Just as he spoke there was a loud hullabaloo from Terence, echoed by the doctor. Over they both went head first, but the doctor’s heels did not follow, for they had stuck fast in the mud, into which poor Terence’s head plunged with a loud thud. The doctor heroically endeavoured to pull him out, but his own legs only stuck deeper and deeper. As the marine officer came up and passed by them, he began capering about and neighing in triumph, while Jack barbarously inquired whether they would like to have a tow. At last Terence, covered with mud, black and most ill-odorous, scrambled out, and, by throwing to him the end of his handkerchief, contrived to haul out the doctor, who once more took him on his shoulders, and in sorry plight continued his course. Jack looked round and saw them coming just as Mr Stokes was about to round the palm-trees. He crowed loudly and waved his hand. It would have been wiser, however, if he had not begun to triumph so soon, for his steed’s foot catching in a falling and half-hidden branch, over they both went, and were half buried and almost stifled in the soft hot sand. However, they picked themselves up; and, Jack, mounting, away they went towards the goal where their friends were ready to receive them. Just as they got up to it, down came the gallant marine once more, but Jack stuck to his back, and on all fours he crawled up to the winning-post. The poor doctor, with Terence, as Jack said, like a huge baboon clinging behind him, came in soon after; and the doctor declared that it was the last time, with or without a jockey, he would ever run a race on the shores of Africa or anywhere else. In the afternoon the blacks in parties were taken on shore under an armed escort to bathe and exercise themselves; and the next day, the wind shifting, the frigate and captured slaver again made sail for their destination.
“The frigate is signalising to us,” said Jack one morning to Lieutenant Hemming, who had just come on deck. “She is going in chase of a sail to the southward. We are to continue our course for Sierra Leone.”
In a couple of hours the frigate was out of sight. There appeared to be every promise of fine weather.
Hemming’s chief concern was for the blacks, who were sickly. Several had already died, and not a day passed without four or five being added to the number. It was important, therefore, to make the passage as quickly as possible. For this object the commanding officer kept probably more sail on the ship than she would otherwise have carried.
Jack one afternoon had charge of the watch; all seemed satisfactory. As he was taking a turn on deck, he saw Dick Needham hurrying towards him and pointing to the sea to leeward. It was a mass of white foam. He shouted out, “All hands shorten sail!”
Hemming and Adair rushed out of the cabin. Hemming without speaking seized an axe, and began cutting away at the halyards; Adair and Jack followed his example. The crew flew into the rigging with their knives, but it was too late. The tornado was upon them; over went the ship; down, down she heeled. The seething water rushed in at her ports. Shrieks and cries arose from the unhappy negroes confined below. Jack and Needham’s first impulse was to knock off the hatches, and a few blacks sprang on deck before the sea closed over their heads.
“The ship is sinking, the ship is sinking,” was the cry fore and aft.
“Then a raft must be formed, my lads,” sang out Lieutenant Hemming. “Never say die, while life remains.”