Chapter Five.
We at length get out of the river into the open sea, but a calm comes on, and the Captain again becomes very ill.—No one on board understanding navigation, I doubt whether I shall find my way to Sierra Leone.—The Captain does not believe that he is in danger.—Paul pleads with him about the safety of his soul.—A fire breaks out in the hold.—We in vain endeavour to extinguish it.—The rest of the crew desert us.—Paul and I endeavour to save the Captain, but driven from the cabin by the flames leap overboard and reach a small boat, which we right and get into.—See a schooner approaching us.
At day-break the pilot came on board, the sails were loosed, the anchor hove-up, and the “Chieftain,” with a hot land breeze, which still blew strong, glided down the river. Captain Willis, who had been brought from his cabin by Paul and Sambo, sat propped up with pillows on the deck. It was melancholy to see him, his once strong frame reduced to a mere skeleton, his countenance pale and haggard, and his strong voice now sounding weak and hollow, and scarcely to be heard by those to whom he issued his orders. I stood by him to repeat them. I saw him cast an eye towards the spot which contained the graves of our shipmates, and I could divine his thoughts. Perhaps he might have reflected that had he not been so greedy of gain, many of them might be still alive, while he himself might be enjoying health and strength.
The mangrove covered shores looked even more sombre and monotonous than before, in the grey light of morning, as we glided down between them. The air was hot and oppressive, and full of pestilence, and it seemed a wonder to me that I should have lived so many weeks while breathing such an atmosphere. I dreaded lest the breeze should fail us, and we should be compelled to spend another night under its influence; but the wind held, the tide was in our favour, and we had nearly reached the mouth of the river before the wind dropped, and we had to bring up. A few minutes afterwards the fresh sea breeze came rushing in, pure and sweet, and comparatively cool. With what delight did I gulp it down. I quickly felt like another creature. The captain also seemed to revive rapidly under its influence, and I began to hope that he would ultimately recover.
I eagerly watched the sparkling lines of white foam as the ocean waves, meeting the ebbing current of the river, broke across the bar. How I longed for the evening, when the land breeze would again fill our sails, and carry us out into the open bounding ocean. It seemed to me that then all difficulty would be passed, and we should only have to shape our course for England, and steer on till we should reach it.
The captain, unwilling again to go below, sat all day on deck under an awning, ready for the moment when we might venture to weigh anchor. It came at last. Just before sunset the hot wind began to blow. Although the bar still wore a threatening aspect, the pilot declared that, without fear, we might venture over it.
Not a moment was lost, on we stood towards it. In a short time foaming breakers were hissing and bubbling around us. Once more I felt the vessel rising to the heaving wave, and welcomed the showers of spray which flew over her deck. On she sped, but very slowly; now she sank downwards, and it seemed as if the next roller would send her back on the bar. It glided under her, however, and then she appeared floating, as it were, almost at rest on its summit, and then downwards she slid, slowly making her onward way.
In a few minutes more we were in the free open ocean, and the dark sombre river, with its gloomy associations, was far astern. Every inch of canvas the vessel could carry was set, that we might get a good offing before nightfall, when a calm was to be expected.
“I never wish to see that place again,” I could not help exclaiming.