Waller had speedily won the confidence and affection of the negroes, by his kindness and considerate conduct. At first, when we had taken possession of the vessel, they looked upon us as enemies, for the Spaniards had told them that we should cook and eat them; but Waller, who could speak a few words of their language, soon tranquillised their fears on that account. He then got upon deck the sick, and those whose limbs were chafed or bruised, and gave them medicines, and dressed their wounds with his own hands. He told them that they should be set free to go where they wished, and should, if possible, be enabled to return to their own country. Few, however, had any hope of being enabled to do the latter, for they had mostly all been taken in war, or kidnapped from districts away from the coast, the wars being undertaken by the chiefs nearer the sea for the express purpose of making prisoners to sell into slavery. Two or three of those who had been kidnapped had already been at Sierra Leone, or other British settlements, and as they understood a good deal of English, we were able to communicate pretty freely with them. We found them, poor children of Ham, very intelligent fellows, and as capable of receiving instruction as the people of any other race I have ever met. Waller’s good example was followed by the crew, and at last each man vied in showing kindness to the poor wretches, so that they learned to look on us truly as their friends and protectors. We did but our duty. They were our fellow-creatures, and we were soon to be fellows in suffering. At first I own it was very trying, and more than once, as I was dressing their wounds, I turned sick; but I recollected that they were fellow-beings, with human feelings, and souls to be saved, like ours, and I returned to my duty with renewed strength to perform it. At length we found that we could, with perfect safety, allow all the blacks to come on deck as they liked. Whenever Waller appeared, they shouted after him—“How do, Masser Waller? Bless ’um, Masser Waller!” And some would come and kneel down, and put his hand on their heads, with a look of affection which was unmistakeable.
“I believe, sir, it’s all very right with these poor fellows, and there’s no harm in them,” said Jack Stretcher to me one day. “But, to my mind, it doesn’t do to trust these strange niggers too much. They sometimes, I’ve heard, rises and cuts the throats of their friends.”
I agreed with Jack that it was necessary, in most cases, to be cautious; but in the present instance it was evident, as things turned out, that it was owing to Waller’s judicious treatment of the negroes that all our lives were preserved.
All this time the wind was blowing so strongly from the eastward, that we found it impossible to beat up against it, so we had nothing else to do but to continue running before it. Every day matters were getting more and more serious; our own provisions were growing shorter. Of anything like luxuries we had none—salt beef and pork, hard biscuit and rice, and a little tea and sugar, with a cask of rum—none of the best either, by-the-bye. Waller called me into the cabin for a consultation.
“To get back to the coast is now impossible,” he remarked. “If this wind holds, and we can keep the craft afloat, our best chance is to try and make the coast of Brazil. The port of Bahia is the nearest, and I propose steering for that place.”
I agreed with him; but we neither of us had any very strong hopes of being really able to make it in time to save our own lives and those of the negroes. On carefully examining our stock of provisions, we found that only by the most economical expenditure of them, and with the most favourable weather, should we be able to reach our destination in time. A foul wind, or a day or two of calm, would ruin us; and a gale would in all probability send us to the bottom. The blacks, of their own accord, took their spell at the pumps, and finally relieved our men entirely of the labour. Had they been compelled to continue pumping, it would, I am certain, have worn them out. We most dreaded a want of water. Not a cloud appeared from which we might draw it forth, and scarcely could we expect a shower. Though constantly on the look-out, not a vessel could we see, from whence we might get provisions. At length, one morning, as Jack Stretcher had gone aloft—
“A sail on the weather-bow!” he sung out, in a cheery tone, which gave hope to all our hearts. “She’s standing across our course, so we can speak her without altering it.”
In about two hours we were up to her. She was a good sized brig, and the ensign, with the stars and stripes, which flew out at her peak, showed that she hailed from the United States. We had a signal of distress flying, in addition to the British ensign.
“Hillo! what are you?” sung out a man in her main-rigging.
“A prize to His Britannic Majesty’s brig of war Opossum,” answered Waller. “What are you?”