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A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship

Gentle Hand

on Her Last African Cruise

Works of

T. JENKINS HAINS

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

New England Building

BOSTON MASS.

“SPRANG WITH THE EASE OF A CAT UPON OUR POOP-RAIL.”
(See page 227)

The
Black Barque

A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship

Gentle Hand

on Her Last African Cruise

By

T. JENKINS HAINS

AUTHOR OF

“THE STRIFE OF THE SEA,” “THE WIND-JAMMERS,” ETC.

Illustrated by

W. HERBERT DUNTON

BOSTON

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1905

By L. C. Page & Company

(INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

Published February, 1905

Fifth Impression, March, 1908.

COLONIAL PRESS

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.

Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

TO THE

MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER

Thornton Jenkins

REAR-ADMIRAL UNITED STATES NAVY

AND HIS COUSIN

Sir Robert Jenkins, K.C.B.

VICE-ADMIRAL ROYAL NAVY

WHOSE SERVICES TO THE BLACK MAN SHOULD NOT

BE FORGOTTEN

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED

CONTENTS

THE SHIP’S COMPANY

OF THE

Gentle Hand

OFFICERS

William Howard, master.

Richard Hawkson, first officer.

John Gull, second officer.

Sherman Henry, third officer.

CREW

Peter Richards, American, boatswain.

John Heywood, American, gunner (who relates the story).

OWNERS AND PASSENGERS

CHAPTER I.
I SEEK A NEW SHIP

When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift upon that port’s dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French privateers and had fought under Napoleon’s eagles. The peace that had followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of support.

I had come over from the States in an old tub of a barque called the Washington, after having served as mate for two years on the schooner General Greene. The war had taught me something, for I had served in the navy in one of the South Pacific cruises, and had fought in the frigate Essex. I was only a boy in years, but the service--and other matters hardly worth mentioning here--had hardened my nature and developed the disagreeable side of my character. I was mate of the old hooker, and could have made out well enough if the captain hadn’t been somewhat down on me, for I never cared especially for women, and I believed my experience justified my opinion of them,--but no matter.

The old man seemed to think I couldn’t be happy without thrashing every day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small experience.

We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my failings.

The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough, so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third mate, who was the captain’s son.

It wasn’t the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me. They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I didn’t care very much.

The only man aboard who seemed interested to any extent was old Richards, the second mate. Richards had served on the frigate Essex in her famous cruise, and after the war he had chosen to try his hand in merchant ships, for the change of the man-o’-war’s man’s life from action to slothful peace had been too much for him. Silent and thoughtful, he had listened to me and was pained at my speech. He was called old Richards because of his quiet manner, although he was not much over thirty-five, and I bore with his sour looks while I went to the quarter-deck to finish my little say with the skipper.

As an American man-o’-war’s man, it was my duty to invite the captain ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and, sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence.

I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it, while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and return.

I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends upon its finding something it is not looking for.

“Bon jaw,” he said.

I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face.

“I’m a Yankee sailor,” said I, “and if you want any business with me you’ll have to speak something I understand. And besides,” I added, edging closer to him, “I don’t allow fellows to talk about me in a foreign language,--unless I’ve got a good reason to think they’re saying something truthful. You savvey? Or I’ll make a handsome monkey of you by changing that figurehead you’ve got there.”

A sudden scowl came over the fellow’s face and went again. “I kin give you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do you a favour.”

“‘Virtue is its own reward,’” I said, reaching into my pocket as though for a piece of money. “Cast loose!”

“It’s on account of that reward I reckon you don’t practise it,” grinned the fellow. “Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “If you are an American or English, let’s have your lay.

“Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that’s your game, you better slant away. Don’t you see I’ve enough ship for the rest of my life, hey?”

The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They were enormous.

“Look a-here now, don’t you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all these here swabs a-looking on? You look like you had sense enough to go below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there’s a ship without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you’ll come go along with me, an’ talk the matter over, there’ll be no harm done except to the spirruts,--an’ they’s free.”

I was very thirsty and could talk no French, so, more to be guided to a place to quench my thirst on good ale than by curiosity, I allowed him to lead me up the dock. I noticed several of the loungers upon the pier-head scowl at me as I went my way, and one tall, fierce-looking fellow, who had been glancing at me frequently, gradually fell away from the group of loafers and strolled up behind us. I paid no further attention to these fellows, but, as I reached the street with its babble of unfamiliar language, a sudden feeling came upon me. I don’t know what it was, but I was only a boy, and the future seemed dark and lonely. I turned and looked back at the Washington. She was the only thing American in sight, and the months I spent aboard her were not to be thrust aside lightly. They had all been too full of work and sorrow.

“Good-bye, old barkey,” I cried, holding my right hand high up,--“good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you.”

I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man gave a sneer.

“Very sentimental and proper feeling,” said he. “A ship’s like a person, more or less, an’ when one gets used to her he don’t like to give her up.”

“What do you know about sentiment, you swine?” I asked, fiercely. “I’ve a good notion to whang you for your insolence.”

“A very fine spirit,” he commented, as though to himself, as he walked ahead, “a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here’s the ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better.”

CHAPTER II.
CAPTAIN HOWARD

I might as well say in the beginning that, while I have a sailor’s taste for liquor, I’m not especially noted as a drunkard or spirit-wholloper. By the latter I mean given to ruffianism or brawling while under its influence. It is because of a naturally refined and peaceful disposition that I am so constituted, and I take no glory on that account. It is nonsense to suppose all sailors ruffians and all tales of the sea coarse, because some swabs have found that the hand of a knowing mate or skipper lies heavy upon an empty pate. The story of many voyages on American ships is gentle and uneventful as the daily run of a lady’s carriage. For evidence, read their logs. We entered the den of our little ferret-faced companion, and had no sooner sat at a table to order the ale than I was aware of the tall, dour man who had followed us from the pier-head. My second mate was too much taken up with the inmates of the place to notice anything else. I might as well confess Richards was a very pious fellow, and it must have been much against his wish to have been where he was. The tall man paid little attention to him, but looked at me.

He did not come into the room, but stood in the doorway, his fierce eyes fixed upon my face, and his long, drooping moustache hanging below his jowls, giving him a most sinister appearance. Our companion appeared not to perceive his presence at first, and only when he tilted his mug and threw his head back did his weasel eyes seem to fall in with those of the stranger.

“Come in, you terrier!” I cried. “Come in and have a mug to soak your whiskers in. Sink me, but barbers must be scarce around here. Soldier o’ the guard, hey? No one but a Voltigeer-r-r o’ the guard-r-rd would wear such hangers.”

“Young man,” said the stranger, quietly, “your language is rather unseemly, and should not be applied to one of the cloth. Hark ye! I am a man of peace, sir. I am Richard Raymond, chaplain of the Guerrière frigate. I never indulge.” He raised a lean, sinewy hand and shook his head gently at the proffered ale.

“May the devil seize me if you ain’t the holy joe I’m looking for!” I cried. “Sit down, man, sit down.”

“Not in such a place. I but came to plead with you not to fill yourself with that liquid. It is ruinous.” Here he looked across the room where the proprietor was attending to a group of sailors who were about a table. “It is ruinous, I say, and here I implore you not to drink too much. As a man of God, I ask you, and the chaplain of the Guerrière,” and he raised his eyes aloft and clasped his hands as if in prayer. I now noticed his clothes were somewhat clerical in cut, though shabby. At this moment, a buxom maid brought some fresh mugs, foaming full, and I tossed her a piece of money. She looked at me and smiled, saying something I failed to understand. Then casting a look at the tall man in the door, she laughed and went her way.

“And why not on the frigate now?” I asked Mr. Raymond, who still seemed to be absorbed in prayer.

“Lost, man, lost!” said my little companion, taking a fresh mug. “Don’t you know she was lost?”

“Well,” I cried, “what difference? Should a holy man desert his ship any the sooner for being holy, hey? Answer me that. Why didn’t you get lost in her? Sink me, but I like a man who will do something more than talk for the good of a soul. I like a bit o’ sacrifice now and again to show the meaning true. I’d like to see our friend drink this mug of ale to save me from the devil, for, if he’ll drink it, I vow I’ll not buy another for myself.”

“Deliver us from evil,” moaned Raymond. “Oh, Henry, I couldn’t do it,” and his eyes rolled up.

“So your name is Henry, is it?” I asked my little companion.

He looked queerly at me.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” I asked, roughly.

“You never asked me,” said he. “The chaplain has known me many years.”

“Well,” I cried, rising and advancing upon Mr. Raymond, “you’ll either drink this ale or get it in the face, for I’ll not be badgered by every hairy heaven-yelper I run against. Drink!” and I held the mug toward him.

His fierce eyes gleamed curiously, and he reached for the tankard. Then he raised it to his lips, and the long moustache was buried half a foot in the foam. When he let it down it was empty. The next instant something crashed against my head, and I saw many stars. Then came a blank. It must have been some minutes before I came to, and, when I did, I found myself lying upon the floor with my Mr. Henry and the barmaid wiping the blood from my face. The tall man had disappeared, and I struggled to my feet, my head whirling. Upon the floor lay pieces of the mug.

“Did that sky-pilot do it?” I asked, feebly.

Henry grinned.

“Ah, ah, pauvre garçon, pauvre, pauvre--what eet is, boy? Pauvre boy. C’est poar boy, poar boy,” said the stout girl, wiping my clothes gently and laying a hand on my shoulder.

The effect of a little sympathy was strange, especially from a woman.

“Never mind,” I said, taking her hand from my shoulder and holding it a moment. “Get some fresh ale. There is no damage done. If that fellow was a man of peace, I should not like to come across his breed as man of war. Sit down, you son of a fox,” I continued to Henry, “and let’s have your yarn, and if I see you so much as grin, this shop will be unlucky.” We drew up again to the table.

“I should think,” said Richards, “you have had your say long enough now, and would listen to reason. Steady yourself and get back into some ship before you get in jail. I don’t care any more for the hooker you just left than you do, and wouldn’t go back in her if there was any other vessel wanting hands.”

“I feel flattered at your attentions, my dear Peter,” said I. “It is good of you to follow me to take care of one so young. My morals are pretty bad, and I need a nurse.”

“That is certain,” said the sailor, with conviction that angered me not a little.

Richards’s manner was a bit trying to me at all times when I wanted to have a say, and this time I lost patience. Yet, when I thought of it afterward, I saw a steady head would have kept me out of much trouble. He was a perfectly balanced man. He would neither lose his head with joy, nor sink with despair at some seeming desperate trouble. He had learned this by experience, and his steady eyes were not those of a dullard. He felt as much as any one, as I soon learned when I gave him the sharp edge of my tongue. He was not a large man, but rather small and wiry. His size, I often thought, had governed his actions, for aboard ship a small man cannot talk too loud. Since he had served with me, I had reason to believe his body had little to do with his mind.

“Peter,” I said, acidly, “I’m looking for a ship. Will you go along in her with me?”

“That I will,” he said, but I thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time.

“Then, my weasel,” said I, turning to Mr. Henry, “you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, I’ll hold my mate to his word if I ship in nothing better than a West Indian sugar-boat. Sail in, my bully. Let’s have the old tune I’ve heard so often.”

Henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. We were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. I have always had this happen when there were others around, but I take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that I was a well-put-up man. I had nothing whatever to do with my birth.

“You see,” said he, “I don’t make any bones wot I’m up to. I’m after men sech as you an’ me. My father were a Yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as I have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time I think of her.”

“You can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue,” I growled.

“Perhaps so,” he assented; “maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that’s why I’m lookin’ out fer men wot’s men. I get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an’ I stands in with the crowd. No shanghai business with me. It don’t pay. Why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? A matter o’ a pound or two an’ a good name fer fair dealin’ gone. Oh, no! I don’t run fer bad ships. I only takes the clippers, an’ I give handsome.”

“What’s the hooker’s name?” I asked.

“That’s just what I’m coming to if you’ll only say the word to go in her. They want a mate, and they’ll pay a big whack for a good man.”

“Name, you wolf,” I repeated, draining my mug. “Give the name, or pay for this ale and clear.”

“I’ll take you to her--”

He was interrupted by the entrance of a small man who strode quickly into the room and sat at once in an empty chair near the door. As the newcomer entered, Henry half-rose and saluted, receiving a slight nod of recognition in return.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked, gruffly.

“Sh-h! not so loud,” and he scowled at me. “That’s Captain Howard.”

“Who the saints is Captain Howard? Can he drink ale?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t ask him if I were you. He’s not a man of peace,” and he looked at me slantwise.

“I see,” I answered, and I looked the stranger over carefully. He was quite small in stature and his face was pale. His hands were soft, white, and effeminate-looking. Upon one finger a huge diamond sparkled. Just then he turned his gaze to meet mine, and I must admit his eyes gave me quite a turn. They were as glassy and expressionless as those of a fish. His whole smooth face, in fact, seemed to express nothing but vacancy. I had never seen a human face so devoid of expression. There was hardly a line in it save about the drooping corners of his mouth.

“He don’t look dangerous,” I said, with a chuckle. “However, I’m not hunting trouble, and, if you think he’ll be offended at my acquaintance, he can go without it.”

“He’s related to the great English house,--them--them ar’stocrats, ye know. That’s the way he’s got the king’s pardon.”

“Pardon for what?” I asked.

He glanced sidewise at me with that ferret look upon his face. “You’ve heard, sure? No? Well, then, that’s the skipper that held up the Indian Prince.”

Then I remembered well enough. He was the little fellow with the pirate crew that had held up the big East-Indianman in the China Sea some years back. It was he who took the treasure and squandered it in mad riot in the streets of Singapore, and defied the authorities. Here, indeed, was the man feared by both whites and savages of the Eastern seas, sitting in this little ale-house as unconcerned as though nothing unusual had happened to excite curiosity. I was so taken up looking at him and wondering at his foul crimes that he had received and drunk off his liquor before I realized what had happened. As he left, I seized my mug and drank it.

“Come along,” I said. “Show me your ship,” and Mr. Henry paid the score and started for the door, while I followed. As I reached it, I turned to see what Richards would do, but he was game.

“Here comes your nourse, sonny,” he said. “I was paid off yesterday, and don’t mind a change if it’s for better,” and he looked so serious that I burst out laughing.

CHAPTER III.
THE BARQUE

Henry led the way through the streets until we came to the anchorage basin beyond the docks. He was talkative enough, but my head ached from the blow I had received from the man of peace, and I paid little attention to the fellow’s words.

We passed a large American ship that had been captured by the English during the war and sold. She loomed up grandly from the small craft lying near, her long, tapering masts still showing the unmistakable Yankee rigging, and her yards having yet a vestige of the white American cloth which has since been a pleasant feature of all our craft. Her paint was worn off, however, and upon her decks a mongrel crew chattered away like a pack of monkeys. I halted a moment and looked at her in disgust.

“What ship is that?” I asked.

“The Independence of Boston. She were taken by the English line ship St. Marys off Cape St. Roque. She were stove up some. See that big piece spliced into her stern where she was shot away. Her mainyard’s fished in two places. Took two whole broadsides to fetch her to, they say. That trim-lookin’ craft beyond her is the one we’re headin’ fer,--the one laying head on with the foreyards cockbilled.”

We went toward the vessel indicated, and I soon saw what indeed appeared to be a fine craft. She was large, probably five hundred tons, but she was barque rigged, with her mainmast stepped well aft. Her foreyards were lifted to starboard and her main were braced to all angles, giving her the appearance of having been suddenly deserted by her crew after making port. Upon the spars the white canvas lay bent and furled, the clews standing out a foot or two clear of the bunt, and the gaskets hove in taut as brass bands. Her black sides showed a good freeboard, but I thought little of this, as nearly all vessels bound to the westward were going pretty light at that time. She was coppered, and the top band was a good half-fathom clear of the water. She was pierced for six guns on a side, and had several more ports painted along the bulwarks on the main-deck, as was the custom of the day. At a distance she might have been taken for a vessel of twenty or more guns. Her build was English, but her rig was Scandinavian, and I noticed her poop was painted white everywhere except on deck, after the Yankee fashion.

Three heavy boats were slung amidships on booms. Forward of these a galley was built or lashed upon the deck, and from its window appeared the black head of an African. We went close to the water’s edge and Henry hailed.

“Th-war-bull-yah! Ahoy!” he bellowed.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Ha-Yah-Wah, ahoy!” he bellowed again in answer, and the nigger in the galley waved a white rag in reply.

“May the sharks eat me, you dock wrastler, but that’s a queer name for a fine ship! How do you call her?” I asked.

“He’s comin’ now,” said Henry, with a grin. “Names is mostly just sounds, an’ furrin sounds is just like others, only different. We’ll go aboard her, and you can see the old man an’ settle with him. Don’t be afraid o’ high pay. He’ll give it.”

In a few minutes a boat left the barque from the side opposite us, where it had been out of sight. It rounded under her stern and came toward us, with the nigger standing aft sculling with the peculiar swing of the Bahama conch. He landed almost at our feet, and Henry motioned me to jump aboard.

“Ole man aboard, hey?” asked Henry, stepping in after me.

“Yassir, disha boat just done taken him abo’d. He’s done expected mos’ all han’s afo’ dis.”

“Well, take us over,” said Henry, and he settled himself heavily upon a thwart.

In a short time we were alongside. We clambered up a long hanging ladder amidships, and then over the rail to the main-deck.

As we did so a venerable, white-haired old fellow stepped out of the cabin door and greeted us.

Henry took off his cap and bowed with uncommon civility.

“Captain Watkins, allow me to make known Mr.--Mr.--”

“Heywood,” I suggested.

“Mr. Heywood,” continued Henry. “He is the best mate in Havre, an’ is just off the American ship Washington. I knowed you wanted a good mate, so I brought you the best in town.”

The old fellow held out his hand gravely, and said how glad he was to make my acquaintance.

“I am just looking for a good navigator, and if you’ll come at my terms, I’ll reckon we’ll deal.”

I suggested that the terms be made known.

“Well, I reckon on thirty pound a month is all I allow just now. Will you consider that?”

As this was five times as much as any mate I had ever heard of received, I told him I would consider the matter closed.

“An’ your friend, here. I take it he is an American, too,--an’ a sailorman from clew to earring.”

Richards looked at him steadily.

“You are a right smart of a guesser, Mr. Watkins,” said he. “I was second in the Washington, but I’ve been in better ships.”

The insolence of old Peter calling the captain mister was almost too much for me. Here was a chance of a lifetime. I turned upon him.

“If you are going to act foolish with one drink of ale, just for a chance to back down, you better get ashore,” I snapped.

“I’ve seen many men more sensible drunk than you are sober, Heywood,” said he, looking calmly at me, “but I’ll not back down.”

“Will you accept the same terms?” asked the old man, kindly.

Richards looked at him in scorn. Then he spat on the white deck.

“I’ll go,” said he, and Captain Watkins turned to me.

“There is no grog served aboard, and no swearing on this ship, Mr. Heywood,” said he. “I am an old man, as you see, and wish my crew orderly and quiet. Do you wish to stay aboard at once?”

I said I would just as soon turn to at once. The rate of pay fairly frightened me, and I was afraid if I went ashore he might get some one else in my place. The appearance of the barque was much in her favour. Her decks were as white as holystone could make them, and her gear was all new and carefully selected. Such lines seldom found place upon any ships save men-of-war, and her blocks, with polished brass pins and sheaves, were marvels to me. I stood idly pulling a topsail brace with one hand and looking up at the fine rigging, while Henry talked of his tip for bringing me. Even the sheer-poles were polished brass. The old fellow finally led us below, and handed Henry a small gold piece, and then offered me a few pounds in advance, requesting me to sign a receipt for the same. This I did, and then Henry left, shaking me heartily by the hand as he went over the side. I returned his grip, for I felt he had indeed been my friend.

“You may take the port room there, Mr. Heywood, and put your things shipshape as soon as Henry gets them off your vessel. If the second or third mate comes aft to see me, don’t fail to call me,--er--er, you know I’m quite without officers, sir, but will probably have both them and a crew aboard soon. The papers have not been made out yet, but I believe I have your receipt for your advance. Witnessed by Henry, it will do, I suppose, but I am not afraid of you, Mr. Heywood. You don’t look like a man to take advantage of a ship’s generosity.” Then he went aft, and I went to the port room. It meant that I was first mate, and I opened the door with a high heart.

There was nothing at all in the stateroom save an old clay pipe and a twist of tobacco. The bunk was bare, and I sat upon the edge of it speculating upon my good fortune. Finally I lit the pipe and smoked. The smoke wreaths rolled upward, and, as I watched them, I built many pleasant things in the future.

How long I dreamed I don’t know, but it was quite late in the afternoon when I heard a hail from the shore that sounded like Henry’s. I went on deck and met the nigger coming from the galley to the boat. I noticed what a strapping buck the fellow was, and he saw me watching him.

“Disha hooker’ll have er crew soon. Yassir, she will dat,” said he, grinning and showing a row of teeth almost as pointed and white as those of a shark. Then he climbed over the rail, and was soon sculling to the shore, where I saw Henry and two men waiting.

They came aboard and were ushered into the cabin by the venerable skipper, whom I had awakened.

“This is Mr. Martin,” said Henry, introducing the first one with the air of a man presenting a lord. The fellow pulled off his hat and squared his shoulders, and then looked somewhat disturbed by this mark of respect. He was clean shaven, with a great broad head set upon an enormous pair of shoulders. He was short but powerfully built, and his bright eyes were restless. He was no drunken ship-rat, but a strong, healthy sailor.

“Mr. Martin, it gives me pleasure to meet you, sir. As I understand you wish to sign as second mate, I present you to Mr. Heywood, the first officer,” and he nodded to me with a graceful sweep of the hand. He had evidently forgotten Richards, but I did not feel inclined to remind him at that moment.

The fellow looked at me and scowled, at the same time nodding. This sort of thing was more than he had expected. Then he broke forth in broad Scotch that he would sign or go ashore.

“Would twenty pound a month do you?” asked the skipper, wistfully.

