To my great relief the hold was empty, although the smell arising through the partially opened hatch was stifling, the reminder of a cargo lately discharged. There were two dead seamen in the forecastle, both swarthy fellows, with long Indian hair. I never saw a dirtier hole, the filth overpowering, and once satisfied that both men were beyond help, I was content to lower the scuttle and leave them there. God! it was a relief to return once more to the open deck and breathe in the fresh air. Schmitt was holding the schooner close up in the wind, which, however, was barely heavy enough to keep the sails full. Yet at that the sharp-nosed craft was making the best of it, leaving a long wake astern, the waves cresting within a few feet of her rail as she swept gloriously forward. I leaned over, and hailed the boat, towing below.
"Come aboard, Watkins," I called sharply. "Pass the lady up first, and turn the boat adrift."
"What is she, sir?"
"An abandoned slaver. I'll tell you the story later. Come aboard."
"Ay, ay, sir."
I caught Dorothy's hands and aided her over the rail, the schooner rode steady and she stood still grasping me, her eager eyes on the deck aft. Then they sought my face questioningly, the seamen beginning to gather between us and the rail.
"Why was the vessel abandoned?" she asked. "What has happened? Do you know?"
"Yes; the story is plain enough," I explained, deeming it best to tell the whole truth. "This is a slaver, the Santa Marie, plying between Cuba and the African coast. Sam, the negro who came aboard with me, served as cook on board for one voyage. I do not know why they should be in these waters—driven north by a storm likely—but cholera was the trouble. The crew are all overboard, or dead."
"Overboard, or dead? You found them dead—the slaves also?"
"No; there were no slaves; the hold was clear. We found a few dead men, the last of the crew to survive. One man was lying beside the wheel; he had lashed it to its course before he died; and the Captain was in the cabin."