In a little while Hicks and Dan came back, accompanied by the half-dozen Portuguese and some black fellows, and we started to the ship to make ready for our cargo. Slaves were more plentiful to the eastward perhaps, but we would take what we could get and hurry along, trusting to evade a cruiser until the cargo was made up.
We took one of the Guinea fellows back with us to pilot us through the surf on the bar, and arrived alongside without accident.
A line of heads peered over the topgallant-rail, watching curiously our passenger, and, as the boat fell alongside, the drawling tones of Shannon broke forth.
“What’s niggers at now, stranger?” said he, addressing the Guinea.
“Way down, way down. Bucks runnin’ for ten to twenty. Fine gals thirty and forty,” cried the fellow from the boat, evidently thinking he was addressing our commander.
Shannon gave a great sigh, and looked wistfully at the shore.
“An’ here I am,” said he, “without a ship. It’s hard luck. I wanter know, I wanter know.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
WE LAY IN OUR CARGO
The next day was a busy one aboard The Gentle Hand. All the boats were gotten out early, and the barque headed in shore again. We had stood off at night, for fear of a current setting us into the breakers, and we did not care to let go an anchor.
By two bells (nine o’clock) in the forenoon, we were close in to the bar at the river mouth, the breeze giving us way at the rate of about five knots, but, as we drew under the land, it became puffy and showed signs of dying out altogether. It was decided not to go in any closer, so the foreyards were left full, the main backed, and the forestaysail hauled amidship, heaving the barque to with a slight reach to the southward.