“You didn’t find many woolly heads on board that ’ere craft, I calculate?” said a voice from the main rigging, followed by a loud laugh from several persons.
“No,” I answered, indignantly, thinking of the conversation with the master of the Mary Jane. “But there’s a time coming when your people will bitterly regret that woolly heads or slavery exists in your country, and will wish that you long ago had done your best to abolish it. Good night, gentlemen!”
There was no answer, and we rapidly flew by each other.
For two or three days we cruised about as unsuccessful as before, the weather continuing fine; but the sky giving indubitable signs of the approach of the stormy and rainy season, we beat back along shore to pick up our boats. The wind had been veering about for some time, and at length seemed to have made up its mind to enjoy a stiffish blow out of the south-west. This, of course, would have kicked up a considerable surf on the bar, and as Jenkins had orders, as soon as he saw signs of such being the case, to come out and look out for us, we were in hourly expectation of falling in with the boats. We had, however, seen nothing of them, though we kept a very sharp look-out, and had almost got up to the mouth of the river, when, in the afternoon watch, I bethought me that by way of a change I would go aloft, and try if a fresh pair of eyes would see farther than those of the man stationed there. I had been up about five minutes, when my eye fell on the white canvas of a largish vessel standing along shore under easy sail. She had a most suspicious look; indeed, I felt convinced that she, at all events, was a slaver. I was on deck in an instant, and, hurrying into the captain’s cabin with a look of triumph, though I tried to be perfectly calm and unconcerned, I uttered the words, “A sail on the lee beam!”
“Very well, Mr Rawson. What does she look like?” said the captain.
“She’s a large topsail schooner, sir, and she’s without doubt a slaver,” I answered quite calmly, as a matter of course.
“What, another of your slavers?” he answered. “I’m afraid they’ll all turn out Flying Dutchmen.”
“Not this time, sir, I’m certain,” I replied. “Shall we make sail in chase?”
“Oh, certainly—certainly!” he replied. “I’ll be on deck immediately myself.”
I flew on deck, and, without waiting for him, sang out, in a cheery voice, to the boatswain, “Turn the hands up! Make sail!” The pipe sounded along the decks with a shriller sound than usual, I thought, and the news that a suspicious sail was in sight having already travelled below, the men were all ready, and flew aloft before the last sound of the order was given. The gear of the courses was overhauled whilst the topgallant-sails and royals were being loosed, and in a few seconds all plain sail was made on the brig. The stranger, who had not apparently before seen us, was not long in following our example. He set his foresail, topgallant-sail, and royal, gaff-topsail and flying-jib, in addition to the canvas he had been before carrying, and, putting down his helm, stood off-shore on a bowline, with the intention of crossing our bows. The reason of his doing this was, that to the northward a long and dangerous reef ran off from the shore, so that he had no other means of escape. We had him, indeed, partly embayed, and yet, if he was able to carry on, it was clear that he might still manage to get out ahead of us. The Gadfly sailed well, and carried her canvas admirably, but so did the stranger; and, by the way every sail on board her was set, it was evident he was in earnest in doing his best to weather on us.