The fellow did not understand. The amount probably dazed him. Captain Watkins repeated the offer.

“Weel an’ guid! weel an’ guid!” he cried, slapping his stout leg. “Let’s have a squint o’ th’ goold.”

“I shall be glad to hand you a few pounds at once in advance,” said the old skipper. “Please sign this receipt for four pounds,” and so saying, he produced the money.

The fellow put it in his clothes and signed the paper at once.

His companion stepped up. He was a Swede and blond. His blue eyes were bleary with liquor, and the old man looked at him and shook his head sadly.

“No drinkin’ and no swearin’ aboard here, my friend--er--er--”

“Anderson,” said Henry.

“No drinking here, Mr. Anderson. If you’ll accept fifteen pounds a month and three pounds in advance, just scratch off a receipt and we’ll finish up and have dinner.”

This was done and the two men saw Henry over the side, giving him, as I had done, a good tip for his kind interest in getting them such fine berths. Then the big nigger cleared the table and brought in a very substantial[substantial] meal, at which the captain and we mates fell to.

I was not a little astonished at the appearance of Richards. He was all cleaned up and wore a scarf tied under his newly shaved chin. He was always neat in appearance, but here he was, without anything apparently to tog out with, all rigged as fine as though he were going ashore. His smooth face, sunburned and lined as it was from exposure, seemed to tell of much hardship in the past. He was a solemn-looking fellow at best, and to see him togged out in this shape, with his hands washed and old clothes brushed, was strange. He took his place at the table without a word.

“You see,” said Captain Watkins, looking at me with his sharp eyes, “I believe in the equality of all men.”

I nodded, for it was not often the mates and sailors of a ship had a chance to eat in the forward cabin of a vessel, especially together. The Scotchman, Martin, eyed the old fellow narrowly. We could not all be mates.

“One man’s as good as another, and sometimes even better,” said Richards, softly.

“That’s it. Even a black man is as good as a white one. Some people don’t think so, but I know it’s so,” said the skipper.

“I’ve seen some I thought better,” said Richards, helping himself to a piece of boiled meat, “but it don’t keep people from jerking them up for slaves when they get a chance.”

“I have known slavers,” said the old man, gently, “but they are a rough set and capable of any crime. On our last voyage one of those fellows wanted to visit me during a calm, but I was afraid of him and warned him away. A desperate-looking set they were.”

“Must have frightened you badly,” sneered Richards.

The old skipper looked at the sailor. There was something like sadness in his voice as he answered.

“I’m of a somewhat timid nature, but cannot help it. I cannot stand seeing poor coloured folk made to suffer. You will know me better after you have sailed with me for a voyage.”

I thought I saw just the glimmer of a smile around the corners of his mouth as he said this, and looked for some reply from my talkative mate. Richards made no further remark, and the conversation turned to more sailor-like topics.

We talked rather late, as the skipper was most fatherly in his manner, and, when the fellow Martin suggested he would go ashore and get his dunnage, it was found that Henry had taken the boat without the nigger, and had not sent it back aboard.

“It is of no great consequence, I hope,” said Watkins. “You two, Mr. Heywood and Richards, may turn in the port room; you, Mr. Martin and Mr. Anderson, to starboard, and perhaps in the morning I can let you have the day ashore.”

Then we separated. Richards and I tossed a coin to see who would get the bunk, and I won. I arranged my coat for a pillow and soon fell asleep, leaving my roommate to shift for himself on the deck.

Once or twice during the night I thought I heard stealthy footsteps overhead, and once it seemed to me that the barque was heeling over a bit. Finally I was awakened by a loud banging at my door, and, springing up, found it was broad day. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that the barque was under way.

Opening the door, I found a strange fellow scowling at me. He was dressed as a common sailor and was a bit drunk.

It is just as well to start discipline right aboard a ship, thought I, so I hitched my trousers’ belt the tighter before sailing in to show how an American mate whangs the deviltry and liquor out of a foreign skin when aroused from pleasant dreams. I noticed the absence of Richards, but thought he had already turned out for duty. Then I accosted the fellow and asked softly what he wanted.

“What cher doin’ in my room, yer bloomin’ swine?” he howled. “Git out an’--”

I had stopped him with a right swing on the jaw, and the next instant we were loping about that cabin in fine style. In a moment there was a rush of feet, and something crashed on my head. Then followed stars and darkness.

CHAPTER IV.
SHANGHAIED

When I came again into this world, I found myself lying in a dark, dirty hole of a forecastle. There was not a man there, but, as I looked over the empty berths, I saw plenty of clothes and bedding, which gave evidence of a full crew.

Getting to my feet, I found my head sorely cut and bruised, and wondered what had happened. A throbbing pain across the eyes did little to aid my thoughts, and, while I stood holding to the ladder down which I had been flung, the scuttle above me was thrust back and the fellow Martin started down.

“Aha!” he said when he saw me, “’twas a guid wan ye got ain yer haid. A clout will do ye na harm, ye thievin’ trixter, ye deceivin’ rascal. Now I’ll give you one for ald lang syne, an’ teach ye better to deceive a honest mon ag’in.”

While talking, he turned back the sleeves of his jumper and made ready to carry out his threat. He saw I made no movement, however, and hesitated.

“Defend yairself, mon, defend yairself. Do not let me whollop yer like a babe,” and he advanced toward me with his hands before him in some very fair style.

“See here,” I said, “what the mischief has happened? What are you driving at? I’ve played no trick, but it looks like some one has played a trick on me.”

“Ah, na backslidin’, ye corward, na backslidin’! Yer can’t fool a canny sailormaun that way. Put yer hands before yer ugly face, or I’ll whollop ye like er babe.”

“I’m not afraid of your wholloping, Scotty. Let me get a turn about my head a bit, and pull this ragged shirt off. Wonderful clean fo’castle this. No drunks, no filthy dunnage overhauled, no--what infernal ship is this, anyway?”

He saw I was not joking. Indeed, my appearance, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, put joking aside, and my last remark about the vessel was true.

He dropped his hands and stared at me.

“Ware ye sure rung in like the rest? Waren’t ye in the game?” Then he burst into a hoarse laugh and held out his hand. At that minute the tramp of feet sounded overhead, and a half-score of men came clattering down the companion-ladder.

It was a mixed crew,--Norwegians, Swedes, dagoes, and Dutchmen,--but all with the unmistakable swing of the deep-water sailor. They stared at me, and then started a gabble of language that in my disturbed condition I failed to understand. They crowded around me and asked questions, and I noticed Anderson eyeing me suspiciously. Then Martin, with a sweep of his hand, cut them off, and began telling how I came aboard. When he was through with his flowery description of Henry, I noticed several men shake their clenched hands aft.

“Well,” said I, “I’m the mate, and I guess I’ll go aft and find out who rapped me over the head. Some fellows in the other watch, I suppose.”

They burst into derisive laughter.

“We’re all mates and captains here,” sung out a big Norwegian addressed as Bill. “You better turn in while you may, friend Heywood. You’re in Henry’s watch, an’ the captain ain’t turned out yet.”

“Who’s the old man?” I asked, bewildered, and thinking I must still be daffy from the crack on the head.

“Ain’t seen him yet,” said several at once.

“Well, what infernal hooker am I in, anyway?” I asked Martin.

“They call her The Gentle Hand, but there ain’t na name painted on her. Some says she’s the Fly-by-Night, Howard’s old pirate barque, but that canna weel be. She’s light. Not a hundred ton below decks, an’ that’s mostly stores.”

“The Fly-by-Night was a cruising brig before the first war with England,” I said. “It can’t possibly be that old hooker. Besides, she was used against the French by your General Braddock.”

“Well, when you find out just what we’ve gotten into, coom an’ tell us,” said Martin.

It had been slowly dawning upon me that I had been the victim of a trick, and I felt in my pocket for the advance I had received the day before. The barque was under way, that was certain, but no one seemed to know where she was bound, and, as I fumbled through my clothes, Martin laughed.

“’Twas guid money, Heywood, but ’tis gone. I missed mine this morning. Maybe Anderson can tell where it is,” and he grinned.

The money was gone. That was certain. Yet it was no dream. I had received it fair enough. Feeling anger and hatred for the trick upon me, I bound up my head and went up the ladder to the deck to have a look around. Several men called out to me to have a care of the mate, but most of them were busy arranging their belongings, quarrelling and fighting among themselves over the possession of what clothes happened to be common to the crowd. I saw Martin steal a pair of tarpaulin trousers from a fellow who was wrestling with the sailor Bill for the possession of a bag of straw bedding. Then I stepped on deck.

The cool air did me good. I went to the rail and looked over. The barque was going steadily to the southward with every rag set. She was heeling but gently, and there was little wind or sea. She was braced a bit to starboard, her port tack aboard, and by her trimming I saw she was under English officers. Every yard just in line with its fellow, from the big main to the little royal that crossed a good hundred and seventy feet above the sea. Far away to the eastward showed the even outline of the French coast, and between us many sails strung along the band of blue, their hulls either just below or rising above the horizon’s line. The day was fine and the easterly breeze gentle, and the barque was swinging easily along.

I looked aft and saw men of the mate’s watch at work setting up the backstays in the main-rigging, and some on the mizzen topsail-yard, apparently under the direction of Richards, serving a worn foot-rope. The canvas covers were off the guns, and a dozen bright twelve-pounders of polished brass shone in the sunlight. The white deck beneath and the varnished spars above made a pretty picture, and I grew warm to think that I was not indeed the mate of such a craft. They had played a fine trick on me to get me aboard sober and without compulsion, signing a receipt for an advance equal to a couple of months’ ordinary wages. There were plenty of sailors about the pier-heads, for the war had turned many adrift without means of getting a ship, and there seemed to be no reason why these fellows should try their land-shark game in getting a crew.

As I looked aft it dawned upon me that these men were much better than the ordinary run of common sailors. There was something in the fellow’s walk I now saw crossing the deck that spoke of the war-ship. Even the watch I had just seen below were remarkably rough and tough specimens of a rugged humanity.

While I stood there taking in the scene, I saw a man come from aft and walk to the break of the poop. He looked over the barque carefully, and as his gaze came down the fore-rigging it stopped upon me.

He was dressed something after the manner of a preacher, with black cloth coat and stock, and his hair was cut short. As I took his figure in, there was little difficulty in recognizing Richard Raymond, the man of peace. He beckoned me to come aft, and, as I did so, he removed the huge drooping moustache he had been wearing and tossed it over the side.

“I reckon you know me now, Heywood,” said he, “though it’s been over six years since we parted. I wanted you on this voyage, and took some pains to get ye. That was the old man who welted ye over the head. I’m sorry for it.”

It was Hawkson, sure enough. I recognized him easily now in spite of his gray hair and older look. How I failed to recognize him at first even in his disguise puzzled me. We had made the cruise in the Petrel together, and had served on the man-of-war.

“Well, you’ve got me fast enough, though you played a mean trick getting me. Now what’s the game?” said I.

The old privateersman smiled, and his jaws worked as though muttering to himself. His face creased into ugly lines about his large mouth, and he showed his teeth.

“I’m first officer here. That fellow Gull you fouled this morning is second. Remember this first and the rest’ll come easy. Henry is third mate, and I hear them say that you’re to be made gunner. How’s that?”

“Who’s them?” I asked, somewhat nettled.

“Them’s us, sonny. The old man, the two gentlemen aft, myself, and the rest.”

“Where are we bound for, and what’s the hooker’s name? It’s all well enough to be cribbed aboard a ship, but I’m going to find out what’s the game.”

“We’re bound for the South Pacific; that’s all clear as mud, an’ we’ve got a picked crew because the business in hand needs honest men.”

“I bow to myself,” I answered. “It’s well to know.”

“What more do you want, hey? Go forrads an’ turn in, an’ I’ll square ye with the fellow Gull. Don’t let them see me talkin’ too much with ye, sonny, or I’ll have to forget the past for the needs o’ the present. You’re aboard a fine ship.”

“Well,” I answered, “that’s all good enough, but I would like to know her name and who’s her skipper,--and what’s more, I’m going to find out right away.”

Hawkson’s eyes glinted with that light I knew so well meant danger, and his ugly mouth worked nervously.

“Perhaps you’d care to go aft and interview the captain about it,” said he, with his drawl. “He’s a gentleman every inch, and will be a revelation to ye after them packets you’ve sailed in. Suppose you lay aft and make out your own case. You were always an obstinate youngster, but I reckon since you’ve been mate your head’s swelled worse’n ever.”

I knew Hawkson to be one of the most dangerous men afloat when aroused, but about this time I was not exactly a lambkin myself. A man does not become mate of a western ocean packet with anything lamblike in his make-up, unless it is by accident for one voyage. I was not quarrelsome, but resented with righteous indignation the manner in which I had been kidnapped in broad daylight without even being under the influence of liquor. The simplicity of the whole affair maddened me, and not even the fellowship of Martin and Anderson or others in the list of victims detracted one jot from the implied lack of ordinary precautions and common sense. I started up the weather side of the poop to go aft, and I noticed several fellows to leeward looking at me.

“Go to lor’ard,” growled Hawkson, fiercely.

But I paid no attention, and was half-way up the steps when a man came up the after companion and walked toward me. As he reached the deck and turned before I had gotten up, I stopped short, looking at him. It was Captain Howard, the pirate.

CHAPTER V.
IN THE FO’C’SLE

I will admit my zeal abated a trifle when I met the captain’s gaze, but I was not much afraid of any man, so up the ladder I went and toward him.

He saw me approaching and stopped. Then he demanded in a high voice from Hawkson what I wanted and why I was allowed up the weather side of the quarter-deck.

“He’s a bit daffy, sir,” said Hawkson, touching his cap. “That crack on the pate you gave him has turned his burgoo case. He’ll be all right soon, sir.”

“Daffy or not,” said I, “I want to know what ship I’m in and where she’s bound,--and I’m going to find out.”

The ugly face of Captain Howard was inscrutable. His glassy eyes like those of some reptile were fixed upon me. His thin, hooked nose appeared like the beak of an albatross. He took off his hat and bowed to me politely, saying:

“It will give me great pleasure to listen to you, sir.” I noticed his poll was as smooth and hairless as the sole of my foot, only a red seam that stretched from the crown to his left ear wrinkled its bronzed roundness.

“Well,” I said, more mildly, “I would like to find out what ship I’m in and where she’s going.”

“Were you drunk, sir, when you came aboard her?” he asked, calmly.

“I was not,” I answered, warmly.

“Were you blind?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, you have permission to look about you, and, if you’re the sailor you claim to be, you will perceive this is a barque. She is called the Gentle Hand. She is bound for the South Atlantic.”

“But I shipped as mate of her,” I stammered.

“That is manifestly impossible. Mr. Hawkson has been mate of her for some time. That was probably a little joke of Watkins, the steward.” Here he threw up his head and burst into a rattling laugh, his mouth slightly open, but his face otherwise unmoved.

“He, he, he!” he rattled, “you’ll be a mate fast enough,--a gunner’s mate. And, if that don’t suit you, Mr. Hawkson will introduce you to the gunner’s daughter. Go forward now and remember that if you come on the weather side of the quarter-deck while I’m here, I’ll write my name on you with a hot iron. Do you see? Ho, ho, ho! That Watkins is a tricky knave and you have my permission to manhandle him. There he is now. Breakfast--”

As he spoke, the venerable old scoundrel emerged from the door of the forward cabin, and, standing upon the poop step, announced that the morning meal was ready. There was little left for me but to get forward. The “gunner’s daughter” on that ship I knew was the sinister name applied to the breech of one of the guns, and an introduction consisted of being held over it with a naked back, while a sailor cut the victim to ribbons with a cat-o’-nine-tails.

As the old rascal Watkins stood there announcing breakfast, he recognized me and grinned.

“It isn’t well to laugh early in the morning,” I said, as I went past him. The captain went below, and I stopped on the last step of the poop-ladder. “For sometimes it’s rude.” Here I caught him a cuff with the flat of my hand that sounded all over the deck, knocking him a couple of fathoms toward the main-hatch. A man to leeward laughed outright, and even Hawkson chuckled.

The old fellow recovered himself, and his grin was conspicuously absent as he came toward me in a menacing manner.

“Now you trot along, Noah,” said I. “I’ll give you one like that every little while until I find that advance money back in my pocket.”

He stopped in front of me, and his mouth worked nervously. His eyes seemed to disappear under his shaggy brows, and his beard fairly bristled with rage.

I was a stout man among stout men, and he saw there was little use speaking out loud. Then he turned and went into the cabin, where Captain Howard was bawling for him to bring his coffee.

“Better have let the old man alone, Heywood,” said Hawkson. “There’s a lot of trouble bottled up in his old carcass.”

“Well, I’m uncorking a few of my own,” I said, “and if that second mate turns out while I have my hands warm, there’ll be some more.”

Hawkson chuckled.

“You’re taking things rather hard, ain’t ye? You’ll be mighty glad they took ye aboard the old pirate before you’re through.”

“Well,” I said, “you’ve not answered my question, and I’m going to find out a few things in my own way. Piracy is nonsense these days, though if there were such things, you’d be in them all right. How did that skipper get command of this vessel, anyway, and where is she headed for?”

“I told you we were bound for the South Atlantic. Just where, you’ll find out by the time we get there. We’re to stop at Nassau to take the owners aboard and then go ahead. That’s all there is to it. Sailing to the Bahamas and then around the Cape of Good Hope over to where the owners want to go. That’s plain as mud, ain’t it?”

“How about the pay? Do you suppose I’ll go for nothing?”

“The pay is good, no fear. You won’t lose anything. Why, most of these fellows here have shipped without knowing any more’n you do, so what’s the use making trouble for yourself? It’s a regular trading voyage. Just plain trading in the Atlantic, an’ if we get the best of some trades, why--so much the better for the owners and all hands. The owners are all right, sonny, an’ they’ll be here to settle.”

“Well, if you had only told me this,” I answered, “I would probably have shipped anyhow, though I don’t care about going forrard again.”

“That’s what I was afraid of, an’ the officers’ berths were full. Three or four o’ the A. B.’s forrards has been mates before. You’ll be all right as gunner if you leave this after-guard alone. It’s goin’ to take all your care now to clear Watkins. He’ll kill you the first chance he gets.”

“Bah!” I said, turning to go.

Hawkson left me and went aft. I hesitated a few moments, looking around to see if any one on deck had heard our talk, but there was no one near enough, and those who saw us might have thought the mate was giving me a reprimand for whanging the old steward. Hawkson would be friendly in a rough way, and I did not care for all hands to know it. As I was in Mr. Gull’s watch, I had four hours below before confronting that gentleman, and I might as well take advantage of them, as my head was very painful. Taking one more look over the vessel and beyond where sunlight danced upon the wrinkled blue surface of the ocean, I went to the forecastle hatch and forthwith below. Here I took possession of a bunk which the thoughtful owners had cleaned and painted, and, announcing my claim to the watch who had finished a late breakfast, sat upon its edge and munched a piece of hard bread.

“I see ye whack the old duffer Watkins,” said the fellow Bill. “What’d yer hit him for?”

I told him, and looked at Martin to see if he agreed to my accusations against the old rascal’s honesty. He smoked in silence.

“D’ye know who Watkins is?” asked a big Finn with a long black beard, “because if you don’t, you’re apt to find out too late.”

“Do you know me?” I asked.

The fellow looked surlily at me.

“Because if you fellows down here don’t, some of you will find out all of a sudden.”

I had noticed that they had left the mess things lying about, as if awaiting something, and then I had a grave suspicion that the something was myself, whom they would delegate to clean up after them. It was just as well to take the matter in hand at the beginning, and if there was to be a fracas to see who was to be the boss of that crowd, the earlier the better.

The big Finn gazed at me, but said nothing, and Bill seemed to size me up closely.

“Who and what is that old swab, Watkins?” I asked, suddenly turning upon Bill.

“They say he was mate with Howard when he was a boy. Served thirty years for a few things they did in the China Seas. Killed more’n forty men.”

“Well,” I answered, “if some one had taken him in hand before he’d killed the last thirty-nine, he would have a better chance than he has now for keeping out of the devil’s company. Now you get hold of those mess things, William, and make the Czar’s cousin here lend a hand. If you don’t, I’ll make you wish Watkins was here to run this mess when the watch is called.”

Here I lounged back in my pew, finishing off with a chunk of salt beef and a cup of cold water. Afterward I lit a pipe and smoked complacently, while keeping a lookout to see what the crowd would do.

Bill was a fine specimen of the Norwegian sailor, and he surveyed the mess things contemptuously for a few minutes. Then he seized upon a stocky little Dane, and bade him carry the things away. The men, having finished, were talking and smoking, sitting in their pews or upon the sea-chests the more lucky happened to bring aboard. They saw Bill’s move, and a murmur of disapproval ran among them. Several pointed at me, but I smoked in silence, feeling much better for having eaten something, and recovered my usual strength and spirits. In a few minutes we might be called on deck, perhaps, to trim sail, but if not, the after-breakfast smoke would be followed by an arranging of the forecastle. The little Dane entered a loud protest against his new duties, but Bill silenced him quickly with an oath.

“You do as I tell yer. I’ll settle with the Yank later,” said he.

“There’s no time like the present,” said I, putting my pipe away and slowly rising out of my pew. “I’m the high cock of this roost, and when I give an order below here there needn’t be any settlement called for. Peel off! Get ready, for I’m coming for you, William.”

The loungers looked up, and Martin chuckled.

“Coom, coom, a fair fight, an’ may the best mon win,” he cried. “Gie us room, laddies, gie us room. I’ll back the Yank, mon, and, Anderson, ye knave, ye’ll back yer Scandinavian.”

Bill was not a coward, but he had the blood of a peaceful race in his veins. He was very strong and able, and he cursed me heartily, while I calmly pulled off my upper garment. His fierce threats only made me more determined to put him through, for the more he swore the angrier he became, telling plainly that the matter was not so greatly to his taste.

