Chapter Sixteen.
I was glad when morning dawned, for I slept but little that night. The sad fate of the poor sailor lay heavily upon my spirits during the whole of the next day, and I could not help thinking that some such ending might happen to myself. It was the constant dread I was in of the brutal violence of mate and captain that produced these unpleasant forebodings; for I regarded these men as the real murderers of the unfortunate man. The crocodile only came in as an accessory, and had no such creature appeared upon the scene the Dutchman would, no doubt, have perished all the same by the bullets of their muskets. The monster had only forestalled them, and hastened the event by a few seconds of time; and it was evident that had they shot the man instead—these reckless ruffians—they would have been equally disregardful of consequences—equally without remorse or regret. No wonder I felt that my life was insecure—no wonder my mind was filled with forebodings.
During the whole of that day the death-scream of the poor sailor seemed to echo in my ears, in sad contrast with the coarse mirth and loud rude laughter that rang over the decks of the Pandora. On board it was a day of jubilee. King Dingo Bingo was entertained by the captain, and brought not only some of his chief men with him, but also his harem of black-skinned beauties, between whom and the rough men of the crew, love-making, dancing, and carousing was kept up to a late hour in the night.
The paltry cargo of goods which the barque had carried was by this time taken on shore and delivered to his commercial majesty; who, in return, had counted out his captives and made them over as slaves to the skipper. Before they could be taken aboard, however, the vessel required some alterations. New gratings were to be made—instead of those destroyed during the chase—and bulkheads were to be strengthened and repaired, for it was intended to partition off the males from the females. It was not any idea of decency that prompted this arrangement, but simply convenience. Moreover, the water-butts had to be emptied of the salt-water which they contained, and fresh substituted in its stead, all which work would require a considerable time for its performance. The last thing would be the embarkation of the cargo. This would be the easiest of all, as each “bale” was able to transport itself from shore to ship, and take its place without giving the least trouble. The stowage of such a cargo was accounted handy. The slaves, therefore, remained in the barracoon, and the preparations for their embarkation went on.
I still yearned to visit the shore. My heart was sick of the scenes daily witnessed on board, and I believed that if I could only get a day’s excursion into the wild woods it would be a real happiness. I even fancied it would strengthen me to bear the voyage of the “middle way,” of the horrors of which I had heard something, and about which I felt forebodings and apprehensions.
It was not even the prospect of my own sufferings that caused me this uneasiness. It was the thought of the tortures I should witness—the appalling spectacle of the crowded steerage—the endurance and misery of those hapless negroes, who were to be penned together with scarce room to sit down—not enough to lie down—who were to be kept thus for long, long weeks on scant food and drink—half famished—half dead with thirst—panting and fainting under tropic heat and foul air, many of them actually destined to perish from these causes! Such spectacles should I be called upon to witness—perhaps to take part in. It was this prospect that gave me pain, and no wonder it should.
My own life was wretched enough—full of regrets. It was not an absolute fondness for the profession of the sea that had lured me from home. It was rather an ardent desire to see foreign lands—in short, that longing for travel and adventure which every boy experiences to some degree, but which with me was a passion. I fancied that a sailor’s life would enable me to indulge in this propensity; but, alas! here was I in Africa itself, in the midst of its wild and sublime scenery, and yet scarce allowed to look upon it! I was more like a prisoner gazing through the grating of his gaol upon the free world without—like a bird who sees through the wires of its cage the bright-green foliage, amidst which it would gladly disport itself.
But I was not without hopes of being able to gratify my longings. Brace had made me a promise, that as soon as he himself should be allowed a day to go ashore, he would try hard to get permission for me to accompany him. This was my hope, and I was cheered at the prospect, though not without doubts that my patron’s request might be denied by the unfeeling brutes.