The Pirate Slaver: A Story of the West African Coast

by Harry Collingwood

I thought that this severe punishment would have sufficed the Spaniards, and that they would have abandoned the attack, and so, I imagine, thought the skipper of the ship, for while they were in this perilous predicament, he magnanimously withheld his fire, giving them an opportunity to retire without further loss. And so they would, in all probability, had Mendouca been a born Spaniard. But, renegade as he was, the British blood in his veins still told, and, despite the anguish of his terrible wound, he no sooner found himself in the boat that picked him up than his voice again rang out almost as loudly and clearly as before, still urging his men to press forward, and reminding them that they were fighting for their lives, or—what was the same thing—food and water. It was probably this reminder that turned the scale among the waverers, for at the mention of the word “water” they again seized their oars, and with a yell gave way for the ship. Evidently exasperated at this quite unexpected exhibition of determination on the part of the pirates, the little band on the poop now opened a smart and very galling fire with their muskets upon the boats, and I saw three or four pairs of arms tossed skyward as the discharge rattled forth. But before the weapons of this little party of volunteers could be reloaded the boats were alongside the ship, the pirates dropped their oars, and made a simultaneous dash for the fore and main channels, and there instantly ensued a desperate mêlée in which the popping of pistols was for the first half-minute or so a very prominent feature. I fully expected to see Mendouca and his crew driven back into their boats with a very heavy loss; but, to my astonishment and sorrow, I soon saw that they were more than holding their own, and in less than three minutes they had actually forced their way inboard, and the right was transferred to the ship’s decks. It was evident that the British crew were now making a most determined and desperate resistance, for the fight was protracted to fully a quarter of an hour, the clink and clash of steel, the shouts of the combatants, and the cries of the wounded being distinctly audible to us on the deck of the Francesca. Then the hubbub suddenly lulled, and I heard cries for quarter, cries which, to my bitter grief, I knew to be the sure indication of defeat on the part of the British crew. Then utter silence fell upon the unfortunate ship for a few minutes, to be broken by the muffled sound of women’s shrieks, men’s voices uplifted in fierce, impotent anger and denunciation, two or three pistol-shots that sounded as though they had been fired in the ship’s cabin, and then silence again; an ominous, dreadful silence that to my foreboding mind might mean the perpetration of horrors to which those already enacted on the blood-stained decks were as nothing.

This silence prevailed for fully an hour, during which no sign of life was visible on board the ship; then arose the sound of hilarious shouts and drunken laughter; there was a sudden stir and commotion about the decks; a crowd of men gathered on the poop, many of them with their hands bound behind them—as I could see with the aid of a telescope—while others had their heads swathed in blood-stained bandages; a long plank was rigged out over the taffrail; and then Mendouca appeared to be making some sort of a speech. If such was the case the speech was a very brief one; and when it terminated a short pause ensued, and I saw that a few of the prisoners—perhaps three or four, as nearly as I could make out—were being released from their bonds. Then occurred another short pause, at the expiration of which a man was led forward, blindfolded, and guided to the inner extremity of the plank, along which I could see that they were urging him to walk. He advanced a few paces, paused, as though he had been addressed, and I distinctly saw him shake his head. As though this movement of the head were a prearranged signal, the inner end of the plank suddenly tilted up, and the unfortunate man, with a staggering movement as though to save himself fell with a resounding splash into the sea, where for a few seconds he seemed to struggle desperately. Not for long, however; the sharks that had been haunting us for so many days heard the splash, and after a few restless movements, as though unwilling to leave us, darted off toward the ship. I saw the horrid triangular fins cleaving the surface of the glassy water, each leaving its own delicate wedge-shaped wake spreading astern as it went, until the small ripples of the different wakes met and crossed each other; then, as the distance between them and their prey lessened, there was a sudden increase of speed which soon became a rush, the black fins merged toward each other, the water swirled round the drowning man, there was a single ear-piercing shriek of agony, and the poor wretch had disappeared.

This dreadful spectacle appeared to have had its desired effect, for I saw that several more of the prisoners were now being released from their bonds, the released men, one and all, slinking down off the poop and away forward toward the forecastle. There were others, however—fifteen in all, for I counted them—whose courage was not to be shaken even by this awful ordeal, and one after the other they boldly trod the fatal plank, and went to meet their dreadful doom! All honour to them, say I, for the lofty courage that enabled them to choose death rather than an ignoble and crime-stained life.

Then there was another long pause, during which, as I afterwards learned, the Francesca’s crew were rummaging the ship—a homeward-bound Indiaman, named the Bangalore—and loading her decks with booty of every imaginable description, preparatory to its transfer to the brigantine. Mendouca, I must mention, had already compelled the Bangalore’s surgeon to dress his wound for him; and now, having given his orders to one of the men whom he considered the most reliable and trustworthy of his crew, he returned to the Francesca, and, with the aid of his son Pedro, was got into his bunk, where I could hear him from time to time grinding his teeth in agony, although, such was the spirit of the man, not a groan would he permit to escape him.

The sun had set, and the velvet dusk of the tropics was closing down upon the scene, when at length the Bangalore’s boats were hoisted out, and the work of transhipping the booty began. Mendouca must have felt himself a second Kidd, for the ship was almost as rich a prize as one of the old Acapulco galleons; there were bales of rich silks and shawls, spices, caskets of gems, ingots of gold, exquisite embroidered muslins, and I know not what beside—goods of a value sufficient, it seemed to me, to make every rascal on the books of the Francesca rich for the remainder of his life, although they were of course unable to take more than a comparatively small quantity of the Bangalore’s entire cargo. Nevertheless, they contrived to find room for a goodly proportion of the most costly and valuable contents of the vessel’s hold, the transfer of which, and of as much food and water as they deemed necessary to their requirements, occupied the crew until midnight; for in Mendouca’s absence, as may be supposed, they did not trouble to exert themselves overmuch. Moreover, a large proportion of them were in such a state of intoxication they scarcely knew what they were doing—my especial bête-noir the boatswain among the number, he having seized an early opportunity to board the ship after Mendouca had been safely bestowed in his own cabin. I did not know this until told so by Simpson, the English man whom I have already mentioned as having been left on board the Francesca that afternoon with the boatswain and myself, who added to his information—

“Better keep your weather-eye liftin’, Mr Dugdale, sir; that José’s full of spite as an egg’s full of meat; he have never forgiven you for knockin’ him down, and have swore over and over again to put his knife into you. And now that he’s full of drink, and the skipper’s on his beam-ends, he’s just as likely as not to try it.”

“Yes, I suppose he is. Thank you for the warning, Simpson,” said I. The man put his finger to his forehead in acknowledgment of my thanks, but continued to linger near me; and presently it dawned upon me that he had something further to say. So I turned to him and inquired—

“Is there anything particular that you wish to say to me, Simpson?”

“Well, yes, sir, there is, if I only knowed how to say it,” answered the man, in a low, cautious tone of voice and with a somewhat hesitating manner. He paused for a second or two, as though in consideration, and then, looking me full in the face, said—

“I hopes you’ll excuse me askin’ of you the question, Mr Dugdale, but might you be a-thinkin’ of gettin’ away out o’ this here brigantine, supposin’ that you sees a good chance for to do so? I ain’t askin’ out of any impertinence or curiosity, sir, I beg you to believe; but my meanin’ is this here, if so be as it happens that you was thinkin’ of any such thing, I was wonderin’ whether we mightn’t be able to go together, and be of sarvice to one another in a manner of speakin’.”