As gunner or petty officer of any rank aboard ship, it was absolutely necessary to make a clear start, in order to avoid disagreements later. The weaker must be made to act as cook for the mess, and there was no help for it. It was the rule that had to be established in the same old way.

Martin drew a line across the deck with a piece of charred wood. I stepped up to it and placed the toe of my left foot upon it and was ready. Bill quickly swaggered up, and I landed like lightning upon his jaw. He staggered back into the arms of Anderson. Then he spit out a mouthful of blood, and came at me with an oath and a rush.

CHAPTER VI.
I BECOME “COCK OF THE WALK”

There was nothing brutal or rough in this encounter, and, if it savours of the commonplace sailor’s brawl, I can only say that such are the customs on deep-water ships, and they must continue through all time. Life at sea is not always gentle. There is no use trying to make it so. It is nearly always a fight against the elements, and the roughness prevents the customs from becoming effete as those of the drawing-room, where an easy tongue and sarcastic wit does the hurting. This is said to be refined and not brutal, but for my part I have seen men more brutally and cruelly hurt by words than by fists. A person with a weak stomach will stand an uncommon lot of verbal brutality, but when it takes a physical form, they shrink from it and cry out that it is degrading. It is less degrading than a vile tongue.

When Bill landed upon me, there was something of a mix-up, and some short-arm work that might have proved interesting to lovers of sport. We were in pretty good training, and the thuds of our blows sounded healthily through the little forecastle. The men lounging in their pews and gazing complacently at us, their bodies and legs well out of the way, made a very appreciative audience and left the deck perfectly clear. Their remarks were not always well advised, for they clamoured loudly for Bill to put the finishing touches to me, while I jolted him repeatedly upon the side of his bullet-head.

Finally Martin and Anderson separated us for a breathing spell, and I had a chance to look about the room with the one eye left me for duty. Then I noticed the companionway blocked by the forms of two men who were somewhat remarkable in appearance. They were dressed in the height of fashion, and sat upon the topmost steps smoking and looking interested. The younger was about my own age, and good-looking, and his companion was nearer middle age, with a face describing free living.

“I have your money on that first round,” said the younger. “The Yank drew first blood,” and he pulled forth a handsome gold watch and noted the time.

“Two to one he loses yet,” said the older man, carelessly, as though it was of no consequence whatever.

That stirred something within me.

“Perhaps you would care for a turn,” I suggested, turning sharply at him. But he laughed immoderately, and the younger man joined, slapping his leg, crying:

“I’ll take you! I’ll take you!”

At that instant time was called by Martin, and we went at it again.

There is no use going into the details of the finish, but it will suffice to say that the American eagle which was tattooed upon my breast had no reason to blush. I was somewhat aroused by the unfriendly tone of the Englishman above, and I jolted Bill rather roughly upon the point of his jaw. It was not viciously done, but at the same time I put a bit of weight into my hand, and my heavily limbed antagonist dropped to the floor. Anderson tried to get him to start again, but he reeled as he reached his knees and swayed hopelessly for a space. The motion of the ship seemed to bother him also.

“My money! My money!” cried the younger man above. “The Yank has him going.”

It was more than that, and I felt sorry for Bill. He was out of it, and a heavy jolt might mean something serious. I went to my bunk and began to put my clothes on, while Martin cried for me to wait. “I’ll give you a turn another time,” I said, shortly.

“No, no, he isn’t done for yet,” they all cried, but I knew better.

Poor Bill! He turned his face up, and I saw his vacant eyes trying to grasp the situation. He was game enough, and struggled to rise, swaying to and fro like an unstayed topmast. The deck would slant away from him and his hand would reach out for support. Then the barque heaved a bit to leeward, and he staggered, swayed, and then pitched forward prone and lay still.

“Pour water over him, mon, pour water over him,” cried Martin, and Anderson sluiced the allowance in the forecastle over the fallen man’s head. Then they raised him and put him in his pew, and, by the time I had finished dressing, he was sitting up regarding me curiously.

“Now, William,” said I, “just as soon as you feel better, you take hold of these mess things and get them cleaned up and shipshape. Jorg there can lend you a hand this morning, and, if he doesn’t bear a hand, I’ll see what kind of skin they raise in Finland.” And I nodded to the bearded fellow who had chosen to question me regarding Watkins. Then I settled myself for a nap, and tied a rag over my bruised side-light, while I smoked and listened to the discussions around me.

The younger man who sat in the companion, and who had backed me, now arose and stood twisting the ends of his little blond moustache while he looked down. His face was tanned a ruddy brown, and I was not inclined to find fault with his looks. His companion cursed his luck and Bill, his face almost purple with anger and his black beard fairly bristling.

“I’ll own I’ve lost, Sir John, but may the curse of the vikings strike that lubber I backed,” he growled. “One wouldn’t think there was so little in such a big fellow. I thought Hawkson had a picked crew, but, if that fellow Bill’s the best, they’re a poor lot.”

“I think the Yank proved satisfactorily the Sou’wegian isn’t the best man in the forecastle. Bill is all right enough. Come along. They’ll be all right for our business.”

“And what is their business?” I asked Martin, as they went aft. “Is it to come forrard and try and get on a fracas for their amusement? For if that’s their lay, I’ll see they get one before long if they are passengers.”

“I hear they’re part-owners. The owners will join at the islands. It’s themselves who are runnin’ the vessel an’ expedition,” said the Scot.

“Well, they strike me as a queer lot, and the whole thing don’t seem regular. Here we are in Howard’s old pirate barque, being tricked into signing on. The old rascal is in command, although he must be more than three-quarters of a hundred years old. And here we sail away on an expedition no one seems to know anything about except the owners themselves.”

“There ain’t any such thing as piracy in these times, hey?” said Martin, and he looked at me hard with his bright gray eyes, his whole broad face showing plainly enough that he was more than willing that there should be.

“No, of course not,” I said. “How the deuce could a barque like this turn pirate? She isn’t fast enough, in the first place.”

“Ye is wrong there. There ain’t anything afloat that’ll go to windward o’ this craft. Good mon, just look how she travels! Na, na, friend Heywood, this be a trim ship for a robber, and we’re uncommon well manned. Twenty men forrards, and there’ll be nigh a dozen more aft, making up to forty when we ship the owners. ’Tis a biggish crowd fer a barque o’ five hundred ton. Now I’ve been a peaceable man an’ mate o’ a dozen ships,--as you yoursel’,--but I wouldna gie thruppence fer me conscience should th’ owld raskil aft say th’ word. Be you afeard, friend Heywood?”

“Not of you, Watkins, or Howard himself,” I answered, “but it’s all foolishness to think of dodging men-of-war in these days. I’ve sailed in a man-o’-war that would clean the South Sea of all floating things in six months. It’s not that they’re after. They’re up to some expedition among the islands. Maybe the scoundrel has treasure hid, and these bloods are going out to hunt it. That’s more like the lay of it.”

“Maybe, maybe, friend Heywood, but even so I’m that keen for the adventure, I’ll not stand for the money they robbed us of, if there’s a chance to get it back.”

“Well, I’ll clear at the Bahamas if I get a chance, unless they show me that advance I missed,” I said, warmly, “and I’ll make that old scoundrel sorry for some of his sins.”

Then we smoked in silence until Hawkson’s voice bawled out for eight bells, and a rough-looking Dutchman poked his head below and bellowed the news, receiving an old sea-boot full in the face from Martin for his pains.

The morning had passed rapidly enough, and although tired and sore from the incidents of the past few hours, I was not sorry to go on deck and get a breath of fresh sea air.

CHAPTER VII.
TWO KINDS OF HAND-SHAKES

Mr. Gull, the second mate, was already on deck when we arrived, and I expected to continue our pleasantries of the early morning. He looked hard at us and said nothing, and then I knew Hawkson had put in a word for me, for no second mate could otherwise have resisted the temptation of taking it out of an able-bodied seaman, no matter how able-bodied he might be. I was informed shortly that I was made gunner, and was henceforth in charge of the barque’s battery to see that it was kept in order. But there was no more room aft for any more petty officers. Henry and Watkins occupied the only remaining room, on account of the space occupied by the passengers and their luggage. Jorg, the Finn, I found was the carpenter, but he also had to share the forecastle.

Before going below, Hawkson summoned all hands, and he and Gull went through the old form of choosing the watches.

“Bos’n,” said Hawkson, addressing Richards, “you may muster the men aft.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” said the man-o’-war’s man, and he touched his cap with his hand like in the old days aboard the frigate when I had seen him speak to the officer of the deck.

It was something of a surprise to me, and also to the rest, to find the man who had served under me as second mate as bos’n of that crowd. It made me think that perhaps I might dispute the position with him, for I was a navigator and capable of working the ship’s position to a fairly accurate extent, and old Peter Richards was only a plain able seaman. But I soon saw why he had been chosen. He was a trained man and used to the discipline of a fighting ship, and there were plenty of navigators aft. He was very sober and quiet in his manner this day, and I wondered at it, for I was under the impression he had been fooled into going aboard like the rest of us.

“How is it, Peter,” I asked, as he came near me, “are you going to give me my orders?”

“Yes, and I advise you to obey them without making trouble for yourself,” said he, quietly. “You came into the ship with your eyes wide open. Now stand to it. I told you I’d follow you and take care of you.”

He said the last part of his speech with just a suspicion of a smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, and I was not in the humour to be laughed at.

“All right, my cock,” said I, “if you are one of the officers and know the destination of this hooker, you will oblige me by telling me her port of destination. If you don’t, I might be tempted to argue the question with you. You are not pretty, Peter, when you smile.”

“Don’t think I would tackle you, Heywood,” said he, looking sternly at me. “You’ve been aboard a fighting craft, and know just what I’ll do if you don’t turn to when I say. I don’t know any more about this vessel than you do, except--well, except that I wouldn’t have picked her out as a choice of ships. If you had used your eyes before you signed on, you could have seen she was something irregular. Brace up and do what you’re told until you find out what you’re in for.”

Then he went along to get the rest of the crew.

The men who had temporarily gone below to get their morning meal, and who had remained below as the port watch, were now lined up with those on deck, and Hawkson began by choosing a huge fellow named Jones. He was a big, burly, red-headed Welshman. Then Gull chose Bill in spite of his appearance. And so it went until each had an equal number of men on a side, Jorg going into the starboard, and myself into the port watch, for we were in the forecastle with the rest, while Richards slung his hammock in Hawkson’s room. I started on the forward guns, and spent the rest of the day polishing.

The weather was fine and it was exhilarating to sit in the gun-port to windward and watch the old barque go. The land had now entirely disappeared to the eastward, and we were rapidly drawing off.

The barque was very fast. With a breeze of not more than twelve knots, she was running a full nine knots, seeming hardly to disturb the smooth sea. Her wake was clean, and only the steady pouring of her bow-wave whitened her path.

I sat for hours rubbing the muzzles of the guns with whale-oil and dust, and, as I did so, I watched the flaking foam of the side-wash spread away with its musical hiss and tinkle. Down deep in the blue below a piece of weed now and then flashed past, looking like an eel or snake as the sunlight wavered upon it. It was a warm, lazy day, and I pondered long upon the strange turn of fortune that had suddenly placed me upon the old barque with her sinister past and mysterious future. Here she was all fitted out for a long voyage, but without any cargo to speak of, and that little stowed in such a manner that it was easy of access.

I gazed aloft at the fine rigging, and noted how well her canvas was cut. Every sail was fitted as aboard a man-o’-war, and all her running gear was of new hemp line of the finest grade, totally unlike the loose laid stuff they used for clew-lines, bunt-lines, leach-lines, and even braces aboard the ordinary western ocean merchantmen. Hawkson had the yards trimmed in a shipshape and seamanlike manner, and the grease or varnish upon them brought out the grain of the wood. They were large for a vessel of five hundred ton. High above, the mainroyal swung across a cloud-flecked zenith, a small white strip, while beneath, in regular rotation, stretched the t’gallantsail, topsail, and mainsail into increasing size until across the main-yard the distance must have been full seventy feet or more.

The breeze hummed and droned under the foot of the great mainsail, sounding restful and pleasant with the easy roll of the vessel.

I was thinking how easy it would be to desert the ship at Providence Harbour, in the Bahamas, and return to the States. It was but a few days’ run from there to Savannah, and plenty of small vessels would be bound over at this time of the year. It was degrading to have to polish brass like a common foremast hand. However, if I tired of it, I was really only working my way home. That was the best way to look at it. But the thought of home changed the half-formed purpose. What was there in the name for me? Only a poor old mother living in a bit of a house, with a negro girl I had brought from Jamaica some years before. They were dependent entirely upon me and the little money I had saved to eke out an existence, the girl doing all the work and caring for the aged mother. If I went back, there would be only one more to draw on the small hoard, and I might not get another berth very soon. Here was a very proper ship, rigged almost like a man-o’-war, and evidently bound on some special mission. Perhaps there was money to be made. At all events, there would be little lost by staying in her, for the pay in American ships was almost as poor as the English.

While I thought over these matters, I watched the two passengers, who were lounging aft on the quarter, smoking long clay pipes and drinking ale from a tankard filled from a keg in the lazarette. They certainly appeared well-to-do people, and, if they were part-owners, there was little doubt from their manners that they were used to living as gentlemen of wealth and position.

Bill came down from aloft along the weather main-rigging above me, where he had been fastening chafing-gear on the backstays at the point the topsail-yard would touch. He saw me gazing aft while I rubbed, and he dropped somewhat ostentatiously upon the deck to attract my attention.

“Welcome, hey?” he said.

“Of course,” I answered, holding out a greasy hand. “Why not?”

“Well, I’ve no grudge, John,” said he. “You licked me fair enough.”

“You haven’t come for another one?” I asked, smiling.

“No,” he said, grasping my fingers in a tarry grip, “no, I believe you’re all right. I youst wanted to ask what you t’ought of the passengers. They say they’re part-owners. Now, I’ve been in American ships ten years and more, an’ I never t’ought to go in a wessel not knowin’ youst where she’s bound, did you?”

“How did you come to ship in her?” I asked.

“Oh, I signed all right. I youst saw she was a fine wessel an’ the pay good,--more’n a mate of an old country wessel,--so I t’ought it all right. Only I’d youst like to find out, friend John, where she’s bound for,--I mean what port.”

“The first is Nassau, but we’re signed for some place in the South Atlantic or Pacific, and unless you’re going to cut and run, or make a pier-head jump, you’ll land in some of the South Sea Islands for certain,” said I. “Who got you to come aboard?”

“A little fellow youst like a fox,--Henry they called him; he hasn’t been on deck yet much. I t’ought he’d be a bit backward turnin’ out--There he is now, comin’ out on the main-deck. If you soak him one, I’ll stand by, for it would youst serve him right, or if you youst stand by, I’ll attend to it, hey?”

“No use, Bill,” I answered; “there’ll be enough of real sure fracases before we’re on the beach again. Let him alone. It will only make trouble aft, and then the whole after-guard will be for putting us through. I’ll look out he don’t put his face in the forecastle, but he’s third mate, and he belongs aft. These vessels are not like American ships. A fellow don’t take rating by his hands, and if you whollop an officer it only means trouble. I like your style, Bill, and, if there’s trouble, I’ll stick close to you; but there won’t be any unless you make it.”

Bill held out his big fist again and squeezed mine. There was an honest look in his blue eyes I liked, albeit they were pretty well draped in black from the discipline of the early morning. We were friends from that moment, and I never had cause to regret that hand-shake.

Henry saw us looking at him and came forward. He was afraid of nothing on a ship’s deck, and, if he were a tricky little sea-wolf, he was as grim as any in the forests of the New England shores. He swung up his hand to his cap as he reached me, but took no notice of Bill. I kept on rubbing the breech of the gun and took no notice, for I was still a trifle sore at the way he had treated me.

“Mister Heywood, I saluted you, sir,” said Henry, stopping.

“So you did,” I answered, “and it does great credit to that mother of yours that your manners are proper. I always return the salute of an honest man, though it’s hardly necessary aboard ship, especially merchant vessels.”

“Now, see here, Heywood, what’s the use of keeping up a grudge? I got you into a good ship, didn’t I? And, if you ain’t mate, you’re gunner.”

“If I had a grudge, I would wring your neck, Henry,” I answered, calmly.

“No fear, Hi say,” he answered, smiling, and held out his hand. “Put ’er there and we’ll call it even, hey?”

I held out my hand, for there was really little use keeping up a bad feeling aboard. I might as well see the joke and bear a hand with the rest. I held out a greasy paw to signify all was well.

The next instant his long fingers, which I had at first noticed on the pier, closed upon mine like a steel vice, and I involuntarily cried out with the pain. Such a grip! There was nothing human about it, and I felt my bones cracking.

“Let go!” I roared, and Bill sprang upon him at the same instant.

But Henry grabbed his arm before he could strike, and there we stood like two boys for an instant, unable to move, with the keen-faced rascal between us. Before either could strike with the disengaged hand, Henry cast us loose with a laugh.

“Don’t you try it,” he grinned, as he passed forward.

CHAPTER VIII.
OUR BOS’N

The bos’n of an English ship usually has eight hours or more below, and the best part of four watches on deck. This enables him to walk around after the men and take charge during the time they are at work and the navigator is unable to leave the poop or quarter-deck. Yankee bos’ns, or fourth mates, as we used to call them, were distinguished by a rough, strong voice made raucous by hard usage. Yelling and swearing at delinquent mariners, as the shore folk put it, was supposed to be their principal occupation, and to a certain extent the shore folk were right. But Richards was not noisy. Neither did he have the rough voice of the man-o’-war bos’n. He was as gentle as any shore-bred person, and even while he had served as second mate under me, he had never been anything but “Old” Richards,--old because he was so quiet.

When he took in hand the crew of that ship, it made me smile to think of him tackling men like Bill, Jones, or myself. Yet there he was over us, and it soon began to look like Hawkson knew what he was about when he put him in charge.

In the first place he had been used to discipline. He had served on a war-ship for so long that he seemed to know just what to do to get men to work without getting afoul of them.

There is an art in this. It is born in some, cultivated in others, but absolutely impossible to define in a way that might be useful to the great majority, for it is a mixture of so many qualities, so many different freaks and phases of temperament, and generally so dependent upon chance for its establishment, that it must be dealt with only as a peculiarity happening in human beings at remote intervals.

Richards had the one necessary quality to begin with, and that was a really kind disposition under his silent exterior. There was nothing offensive in him, and, while he never seemed to attract any one, he did not repel them. Magnetism he possessed in abundance, but this quality is of small use among men who have to be made to do things which often result in death and always in discomfort.

Often he would sit and listen to the arguments of the men, and they would sometimes appeal to him as judge, because he was so quiet and always gave them an answer they could understand.

“What makes ye sa keen fer carryin’ on discipline, friend Richards?” asked Martin, good-humouredly, one evening as the watch sat or lounged about the forecastle scuttle waiting to be called.

“It’s not your country’s ship; why d’ye care? Now a war-ship an’ a patriot I kin understand. I was a patriot mysel’.”

“I fou’t for England,” said big Jones, “but that ware different.”

“You’d have fought for China just as quick,” said the bos’n, “if any men you knew were going out to fight. It’s the same aboard a fighting craft as it is here. I’ve seen clerks in the shipping-houses, that couldn’t tell a cutlass from a pike, go crazy to fight when the war broke out. They liked to be called ‘patriots,’ too. All men like to fight if the whole crowd go in. It’s excitement and vanity. You’ll be more of a patriot and less a fighting man after you get ashore to stay.”

“Ay, that he will,” said Tim, the American. “He’s too ready for fight, an’ a bit o’ discipline will do him good.”

“Ah, hark ye at the bit o’ a man,” sneered Martin. “One might think he feared a little fracas, hey?” and he leered at the small sailor, who looked him squarely in the eyes and swore at him, for a bullying Scot he was.

Somehow, Richards never made trouble between men. They rarely took offence at his answers, and he never struck one.

To him the striking of a man lowered him at once. If the man was an equal and had any self-respect, it was necessary to go further into the matter always, he explained. If he had not enough self-respect to fight his smiter to the last limit, then he was taking whatever chance the fellow had of ever becoming a man, for no man, he held, could be a person of spirit and courage and allow another to strike him. It might work well in religious congregations, where men were tricky and desperately low and mean, stooping to any vile revenge, but among men at sea upon a ship deck it was different. To assault a man weaker than himself was almost as bad in his eyes as assaulting a girl. In either case, the victim’s self-respect was lost, and the person consequently liable to be ruined. It would require a nice adjustment, he claimed, to prevent murder. He very plainly stated that, if Martin, Jones, or any one of the heavy fellows who might be tempted to try accounts with him at some disliked order, should so far forget the discipline of the ship and make a fight with him, he would be bound by all law and precedent, as upon a man-of-war, to kill him. The turning of the smitten cheek to the offender was not to be taken literally. It meant a man should show due forbearance before entering into a fracas, which would certainly end fatally for one or the other.

This doctrine might not appeal to the landsman, and from a certain point of view it might appear unchristian. But, if there was ever a man who practised kindness toward his fellow men, that man was the bos’n of the old pirate barque. He was honest.

I had found that on former cruises to heathen islands and countries, the heathen were usually all right until some of the professed Christians appeared to convert them. Afterward the histories of these places were of a somewhat sinister character, and, if ever there was an exception to prove the rule, I had never heard tell of it. Every so-called Christian country had allowed and advanced all kinds of oppression among natives. Whether this was for their spiritual welfare or not, it is not necessary to inquire, the fact was always the same. Therefore, I was interested in our future course, but, from the steady discipline and forbearance of the officers, expected to see very little of the usual kind of conversion. Every ship full of canting religionists came home full of black murder and worse. There was much more to be expected from a vessel whose after-guard stood for easy ship in regard to these matters.

