“All hands make sail,” cried the officer of the watch, who had just made his report to the commander.
“All hands make sail,” echoed the boatswain, giving with his shrill pipe the well-known signal. “Tumble up there, tumble up there,” roared out the boatswain’s mates, with their gruff voices, to the sluggards who seemed inclined to stick in their hammocks.
In a few moments the watch below were rushing up on deck and flying to their stations, and then, as if by magic, the masts and yards of the brig were covered with the broad sheets of canvas which had been furled during the night. Topgallant-sails, royals, and studding-sails being set in rapid succession, away glided the brig with her head towards the land, through the calm, leaden-coloured water. Jack and Terence had with the rest sprung on deck, not taking many moments to slip into their clothes. Few landsmen can understand how quickly that operation can, by constant practice, be performed. They had there joined Alick, who had the morning watch. Together they all went aloft to take a look at the chase.
“She’s a slaver, from her evident wish to avoid us, and from the way she is standing,” observed Alick, after having taken a long look at her through his glass. “We may prevent her from embarking her slaves, and save the poor wretches the horrors to which they are always exposed, when once they get on board these iniquitous prison-ships. To look down on a slave-deck crowded with human beings, is quite sufficient to make a man abhor slavery for ever after, and to desire to put an end, with all his might, to the system which can produce such horrors.”
Jack and Adair agreed that they should have great satisfaction in capturing or destroying every slaver on the coast. The stranger soon discovered that the brig of war was in chase of her, and having crowded all sail, kept away directly for the land. From the wide spread of her white canvas, and from the way she had behaved, there was no doubt she was a slaver. Everybody felt certain that they should capture the stranger; the Archer was undoubtedly overhauling her, and she could not escape either to the north or south without their perceiving her, and cutting her off. An hour’s chase brought them in sight of the land. It was a low, uninviting shore, lined with a dense belt of mangrove bushes, a few tall palms appearing here and there above them; then the ground rose slightly, with some ranges of blue hills in the distance. As the sun rose, a mist was drawn up which floated just above the water and shut out the lower branches of the mangrove-trees, though their tops, forming a wavy dark line, could just be seen above it. None of the officers of the Archer had been on the coast before, and as she had no pilot, it was necessary to approach it with caution. The lead was therefore kept going. The schooner stood boldly on.
“The fellows will, I am afraid, run her on shore, if they can find no other means of escaping,” observed the captain, after scrutinising the chase and the coast she was approaching through his glass.
“We shall have her, she can’t escape us, that’s one comfort,” cried Jack Rogers.
On flew the schooner. The wind freshened somewhat. Suddenly she entered the belt of mist. Everybody on board the brig rubbed their eyes. Where was she? Not a vestige of her was to be seen. As they approached the land, the roar of the surf on the shore reached their ears. There could be little doubt that the schooner had been run on shore, and would probably soon be knocked to pieces, while her crew had made their escape to the land. Captain Grant was anxious to stand in as close as he could.
“By the deep nine,” sang out one of the men in the chains.
“By the mark seven,” soon repeated another.