The repairs to the Felicidad being completed, her final preparations for sea were vigorously pushed forward, and on the third day after our arrival, having first visited the Bangalore and bade farewell to her passengers—each and every one of whom insisted that he (or she) owed his (or her) life to me, and that henceforward I must regard myself as a dearly cherished friend—I joined the little hooker as her commander, and sailed the same afternoon for the Congo; my especial mission being to test the truth, or otherwise, of Mendouca’s statement respecting the fate of the Sapphire’s boats’ crews, and—in the event of its being true—to attempt the rescue of any of the unfortunate people who might perchance be still alive.
We made the high land to the northward of the river mouth about midnight, after a rather long and uneventful passage; and, the wind being light, and the river current strong, even at a considerable distance from the entrance, we then reached in toward the land, and anchored in fourteen fathoms, at about as many miles from the shore, where we remained, rolling and tumbling about on the heavy swell, until the sea-breeze set in, about eight o’clock the next morning. We then hove up our mud-hook, and ran in, anchoring in Banana Creek, opposite Lobo’s factory, about six bells in the forenoon. There was only one other vessel in the creek at the time, a Portuguese brig; and her build and general appearance so unmistakably proclaimed her honest, that I never gave her a second thought. Besides, I had a special mission to accomplish—namely, the discovery and deliverance, if possible, of between thirty and forty of my own countrymen, languishing in a bitter captivity, and in daily, if not hourly, peril of death by torture as cruel and protracted as the fiendish malignity of merciless savages can possibly devise.
Now, I was as well equipped for such an expedition as I could possibly wish, save in one particular. I had a smart, light-draught vessel, capable of “going anywhere where a duck can swim,” as we say at sea; we were well armed, had plenty of ammunition, mustered a crew of twenty-six prime seamen, the pick of the Barracouta’s crew—men who would go anywhere, and face anything—we carried an ample supply of blankets, beads, brass wire, old muskets, and tawdry finery of various descriptions, priceless in the eyes of savages, for the purpose of peaceable ransom, if such could be accomplished; but we lacked an interpreter, a man acquainted with the barbaric language of the up-river natives, through whom we should be able to communicate with them and carry on the necessary negotiations. And such a man it was now my first duty and anxiety to secure. I had given this matter a great deal of careful consideration during our passage, and had at length determined upon the course of action that seemed to promise the most successful results; and it was in accordance with this determination that I anchored in Banana Creek instead of proceeding forthwith up the river to the spot named by Mendouca as the scene of the captivity of the Sapphire’s boats’ crews.
I entered the river without any disguise of any sort, showing British colours and the man-o’-war’s pennant; and, as I had expected, our old friend Lobo soon came alongside in his gig, with his usual stereotyped smiles and bows, and offers to supply us with anything and everything that we might happen to want. I took care to be below when he boarded us; and, in accordance with previous arrangements, Gowland, who met the fellow upon his arrival, proposed that he should go down into the cabin and see me personally upon the business of his visit. He at once assented, willingly, Gowland following him down, and when the two had entered, the sentry at the cabin-door closed it after them.
“Ah, good-morning, sar,” exclaimed Lobo to me, as he entered. “Glad to see you back in the river, sar! I hope dat de capitan and officers of de beautiful Barracouta are all well? Ah, gentlemen, dat was a ver’ fine bit of vork, dat attack of yours upon Chango Creek; ver’ fine and ver’ successful. I ’ave alvays been proud of my share in dat exploit. But, gentlemen, you mus’ please never so much as vhisper dat I, Joaquin Miguel Lobo, had anything to do vid it. My vord, if you did, de rascal slavers vould cut my t’roat for me, and de man-o’-war gentlemen vould lose a fait’ful ally.”
“No doubt, Señor Lobo,” agreed I genially. “But, never fear, you are perfectly safe from betrayal to the slavers, so far as we are concerned; you shall find us as faithful to you as you have been to us. But sit down, man, and let me offer you a glass of wine.”
With many bows and wreathed smiles, and deprecating elevations of the shoulders, Lobo took the seat to which I pointed him, and I touched a bell.
“Steward, put the wine and some glasses on the table, will you; and also a box of cigars that you will find on the shelf in my cabin.”
The wine and cigars were brought; we helped ourselves; and I began—
“I am very much obliged to you for coming aboard, Señor Lobo, for you are the very man that I most desired to see. I require some assistance of a rather peculiar kind, and I believe that you, above all others, are the one who can best help me to it.”