Sometimes, in the evening dog-watches, Richards would even take the liberty of coming into the forecastle and joining in the talk, or sitting upon the forecastle head in the warm wind and listening to a chanty roared out by Martin or some one who had served in the Eastern trade-ships. One of the favourite songs, made up from different snatches heard either upon the men-of-war or along the dock-ends of Liverpool, ran something like this:

“We had come to anchor fine, sir,

In a vessel o’ the line, sir,

We had cruised for five years steady

Upon the Southern Seas--

When a boat from off the shore, sir,

Brought a lady out aboard, sir,

She was black as soot an’ mud, sir,

An’ she smelled o’ oil an’ grease--”

Then all hands would roar out with will the refrain, pointing to the bos’n:

“Then up jumped the bos’n, up jumped the crew,

The first mate, second mate, the cook and steward too--

But the captain swore he’d have her,

An’ the mate ’e tried to grab her,

She couldn’t have ’em all, sir--

What could the lady do?”

Sometimes the gentlemen from aft would come forward and lend a hand with some new version of an old song, but more often they were content to listen from the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck.

Old Howard never interfered with hilarity, but rather encouraged it. I wondered at this, but remembered the cruise had only just begun. I had seen captains encourage men before. Sometimes it held a more sinister meaning than simple delight at their pleasure.

CHAPTER IX.
I MAKE ANOTHER FRIEND

During the next week’s run we made a deal of westing, passing to the southward of the Azores and getting well into the western ocean. The northeast trade was picked up, and, as it was well to the eastward, it enabled us to carry on stun’sails fore and aft.

We were better acquainted in the fo’castle now, and I had learned to like several men of my watch. Bill was a warm friend. Martin proved a very entertaining fellow, but was absolutely without principle. Anderson was quiet and attended to his duties like the average Swede, being a good sailor and an excellent hand for sewing canvas and making chafing-gear. He went by the name of Goldy in the forecastle on account of the colour of his hair, which was bushy and covered his face.

In the other watch was Jones, the giant Welshman, who was one of the best men that ever stood upon a ship’s deck. He was as strong as a whale and as kind-hearted as a girl.

But the little fellow called Tim, who was in my watch, was the man I chummed with. He was not much to look at, being small, ugly, red-headed, and freckled. He was an American, however, and there was that something about him that drew me to him as the magnet draws iron. He had been pressed into the British navy before the war, and had served his time. When the fighting was over and he received his discharge, he shipped in an East-Indiaman, and made two voyages around the world. Why he never returned to his home in the States was the cause of some speculation on my part, but, as he never mentioned his people, I refrained from trespassing. It is bad form for a sailor to inquire too closely into his shipmate’s past.

Tim was so insignificant looking among those picked men that I took little or no notice of him until one night when it was blowing a stiff gale and the barque was staggering along under topsails through an ugly cross-sea that made her old timbers groan with the wrench.

I had occasion to go to the forecastle head, and, while I stood there, leaning over the life-line which did duty for a rail, I became absorbed for a few minutes watching the fine phosphorescent display in the bow wave. The night was very dark, and the deep, booming note of the taut fabric above and the rushing sound below drowned all minor noises.

Suddenly I heard my name called loudly, and something soft struck me in the back. I turned and saw no one, but, while I searched the darkness with my eyes, the door of the forward cabin opened, and I saw for an instant the tall, erect form of Watkins, the steward, against the light inside. I continued to look over the side until a hand was laid upon my shoulder, and the little man Tim, who was really hardly more than a boy, slewed me around none too gently.

“’Tain’t healthy,” said he, “to be near the side o’ nights in a ship where things is queer. You came nearer your end a minute ago than you ever will again but once,” and he nodded aft.

“The steward?” I asked.

He nodded again, and looked so serious that my first inclination to laugh died away at once. “He was within two fathoms of you when I hailed, and his knife was as long as that,” and he stuck forth his arm with his left hand placed midway to the shoulder.

“So that’s his game, is it?” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on him hereafter. The whole outfit aft have something queer about them. I’m obliged to you for the warning. What was it that struck me in the back?”

“Pair o’ my rolled-up socks,--the only ones I’ve got, too,--an’ if they’re gone overboard, I’ll have to go barefooted, for I can’t abide shoes without socks. Them ratlines do cut the bare feet of a feller most uncommon though, an’ I’ll have a job aloft in the morning sending down them t’gallantstun’sail-booms.”

He searched about the forecastle deck for some minutes in the darkness, but failed to find them. The night being warm, we remained on deck, as the stiff wind was invigorating and the forecastle somewhat close. Finally we sat upon the weather side of the windlass and leaned against it. There was a man on lookout forward, but we were pretty well out of the track of ships, and the only person liable to disturb us was the third mate, who might come forward to trim head-sail. The starboard watch were grouped upon the main-hatch, lounging and resting, and Hawkson walked fore and aft on the poop, his tall form showing dimly now and then as he passed the cabin skylights where the light from within flared up. We snuggled down comfortably to sleep, but the snore of the gale through the rigging and under the forestaysail kept us wakeful. I watched Tim alongside of me, and saw he was still chewing his tobacco.

“How did you come to get into the hooker without clothes?” I asked, thinking he was tricked like myself.

“Signed all right. There’s money in her, if what I believe is correct. She’ll pay a feller like me. I’ve got no ties ashore. But they’re a tough crowd. That feller, Sir John Hicks,--you’ve heard of him, hey?”

“Never did. What’s he done?” I asked.

“He ain’t done nothin’ in particular, but he’s the wildest of the family. Got plenty o’ money, an’ that Lord George Renshaw, the old un,--well, say, Heywood, you’ve heard how he got chased out o’ London?”

I had heard nothing, being an American.

“I forgot,” he went on. “You see, I’m mighty nigh an Englishman,” and he spoke sadly and sighed, heaving his tobacco away.

“Why do you stick to English ships after they stuck you for three years? I should think you’d drop them by this time,” I said.

He turned upon me savagely, his eyes shining and his face drawn.

“Why do I?” he cried, hoarsely, his voice sounding above the snore overhead. “Why do I? What business is it of yours why I do it? Why would any man do the thing I’ve done--but to forget--not the British Navy, good God, no. It was bad enough, but you can forget it easy enough, and to forget--”

“A woman?” I asked, boldly.

“What else,” he said, almost softly. “I was a decent man once, Heywood, and not an outlaw--what you will be if you stay aboard here. Yes, I was married. Had as good girl as ever breathed. But I was poor. What crime can a feller commit equal to poverty, hey? You know the old, old yarn. I go to sea as mate of an Indiaman, and the owner saw the beauty of that angel. Do I blame her? Not a bit. What chance would a poor girl left alone for a few months have with a rich young feller like him,--an’ him a rich ship-owner standin’ for everything that’s good to the mind of a poor girl. She was lost if he went unchecked, an’ who would check the honourable gentleman? Not her friends. Oh, no! He took her out on a voyage with him--an’ left her without a cent--an’ now I’ll forget.”

“What’s against the ship?” I asked.

He seemed not to hear and was gazing aft, his head thrown back against the windlass barrel. I repeated the question.

“Nothing I know of. But you can rest easy, Heywood, they are up to some expedition that won’t bear the light. If you take a fool’s advice, you’ll make the jump at Nassau.”

“Are you going there?” I asked.

“I don’t say. Mebbe I will, an’ mebbe no. But you better.”

“I’m glad you take such an interest in my future,” I said, rather shortly.

He turned full upon me, and I saw his eyes shine in the light. “Look here, Heywood, I don’t deserve that. You’ve got a bad memory. I may have been a fool to let off about myself. I reckon I was, but I’ve liked you, and there’s not a damn thing aboard here I ever could like except you. I say again, it’ll be best for you if you jump her at Nassau.”

“Well,” I said, “Tim, I’m pretty mean to say you no after saving me from that Watkins’s carver, though I reckon I could take care of the old duffer even if he had forty knives. I didn’t mean to rough you, for it’s with you whether I go or not. I’d stay aboard to be with you, and that’s saying a bit more than I’ve said to any man for some time.”

He gazed steadily at me, and I thought his eyes had a wistful look. Then he spoke low in a voice I could hardly hear.

“I’m glad you like me, Heywood. Maybe we’ll go together. Yes, we might go together. Afterward--afterward--you won’t mind a feller being, so to say, a bit outside the law. There’ll be a line for my neck, you know, if--well, no matter. If you stay in the ship, there’ll be one for all hands, if there’s any faith to be placed in signs.”

Then we remained silent for a long time. I thought of Watkins and his dastardly attempt upon me, and wondered if Tim was not a bit off in his mind. But when I remembered the lost socks, I knew he was not mistaken, for a sailor would hesitate a long time before throwing his last pair away. The danger must have been imminent. It was a queer ship. That was certain. Half her crew had been shipped by fraud, and her alleged owners were not above reproach. As to her captain, there was nothing he was not capable of, provided it was wrong, in spite of his years and mask-like face, withered and bare as a sun-scorched lemon. We must have been asleep when the watch was called, for I remember nothing of the bells, and suddenly found myself looking into the rising sun, which shone with unusual vigour over a windy sea.

Tim was just in the act of going below as I looked at the forecastle scuttle. His face seemed pale and drawn, but he smiled as he dived down the companion-way.

“You can get those gun-covers laced fast before we start washing down decks,” said Mr. Gull, coming to the edge of the forecastle, and I was soon on the main-deck with my trousers up to my knees, enjoying the rushing warm sea water the watch were flinging along the gangway, following it aft with squeegee and swab until the planks were spotless.

How refreshing is that breeze of the early day at sea! The lines, all damp with the salt dew of the night, hum a note of gladness to welcome the rising disc of light. The brisk sea wind freshens, wrinkling the broad ridges rushing before it, and brushing their white crests into a wide spread of glittering jewels that flash, sparkle, and hiss in the growing light. The air braces the tired body, and the appetite grows keen. The men of the morning watch take on new life, and all eyes begin to cast looks at the galley stovepipe, watching for the increasing volume of smoke outpouring that tells of the preparation of the morning meal.

CHAPTER X.
YANKEE DAN AND HIS DAUGHTER

For the next three weeks we ran smoothly to the westward, with nothing occurring aboard The Gentle Hand to break the monotony of ship’s duty. The stiff breeze, the edge of the northeast trade-wind, bore us steadily on over warm seas bright with sunlight and under blue skies flecked with the lumpy trade clouds that hung apparently motionless in the void above.

During this weather I had little to do, and had a better chance of seeing something of the after-guard while looking to the gear of the two long twelves we carried upon the quarter-deck for stern-chasers. We carried no metal on the forecastle, and it appeared that these heavy guns aft were out of all proportion to the rest of the battery.

I spoke to Hawkson about it, but he explained that the natives of the Navigator, Society, and Fiji groups were somewhat dangerous, and that, as our mission was one of peaceful trading, we would always run when attacked rather than fight, and the heavy twelves were for keeping large canoes at a distance.

“It would be a rather large canoe,” I admitted, “that would face the fire of a long twelve-pounder as heavy as any used in vessels of the frigate class. The islands you speak of are not, however, in the South Atlantic.”

“You always were a clever lad, Heywood,” said he, with an ugly smile. “What a smart one you were to see the error of that! But we’ll have a try just to see what you can hit. Get a beef barrel and heave it overboard, an’ get the men of the gun-crew aft.”

After that we seldom let many days slip without practice. Tim begged me to take him in the gun-crew, and, as he was as active as a monkey, I always let him have a chance. He grew very quiet and sad as we drew near the Bahamas, and when we ran clear of the trade, within a hundred miles of the island, he seemed to be gazing over the sunlit ocean, watching for a coming breeze.

Sometimes I had him aft, polishing the brass of a gun-breech, and I noticed that he divided his attention mostly between the captain, Hicks, and Renshaw, and the southern horizon.

The great southern ocean is a lonely place, but its very loneliness and quietness on the edge of the great winds makes it appeal to a turbulent soul.

Tim and I sat a long time on the breech of the stern-chaser, rubbing the metal easily and gazing out over the calm ocean. It was quiet aboard, and the voices of the men on the main-deck sounded loud and discordant. The slatting of the canvas was the only sound aloft, the royals jerking at the clews first as the barque swung easily on the swell, and then the t’gallantsails followed by the topsails fore and aft, the taut canvas fanning the almost still air with the rolling swing, making the jerking of the tacks and clews sound rhythmically upon the ear. Below, the captain and his two passengers smoked and drank their ale under the cabin skylight, their jokes sounding particularly coarse in the sunlit quiet.

Tim suddenly stopped work and gazed to the southward. Far away, miles and miles to windward, the horizon darkened slightly where the deeper blue of the ocean stood out against the pale azure of the semitropical sky.

While he looked, there came a sound over the water. It was a long, plaintive cry of immense volume, but hardly distinct enough to be heard unless the listener gave his attention. It was like a wild minor chord of a harp, long continued and sustained, rising and falling over the dark blue heave of the swells where the light air darkened and streaked the ruffled surface. Farther away to windward, the ocean took on a deeper blue, and the air filled the sails more steadily for a few minutes.

Tim stood gazing into the distance, his eyes bright and his lips parted, but there was an expression of peace and tranquillity upon his freckled face that I had never noticed before.

“It’s the calling, Heywood, Heywood,” he whispered. “It’s the great calling of the millions who have gone before. Listen!”

I heard it. The sad, wailing notes coming from miles and miles away to windward over that smooth sea, with the freshening breeze, made an impression upon me I could not throw off. It vibrated through my whole being, and was like the voice of great loneliness calling from the vast world of sea and sky. It was not like the hum of the trade in the rigging or the snore of a gale under the foot of a topsail, nor like the thunderous roar of the hurricane through the rigging of a hove-to ship. The melancholy sadness of the long-sustained wail was musical to a degree. I sat there listening.

Of course, it must have been caused by the wind over the surface of the sea at a great distance, or by different currents of air in passing, but the effect upon the imagination was like that which might be caused by the prolonged cry of a distant host from the vastness of sunlit waste. It pervaded my whole being, and enforced listening to its call, seeming to draw my soul to it as if out in that sparkling world of rippling wavelets lay the end of all strife and the great eternal peace.

Tim stretched forth his arm. His eyes held a strange look in them, and he moved to the rail as though in a dream.

“I am coming, May, coming,” he whispered.

Before I realized what had happened, he had gone over the side. Then I jumped to my feet with a yell, and bawled out: “Man overboard!” at the same time heaving the end of a gun-tackle over the taffrail. The cry and noise of my rush brought the entire watch to the side, and the captain and Hawkson to the quarter-rail. The barque was barely moving, and Tim was alongside. But he refused to take the end of the line. There was an exclamation beside me at the taffrail, and Renshaw leaned his elbows upon the rail and looked over at the sinking sailor. Their eyes met for an instant, and Tim made a grab for the line. He was hauled up quickly, and went forward without a word of excuse to the captain and Hawkson’s inquiries as to how he happened overboard.

It was a strange occurrence, and I pondered over it that evening while the barque rolled slowly toward the islands under a bright moon, and our watch stretched themselves upon the main-hatch to smoke and spin yarns. Tim avoided me.

The next morning we found ourselves close to New Providence Harbour, the white water of the Great Bahama bank stretching away on all sides.

The skipper seemed to know the bank pretty well, for he sprung his luff and headed into the harbour without waiting for a pilot. We ran close in, clewing up the topsails as we went; then dropping the head-sails, let go the hook within pistol-shot of the town of Nassau. The town looked inviting enough. There it lay, and any kind of a swimmer could make the beach easily. In fact, before we had the sails rolled up there were niggers alongside, swimming out in utter disregard for sharks, and begging for a coin to be tossed overboard that they might dive for it and catch it before it reached the bottom. I was anxious about Tim. His strange action and talk made me expect some peculiar happening, and I watched him closely.

Martin came to me as I stood in the fore-rigging and spoke, looking longingly at the white coral beach, where the cocoanuts raised their bunchy, long-leaved tops into the hot air and rustled softly an invitation to the sailor.

“I say, Heywood, ye dare do it or no, hey?” he said.

“I’ll see,” I answered; “but isn’t the barky all right? We’ve been treated mighty well even if we were gulled in signing into her. I don’t know the place, and we might be a great deal worse off ashore.”

“Barky be sunk! What the devil care I for the barky, man? Didn’t I sign on as mate?”

Bill came down from aloft and joined us, and then big Jones came forward with Tim. We made a pretence of coiling down running-gear on the pin-rail, while we gazed longingly at the shore.

While we looked, a whale-boat shot out from the landing. It was rowed by eight strapping blacks, the oars double-banked, and in the stern-sheets were two men in white linen, looking very cool and trim in the hot sunshine. As the craft drew nearer, we saw she was heading for us, and the two men were gazing at our quarter-deck, where Hawkson and Captain Howard were talking earnestly with Hicks and Renshaw. The one who was steering was a medium-sized man with a smooth, red face, his beard seeming to start just beneath his chin and fill his collar with its shaggy growth that shot upward from somewhere below.

Behind this man in the stern-sheets, I caught the flutter of a dress, and soon made out the figure of a young girl dressed in white muslin.

“Who is it?” asked Bill. “Looks youst like an admiral.”

“It’s Yankee Dan,” said Tim. “I thought so. That’s his daughter with him. He’s the biggest trader north o’ Cuba.”

“The deil run away with him,” said Martin. “If he’s backin’ this barque fer nothin’ but plain, honest trade, I’m no man fer him. She ware a pirit once, why not again? I slip before dark. Will ye be the mon to follow, ye giant Jones, or be ye nothin’ but a beefy lout like what ye look?”

The big fellow scowled at this.

“Ef you are the better man, show me to-night,” said he.

The boat had now drawn up alongside, and the bearded fellow in charge stood up and hailed the quarter-deck, where Howard, Hawkson, and the rest were leaning over the rail watching him. Hicks and Renshaw bowed and removed their hats in deference to the young lady, but Hawkson and the skipper stood stiff.

“Didn’t expect to see you, Howard,” cried the trader. “They haven’t hung you yet! How is it? Rope scarce? Lines give out? This is my daughter,--and you’ll be damn civil to her if you’ll do any business with me. Swing over your ladder, and don’t keep me waiting. I won’t wait for you or any other bull-necked Britisher.”

Hawkson had already had Mr. Gull swing out the accommodation ladder from the poop, and the second mate simply lowered it an inch or two as the whale-boat swept up.

“Take in them oak gales,” roared Yankee Dan, whacking the stroke oarsman over the knuckles with a light cane he carried. Then pulling savagely upon the port tiller-rope, the boat swung up alongside the ladder under full headway.

“Stop her,” he bellowed.

It looked as though she would go rasping along the whole length of the barque with the impetus, but the blacks were instantly at the rail, grasping and seizing anything in their powerful hands, while one man forward, who had banked the bow oar, stood up with a huge hook and rammed its point into our side to check her. She brought up so suddenly that the trader was almost thrown from his feet.

“Come aboard, Whiskers, an’ don’t tear all our paint off,” said Hawkson, swaying the man-ropes so they fell aboard.

The old trader glanced upward, the white hair of his beard sticking out aggressively over his collar and framing his otherwise hairless face in a sort of bristling halo. I saw the young girl flash a glance of disdain at the poop and then seize the man-ropes. She sprang lightly upon the ladder and mounted rapidly to the deck, followed by the younger man, who had replied to none of the salutations and had quietly awaited events.

Yankee Dan followed and seized Hawkson’s hand, greeting him as an old friend. Then he slapped Captain Howard a rousing blow upon the back and introduced his daughter. Mr. Curtis shook hands all round, appearing to know every one, and we rightly surmised that he was the principal owner.

The vociferous trader kept talking in high good humour, being on familiar terms with Hicks, Renshaw, and the captain, and our men were anxious to hear his words, hoping to gather something in reference to our cruise. As for me, I found my attention drawn more toward the young lady, for never had I seen such perfection in womanly form or feature.

She was tall, and her figure, while not stout, had a supple fulness that spoke of great strength and grace. Her face was full and rosy, and her dark eyes were exquisitely bright, glancing quickly at a word or look. Her mouth, partly open, showed strong white teeth, and her smile was a revelation. There was nothing about her that spoke of her father save her apparent good humour and disdain for conventionalities. Her eyes were gentle, and had nothing of the fierce twinkle of the trader’s. Altogether I was so entirely taken up noting her charms that I was not aware of Mr. Gull until he came close to us and bawled out:

“Clear away the long-boat. All loafers who are tired of the sea and want a run on the beach get ready to go ashore.”

CHAPTER XI.
WE MAKE A DAY OF IT

“Did you fellers hear me?” asked Mr. Gull, coming toward Martin and the rest of us.

“Harkee, Mr. Gull,” said the Scot, “d’ye mean we can clear ef the wessel don’t suit? Is that the lay o’ it? She’s a fine ship, Mr. Gull, an’ fer me ye can lay to it. I’d never leave her, unless it’s the wish o’ the matchless officers that commands her.”

“If you drunkards ain’t aboard again by eight bells to-night, it’ll be a sorry crowd that’ll come next day,--an’ ye can lay to that, ye fine Scotchman, an’ with just as much scope as ye may care for.”

Big Jones smiled as he unbent the boat tackle. It was evident our second mate was not as big a fool as he looked, but it seemed strange we should be allowed ashore unless the captain had good reason to believe we could be back aboard again. Only a few minutes before we were planning some desperate means of reaching the beach, and now the invitation was offered to all who cared to avail themselves of the captain’s liberality.

In a very short time the boat was overboard, and a liberty crew, consisting of Martin, Tim, Big Jones, Bill, Anderson, a Norwegian of Gull’s watch, a German called Ernest, the black cook, and myself, jumped into her and started off.

“If I come back again,” said Jones, “they’ll need a good, strong heavy man over there or a pair o’ mules to drag me.”

“Good-bye,” said Bill. “Youst keep awake when we come alongside. ’Twould be a pity to rouse you,” and he grinned knowingly at the men who leaned over the rail to see us depart.

I saw the old rascal Watkins come out in the waist and stand a moment gazing after us, and Ernest bawled out a taunt in German which none of us understood. Then we shot out of hearing and headed for the landing, as wild for the beach as so many apprentices.

