The Three Lieutenants

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“I doubt whether I ever did eat such delicious oranges,” exclaimed Desmond, sucking away at orange after orange. “All the pips grow on the outside. What a convenient arrangement for a person in a hurry! I have seen many a black fellow with a mouth big enough to take in a whole one, though such a bolus would be apt to stick in his gullet if he were to swallow one before putting his teeth into it.”

“Well, youngsters, if we are to get far up the harbour before dark we must be off,” said Higson. “Come, let us pack up our traps, and take care not to leave any pots or pans on shore.”

The party soon got once more in the boat, but the wind failing them they had to depend on their oars in making headway. Wishing to go as far as they could before nightfall they pulled on cheerfully, amusing themselves, now by singing many a merry song, now shouting, now spinning yarns, some of them, it must be owned, oft-repeated tales. The scenery appeared as beautiful as at first. At length as evening was approaching, and Higson began to feel hungry, he once more put in for the shore at a spot somewhat resembling that on which they had landed for dinner. Here, too, was running water, a grove of orange-trees, and not far off several gigantic mangroves, with figs and grapes in abundance.

“Faith! we are in a regular paradise,” observed Desmond.

“We may revel in fruits, at all events,” said Higson.

They agreed, as no houses were to be seen, and as they were not likely to be interrupted, that they would bring up here for the night, and get a bathe in the morning before starting. The fire was lighted as usual; cocoa and coffee put on and made, while the provisions they had brought were spread on the ground. Not intending to proceed farther they were in no hurry, and fully enjoyed their meal, finishing off with an extra glass of grog or two, which naturally produced the usual songs and yarns, till they all declared that they felt remarkably happy. Snatchblock and Tim Brady presented them with a liberal supply of fruit, which was generous on the part of the two men, considering that it had cost them nothing. It was eaten, however, with not the less relish.

As the merry party smoked their cigars or pipes, sucked oranges, and sipped their grog, many a yarn of bygone days was told. Snatchblock and Tim Brady took their part. On such expeditions as these, steady men are permitted a familiarity not allowable on board. Higson had already told two or three stories, and had just described an amusing scene on the coast of Africa, when Ben Snatchblock chimed in.

“Do you mind, Mr Higson, when we were aboard the Corsair together on the coast? We saw many curious sights among the niggers; they seem altogether a different sort of people to those over here. You know, young gentlemen, we always ship a dozen or more black fellows aboard, to do the hard work, wooding, and watering, and such like, which would pretty nigh kill white men if they were to attempt it in the hot sun of the coast. The blacks we got were called Kroomen; they altogether beat any other niggers I have ever fallen in with in these parts—fine, big, active fellows, and strong as any Englishman, and stronger than most, and as brave as need be; in fact, we could not get on without them. The slavers never come near the Kroomen’s country. In the first place they are very hard to catch, as they fight desperately, and not one of them would ever consent to be turned into a slave. Most of those along the coast, who have served on board men-of-war or merchantmen, speak a little English; some speak it pretty well. They are neat and clean in their persons, and their houses are far better furnished than those of the blacks in general, with chairs, tables, looking-glasses, and china, and all sorts of things, just like civilised Christians. When a gang is engaged for a ship they always have a head man, with a mate under him, who is called his favourite man. You will remember, Mr Higson, sir, the fellow we had aboard the Corsair, who was called Dan Ropeyarn; a great big fellow he was, too—stood six feet six without his shoes, seeing he never wore such things. He could lift up me and Tim Brady here—and we are not chickens—one in each hand. Dan was a good-natured fellow, which was fortunate, for it would not have done to offend him. He was not what is called a beauty though; he had a mouth so wide that we used to declare he somehow or other managed to shift his ears farther back when he had a mind to grin, and show his white teeth. Dan’s mate or favourite man was called Tom Saucepan. He was a pretty strong fellow, but he was not equal to Dan, and in point of good looks there wasn’t much to make one jealous of the other, though maybe the black damsels of their own country have a different opinion from ours on the subject. One evening we were going down the Sheba river, which was pretty broad you mind, sir. The wind was light, and the water as smooth as glass. We had been on somewhat short commons for a month or two, for the slave-dealers prevented the people when they could from bringing off fresh provisions. Suddenly the lookout from the masthead, who had been in a South Sea whaler, shouted out—

“‘A turtle, floating down stream, sir.’

“The commander asked Dan Ropeyarn if he could catch the turtle.