Disastrous as was this enterprise, both on the sea and in the counting-house, a couple of months found me on board a splendid clipper,—born of the famous waters of the Chesapeake,—delighting in the name of “Aguila de Oro,” or “Golden Eagle,” and spinning out of the Cape de Verds on a race with a famous West Indian privateer.
The “Montesquieu” was the pride of Jamaica for pluck and sailing, when folks of her character were not so unpopular as of late among the British Islands; and many a banter passed between her commander and myself, while I was unsuccessfully waiting till the governor resolved his conscientious difficulties about the exchange of flags. At last I offered a bet of five hundred dollars against an equal sum; and next day a bag with the tempting thousand was tied to the end of my mainboom, with an invitation for the boaster to “follow and take.” It was understood that, once clear of the harbor, the “Aguila” should have five minutes’ start of the Montesquieu, after which we were to crowd sail and begin the race.
The contest was quickly noised throughout the port, and the captains smacked their lips over the déjeuner promised by the boaster out of the five hundred dollars won from the “Yankee nutshell.” Accordingly, when all was ready and the breeze favored, the eastern cliffs of the Isle were crowded with spectators to witness the regatta.
As we were first at sea and clear of the harbor, we delayed for our antagonist; and without claiming the conceded start of five minutes, did not shoot ahead till our rival was within musket shot. But then the tug began with a will; and as the Aguila led, I selected her most favorable trim and kept her two points free. The Montesquieu did the same, but confident of her speed, did not spread all her canvas that would draw. The error, however, was soon seen. Our Chesapeake clipper crawled off as if her opponent was at anchor; and in a jiffy every thing that could be carried was sheeted home and braced to a hair. The breeze was steady and strong. Soon the island was cleared entirely; and by keeping away another point, I got out of the Aguila her utmost capacity as a racer. As she led off, the Montesquieu followed,—but glass by glass, and hour by hour, the distance between us increased, till at sunset the boaster’s hull was below the horizon, and my bag taken in as a lawful prize.
I did not return to Praya after this adventure, but keeping on towards the coast, in four days entered the Rio Salum, an independent river between the French island of Goree and the British possessions on the Gambia. No slaver had haunted this stream for many a year, so that I was obliged to steer my mosquito pilot-boat full forty miles in the interior, through mangroves and forests, till I struck the trading ground of “the king.”
After three days’ parley I had just concluded my bargain with his breechless majesty, when a “barker” greeted me with the cheerless message that the “Aguila” was surrounded by man-of-war boats! It was true; but the mate refused an inspection of his craft on neutral ground, and the naval folks departed. Nevertheless, a week after, when I had just completed my traffic, I was seized by a gang of the treacherous king’s own people; delivered to the second lieutenant of a French corvette—“La Bayonnaise;”—and my lovely little Eagle caged as her lawful prey!
I confess I have never been able to understand the legal merits of this seizure, so far as the act of the French officers was concerned, as no treaty existed between France and Spain for the suppression of slavery. The reader will not be surprised to learn, therefore, that there was a very loud explosion of wrath among my men when they found themselves prisoners; nor was their fury diminished when our whole band was forced into a dungeon at Goree, which, for size, gloom, and closeness, vied with the celebrated black hole of Calcutta.
For three days were we kept in this filthy receptacle, in a burning climate, without communication with friends or inhabitants, and on scanty fare, till it suited the local authorities to transfer us to San Luis, on the Senegal, in charge of a file of marines, on board our own vessel!
San Luis is the residence of the governor and the seat of the colonial tribunal, and here again we were incarcerated in a military cachôt, till several merchants who knew me on the Rio Pongo, interfered, and had us removed to better quarters in the military hospital. I soon learned that there was trouble among the natives. A war had broken out among some of the Moorish tribes, some two hundred miles up the Senegal, and my Aguila was a godsend to the Frenchmen, who needed just such a light craft to guard their returning flotilla with merchandise from Gatam. Accordingly, the craft was armed, manned, and despatched on this expedition without waiting the decree of a court as to the lawfulness of her seizure!
Meanwhile, the sisters of charity—those angels of devoted mercy, who do not shun even the heats and pestilence of Africa,—made our prison life as comfortable as possible; and had we not seen gratings at the windows, or met a sentinel when we attempted to go out, we might have considered ourselves valetudinarians instead of convicts.