The “Doctor,” who was a most powerful nigger, grinned in anticipation of the joys on the shore. His clothes were nondescript and bore evidence of the galley, and his feet were big, black, and bare.

“Yah, yah, yah!” he laughed, “my feet is laughin’ at my pore ole body, all rags and grease. Dey’ll hab a time asho’. Ain’t seen no green grass lately.”

The boat was run upon the coral, and all hands sprung out without waiting to shove her up. We splashed ashore through the shallow water, leaving the Doctor to haul the boat up and make her fast. It was evident he intended going back aboard, but we were a bit differently inclined.

The black soon joined us and led the way to the nearest rum-shop, the place all sailors steer for, and, without comment, we filed into the dirty hole for our first drink.

“I says, Thunderbo’, give us disha stuff they says do a nigger good,” said the Doctor, who acted as our pilot. “My feet is sure laffin at my belly, Thunderbo’, ’cause it’s as empty as yo’ haid.”

Thunderbore, who was a huge, nautical-looking pirate as black as the Doctor, showed a set of white teeth and a large jar of a vile fluid which fairly tore my throat to ribbons as I swallowed my “whack.” Big Jones took his with a grimace, and was followed by Martin and the rest until all had drunk.

The stuff was pure fire, but the Doctor gulped a full half-pint, and smacked his lips.

“Thunderbo’, yo’ sho’ ain’t gwine to make a po’ nigger drink sech holy water as disha. Give us somethin’ that’ll scratch, yo’ ape, or I’ll have to take charge here,--I sho’ will,” said the Doctor.

Thunderbore had a good temper, but was used to dealing with all classes of desperadoes. He passed the jar again, and drew a Spanish machete or corn-knife from his belt. He reached over and smote the Doctor playfully a blow with the flat of it that sounded with a loud clap through the dirty den.

Some of the men laughed in derision, but the Doctor showed his ugly teeth and glared at the den-keeper. He took another drink, and the fiery liquid began to show its effects. Even Martin’s eyes looked queer after a second taste, and he edged toward the huge, smiling African who held the jar and knife.

“I weel ken ye a murderer by yer eye,” said he, “but dare ye lay aside the steel an’ stand forth, I’ll trim ye, ye black ape. I’ll trim ye for th’ sake o’ the good wittles the Doctor has cooked.”

The pernicious effect of the liquor was showing in the men’s faces. Even I, temperate and peacefully disposed as I always am, began to feel a desire to assert myself in a manner not in keeping with my usual modesty. In fact, there were some there who were so drunk they actually accused me afterward of having precipitated trouble by driving my fist into the good-natured Thunderbore’s anatomy and seizing his machete. If I did such a thing, it must have been in the same spirit of playfulness that he exhibited when smiting the Doctor, for I was that peacefully inclined that even after seeing a struggling pile of human forms upon the floor, with the jar beneath them, I tried to separate a few with all my strength. After exhausting this, I remember Tim cautioned me to leave the intemperate fellows, who still struggled, threatened, and swore at the black Thunderbore, who, with several friends who had rushed from an adjoining room to his aid, now held the sailors at bay with a boarding-pike. This he jabbed furiously at the Doctor, and, because Big Jones would not allow him to be impaled upon it, the sea cook took offence and turned upon his saviour, with Martin as an able ally.

The whole scene soon resolved itself into a sailors’ brawl, which I feel ashamed to describe. I therefore withdrew with my companion Tim, who was almost as averse to a quarrel as I was myself.

We left the den, and he guided the way through the white streets of coral rock, which shone glaringly in the sunshine. They were dazzling, and the light made my head swim a bit, but we kept on until we ran into a shady lane, where an old negress had a small shanty, in front of which she displayed a litter of shaddocks, sour-sops, and sapodillas. Tim purchased some of the fruit, and then we struck into the bush until we reached a small inlet. Here, in the clear water into which one could see several fathoms, we plunged, leaving our clothing upon the bank.

“That settles it for me,” I said. “I’ll not go back in that ship. Even Mr. Curtis, with all his money and influence, can’t get me back.”

“Mr. Curtis is closely related to the governor, and can get you easy enough if he wants you,” said Tim. “But I feel myself like making the jump right here. I’ve been here before. There ain’t nothin’ can get off the island without he knows it. That’s the only thing that keeps me from it.”

“I thought you were so keen for me to get out here,” I said, sourly.

“I didn’t suggest Nassau, did I?” said Tim.

“That’s the place,” I answered, “but I suppose you were a bit loony. What made you act bug-house and go over the side, hey?”

Tim looked at me strangely a moment.

“I didn’t mean you to jump right here. You can’t do it. They’ll have us back aboard to-morrow. Wait till we get to the s’uthard for wood. There’ll be a chance on the Caicos or Turk’s Island, and we go in there.”

I swam about, enjoying myself as much as possible with a rising temper at the thought of going back aboard. I began to study the question, and asked about the size of the island and the distances to the different points on the Bahama bank. Tim had been all over the bank, and knew it pretty well, and I became absorbed listening to him and forming my plans.

Suddenly it occurred to me I needed a smoke, and started for the shore to get my pipe out of my clothes. We could sit naked in the shade and enjoy life a bit while trying a scheme.

“Where the deuce did you put those clothes?” I asked Tim, who followed me.

“I never touched them. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t see them anywhere,” I answered, suspiciously.

We were both on the bank, and stood there gazing about us. There was nothing in the shape of a garment near, not even a handkerchief. Tim’s white, freckled body looked rather meagre, and I noticed several huge flies that lit upon him and made him jump with their bite. Then something got foul of my back and stung me madly.

“Devil nab me,” I yelled, “what the mischief is it?”

“Nothin’ but a fish-fly,” said Tim, slapping me a rousing whack between the shoulders. “Our clothes are gone all right, and we’ve got to foot it back to the landing naked. What’s the use growlin’ about it?”

“Well, you are a--” but words failed me. That couldn’t express what I felt. I had trusted to Tim’s knowledge of the place, and here was a mess. There was no possible means of clearing out without a stitch of clothing, and the rascally thief who had taken ours gave me an idea how closely a deserter would be followed over the low island barren of heavy timber. I looked along the bank, and saw there was no use.

“You’re the biggest fool I ever knew,” I finally said, and we started slowly back to the town, with nothing to clothe us save an air of seeming chastity not at all in keeping with civilization.

CHAPTER XII.
HOW THE DAY ENDED

Immodesty is the principal vice I do not possess. When we started to get back to The Gentle Hand clothed in the odour of sanctity and villainous liquor, I must say my heart failed me at the sight of the town. We halted at the outskirts and tacked ship, standing for the house of a conch, as the Bahama bank men are called. The mosquitoes and flies had by this time made life almost unbearable, and something had to be done. I objected to stealing on principle, but in practice I expected to err, for, if a suit of clothes could be found not too dirty to wear, I felt it my duty to quell my scruples in the interest of the self-respecting citizens of Nassau.

“Tim,” said I, “you little speckled leopard, you shall go in front. You have, at least, some large brown spots to cover your hide, while I’m as pure white as the coral road we’re walking on.”

Tim demurred at this.

“What’s the matter with you? Put your hulking carcass in front, and I’ll walk behind. There’s no use making fun of the thing. You strut about big enough on deck, glad enough to have any one notice you--Hi! there’s an’ ole nigger woman now,” and he crouched down in the long grass.

I sank instantly and hailed the old lady.

“Hi, there! Mammy, have you a spare--er--er pair--I mean an apron or two you could lend?”

“Lawd sakes! How yo’ scart me!” cried the old negress. “Where yo’ is, honey?” and she looked about her.

“We’re over here in the grass. Lost our clothes while swimming. Don’t come over, but just fetch out a bit of dunnage and run away, that’s a good ole gal,” I said.

“Run away! Huh! Who is you toe tell me to run away. I’se Mr. Curtis’ nigger, an’ I doan’ run fo’ no one, I jest tell yo’ dat,” and she advanced toward us.

“Ah, trot along,” growled Tim. “Get us some clothes, or we’ll take some. We haven’t time to fool with any blamed old nigger.”

She advanced close to us, and I noticed she held a small black baby in her arms. Tim edged behind me, and I tried to shove him in front.

“Land sakes alive!” she cried. “He, he, he, yah, yah! Well, I nebber. Yo’ is sho’ nuff nakid. Jest as nakid as this little babe under his clothes. Yah, yah, he is sho’ just as nakid as you is under his clothes. Well, I nebber--”

But we waited no longer. The situation was too humiliating, and we sprang to our feet and dashed down the path into the scrub.

“What the deuce will we do?” I asked, when we were out of sight. “If she wasn’t a woman, I’d rip her clothes off pretty quick and make shift of her skirt.”

“S’pose we lay for some man, then,” said Tim. “Seems to me you might turn your knowledge of scrappin’ to some account.”

“I’ve a notion to practise a bit on you, you speckled beauty,” said I, angrily. “It’s your foolishness that got us in this fix.”

“Here comes a feller your size. Try him.”

I turned and followed his gaze, and there, sure enough, loomed a huge black conch with a bucketful of sour-sops in either hand, striding up the path. Hung over his shoulder was a long blacksnake whip, such as overseers sometimes used upon refractory slaves.

“Hi, there, uncle,” I cried, “I would like to buy some sops,” and we both stepped forth into view.

The fellow’s ugly visage wrinkled, and he set his buckets upon the ground.

“Who is yo’?” he asked, sourly.

“We? Why, we are visitors, friends of Mr. Curtis,” I said. “We left our clothes over there at the inlet, and some son of a polecat ran off with them. Give us some sops and give us a shift. We’ll pay you well for it.”

“Whar’s yo’ munny?” he growled.

“In our clothes. Sink you for a fool nigger, you don’t suppose we have pockets in our skins, do you?”

“Who yo’ callin’ a fool nigger?” and he drew his whip over his shoulder. “Don’t yo’ call me no names, yo’ po’ white trash. I’ll cut yo’ toe ribbons, dat I will.”

Before either of us could spring aside, the lash flew out and caught first one and then the other of us on our naked bodies. The pain was awful. Tim dashed up the path instantly without waiting for a second dose, and the huge conch sprang after him, leaving me behind.

Away they went, the lash flying out like the tongue of a snake, landing every time upon that part of poor Tim’s anatomy which is said to be equally discourteous to present to either friend or enemy. And every time it landed, it brought forth a yell. I stood grinning for an instant, in spite of the pain I suffered, and then the sense of outraged decency getting the best of my risibilities, I launched myself full speed in pursuit.

Away we went up that trail, Tim’s speckled body leading the way, his red hair streaming in the wind, and close behind him rushed that big black conch with his cruel whip, his bare feet not heeding in the least a thousand things that pricked and pained the soles of mine, as I tore along in his wake.

“Hi, hi, go it, Jackson!” howled a black fellow who stood in the path and watched the race.

An upper cut with my left fist did much to abate his zeal, and left him lying upon his back, while with undiminished speed I went ahead. Soon the white coral street of the town showed a bit in front through the bushes, and in another minute we were fairly into the main street of Nassau.

I was now thoroughly aroused, and forgot entirely my predicament, so intent was I upon reaching that rascal’s back. I called hoarsely for Tim to stop, but, either because I was a bit winded or our pace was too fast to allow the sound of my voice to reach him, he heeded it not at all, but held his pace under all sail.

White men now sprang from doorways to see what had happened, as the yells came flying down the thoroughfare, and many women immodestly halted to view the spectacle. I don’t know how the matter would have ended had not Tim turned a corner suddenly, and plunged straight into the arms of Big Jones and Martin, who were rushing for the pavement at the sound of alarm.

The Scotchman, with rare presence of mind, made a grab at Tim’s speckled body, thinking it some peculiar breed of ape that had escaped from its keeper, and in doing so lost his drunken balance, and plunged head foremost into the stomach of the pursuing conch, and together they rolled over into the street. Before they could disengage, I had a grip upon that conch that he will remember yet.

“Deil save us, ye cateran, what is it?” gasped the inebriated Scot, struggling to his feet. “What? You Heywood! Ye immodest heathen! Hold him, ye black feller, an’ I’ll lay the lash upon his unchaste hide.”

Before he could come to the conch’s assistance, a speckled form sprang upon him and bore him back again into the street, and I saw Tim change from a fugitive into a veritable leopard, striking fiercely and tearing at the blouse of the sailor until it had parted and come away in halves. Just then I had business with the giant conch that needed attention, and I saw nothing more of that fracas.

The black man was a powerful fellow, but he lacked skill. The blow in the stomach had winded him temporarily, and, before he had recovered, I was cutting him up scientifically with his own whip, while the crowd hooted and cheered in derision. When I desisted, he could hardly stand, much less walk, and then Big Jones, who was enjoying the spectacle, offered me his jumper. This I put on by running my legs through the sleeves, after splitting them, and buttoning it behind. Tim had by this time divested Martin of his spare raiment, and, dressed somewhat alike, we strode side by side with much dignity to the boat, followed by Big Jones, the Welshman, and an admiring throng of natives who cheered us lustily.

Martin and the well-thrashed overseer were left behind to compare notes, while, with the blue eagle upon my breast fairly red with mortification, we stepped aboard and shoved off.

CHAPTER XIII.
A SURPRISING SALUTE

As we drew up alongside The Gentle Hand, our peculiar attire attracted more or less attention. Hawkson called vociferously for Hicks, Renshaw, and the rest to observe us. Captain Howard threw back his head and cackled away like an old hen, his bald poll turning red with exertion.

“Sink me!” he cried, “but you two men shall lay aft here.”

The Yankee trader shook with emotion, and insisted that Mr. Gull fetch us aft to parade the quarter-deck. This I had no intention of doing, so, springing quickly into the channels, I made a rush for the forecastle, and got below before we were captured. But Tim was not so lucky. He was intercepted by Mr. Gull, and escaped below only after a vigorous chase, in which all hands joined, pelting him with rope’s-ends and whatever they could lay hands to. As the uproar of laughter on deck subsided, we changed our jumpers for clothes, both mad and disgusted thoroughly at the humiliating performance we had undergone. But, tired as we were, Mr. Gull turned us to with the men who had stayed aboard and were sent below into the ’tween deck, where the noise of hammering now became apparent. Richards took no notice of us while he was at work overhauling a pile of lumber brought from the shore. Evidently he was disgusted at our behaviour and took this way of showing it.

Jorg, the Finn, was working away with a gang of men, building a platform around the sides of the empty hold, and driving heavy staples into the barque’s ceiling. He gave me a sour look as I passed him, and then Mr. Gull led the way aft to where Henry was at work cutting up planks.

“Better measure ’em off accurate, Heywood,” he said, motioning to the pile of lumber that lay near. “Allow six feet six inches fer them long niggers, or they’ll be lame from hanging their heavy feet over the edge.”

Then he passed on, leaving me alone with the ferret-faced officer, who was sawing up a length of plank. The long lines of staples with chains attached began to have some meaning to me now, for the effects of the run had done much to clear my head. Henry saw my gaze following the line forward, and stopped to mop the perspiration from his dripping face.

“What d’ye think, will she carry five hundred, hey?” he said.

The horror of the thing began to dawn upon me. The chains and staples were for human beings. The temperature of that hold, as it was, could not have been less than one hundred degrees. What would it be with a mass of filthy black humanity packed and wedged in as tight as they could be stowed!

“Is five hundred niggers her rating?” I asked, with unconcern.

Henry shot his fox-like glance at me.

“Don’t you really know no better’n that?” he said.

“Slaving and piracy hasn’t been my chief occupation, Henry,” I said. “My people have always been respectable, and I have been a man-o’-war’s man. Besides, my mother hasn’t been hung yet.”

“Well,” he said, wincing at this last part of my remark, “law an’ justice air two different things. It hain’t a penal hoffence to bring a fool into the world, but it should be,--an’ a capital one, too.”

“I’ll admit justice miscarried in the case of your parents, but let it go. Explain what’s wrong with me. I don’t know any better than ask if five hundred is this bark’s complement, cargo, or whatever you choose to call it.”

“Well, if ye’d ever been in a slaver before, Hi cudn’t hexcuse yer foolishness, Heywood, but, since ye ask me, ye may note that this here ’tween-decks will mighty nigh accommodate a trifle o’ five hundred. What about the lower hold, hey?”

“Do you mean that they’ll fill her up solid with human bodies?” I asked.

“Oh, no; they’ll let in a bit o’ air through the hatch-gratings in good weather. The voyage ain’t a-goin’ to last for ever. Say, d’ye think this is a slow ship? You seen her run. Honest now, how long d’ye calculate we be ’tween here an’ the Guinea coast. A man, even a nigger, can stand bein’ shut up a little while. An’ then, stave you, Heywood, for a priest, don’t ye think a bit o’ sufferin’ is worth goin’ through to be a good Christian an’ die in the faith, hey? Every black bloomin’ son of a gun’ll be as good Christian as you are afore he dies.”

I said no more. When I saw Tim he showed no surprise.

“I expected at least that,” he said. “It’s Yankee Dan’s principal business. I was with them once before, an’ that’s the reason I wanted you to clear.”

“It’s a strange Yankee that should be at the head of such a business,” said I. “Now, if a Spaniard--”

“Stow it!” said Tim, angrily. “There never was any other real slaver than the Yankee, an’ they’re the ones makin’ the most howl against it. Nearly every slave-ship that comes here has a Yankee shipper.”

This I found later to be only too true. It was more than disgraceful for the fact that, even at that time, in the Northern States there had been angry discussions upon the question, the South being scored heavily for the slaves it held from necessity to work the plantations.

It was evident that the English governor winked at the trade, and that few, if any, of our crew had suspected before this time just what the barque’s trade would be. As there seemed every prospect of many of them not coming aboard again, I would not worry myself about the matter when they would learn the truth. As for Martin, he would be glad to be in a slaver, and as for the morals of the rest of the liberty crew, they were not worth considering when pitted against a few English sovereigns or American dollars. I went aft that evening to lower the colours with a very disagreeable feeling at the prospect in store.

It was always the custom aboard The Gentle Hand, I learned, to lower the colours in man-o’-war style when the vessel was in soundings, so I repaired to the quarter-deck to load one of the after guns, and stand by to set the sun.

Tim went with me, acting as quartermaster, and I felt somewhat abashed at the presence of Miss Allen, Yankee Dan’s daughter. I wondered if she had seen me come aboard, and the memory of that jumper put on upside down made my face wear a smile that was not lost on Hawkson.

“Glad to see you lookin’ happy, Heywood. Yer see, this ain’t sech a bad ship, after all. Put a good big charge in that twelve-pounder, and p’int her straight for the governor’s house, and let him know there’s some say t’us. It never hurts to put on a bit o’ side to these lazy rulers,” said he, as I began unlacing the gun-cover.

“Do you want a shot rammed in it, too?” I asked. “It might be just as well to stir him up with a handful of good iron. It would probably be small loss to his country if he happened to try and stop it.”

“That’s where you show a lot o’ foolishness,” he replied. “There’s devilish few men like him, and, if his country can spare him, we can’t. By no means let a shot get in that gun.”

While we were talking, Miss Allen came up the companionway accompanied by Hicks, Renshaw, and Curtis. She looked magnificent as she stood there in the fading sunlight, her hair taking on a deep coppery-red colour, and her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Will you let me fire it, Mr. Sailorman?” she asked, nodding toward the gun which I was loading.

“Indeed he will not,” said Mr. Curtis, whom I now observed to be a man of some presence, wearing a single eye-glass and a look such as I had imagined belonged to men much given to science and books.

“You have my permission,” laughed Sir John, winking awkwardly, “but, of course, you must not disobey.”

“I have not promised to obey yet,” said the girl, with a slight raising of the eyebrows. “Suppose, Sir John, you allow your wit to flow in different channels.”

“Wit!” growled Renshaw. “Don’t use the word, I beg you, in connection with his speech. One might really suppose there was such a quality in his nature, since you suggest it, Miss Allen, and much as I should like to--”

“Oh, stow it! Belay for the lady’s sake,” said Sir John. “There is such a thing as talking a person to death.”

“Between the two of you, she is in rather a dangerous situation,” said Mr. Curtis, sourly, “but I suppose there is some excuse for men who have been at sea over a month.”

Miss Allen had heard little or none of this last remark, for she was advancing to me as I stood at the breech of the fine brass gun.

“Do you give me the lock-spring. I see it does not need a port-fire like those ashore,” said she, coming to my side.

“It is not time to fire yet,” I said. “Mr. Hawkson will come from below and pass the word from the old man--I mean, Captain Howard.”

“Why, he and papa will never get through talking as long as there’s a bottle between them,” she said. “Let me have the cord. What care I for your Captain Howard?”

“Here, you fellow! Don’t give Miss Allen that lanyard,” said Mr. Curtis, in a tone such as he had probably been accustomed to use to his niggers. It rubbed me the wrong way. I was entitled to mister while on the poop.

I bowed and passed the string into her hand, and noticed how firm and round were the fingers that closed upon it.

“Fire whenever you are ready, Miss Allen,” said I. “Jerk hard upon the cord.”

The next instant there was a flash and roar. The blue powder smoke swirled over the harbour, and the echoes were loosened in the bay, while over all a slight, droning snore, rapidly dying away in the distance, told of a twelve-pound solid shot tearing its way through the quiet air between the ship and the governor’s house.

I looked vainly to see the effect of the shot, wondering how on earth the ball came to get into the gun. Then the humming of the signal halyards called my attention, and I saw Tim lowering the ensign, with a peculiar glint in his eyes, while Hawkson, Yankee Dan, and the captain came bounding from below.

“What the devil has happened?” bawled Hawkson, emerging first. “Who told you to fire that gun?” and he glared at me.

“I just told the rascal not to,” said Mr. Curtis, “and what does he do but deliberately do it.”

Captain Howard turned his mask-like face to me.

“Did you have shot in that piece?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I stammered, hesitatingly, for, though I had heard the shot as plainly as he, I knew nothing of how it came in the gun.

“You may put him in double irons until I want him,” said Howard, dismissing the subject and turning to the trader.

