For several days nothing particular happened. I was made to do all sorts of work about the decks, and wait in the cabin on Camacho, Pentlea, and the Yankee who had spoken to me when I came on board; and though I was not well treated, still I could not complain of any absolute cruelty. We had the usual alternations of wind and calm, sunshine and rain. Once or twice the appearance of smoke on the horizon, or the heaving in sight of some ship whose spars were more than usually lofty, gave a fright to my captors, who dreaded that the stranger might turn out to be a man-of-war come in chase of us. But at last we arrived at the mouth of a large river, up which Pentlea, who seemed thoroughly acquainted with the place, piloted the Santa Maria, taking her into a small creek, where, when her topmasts were sent on deck, she was perfectly invisible from the main stream, and where the Santiago was soon moored alongside of her.
The two schooners were anchored so that their guns should command the entrance. Some of the guns were landed and put in small forts on either side which had evidently been constructed for a long time. The schooners had not long been in this hiding-place before canoes began to flock round them, and as far as I could make out arrangements were being made for the captains of the slavers to pay a visit to the chief of a big town close by, to enter into negotiations for filling their holds with slaves.
I looked at the trees on shore—cocoa-nut and oil palms growing in groves close to where we were lying, and plantations of bananas giving sign of the proximity of villages. Though I was but a captive, I could not help wishing for a trip ashore; and as I knew it was useless to ask Pentlea, I waited until he had quitted the schooner, and then went to the American mate, who had been kinder to me than any other person on board, and made my request to him, saying, “Please, Mr. Silas, may I go ashore?”
He looked at me in astonishment, rolling his quid in his mouth, and said, “Etarnal thunder, what does the boy want? I guess, young feller, you’d best not let Pentlea see you going ashore. Jest you polish that brass work on the binnacle.”
I saw that there was no chance of getting ashore, and slowly obeyed his orders. Soon a boat came from the Santiago, in which was a man who, as soon as he came on deck, said, “Mornin’, Silas. I guess, now the bosses are ashore, we may as well have a talk together as stop one in each schooner.”
“Reckon that’s so,” said Silas. “What d’ye think, Reuben?—there’s that lad Pentlea carried off from the Britisher wants to go ashore.”
“Waal, I kinder think that wouldn’t suit friend Simon; it’s the last place in the hull coast whar that lad should land.”
“How so? I guess thar’s nought but alligators, snakes, and niggers about,—nare a Britisher to be seen or smelt.”
“Guess Simon and Camacho keep their tongues quiet. It’s jest the bisness I wished to overhaul along of you—why we come here.”
“Sartain sure we comed here for nigs, you bet your hide.”