“That I embrace your offer cheerfully.”
Mr. Barton extended his hand, and, with the hold of a vice, grasped mine. Then pulling from his pea-coat pocket a canvass bag filled with dollars, he counted thirty down, and shoved them across the table.
“There’s two months’ wages in advance. It’s a toss-up that you’re dead in half the time. No matter; I will run the chance—go with Bob there—he’ll take you to a slop-seller, who’ll fit you out in no time, he’ll not refuse to join in a stoup afterward. Don’t object; it may be the last either of you will take in England. Be on board, drunk or sober, at eight; and now be off, for I have some matters to attend to.”
I obeyed the mandate of my new commander, purchased some clothing fitted for the sultry climate I was about to visit, joined the vessel before the appointed hour, sailed at midnight, and bade a long—I prayed an eternal—adieu to England.
We reached the Downs, having cleared the river safely; and there, I might add, that the good fortune of our voyage terminated. Could aught better be expected? No; the errand and the agents were infamous alike. We were bound to Africa to trade in human flesh, although, professedly, we had left England to bring home hard-woods, ivory, and gold-dust. But no honest trading was intended; we went out regularly prepared to perpetrate the worst cruelty that savage man can fancy when he contemplates deeds of crime—prey on the being that wore God’s image—violate every bond of nature, and sever the ties which common humanity holds dearest! Speak of the slave-dealer and the highwayman! Pshaw! compare them not.
When I said, that after we lost sight of the shores of England, our fortunes proved indifferent, the statement must be qualified. In the first object of the voyage we were successful, and carried, in comparative safety, a full cargo of slaves to their destination; that is, we managed to land alive two-thirds of the wretches we had kidnapped. We brought eternal misery with us, and left endless wretchedness behind. But already the vengeance of God was upon us—fever accompanied our accursed ship; and, one by one, the villain-crew which originally left England died off, and greater villains—were that possible—supplied the places of the departed.
The hour of retribution was at hand—the decree had gone forth—and vengeance was impending on the guilty. We returned to “the coast”—as that of Africa, in particular, was termed—shipped a full complement of slaves, and once more proceeded on our iniquitous voyage. During ten days we made good progress. The captain and his hellish crew, elated with apparent success, indulged in ruffian revelry. They drank, and danced, and sung; and while despair and death reigned in the crowded hold, the deck presented a saturnalia that fiends might have delighted to share.
But on the eleventh day that unhallowed revelry ended. The wind dropped suddenly—ominously. In one short hour not a ripple was seen upon the sea; and, far as the eye could range, a burning surface of bright blue water encircled us. The next sun—the next—and yet the next, rose and sank, and not a breeze was felt, and not a cat’s-paw crept over the distant ocean. Ten more passed; and still we drifted idly on the glassy surface, like some sea-bird reposing on the deep. Food failed us fast—that was bad; water rapidly diminished—that was worse. The hold became a pest-house. Contagion below produced an increase of fever above. The negroes died off by twenties; the crew, one after another, disappeared, till, of thirty-six seamen who left the Gambia, fourteen alone remained; while half of that small number were so debilitated that they could scarcely stand; and the few who still remained effective, were quite unequal to that disgusting duty, of disencumbering the waist of the human carrion which every hour accumulated. All hope to carry any portion of the accursed cargo to its destination was over. The dead putrified; the living, maddened by thirst and hunger, had broken their chains, and, like rabid animals, could not be approached! One only course remained, and the ruffian-crew determined to batten down the hatches, fire brimstone underneath the slave-deck, destroy what life remained, and make the pest—a charnel-house!
Night was properly chosen for the execution of this diabolical act; and I saw the combustibles which were to effect it duly prepared. To witness this wholesale murder of two hundred victims was more than I could bear. I, who had ever revolted from the horrid vocation of a slave-dealer, fancied, that in all which had befallen us, I saw the vengeance of the Deity let loose on our accursed bark; and when at midnight I was placed at the wheel, and my villanous companions were occupied in murderous preparations, from the davits I lowered the only boat could swim, slipped over the ship’s counter unobserved, and paddled quietly away. In a few minutes I was called for—my evasion was detected—a dozen muskets were discharged after me at random; I heard bullets dip upon the water: but I plied my oars vigorously, and in a few minutes was out of range.
I paused, took breath, and looked around. The ship lay in shade, looming immensely; all else sea—sea—sea! I searched my pockets, and found two biscuits; but I was without water! Under a tropic sun, a thousand miles from land—no water! The very thought was enough to madden one; but, presently, other feelings banished that horrible conviction.