“He did not fire that gun, and shall not go in irons,” said Miss Allen, firmly, standing before her father and the captain. “I fired that gun. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Howard looked straight at her for a moment. Then he broke forth into his cackling laugh.

“Nothing, of course. He, he, he, ho, ho! not a thing. If you fired that gun, it’s all right. Ho, ho, ho! Now, Dan, you’d better go ashore and explain to the governor how your daughter happened to send a twelve-pounder into his house. When you come back, maybe you’ll think ten thousand pounds is a big price to pay for the risk we run, and maybe you won’t. If he’s in a good humour, I doubt if he lets you land.”

CHAPTER XIV.
I DECIDE TO LEAVE THE BARQUE

I was allowed to go forward, followed by Tim, who gave me a queer look as he passed.

“What did you do it for?” I asked, when we were out of hearing.

But Tim only looked sullen and said nothing.

“I have half a notion to report you,” I said, angrily.

“Call away the shore boat!” came Hawkson’s hail, and, before we had a chance to say anything more, we were hustled into her by Mr. Gull, while the negro crew in Mr. Curtis’s gig dropped to the gangway.

Henry came in our boat, with orders to collect his men and bring them aboard, and we had just time to see the trader and his daughter embark with Mr. Curtis, followed by the jests of the gentlemen aboard who handed the young lady down the ladder. I felt very grateful to Miss Allen, and, as her laughter fell upon our ears, Henry turned and gazed astern.

“If I know the governor, there’ll be trouble yet,” said he. “That Yankee ain’t too well liked.”

As we drew near the landing, we noticed a crowd gathering, and an official-looking person in a peculiar uniform or livery came to meet us.

“I have a message for your captain,” said he.

“Is it official?” asked Henry.

“It is, and both imperative and immediate,” said the man.

“I suppose, then, you want to deliver it?” asked Henry.

“Your discernment does you great credit,” said the man.

“Why! Wh-o-o-a! Say not so,” said Henry, with impressive gravity. “In a hurry, eh?”

“I am, and it’ll be the worse for you if you delay me any longer.”

“Now hark at that man!” cried Henry, as his little eyes glittered. “Delay him! Here I am a-goin’ right along about my business, an’ here this chap comes up sayin’ I delay him. I’ll see the gove’nor about this. Come along, bullies,” and he sprang ashore, ordering us to follow.

“It’s the governor who will see you, you fellow,” said the man.

“An’ him a-callin’ me names,” cried Henry. Then in a lower tone, as we drew away: “Hi reckon ’is ’ighness’ll get along without us. We’ll want to hustle that crew aboard ’fore there’s trouble.”

This seemed harder to me than it did to the third mate, and I smiled as I thought of Jones, Martin, and the fighting Doctor. We quickly left the vicinity of the landing, and hurried through the darkening streets in the direction of the den kept by the truculent Thunderbore.

They were not there, and we hurried on in the direction the big conch told us they had taken, Henry apparently confident that we would have them in hand shortly.

As the darkness fell, and objects could not be distinguished, the desire to desert the barque took strong hold of me. Her mission was apparent now, and I determined to make a dash for liberty at the first opportunity. Tim’s peculiar behaviour troubled me, and I was somewhat backward in taking him into my confidence. However, when we struck into an extremely dark street, I thought his knowledge of the town would be of use, and I whispered my intention of clearing. The next instant we were plunging into the darkness, while Henry’s voice bawled forth, dying away in the distance:

“Come back, ye blazin’ fools! Come back!”

We ran wildly up the street until it ended in a thick thorn hedge, into which I foolishly plunged, getting badly scratched for my pains. The impetus of the run sent me through and into a ditch beyond, followed by Tim, who plunged through the opening my body had made. He landed heavily upon me, knocking the breath out of my body, and for awhile I lay there unable to rise. Then Mr. Henry’s voice, cursing a couple of fools, sounded unpleasantly near, and I started up, resolved to make a fight if necessary.

The little mate, however, refused to seize us, even though he could easily have done so, as he reached the bank of the ditch before we could get clear. He tried to argue the question, preferring words to blows in the darkness, doubtless fearing the knife in such an encounter.

“What’s the meanin’ of it, anyways?” he asked. “What yer runnin’ fer?”

“Go on, Henry,” said I. “Go get the men, but don’t try to get me back aboard the slaver, or there’ll be trouble.”

“Well, where ye a-goin’? What’s the sense o’ playin’ the fool when you have to be a man, anyways. I ain’t goin’ to te’ch you, but I’ll say right here you’ll probably get irons for tryin’ this fool trick.”

“When I’m aboard, we’ll discuss the irons. Now stand clear, or there’ll be trouble.”

Tim and I started across the clearing, heading for a light we saw in the distance. Henry declined to follow, and we left him swearing at our stupidity. Going on, we came to a pathway which led toward the house, and we had hardly struck into it when there was a rush of feet on the coral, followed by a deep growling.

“Keep clear of the houses. Cut for the cover back of the town,” said Tim, hoarsely.

As I sheered off, a huge animal sprang upon me and knocked me down, fastening its teeth in my neck and shoulder. I heard Tim cry out, “Bloodhound,” and then he flung himself upon the beast, while I tried my best to pull out my knife and get the animal in front of me.

The dog let out a deep, baying cry as Tim struck, and this was answered by several animals near the house. I soon had my knife at work, and, in spite of a lacerated shoulder, plunged it again and again into the ferocious brute. Then he relaxed his hold, and I stood up. A lantern flashed in the path, and, before we could run, forms of men showed close to us.

“Who is it? What’s the matter?” said a strong voice I recognized as Yankee Dan’s. Behind him were Mr. Curtis, Miss Allen, and the two stalwart conchs who accompanied them from the landing.

It was now or never. The dog was evidently done for, and we must run for it.

“Come on,” I said to Tim, and away we went.

“Halt!” came the deep voice of the trader. “Halt, or I’ll fire!”

“It’s the sailors; don’t!” cried Miss Allen.

We were going pretty fast, and must have been out of sight in a few minutes. Perhaps the trader did not wish to hit us. At all events, his shot whistled past, and we were soon out of range. Had he known the loss of his dog, he might have taken better aim.

We were soon in the thick tropical jungle, and, as it was almost impenetrable, we were forced to halt. We waited a few minutes to try and get our bearings, and then worked out into the open again, keeping away from all lights. In this way we blundered along for an hour or two, Tim swearing noisily at the darkness and obstacles that came in our path.

“It’s all foolishness, anyhow, for you to clear here,” said he. “They’ve hounds that’ll catch us in half an hour, and there’s no way to leave this island, without going to sea, before they hunt for us.”

“Well, show me a boat,” said I, angrily. “Anything that’ll carry a sail across the Florida channel will do, and, if you think I’ll mind stealing it, you know mighty little how I want to clear. I’ll face the savages of the Florida peninsula before going with that gang of nigger hunters.”

We skirted the town, and finally came out on the shore near the harbour entrance. Here we could find some kind of craft, for there were numerous spongers and fishermen in the town.

Tim finally brought up on the beach and tried to get his bearings. There was nothing in sight that looked like a sailing craft, except a dim shadow out in the harbour which gave promise of being an able sloop, for the tapering line that went skyward seemed to describe a tall mast. We cast about to find some means of getting aboard without swimming, for the water looked black and forbidding, and the phosphorus flared weirdly in places, and gave rise to a belief in the presence of that ugly fish, the shark of the Bahama bank.

While we skirted the fringe of rippling waves, which flamed and sparkled as they rolled upon the beach, we heard the deep-mouthed baying of hounds.

“My God! I told you so,” said Tim.

“They’re a long way off yet,” I answered, surlily.

“A sailor ain’t much at running, ye know, an’ we haven’t all night to clear,” he answered.

“Well, you’ve forgotten your gait mighty sudden, then,” said I. “How about this morning?”

But Tim had struck into a quick trot, and I followed, for the deep, musical cry of those dogs was anything but nerve-steadying, sounding as it did through the darkness, when not a tree or house showed us a place of refuge. It was take to either a tree or water, and, as there were no trees, I made ready for a swim, willing to trust the hidden monsters below the surface rather than those of dry land.

After running for a few minutes toward the town, the cry of the hounds sounded louder. They were evidently upon our trail, and it would be but a few minutes before they would close with us, and then capture would be certain. It might be well if we were captured before the brutes seized us, for, judging from the size of the one we had killed, they would make things pretty hot if it came to a fight.

“Into the water!” panted Tim.

We struck into the edge of the surf, splashing through the water where it was but a few inches deep, hoping thus to put the dogs off the scent. In a little while, however, we found this failed to check them, for, while they stopped a few minutes at the spot we struck the water, they soon showed sagacity enough to burst into full cry and come tearing up the beach in our wake.

We were now nearing houses again, and in a moment bright lights shone ahead. A large building on the edge of the town showed lights in many windows, and the sound of music and hoarse voices came forth. It was evidently a place for fishermen and traders to carouse, and we headed straight for it as the baying drew close to our heels. The door was open, and in we dashed, flinging it to in the faces of as ugly a pair of brutes as I ever saw.

The hounds were evidently well trained to hunt slaves, for they flung themselves against the panels until the lock burst and the door flew open, letting them into the room in full cry.

Our entrance into the company collected in that place naturally caused some commotion. The big Welshman, Jones, was in the act of footing a hornpipe with a tall, yellow girl for a partner; Martin sat with a mug of ale on one hand and a stout blond woman on the other, and he fiercely squeezed and pulled an old accordion, while the black Doctor howled and patted time with his bare feet upon the prostrate form of Ernest, the German. The rest of the company were ranged about, looking at the big Welshman, roaring or screaming as the case happened to be.

For an instant the crowd stopped spellbound at our headlong entrance. Martin was in the act of hurling the accordion at us in his anger at being interrupted. The door crashed in, and the two black shapes leaped among them.

The hounds, with their flaming eyes and lolling tongues, presented a hideous spectacle, and the effect of their headlong plunge was too much for the nerves of the drunken crew. There was a wild howl of terror and a general scramble. I knocked over one lamp, and Tim adroitly dowsed the other, causing total darkness, and then above the wild din I could hear Martin’s voice, roaring:

“’Tis th’ dev’l, man! Tis th’ dev’l! Gawd save us, ’tis th’ dev’l himsel’! Coom out an’ fight like a man, ye coward! Coom in th’ light, an’ I’ll whollop ye like a babe, ye sneakin’ traitor! Coom out an’ stan’ to a true Christian sailor--ho-oo-t!”

The screams of the women and bawling of the men, coupled with the deep baying howls in the darkness, caused a disorder hard to describe.

There were several windows in the large room, but in the wild scramble these were overlooked by some, and, before the hounds could disengage themselves from the struggling crowd, Tim and I had leaped out and were running wildly into the streets of Nassau.

Windows were thrown open and heads peered out, looking in the direction of the uproar, and I distinctly heard several doubtful encomiums pronounced upon the habits of sailors by some of the more respectable residents of that not very pious town. Then we fell into a walk, somewhat amused at our sudden deliverance, and soon mingled with the loungers upon the broad street, which at this early hour was still full of people.

CHAPTER XV.
OTHERS DECIDE OTHERWISE

After following the street for a time, we concluded that our presence would be noted by the natives, and we turned into a broad, poorly lighted avenue, whose pavement shone white in the darkness. Here the houses seemed of the better class, and, as the avenue stretched away back inland to the southward, we decided to get across to the other side of the island, and trust to getting a sponger or fisherman to take us to some of the deserted cays until we could make good our escape.

“If you didn’t leave such a confounded trail,” said Tim, “the dogs couldn’t follow us. But you must be mighty nigh as smelly as a nigger, for they never even slowed down after they hit it fair.”

I was about to make a rather warm retort to this remark, but at that instant the door of a large house across the street opened, and a boy appeared upon the threshold. He was joined instantly by a large woman, whose strong face in profile showed plainly against the light inside.

Tim halted and seized my arm. Then he swore softly, and stood gazing at them while they came out into the street. The door was closed with a bang by the woman, but not before I had time to note her figure. She was huge. Almost as tall as myself, and her shoulders were those of a prize-fighter.

“Georgie, you dear,” she said, “if you run off this time, you’ll be sorry.” And her voice was peculiarly gentle and soft, almost absurdly so for a person of her size. She locked the door, and they came toward us until we started to turn aside to pass.

“Mary!” said Tim, in a low tone.

The woman stopped as if turned to stone.

“Who is it?” she asked, sweetly, and I saw her face clearly as she looked full at me. She was handsome. It was dark, but her eyes shone, and I could see the firm sweep of her chin and the well-cut nose and lips. She was not young, but she had all the colour and vigour of a girl.

“It’s me,” said Tim, shortly.

The next instant the boy’s stick fell across his shoulders with a loud whack.

“Clear out, you rascal,” he said. “How dare you speak to a lady! Oh, it’s you, is it--”

In an instant the boy’s arms were around Tim’s neck, and he was hugging him closely.

“Oh, papa, papa!” he was crying, while the woman looked on silently.

In a moment Tim put him aside and stood before his wife. The scene was strange, and, as I stood by, gazing at them, I thought of what the little sailor had told me.

Tim advanced and held out his hand. The woman sprang forward and seized it, pressing it to her lips and falling upon her knees.

“Forgive me,” she said.

But the sailor could not or would not answer. He stood looking down at her a long time.

“Oh, Tim, Tim!” she pleaded, gazing up at him.

I was somewhat disturbed at the scene, for there were people abroad on the streets, and here was a fine, large woman, as good-looking as one would care to see, kneeling before a pitiful-looking sailor, who was as ragged and dirty looking as a forlorn slave. If we were to make good an escape from the barque, it was anything but the proper thing to make a scene in the town streets.

“He is aboard the barque,” said Tim, slowly. “Will you give him up and come back to me if I get away?”

I knew he was speaking of Renshaw.

“Yes, yes,” moaned the woman; “only say you’ll forgive me, Tim. I’ll try and help you get away. You know I can handle a boat, and can come up to you on the ship if you will let me--”

He placed his hand upon her head and bade her rise. As he did so, two men came from the shadow of the houses across the street, and I immediately recognized Renshaw, followed by the bos’n, who came respectfully a few feet behind him. Old Richards drew up alongside his master, and stood ready for further orders.

“Get back to your boat, sir,” said Renshaw, addressing Tim.

The little sailor waited to see his wife upon her feet. Then he turned, and I expected to see him make a break for it, as he struck me as being pretty good at running. But I was mistaken.

With a sudden lunge, he struck Renshaw a terrific blow in the face. The next instant the bos’n sprang forward and tried to grab him, and would have succeeded but for the fact that my foot slid out between, and Richards went sprawling in the dust.

It looked as though things would take a more serious turn, for Tim had now been in open mutiny. Renshaw had fallen and struck his head on a piece of the flagging in front of the house, and lay quite insensible.

“For the Lord’s sake, Richards, let us get away,” I said, as the bos’n arose angrily to his feet.

“Into the house, quick,” cried Tim’s wife, as she led the way toward the door.

“He isn’t hurt half as badly as he ought to be,” said Tim, pointing to the fallen man. “Take him away, bos’n, before some one sees him.”

Then we crowded to the door, which was flung open.

At that minute the deep baying of the hounds fell upon our ears, sounding weirdly musical in the night, and a few moments later human forms dashed up the street, with the leaping animals straining at the chains that held them, fairly pulling the men into their tremendous stride.

“Way there! way there!” bawled a voice I knew was Henry’s, and, before I could move, one of the animals, with a howl, leaped straight for my throat.

All thought of escape was gone in an instant, and I struggled desperately with the animal, while the black conch beat and pulled to drag him off.

Finally, after I had my hands badly torn with the brute’s teeth, they succeeded in quieting him, and Henry clapped irons upon my wrists. Then I saw Tim had also been taken, and was standing quietly with his hands ironed behind him and his head bowed forward, his thoughts evidently far away from the barque or her crew. Upon the white coral road lay a dark object, and, while I looked, men raised it and bore it into the house the woman had but left a few minutes before.

I stood gazing after them until Henry shoved me roughly ahead.

“Come, git a move on ye,” said he. And his fingers closed upon my arm like a vice.

We went some distance before reaching the landing where we had come ashore, and I was more astonished to find that, in spite of our wild run, the boat was not only waiting for our return, but had an uproarious crowd ironed in her. I could hear the voice of Martin raised in an argument with Bill, insisting the devil had taken charge and was afraid to stand to a true Christian like himself. And the big Norwegian would earnestly try to strike him, and then bewailed his inability, owing to his ironed hands. Above all, the deep roar of Jones floated over the quiet harbour, joined now and then by the thick tones of the Doctor bawling for Thunderbo’ to bring him something that would “scratch.”

We were hustled into the boat without ceremony, and started for the barque.

As we drew alongside, Hawkson’s voice hailed us.

“Got ’em all?” said he.

“Hevery bloomin’ one, sur,” answered Henry.

“Knock off their irons, then, and let ’em turn in. We’ll make a start early in the mornin’ if things turn out all right.”

“There’s been a bit o’ trouble ashore,” said Henry, climbing up the chains, and then he evidently told Hawkson something of what had happened, for Tim’s irons and mine were left on, and we were hustled below, where we were hitched to ring-bolts in the slave-deck.

Shortly afterward, the noise of the howling men ceased, and I knew that they had either obeyed orders and turned in, or had been gagged. It was dark below, and I could see nothing of Tim. I spoke his name softly, but received no answer. Then I heard a voice, agonized and full of great suffering, praying and pleading for some one to come back again.

CHAPTER XVI.
A TASTE OF COLD IRON

It was hard to tell just when the morning dawned in that dark hold of the slaver. I was awakened by Henry coming below and leading us both on deck, where our usual mess of bread and coffee was served for breakfast. Then we were told to lay aft, and, following Hawkson, we entered the cabin to hear our sentence pronounced by Captain Howard.

As we entered, that strange old rascal was at the table with Hicks, engaged in a most peculiar game. The cloth was divided up into squares like a checker-board, and from opposite sides the two were hard at it, and paid no attention to Hawkson’s entrance. In a short time I found that “beef was king,” that is, a plate with meat upon it could jump a dish of bread or cup of coffee, as with checkers, the person losing not having any more of that victual for the meal. While they played, they ate from whatever dishes they could reach, and were so absorbed that it was not until Hicks jumped the old man’s plate of sliced pineapple with a chunk of salt beef that the old villain turned and noticed us. Then he surlily demanded what was wanted.

Whether it was the loss of his fruit or memory of the last night’s occurrence that oppressed him, it was hard to tell, but his mask-like face showed no feeling. He bade Hawkson stand us against the cabin bulkhead, and called Watkins to hand him pistols.

The old steward obeyed with alacrity, for it was only too evident what he wanted them for. Hicks, however, burst forth into a laugh.

“Hold on, Captain Howard,” said he. “You forget this isn’t exactly a pirate ship. Bless your old heart, you would pistol them both.”

“And I will,” said the old villain, cocking back the flints of the weapons.

He had formerly had the playful habit of loosing off one or both of his pistols under the table, to suddenly emphasize an after-dinner argument, and the rough habits of his early days stuck to him, only now the weapons appeared above the board. The game of grub, I learned, was one he had practised with his mates in the old days when the gambling habit had taken so strong hold upon him he must play at something.

Hicks, however, would hear of no such thing as shooting us without trial. The captain’s will, he admitted, was law, but we were in an English harbour and not on the high seas, and such action might cause endless trouble if the governor heard of it. Hawkson also urged the necessity of care for the sake of the voyage, and indeed he appeared somewhat worried about the matter until the pistols were finally laid aside and our case taken up.

Tim was asked if he had anything to say why the sentence of death should not be pronounced upon him. It would be fulfilled, with the governor’s permission, sometime that day. He had admitted the testimony of two witnesses, who swore they had seen him wound Renshaw.

He was silent and hung his head. Then he raised it and stood straight before them.

“I don’t mind the sentence,” said he, “but I do mind it coming from such as you.”

“You may gag and take him forward,” said Howard. “He shall be blown from a gun.”

He was led away, and they turned to me.

What had I to say? Well, I had considerable, and I told at some length how I had nothing whatever to do with Tim’s case.

“You may drop him overboard with a shot to each foot,” said Howard, as I finished. “Call away the gig, Mr. Hawkson. I’ll go over to the governor’s before he gets too warm to see any one.”

The whole scene, the entire lack of feeling, the disposing of our cases as though we were simply niggers, made an impression upon me that can hardly be described. Then the old pirate turned to his meal as though nothing had happened, and finished his coffee, while I was led forward.

“Keep a stiff neck, Heywood,” said the old privateersman, as we came on deck. “I believe you’re all right. I’ve heard something of this Renshaw before. He’s a feller of title, ye know, an’, if it wasn’t for that, I could save the little red-headed feller, too. But Sir John will insist on one o’ ye goin’. Blow the little chap from a gun? I’ll see he hears more o’ your story, an’, if worse comes from it, I’ll--well, never mind. There’s plenty o’ time between now and when the old man sees the governor. He won’t do anything without permission in port.”

“Don’t take any trouble on my account,” I said, angrily. “I’ve tried to clear fair enough, and would have gone but for Tim meeting his wife. I’d as soon stand in front as behind the guns of a slaver.”

“You’ll never have sense enough to stand anywhere, an’ that’s a fact,” growled Hawkson. “A good ship, a good crew, and plenty of profit in sight. D--n you, Heywood, I’ve a notion to take you at your word.”

His fierce eyes held an evil light that I knew boded no good, and his ugly mouth worked convulsively, showing his teeth. I was aware my case was not one to trifle with too freely, and concluded I would hold my tongue. He left me with an ugly sneer, and I went below attended by Mr. Gull, who eyed me savagely, and hustled me with such energy that I turned upon him.

“You want to bear a hand and remember that a live sailor is worth a couple of fool slavers,” said I. “It’ll pay you to be a bit more careful, Mr. Gull.”

