“No, no, my boy; that craft is a square-rigged schooner, and a big one too,” said Jack, positively.
Less than an hour showed us he was right, and a long, low, black, rakish-looking schooner, with a wide spread of canvas, everything set alow and aloft, to catch the breeze, came sweeping past us.
“She’s a slaver,” I exclaimed, with dismay.
“Ay, and has as wicked a look as I ever wish to see,” said Jack.
He was right in his description, and as she glided by us, a villainous set of ruffians of every shade of colour, of every variety of costume, appeared looking at us over her bulwarks. Still, ruffians as they might be, it appeared better to be taken off by them than to remain and perish where we were. We waved to them to come to us, and Jack and Jim Dore sung out, “Misericordia! misericordia!”
They appeared, however, to take no notice, either of our signs or our cries, and our hearts sank within us. Happy would it have been for us had they left us where we were (so it seemed a short time afterwards). However, directly they had passed us, their studding-sails were taken in, the yards braced up, and in fine seamanlike style the schooner was rounded-to, close to leeward of us. A boat was instantly lowered, and pulled up alongside the wreck. Her crew did not improve in appearance on a nearer inspection. As they made signs to us to get into the boat, we slid off the bottom of the schooner, when they hauled us in, and placed us in the stern-sheets.
While they were pulling on board their own vessel I saw them eyeing my uniform with suspicious glances, and they made remarks which I did not understand. Our condition was sad enough to excite the compassion of anything human. When we were lifted on deck we could scarcely stand, and even Jack, with drooping head, had to support himself against the bulwarks, and little would any of those who saw him have supposed the gallant deeds of which his brawny arm was capable. Our lack-lustre eyes and parched lips showed what we most needed, and at last some of the crew brought us some water in a bowl, which speedily revived us, while others came with a mixture of soup and beans. I never ate anything I thought so delicious, in spite of its being redolent of garlic, and containing no small quantity of grease. While we were being fed, the boat was hoisted in, the schooner put before the wind, and the studding-sails again set. She was a powerful vessel, and, from several unmistakeable signs, I perceived that she was full of slaves. I had done eating, and was beginning to look about me, when a little, dark, one-eyed man, who by his dress I saw was an officer, came up to me, and taking me by one of my uniform buttons, asked—
“What for this?”
“It’s the button of my coat,” said I, in a simple tone.
“I know. You officer, then?” asked my friend. “English ship?”