amount of light. The water was still smooth as polished glass, even the swell having gone down so completely that its undulations were not to be detected by even the delicate test of watching the star reflections in the polished depths, while the brigantine was as steady as though still on the stocks where she took form and substance. The negroes were still toiling at the sweeps, and the watch, armed to the teeth, were clustered fore and aft, on the alert to guard against any attempt at an outbreak among them. The canvas was all closely furled, so that we had an uninterrupted view of the sky from horizon to zenith, all around, toward the latter of which the delicate, tapering, naked spars pointed as steadily as the spires of a church. The boatswain, however, was eagerly directing Mendouca’s attention toward small, dark object, broad on our starboard bow; and turning my gaze toward it, I made out a brig under her two topsails, jib, and trysail, with her courses in the brails. Mendouca had already seized the night-glass, and with its aid was subjecting her to a prolonged and searching scrutiny, upon the completion of which he handed the instrument to me, with the remark, in English—
“Take a good look at her, Dugdale, and tell me what you think of her?”
I took the glass, and, having brought the stranger into its field, soon managed, by an adjustment of the focus, to get a clear, sharply-defined image of her, as she floated motionless, a black silhouette, against the deep, velvety, purple-black, star-spangled sky. And as I did so a certain sense of familiarity with the delicate, diminutive, black picture upon which I was gazing thrilled through me. Surely I knew that low, long, shapely hull; those lofty, slightly-raking masts; those spacious topsails? Even the very steeve of the bowsprit seemed familiar to me, and I felt certain that the superbly cut jib and handsome trysail could belong only to the Barracouta! And, if so, how was I to act? It was plainly my duty to do anything and everything that might be in my power to promote the capture of the daring slaver and unscrupulous pirate, whose guest—or prisoner—I was; but had I the power to do anything? With that now thoroughly alert and even suspicious individual at my side, and the watch on deck all about me, it was clearly evident that nothing in the shape of signalling could even be attempted with the slightest hope or chance of success; and the only other mode of action that remained to me appeared to be to carefully conceal my knowledge—or, rather, very strong suspicion—as to the identity of the brig. I had barely arrived at this conclusion when Mendouca, with an accent of impatience, interrupted my reverie with the exclamation—
“Well, surely you have seen all that it is possible to see by this time? Or cannot you quite make up your mind as to her character?”
“I have an impression that I have seen her before, and it seems to me that she bears a very striking resemblance to the Spanish brig that was lying off Lobo’s factory on the day of our first arrival in the Congo,” said I; the happy idea suggesting itself to me, as I began to speak, that I might safely make this statement without any breach of the truth, all of us on board the Barracouta having observed and remarked upon the striking resemblance between the two craft.
“Um! it may be so,” muttered Mendouca, with a strong accent of doubt in his voice, however. “Let me have another look at her.”