“Shut up!” he answered, and hitched my shackle to the ceiling. Then he turned and left me without another word, while I cursed freely and fluently, with as much bitterness as a man can express in language.

It was very dark, and I knew nothing of what was going on above, although I noticed as I crossed the deck that the fore and main topsails were hanging up by their clews, all ready to sheet home, and above them the royals were also hanging loose. From this I gathered that there would be a start made very soon, and even as I wondered at our probable destination, I heard the distant clank and rattle of the windlass. Then I recognized the Doctor’s voice bawling the old refrain:

“Dey’s trouble ob-hyer, an’ dey’s trouble ober dar,

An’ I really do believe dat dey’s trouble ebbywhar--

Trouble--trouble--”

And I knew the mates were working the liquor out of his black hide.

Soon the anchor was short, and then silence reigned for a time, broken only by the scurrying of a ship’s rat across the empty hold.

How oppressive the bilge heat was, and how rank the stench of the hold! The barque had evidently been built at a time when salting ships had not come into fashion, and her old timbers stunk. I tried to think of the events of yesterday, and wondered what had become of poor Tim. I feared they would give him the full penalty, for, although Renshaw was a notorious adventurer, he was interested in the craft, and was a friend of Hicks.

His position, also, called for summary vengeance upon a common sailor, even though that sailor was an American.

In my case, however, the affair was different. I had done nothing to either aid or abet Tim in his assault. I was deserting, and had admitted that, but I knew nothing of the other affair that had ended so uncomfortably and caused our arrest. Hawkson knew this well enough, and it was with him my fate rested. He might save me from a hanging yet.

I stood wondering when and how the case would be settled, and was very hot and tired, but the shackle would not allow me to either sit or lie down upon the deck. The pain caused by the strain upon my wrists was intense, and I swore loudly at the men who had forced me into the cursed ship.

Suddenly I thought I heard a laugh. I strained my eyes in the direction whence it came, and soon made out a shape sitting upon the lower step of the ladder leading on deck. It chuckled and grunted for some minutes, and I wondered what it was, when it rose, and I made out the figure of Watkins.

The old steward came over and stood looking with a hideous sneer upon his face. The light was enough to see each outline of his features, for my eyes were now accustomed to the gloom, and the hatch let in a small ray of sunshine through the crack of the slide.

“You seem devilishly well pleased, Noah,” said I, with as much composure as I could muster.

He made no reply, but came close to me, and, leaning forward, as if about to whisper something in my ear, he seized that member in his teeth and bit it slowly. The pain was intense, and I roared out, wiggling to free myself from the monster, but he held on for many minutes.

I was fairly sick with pain, but the old fellow failed to notice that my legs were not ironed. As I was unable to move, he had doubtless supposed they were shackled.

With what remaining strength I had left, I kicked him, and by excellent luck landed full upon his stomach. He gave a grunt and doubled up like a pocket-knife, falling away from me and lying motionless upon the deck.

I mentally prayed I had killed him, and bawled at the top of my voice for Hawkson and Gull to come below. I might just as well have saved my breath, for not a sound could reach the main-deck, where they would evidently be at that time of day. I tried to ease my ear a bit by pressing my shoulder against the wound.

After a time that seemed an age, the pain let up a little. I looked at the form upon the deck before me, and saw it move and then rise and again come toward me.

“You old cannibal,” I cried, “if ever I get clear of these irons, I’ll cut you to ribbons for this.”

“If ever you do, you may,” he hissed. “How would you like to shake hands on that.” And he seized my irons behind my back, keeping to one side from my kicks, and he twisted until I almost fainted with agony. I roared and bawled and struggled, but to no purpose. I could not shake the horrible old creature off. Just when I thought I could stand the pain no longer, and I verily believe the fiend intended to kill me, the hatch was opened, and the carpenter came down the ladder with an armful of chains.

Instantly Watkins sprang away and disappeared, leaving me calling for the fellow Jorg to lend me a hand and keep the rascal off.

Jorg came stolidly below, and began shackling his chains to the ring-bolts, paying no more attention to me than to a man raving in delirium. He looked at me curiously and shook his head.

“Youse’ll get over it, friend John, in a day or two,” he said, and went on deck.

CHAPTER XVII.
SIR JOHN AND MISS ALLEN

While I stood there, sweating in the heat and pain below, expecting the reappearance of the old steward, I heard the windlass at work again, and faint cries as of men straining up the topsails.

Suddenly I recognized Hawkson’s voice near the main-hatch, and a moment later the section was slid aside and he came below.

“Get me out of this!” I roared at him, as he came up. “Get me out, or there’ll be murder aboard.”

“Steady, steady! D’ye expect me to turn ye loose when ye talk of murder? Sink ye, Heywood! what’s come over ye, anyways?”

“If you’re the man you claim to be,” I said, hotly, “turn my hands loose, and stand before me for ten minutes. Only ten minutes, Hawkson, and, if I don’t kill you, you may eat me alive. You may choose any weapon, and I’ll take my bare--”

“Tut, tut, what kind o’ hysteria is this? What’d I want t’eat ye alive for? Sink ye for a crazy boy! who’d eat a tough youngster like you, boy? What--well--oh, ho!”

He had come close to me, and had noticed my ear. Then he chuckled in his quiet way, his ugly face working with amusement.

“Yes,” I said, “that’s the old steward’s doings, and he’ll probably come back to finish me.”

“Well, well, oh, ho, ho!” he laughed. “Didn’t I tell you the old fellow would try his hand on you? But it’s a trifle; stand clear.”

Here he loosened the irons, and I stood forth, rubbing my sore wrists that were now partly paralyzed by being held so long.

“It’s all right. Go up on deck and lend a hand, as soon as you get your head cleared up. Mind ye, now, it was a rat that bit ye, understand? Don’t make any more trouble. If ye want to kill the steward, do it some other time. I had hard work savin’ ye, an’ I don’t want any more trouble.”

I went forward, and, after bathing my sore ear, I went on deck in time to see the last of Nassau.

The sun was shining brightly and the air was hot, but the trade-wind was fresh, and we went to sea at a rapid rate under royals. Bill asked me where I had been, and Martin stopped me to make some remark of the wild day before, but neither appeared to know what had happened, save that every one had gotten very drunk. Tim was not aboard, and I never saw him again. He had disappeared, and nothing but his broken irons were left to tell of his departure. The bos’n, however, was on watch, and he spoke vaguely afterward about a small boat coming alongside with a woman in it. Just what part Richards had played in the game, it was, of course, impossible to find out, but before long I knew that Tim and his family had made a voyage across the Florida channel in a small boat, and had probably succeeded in evading pursuit. No further notice of the affair was taken by the officers aft for reasons better known to themselves, and Renshaw chose to remain ashore, taking no further interest in the enterprise.

It was now evident that we had started on our voyage for blacks, and that escape from the barque was impossible. I was angry enough, but remembered that desertion merited some roughness, and, upon the whole, I had been pretty well treated.

Henry gave me a furtive look from his ferret eyes as I passed him on deck. He had done no more than his duty in chasing me, and I, therefore, bore him no malice because he had been successful. It was several days before he would trust himself near me, however, and kept his eyes busy as we went about the vessel attending to our various occupations.

The day was perfect for navigating the reef, and, as my hands were badly used up, I spent much time forward, watching the shoals and banks, that were distinctly visible under five or six fathoms of water. We could run in this, and at such a depth, with the sun shining, a very small object could be seen upon the coral bottom. Yankee Dan and his daughter were upon the poop with Hicks and Howard. The girl was to go with us as far as St. Helena on our voyage to Africa.

Mr. Gull had volunteered this much information, and the men were somewhat curious in their gaze aft.

The passengers took no notice of this, but spent the afternoon watching the reef or bank, the young girl being much entertained by the various sights upon the bottom.

In the afternoon I went upon the poop to clean the guns and otherwise attend them, and the young lady gave me a nod of recognition. She evidently remembered that shot, for I found out afterward it had cost her father a pretty sum, and for a time it looked as if there would be no slaver cleared at Nassau.

The governor, however, compromised on a handsome fee for damages, as the shot had plunged clear through his parlour, leaving only a small hole in both walls to mark its passage. How much of this fee found its way into Howard’s pocket, it was hard to determine, but he evidently was not forgotten. The affair was not alluded to again except among the men.

Hicks scowled at me, but said nothing, and then I kept close watch upon him, as he appeared to still bear me some malice for having been present at Renshaw’s mishap. He was a bold and unscrupulous rascal, and would have taken a lively interest in my jump over-side, had they insisted on it, with a shot to each foot. His manner toward the young girl irritated me also, for, while I’m far from being a priest, yet there is a certain respect for young women every honest sailor has, and which was apparently entirely absent in this man’s manner. They were evidently talking of Renshaw, for I heard Hicks mention his name sadly in connection with the dishonourable affair at the card-table that had caused his abandonment by people of his own class.

“I see,” said Miss Allen, “cheating over a game of cards is highly wrong, but cheating a man out of his wife’s affections is highly commendable. A strange code of morals you Englishmen have. In your class, perhaps, the money is more valuable. Is that it?”

“Whatever his sins were, let us not judge them,” said Hicks. “As for the class you speak of, I can only answer that a wife’s affections are valued by most men according to the wife. Don’t you think a woman has pretty much the same gauge to measure by?” And, as he spoke, he leaned toward her, looking her straight in the eyes until she flushed crimson.

“I have broken all of the ten commandments for women,” said Hicks, slowly, still keeping his gaze fixed upon her, “and I would break them all gladly for the woman I love.”

“A self-confessed saint!” she answered, somewhat uneasily.

“Well, slaving is not the least of my ambitions,” said he, carelessly. “Perhaps you think there is nothing in running a cargo of blacks? It may be there’s little, but, if we were overhauled with your father aboard and a crowd below, even ‘trading’ would not appear an innocent occupation.”

“I know it, but what can I do? Do you suppose I think everything that papa does is right?”

“I would hardly accuse you of such lack of judgment,” said Hicks, laughing and glancing at Howard and her father in conversation near the break of the poop.

“But because papa does strange things, you needn’t think I believe they are good,” she said, with some feeling. “As for slavery, it’s only wrong in the abstract. How could the poor blacks look out for themselves? They must be taken care of. What on earth would we do without servants?”

“I was not trying to convince you that you were a desperate pirate,” said Hicks, still laughing. “Only to show you what a saint had the pleasure of talking to you. When you have lived with me a time, you’ll realize it better--”

“When what?” she exclaimed.

“When we’ve been married a few seasons, you’ll--”

“When is a good word,” she said, angrily. “How dare you speak to me like that, Sir John!”

“I dare much more,” he answered, quietly, his handsome face setting into an expression of grim determination, “but this is hardly the place to declare it.”

I thought it was about time for me to leave that vicinity, and I strapped the vent-cover on the gun I was attending to ostentatiously, and started forward. Hicks never gave me even a passing glance, but, as I went forward, I heard steps sounding upon the companionway aft, and, turning for a moment, I beheld the head and shoulders of Mr. Curtis emerging from the cabin. He looked a moment at Hicks and the girl, and then went over to where they stood, near the taffrail, while I joined the watch on the main-deck.

As I went down the lee steps, I caught a glimpse of Watkins in the cabin, making a grimace I could hardly fail to understand. He was out of reach, and I could only stop and curse him, until Mr. Gull came out and asked me what was the matter. Then I turned and lent Bill and Martin a hand at the weather main-brace, for we had gotten well clear of the bank, and were running off to the westward on our course for the other side.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BARQUE HAS ILL LUCK

I now come to that part of the narrative which deals with the turning-point of our luck on this cruise.

Since Renshaw’s leaving left much of the influence to be desired out of the enterprise, Mr. Curtis began to feel anxious about his responsibility in the matter. It is true the gentleman was an outcast from his own people, but he was a nobleman, for all that, and the governor of New Providence would be much influenced by him. It might be necessary to have a friend at hand in case something unpleasant turned up, especially as the laws governing slaves were becoming more and more strict.

The bos’n was suspected in having aided Tim to escape from the barque. At any rate, he was responsible for him. He was an American also, and often when the seaman would come upon the poop, Curtis would find some harsh word to say to him. Afterward he would complain to Howard so bitterly at the bos’n’s insolence that the old captain began to experience some of the landsman’s bad temper.

The discipline of the ship had been good, save for the incidents of the run on the beach. Now the real cruise had begun and there was no more chance for desertion, the strictest laws of a war-ship were easy in comparison to those enforced.

This put much work upon Richards, and began to make unnecessary friction between him and the men. Between the hard feeling caused by Curtis aft, and the steady grumbling of such men as Martin and some of his followers forward, the bos’n began to have an unpleasant time of it, and a most desperate affray was averted on several occasions only by his steadiness and coolness of temper.

One day the bos’n was called to attend to some repairs on the wheel-ropes.

Mr. Curtis saw him, and either inadvertently or deliberately jostled him as he came along the poop. Hawkson saw the affair, and hastened to avert trouble, but was too late. Curtis very foolishly kicked the bos’n savagely and swore at him before all the men of the watch on deck. Richards, true to his creed, lashed out most vigorously, and knocked the landsman half-way across the deck before Hawkson caught him. It was only Hawkson’s steadiness of purpose that prevented a general mix-up on board, for Curtis insisted upon the sailor being flogged. Richards swore he would kill the man who laid hands on him, and, as he had several friends forward, including myself, who would have stood by him, and as he had the chief officer aft, there was a deal of trouble before anything like order prevailed. When the outfly was patched up by Yankee Dan and Sir John, who saw the danger of such affairs, there was no longer anything like smoothness again. The bos’n never attempted to give an order, and went about his duties with a set smile, which I tried to fathom on several occasions and received a cold silence for my pains. Then I knew trouble was coming, and prepared for it, caring little, however, just when and in what shape it would appear.

For a day or two we dragged slowly over the blue water. The royals would pull a bit in the light air, but our wake was not a long one.

On the third day, I was cleaning the forward gun to windward, gazing over the beautiful calm water. To the southward the deepening blue of the sky seemed to show in peculiar contrast to the ocean, and, while I gazed over the vast distance, the water streaked and darkened under the light draughts. The royals came to the masts every now and then, when the breeze died almost entirely, and flapped gently, coming full again as the barque swung herself to windward on the swell.

Miss Allen was on the poop with Mr. Curtis, and that saturnine young man, Hicks, was standing aft gazing at them with an expression far from pleasant upon his handsome face.

I became aware of a low, vibrant, wailing murmur coming out of the sunlit void to the south’ard. It was like the cry I had heard before and had had such an effect upon poor Tim.

Yankee Dan’s daughter evidently heard it, for she straightened up and listened, gazing steadily to windward. As the cry rose and fell, dying away as the breeze increased, it thrilled me through and through.

“What’s the matter?” asked Henry, who had come up and noticed my intense look.

“Don’t you hear it?” I asked.

“S’pose Hi do; it’s nothin’. Have ye cooled off?”

It was the first time he had spoken directly to me since the affair with the hounds, and I took it for an overture of friendship.

“If you squeeze my hand, I’ll brain you,” I said, and held it out. He took it, smiling.

“What made ye bolt, anyways?” he asked. “Hi could git ye anywheres on that island. Hi had to pay fer that dog ye killed, too.”

He seated himself beside me, as it was nearly eight bells, and we talked a few minutes, he describing the amusement caused by the two hounds loosed into the room of Thunderbo’s dance-hall.

“’Twas a fine sight, Heywood, to see that bloodhound grab the conch by the heel. If Hi hadn’t stopped there to laugh it out, Hi wud ha’ bust wide open. There he was hanging out the window, with Jones a-pullin’ one way an’ the dog the other, while the Doctor whanged him over the buttocks as they stretched ’im over the sill.”

I felt little like laughing, although the scene of confusion must have been amusing to an uninterested spectator. Had he taken us sooner, the other affair would not have followed.

“I cud ’a’ taken ye, but Hi had to laugh at that conch,” explained Henry. “What d’yer s’pose makes my fingers so big, anyways?”

“Poking them in other people’s business,” said I.

“An’ that’s a fact,” he answered. “Poking them in other people’s business. Man, I was chief garroter in Havana onct, an’ I ’as strangled more men than there is in this ship. Hi ’av’ been a detective an’ a executioner both. That’s how I know how to handle dogs. Save ye, Heywood, d’ye suppose Hawkson would ’a’ let you fellows loose ashore ef he didn’t know Hi’d bring ye back all standin’, as the sayin’ is?”

Henry had never appeared prepossessing to me, and now his statement as to his vocation did little to draw him nearer. On the contrary, he noticed my look of disgust and wonder, as I scanned his huge fingers.

“Never mind,” he said, with a grin, “’tain’t likely they’ll be used on you, though Hi closed ’em onct on the old man’s neck when he was taken fer cuttin’ out them Spanish wood-hunters in the Isle o’ Pines. They let him go just in time. Now they use a screw, for there ain’t been a man there since as c’u’d do the trick wid his fingers,--an’ old Howard insisted that Hi must stick to him for a lucky boy.”

While he talked, I noticed the barque gave a sudden heave of much greater inclination than usual. She seemed to take a new motion, as though a swell from the westward had rolled up against the trade swell. I looked over the side, and noticed a long heave to the sea setting at a sharp angle to the slight rise and fall we had been riding. Henry saw it also, and gazed to the south’ard.

Far away on the horizon a dim haziness seemed forming in the otherwise cloudless sky. I looked aft in time to see Howard come up the companion and gaze around the horizon. Then he said something to Hawkson, who had also appeared, and the old mate came to the break of the poop.

“Take in them royals,” he called to the watch on deck, and the men, who were expecting to hear eight bells struck and dinner announced, had a job. Henry sprang up and went aft.

“T’gallants’ls,” said Hawkson, laconically.

I pulled on the gun-cover, and had already gotten it fast when the order came to clew up the mainsail. Then, as I had to go aloft with the rest, I joined Bill and Ernest in the weather main-rigging.

“Fallin’ glass,” said Bill. “I youst heard the mate tell Henry. Ole Richards looks worried. Didn’t think he’d take that interest, hey?”

We rolled the sail up in short order, keeping an eye on the poop, where Howard was now squinting away at the sun with his sextant.

“Eight bells,” came his hoarse croak, and a Norwegian struck them off loudly.

“Roll up the spanker an’ foresail,” came the order, and, instead of getting dinner, the watch turned out with the rest, and all hands were kept busy. Then came the topsails, and finally we reefed the fore and main topsails, the barque rolling log-wise in a very uneasy roll that came quickly from the south’ard.

It was one bell before we were allowed on deck, and then, all tired and hot, we scattered for cool places to eat the deferred meal.

Hardly had we finished than a cool, clammy mist spread itself over the ocean, and a good breeze began blowing from the north’ard. The sun appeared like a copper ball, and as it dimmed the breeze increased. The swell now began running with a tremendous heave from the southwest, and the barque rolled her channels under. All hands were kept on deck.

The black Doctor had just gathered the last of the forecastle truck into the galley, where the little Dane, Johnson, was allowed to clean them up, when we heard a deep moaning to the south’ard. The bank of the mist seemed to grow thicker. Then, with a slow rising, droning roar, the hurricane struck the barque and laid her over on her side until her lee dead-eyes were a foot below the sea.

How Miss Allen and Curtis climbed down off the poop, I could never guess. The deep notes of the wind rushing through the rigging drowned all sound save the cries of Hawkson and Gull, who, hanging on to the poop-rail, bawled for the men to man the braces and get the ship hove to.

It struck us full upon the quarter, and nothing had carried away, although the straining strips of canvas aloft seemed marvellously strong to withstand that furious outfly. The sea was as white as a coral bank, looking as though covered with a finely drifting snow, as the wind swept the top of the ocean level and drove the foam before it.

We were under the shortest canvas, and were trying to get her on the wind before the sea made, as it was sure to make, in a few minutes.

As we tailed on to the topsail-brace, I caught a glimpse of Richards and Yankee Dan rolling the wheel over, although the deck was as steep as the ship’s sides. Slowly the old barque righted herself, as she headed up within four points of it, scooping her main-deck full of water, some of which found its way below, as the main-hatch had not been battened or caulked, and the flood rolled over it waist-deep. Had we been taken aback, the topmasts would surely have gone overboard in that blast, for it was impossible to realize its tremendous power.

I could hear the captain’s hoarse croak from near the mizzen, sounding faintly in the roar about us, and I caught the look of Big Jones’s face as he raised it over the rail and brought it back streaming with the flying drift and gasping for breath. Then we belayed the line, and started to get all yards sharp on the starboard tack.

It was desperate work, but it was finished at last, and, by the time we had a chance to breathe and look about us, the barque was riding into such a sea as seldom runs in the western ocean, her topsails hanging in short ribbons from the jack-stays, and a gale thundering through her rigging that bid fair to drive her under by the sheer weight of the wind in it.

There was no steady blow. Sometimes the roar aloft would die down for a few minutes, and it would seem as if the weight of it had passed. Then would come a squall, snoring and roaring, rising up into a wild chaos of sound that was almost deafening, and the barque would be laid upon her side for several minutes as it tore past.

Jorg, with the pluck and perseverance of his race, worked desperately at the hatches to get them battened down firmly. Henry and I managed to get a large timber over the canvas cover, and, lashing one end fast to the ring-bolt on one side, we hove down with it until we could get Richards, Bill, Jones, and the rest to pass a lashing, heaving the lever over as tight as our combined weight could make it go. I saw Hawkson waving his hand, and crawled to him along the pin-rail.

“Go aft to the wheel,” he roared in my ear, and I climbed the poop.

CHAPTER XIX.
AND STILL MORE ILL-LUCK

As I crawled up the lee steps of the poop of The Gentle Hand, I began to believe it was blowing. I could not possibly stand before that blast. Holding to the poop-rail, I worked aft and relieved Yankee Dan, who had helped the man already there by taking the spokes to windward.

All about the barque were the lowering banks of scud, darkening the ocean now almost to night, and flying with the rapidity of the wind. Above was the deep gray of the heavy pall of vapour.

