The little fat scoundrel glanced at him quickly to see if he were in earnest. Hicks looked him squarely in the eyes and repeated his request. Then the Guinea went to the rail and said something to the black bullies in the small boat that made them grin, and the next boat brought off the desired pair. Hicks had a separate place made for the three near the open hatchway, and afterward paid for them from his own pocket. Then he went aft, followed by the smiles and winks of half the starboard watch, and even Hawkson, who came to the edge of the poop, could scarce suppress amusement. An exhibition of human feeling appeared very strange to the men of The Gentle Hand.
All that day we made landings in the heavy surf, taking a few shackled blacks aboard at a time, being aided a little by the filthy and indolent denizens of the ruinous village, who came to the shore and squatted around under the trees to give comment upon the affair. They were good surfmen, and sometimes helped to run out the boats when promised a drink of rum. They were all half-breed Guineas and scum from the slaving-ships, but some had skins as black as the negro slaves they were watching. Cortelli appeared to be the chief among them, and it was said he sometimes seized upon some of the blackest and sold them. They gave him a wide berth as he strode among them, and jumped at each word he uttered, no despot creating greater awe among his subjects than this filthy little fat rascal, whose black eyes had pointed the way to death or worse to so many unfortunates of that inhospitable region.
It was dark before the last boat-load had been stowed below hatches, for several boats had capsized in the surf, and the delay of rescuing the shackled prisoners from drowning had taken much time. Only three were lost, the pirate guard, which had contracted to do most of the rowing, proving the best kind of boatmen, and the way they swam about in the breakers was a thing to wonder at. Sharks were swarming about the barque, and must have been also in the surf, but the black men gave them little thought.
The final payment was made in good yellow gold to Cortelli, and he passed over the side into his own boat, followed by the farewells of the trader, who appeared to feel that he had not been badly cheated in his purchase. The black bullies rowed the Italian rapidly shoreward, while that worthy squatted over his bag of money, which he made fast to a buoy, in case of accident, and, drawing a long pistol, cocked back the flint. It was evident that he would take no chances in that country, where a piece of yellow metal may be worth several human lives. The last I saw of him, he was explaining to his steersman that an accident meant certain death to him, the steersman, at least, and therefore the utmost caution should be exercised in going through the surf. The money could not sink, but he never had had accidents, and was not going to begin at this time.
Then the order came from our quarter-deck to heave short, and we were ready to make the desperate run for the other side. Hawkson had kept a boat going all day between the ship and shore, taking in fresh water, and our stores were in good condition. We had taken in enough for an army at Funchal.
“Lay forrads, all ye starbowlins,” bawled Henry, “an’ wake her up.” Then the feeling that we were indeed homeward bound over the middle passage took a strong hold of us, and we hove heavy on the windlass brakes.
“‘Ole Stormy, ’e was a good ole man,’” piped a sailor.
“‘Yo, ho! Oh, we storm along,’” bellowed the watch in chorus, and, with the wild, crazy song, we walked the anchor in, while the rest sheeted home the topsails and romped up with the t’gallant-halyards.
In a few minutes the land-breeze bore us off, and we braced in the yards for a run off the land to the southward. We would try to go clear of everything, and then haul up and go across with every rag we could crack on her.
Bill, Ernest, and myself raced up the main-ratlines to loose the royal and the topmast stun’sails. In the dim light of the early evening, I saw the low shore of the African continent for the last time. When I finished with the gaskets, I waited a few moments, watching it fade into the gloom of the tropic night, and thinking of the hell of sorrow and suffering the poor creatures bore who were cursed by birth upon its hot lowlands and stinking marshes. Even while I looked, the plaintive murmur from the wretches below hatches told plainly they knew their voyage to death and slavery had begun, and I thought I could make out the wild and sad refrain of some savage song. Over three hundred black creatures packed below! I thanked Heaven there had been no more to take, for I knew they would have packed another three hundred into her if they had been ready for sale. They would make the run with these without further risk, and trust to landing them in better condition, thus securing a much higher price.