I glanced into the binnacle and noticed that the wind had already shifted, although it had been blowing less than an hour. It had become more and more squally, and the blasts roared down upon the barque with incredible force. The sea was ugly, but instead of the great, rolling sea of the Cape, it was a short, quick mass of water that flung itself with appalling force. High as she was, The Gentle Hand took them now and again over the topgallant-rail, and flooded her main-deck waist-deep. Soon her lee bulwarks tore away, letting the flood have full sway across and overboard. This eased her a trifle, and we strove to nurse her closer to the wind, although, without canvas, the wheel would have been as well lashed hard down.

For three hours more she headed up beautifully, although sometimes the blasts would take her to leeward and whirl her head up into the sea. Then another would strike her full, and off she would swing almost into the trough, while Hawkson and the rest would struggle to get a cloth against the weather mizzen ratlines.

Suddenly, after one wild, snoring rush of warm wind, it fell dead calm. The sea was leaping wildly, bursting over our bow one moment, and then the next piling in amidships with a crash that tested the strength of the old hull. She would seem to settle under the load, and once there was nothing visible forward of the break of the poop save the end of her t’gallant forecastle. The men had to lay aft and keep alive.

While the calm moments lasted, the air was oppressively warm, and I noticed Hicks come from behind the shelter of the spanker-boom and coolly light his pipe, although the barque was rolling and plunging so heavily it was hard to see how he kept his feet without holding on. He made his way aft just as Mr. Curtis emerged from the companion, followed by Miss Allen.

The barque was plunging wildly, and I had all I could do to hold the wheel-spokes. Suddenly I heard a cry from forward. Captain Howard stood clear of the mizzen for a moment and pointed aft. Over the starboard quarter a huge sea rose like a wall, then topped into a snoring comber, and flung with the rush of an avalanche over the poop. The dull, thunderous crash drowned all sound, and the same instant I felt myself being torn from the wheel by the flood. Then I went under, still holding on with all my strength to the spokes, but feeling them dragged from my hands by the prodigious power washing me away.

When I came to my senses, I was lying against the rise of the poop, where I had brought up doubled over, my body on top and my legs hanging in the swirl that rolled over to leeward. There was no one at the wheel. The Norwegian had gone overboard, and, as he had probably struck heavily against the spokes, he was doubtless killed outright.

I crawled back, gasping and driving the brine from my face. Then I remembered Miss Allen and her lover, Mr. Curtis, and looked for them.

In the boiling foam of the side-wash a few fathoms from the side, the girl’s head, with her hair floating in tangles, showed above the white. She was apparently swimming, though feebly, for she must have been hurled far below in the cataract that poured to leeward. Near her was Mr. Curtis, his eyes staring at the ship and his face expressing surprise and anxiety. He struck out for the barque, and did not help the girl near him, or, in fact, give her any attention until he had grasped the lee mizzen channels as the vessel rolled down. Here he drew himself up, and started to coil a line trailing overboard to throw to her. I started to the side, letting go the wheel, but before I reached the rail, I saw a form plunge from the mizzen sheer-pole, and in an instant Hicks rose to the surface almost alongside the young lady. It was boldly done, and I caught the expression in his eyes as he seized her by the shoulder and turned toward the ship.

Hawkson was bawling out something, and I turned in time to feel the first puff of a squall that came snoring down upon us with a rush that made every line sing to the strain. In an instant the barque was laying over to it, and as it struck her abaft the beam she started ahead.

Hicks was now alongside, and Curtis, aided by Yankee Dan, was helping the young girl on deck. It was a remarkable occurrence, happening as it did in the centre of that hurricane, when the barque was becalmed and without any headway. Otherwise it would have been a certain death for any one going over the side. In less than five minutes the gale was blowing as hard as ever from an almost opposite point of the compass, the squalls coming with appalling force, sending us a good fifteen knots an hour, with nothing but the bare yards aloft to receive the pressure.

Two men came aft to relieve the wheel, which I had rolled up with Mr. Gull’s help, and I had a few minutes’ breathing space as we tore along, the men forward trimming in the braces and squaring the yards for a run before it.

Hicks stood upon the poop near the mizzen, where he had climbed up, and he gazed after Curtis, who, with Yankee Dan, half-dragged and half-carried Miss Allen below. There was a strange look in his eyes, and I saw him cursing in a sinister manner, though what he said was lost in the uproar. Then he joined the captain at the break of the poop, where the old man had remained, having escaped the flood by springing with the rest upon the spanker-boom.

Sir John Hicks was a thorough rascal, according to report, but somehow he showed up very well with Mr. Curtis, who had been a well-known churchman and piously inclined even to the time he had bought his interest in The Gentle Hand.

As for the grim old villain in command, he made no comment, but stood watching his ship without a trace of anxiety upon his mask-like countenance. Even as I watched him, he was calculating the time to swing her up on the port tack to keep afloat in that cross-sea, before which no vessel could run very long.

I could hardly help thinking then that so much nervous strength and control must have a limit sometime. The old fellow had been through a good deal, and certainly must have used up much of his giant energy in earlier trials. I wondered vaguely for a few moments when the time would come when his stoical indifference and cruelty would be used up and he become a debtor to nature. How would the old man die? Would he be inscrutable and implacable to the last? It would be a matter of physical force with him, and he appeared pretty tough yet, ready for many a rough fracas, and afraid of nothing.

Yet I doubted whether his courage was any finer than some others who were less reckless and held responsibility as something of value. He finally gave the order to Hawkson, and the deep voice of the mate sounded above the booming, sonorous roar overhead. A heavy tarpaulin was lashed in the mizzen-rigging on the outside, so that the shrouds might make a solid background to hold it against the blast. It was an old hatch-cover, but of heavier cloth than our topsail.

The wheel was rolled hard down just as a heavy squall showed signs of slacking, and a comparative smooth space showed to windward. The old barque came quickly into the trough, and, as she did so, the full force of the hurricane could be felt. Over and over she went until her lee rail disappeared beneath the foam, while above her towered a sea that bade fair to drive her under as it fell aboard. She lay perfectly on end for an instant, the deck being absolutely perpendicular, and her yard-arm beneath the swirl to leeward, and the weight of that rolling hill broke clear across, the larger part of it landing in the sea to starboard.

The shock was terrific. Both fore and main topmasts went out of her and trailed alongside in the smother. There was no sound save the thundering crash of the water, but as soon as the men who had saved themselves could move from their places, we tried to save the ship. Hawkson, Gull, Henry, Richards, Jones, Martin, and the rest made their way forward by holding to the pin-rail, and we cut to clear away the foretopmast alongside. All the time the barque was on end, her hatches under water, and the wild, booming snore of the hurricane roaring over her, sending cataracts of water over her t’gallant-rail. By desperate work we led the wreckage forward, and towed it by a heavy line from the port cat-head. This finally had the effect, together with the tarpaulin aft, of pulling her head into the sea, and after a quarter of an hour, every minute of which I expected to see her go under, she began to right herself.

Too exhausted to speak and half-drowned by the seas, we hung on under the shelter of the forecastle until she once more rode safely into it. I looked into the streaming faces of the men, and wondered how many had gone to leeward that day, and then it seemed to me that slaving for wealth might not be any better than I had originally held it to be. Aloft in that gray pall the scud were whirling past, and I found myself thinking of Tim and the cry of the South Sea. A sailor is apt to get superstitious even without reason, and it struck me that there would be little luck aboard the old pirate on this cruise.

When we had a chance to leave, we found that one dago and the little Dane had disappeared from among us, and, as the gale wore down toward evening, there was a sorry picture of a black barque riding the quick sea of the western ocean, her rigging hanging and trailing to leeward from the stumps of her topmasts, and a half-drowned crew holding on to anything they could.

Before morning the hurricane had passed, and we were again heading off across the ocean, with a badly wrecked ship and an ugly, demoralized set of men, cursing their luck, the ship, and especially her officers in a manner that spoke of trouble ahead.

CHAPTER XX.
WHAT HAPPENED IN MADEIRA

The days following that storm were full of labour for all on board the barque. Rigging a jury maintopmast, and securing the yards that had remained fast to the line ahead, and which had acted as a sea anchor or drag and thereby saved us, we made the best of our way to Madeira. The voyage was uneventful and long, owing to our wrecked condition, but it ended at last.

During the days of toil the temper of the men grew worse, and at one time Martin and Anderson began to talk pretty freely in the watch below. Howard tied the Scandinavian up in the rigging, and was about to use even more severe methods, but Hawkson and Hicks prevailed. He was apprised of the murmurings forward by his steward, Watkins, who took care he lost very little of what went on.

Hawkson and Hicks, backed by Mr. Gull and Henry, however, knew that to precipitate trouble would ruin whatever prospects the voyage still held, and they made it plain to the trader that his influence was also necessary to curb the captain’s temper. Together they held him in check, and we made harbour without coming to desperate measures.

The behaviour of Mr. Curtis after the storm was most peculiar. He prayed very often, and seemed to develop a most pious disposition. This went to the extent of asking permission to have the men mustered on Sundays, so that by standing on the break of the poop he could address and harangue them upon religious matters.

The idea tickled Howard so keenly that he not only agreed to it, but insisted that it should happen twice a week until the men were in better temper. It was being enforced when the towering sides of Pico Ruivo rose above the eastern horizon.

Miss Allen had not been especially impressed by these harangues, and this day joined Hicks upon the poop, while the affair took place. Hicks had been below, but had appeared forward talking confidentially to Martin, and had passed a package which the brawny Scot had taken below very hurriedly just as all hands mustered. When Hicks reached the poop, coming up the cabin companion, we were already standing under the break, lounging in various attitudes of inattention.

I hardly remember what Mr. Curtis said on this occasion, but he pointed to the distant mountains and waxed very eloquent. We had seen this land before, but he had not.

“It is the prayers of us poor sinners,” said he, stretching forth his hand, “that has at last saved our barque from storm and calm. We are poor, weak mortals, and must ask for help.”

“Who calls er mon like me er weak mortil, hey?” came a voice from the crowd, and there stood Martin, the empty bottle in hand, his eyes shifty and dangerous.

“I’m a true Christian man, d’ye ken that, an’ if ye dare say I be ither, I’ll wallop ye like er babe.”

Curtis was off the poop in an instant, and there was a mix-up that promised much in the way of diversion, for whatever our preacher lacked, it was not a quick temper. He seized the tipsy Scot by the hair with both hands, and, in spite of the hoots and wallops he received, was making a very fair job of him when Jones and Henry separated them.

Howard stood on the poop and cackled away, enjoying the scene, refusing to do anything to Martin unless Curtis ordered it. This the younger man’s vanity would not permit, and upon the whole it was just as well, for it made the feeling a little less uncomfortable forward, which was a good thing for a vessel going into a harbour where crews might be scarce.

There was some hesitancy on Hawkson’s part about going in with such a large crew, for trading-vessels generally were not heavily manned. It might create enough comment to attract the attention of a man-of-war, and even though our papers might be fixed satisfactorily, a boarding of the barque would be hazardous to a slaving enterprise. At all events, it was decided that Mr. Gull should take a boat’s crew and land upon the Desertas, the rocks about a dozen miles to the southward. Here they would kill as many wild goats and hogs as they could, and await the barque’s signal before venturing in, bucanning the meat for the voyage back.

We soon anchored in the open roadstead not very far from the beach. The town of Funchal lay before us to the north’ard, its terraces and vineyards rising from the water up the steep sides of the mountains. A very pretty place it was, and in a short time the captain’s gig was called away to take him ashore. Richards silently brought the boat to the ladder, and sat stiff and motionless, a regular man-o’-war cockswain. The whole after-guard, except Henry and Watkins, clambered into the boat, Yankee Dan and his daughter accompanied by Hicks and Curtis.

The old trader had been somewhat subdued in spirits during the latter part of the trip across, owing to our loss of gear and the leaky condition of the vessel. Now he spoke with his usual spirits, which rose as the distance between him and the shore lessened.

“Sink me!” said he, “if I don’t try to show these dagoes how to drive a trade for them topmasts.”

“I wouldn’t, if you intend staying ashore,” said Hicks.

“Will I stay ashore?” said Miss Allen.

“Until we can ship you to the Continent,” said her father. “It won’t be long before we put you and Curtis aboard some ship for Havre. Then you’ll both be safe.”

I had realized before this that Mr. Curtis was looked to as the fowl who was laying the golden egg for the enterprise, while Dan was to do the trading. His daughter was the principal tie between them, and she was, doubtless, the innocent lever the trader had used to get the younger man interested in slaving. It looked as if there would soon be a marriage.

The girl had nodded to me as I took the stroke oar, and I will admit I felt interested in her future. Whatever Sir John Hicks felt, he kept it well to himself, for he joined the conversation right merrily, although his behaviour toward Mr. Curtis was unnecessarily polite. We rowed swiftly over the swell of the blue roadstead, and ran the boat’s nose upon the sand, the light surf splashing into the stern-sheets just enough to cause some scrambling for dry places. Then the boat was surrounded by natives, who plunged into the water regardless of their white breeches, and offered to carry the passengers ashore.

Jones and myself, however, placed a short board for Miss Allen to sit upon, and then raised it to the height of our shoulders with her upon it, bearing her aloft, while she gave a bit of a scream and fastened her fingers in our hair for support. Then we strode ashore to the dry beach above high water, with small regard for the scowling dagoes who failed to earn their silver.

The rest were so busily engaged in getting ashore dry that they failed to note that I seized the little hand upon my head and kissed it fervently, much to Big Jones’s delight and the young lady’s embarrassment.

“You know what they’d do to you if they knew you were so rude,” said she, flushing.

“I’ve risked death for less pleasure,” said I, touching my forehead.

“Then the fool-killer surely was not in the neighbourhood. You forget your position,” said she, haughtily.

“I was a mate once,” I answered.

“Well, you’re not now. If it were not that Sir John--I mean, Mr. Curtis would kill you, I should report your insolence.”

“’Tis a small deed to die for,” said I, “and, if I must go, perhaps I had better make my end doubly certain--”

At this moment Yankee Dan’s voice called, and I turned in time to see him approaching.

Jones, who had walked toward the boat, glanced back uneasily at me, but I touched my forelock, having no cap, and left Miss Allen. The big Welshman did not hear all of our conversation, but, lest he retail part of it to the men, I took the trouble to make it plain to him that such a trick would be reckoned as a great discourtesy to the lady and myself, and that a necessary settlement would therefore take place. Jones, in spite of his size, was a man of keen discernment and not without discretion. He was silent.

As the island was well wooded with fine large trees, it was but a short time before we had our topmasts on the beach ready to take aboard and set up. Jorg took charge of the spars, and we floated them alongside and hoisted them on deck, where he at once set to work upon them. Much of the ironwork from the wreck we had saved, and this shortened the job very considerably. Within a week from the day we dropped anchor, gant-lines were rigged and the new spars sent aloft. The backstays were then set up and the t’gallant-masts were sent up, one of these having been saved from the wreck and the other cut ashore.

The work of rigging kept all hands busy day and night, so we saw little of the town of Funchal. We went ashore once to buy a second-hand suit of t’gallantsails and royals, which were to be used as good weather canvas, and have an old maintop-sail recut, but there was little time even for sampling the wines I had heard so much about.

While we lay there, a large American brig came in and anchored near us.

She was evidently a trader by her look, and by her build and rig she appeared very fast and rakish. She flew the American ensign, and I was interested in her. As soon as we had a little respite from rigging, I asked permission to visit the stranger, and, to my surprise, it was granted. Neither Hawkson nor Howard appeared the least interested in the vessel, and had neither received a visit from her captain nor made a visit to him. When Bill, Ernest, Martin, and myself took the small boat that evening and started over to her, Hawkson called me aside.

“Take a peep below hatches if ye get the chance, and see what sort o’ guns she carries. Maybe ye’ll care to change ships,” said he, with his ugly smile.

As something of this nature had really been finding place in my mind, I suppose I flushed a bit. I had intended to desert, should the brig clear first, for slaving was no more to my taste now than formerly. From Richards’s silent behaviour I felt that I would not have to go alone, and I intended to broach the subject to the bos’n that very night.

“All right,” I answered, with a sinking of spirits I tried to conceal. “I’ll search her if I get the chance.”

What Hawkson meant was evident as soon as we came within a half-mile of her to leeward. A most horrible odour, peculiar and penetrating, seemed to come from her. I had never known it before, but Bill stopped rowing at once and turned toward her.

“Niggers,” said he, spitting in disgust.

“Aboard of her?” I asked.

“Not youst now, maybe, but she’s been full of niggers more’n once. There’s youst a smell left behind, and it never leaves.”

CHAPTER XXI.
THE STRANGE BRIG

We reached the brig’s side, and a surly voice hailed us. “Whatcher want?” it said, in the deep baritone of the typical Yankee bos’n.

“Hoot, ye Yankee,” cried Martin, “we’ve come visitin’, d’ye ken that? A-visitin’, an’, if ye be so hospitable as ye have no reason t’ be, we’re dommed welcome. If we ain’t, I’ll ask ye to show us cause why, an’ maybe I ken prove ye’re wrong by the strength o’ logic,” and he held up two brawny hands like the paws of a tiger.

“Well, I don’t keer to have no drunken louts aboard this here vessel,” said the fellow, leaning over the rail so that I could get a glimpse of him. “Ef yer got any money, sing out whatcher want. This here’s a honest trading-brig, an’ kin give ye all a good nip o’ prime American whiskey for a mighty low price.”

The man was quite uncommon-looking. He must have stood six feet six, and was as lean as a flagstaff. His face was lined and burned, as though used to a tropical sun, and his eyes were faded and yellow.

“Ye be a rare raskil, an’ that’s a fact,” said Martin. “Is there anything ye widna do for the coin? Bide a bit, and let us coom aboard. ’Tis liquor I crave for the sake of me system.”

We ran the dingey alongside and prepared to mount the channels to the deck, but, on looking up, we noticed the long man had not moved or spoken, but had drawn forth a huge horse-pistol, which he poked over the rail.

“Youst hold on a bit with that,” said Bill. “We know you’re a trader all right by the smell o’ yer. We ain’t no men-o’-war’s men, so what’s that got to do with us?”

The tall man looked thoughtfully along the barrel of the weapon, and then put it out of sight. “Wall, come up, then, if ye know the smell so well.”

Thus invited, we quickly made our way aboard, and lost no time in purchasing some of the “good American whiskey,” which turned out to be the worst stuff afloat.

All idea of changing ships left me as I stepped on deck. She was without doubt a slaver, bound out in the same rascally enterprise we were. But, as she carried the American flag, she was free from British men-of-war, and consequently less afraid of detection. For, although slaving was now a piracy, no British ship could take her without slaves aboard, and there were only two or three small American cruisers in the South Atlantic, and these were too slow to capture a very fast ship. I wondered why Hawkson allowed us aboard her, knowing well that we were almost sure to tell of our affairs. Then I remembered his request to note her armament and crew.

The latter we found just below the hatches, all armed to the teeth with pistols, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes, awaiting the word of their captain to spring on deck and defend their ship should occasion arise. Our boat was a suspicious object that the long skipper had been watching for some time, and believed there was some game behind our innocent call. The six little guns on each broadside were all loaded, and we found that she would clear just as soon as water could be brought aboard.

After the men--there were twenty-six in all--had put aside their arms and received us as companions, we had the usual sailors’ orgy before starting back. Yarns were told, and, if ever there was a crew of unhung rascals, these self-confessed villains would have formed them.

Martin seemed pleased at last to find men who stopped at nothing, and before he left was talking piracy, and begging some of the hardiest to join him. He was very drunk, however, and his railings were counted as little, but I knew that he was really speaking, as drunken men often do, from their inmost hearts. One great hulking fellow, with red whiskers, took a little with the scheme, and another man, an Italian sailor, looked a bit queer about the eyes when the Scot talked of gold. The long skipper heard nothing of their ravings, for, after allowing us aboard the vessel, he retired to the cabin, where his mates were waiting to see the outcome of the visit. When they saw we were really only four able-bodied men of a strange barque, their interest appeared to fade away entirely. We finally shoved off, dizzy and sick with the poison imbibed, myself thoroughly disgusted with the slaver’s crew, and Martin and Ernest inviting them to a meeting ashore.

Hawkson took me aside when we returned, and asked a few questions. My disgust for my countrymen was too apparent not to be noticed, and the mate evidently thought it safe to trust me now anywhere, for I was allowed ashore again that evening.

Our liberty crews were unique and grotesque. There was little care for desertion, evidently on account of Henry’s ability to get the deserters without trouble from any island where access to the mainland could only be had by some large vessel that could be easily seen. And, as we were mongrel in the extreme, there was much to be expected from mixture.

Bill declared he should get very drunk at once on the wine he had heard so much about but never had tasted, and Martin declared he would do anything a true Christian sailor might be expected to do. His chum, Anderson, was surly and fierce, on account of his recent ill-treatment aboard, and talked openly of killing any one of our officers he might meet on the beach. Watkins had gone in the captain’s gig to attend to getting fresh provisions for the after-guard, and the black Doctor came with us, for it was to be our last run ashore, as we would clear at once. The signal had been set and a gun fired for the crew on the Desertas, and all was ready again for our voyage. The goats’ and hogs’ meat would be ready to be pickled, and would be stowed at sea.

We landed on the beach, and a crowd of the strangely dressed natives offered to pilot us around to see the town of Funchal. The men wore tight knee-breeches, and their thin, bare legs sticking out of enormous boots looked remarkably queer. A pair of them insisted on joining us, in spite of Martin’s threat and the Doctor’s pugnacity, and, after a scuffle or two, we let them lead the way to town. Our other boats had rowed up.

Hawkson had detained only Jorg and a couple of Swedes aboard, and I wondered vaguely if it were well to be so short-handed should a British man-of-war rise above the horizon. I did not know whether or not we could be taken, for, although English built, we were evidently under Yankee Dan’s charter. Still there must certainly be considerable treasure aboard, in order to do the trading, and, if searched and captured, there was a strong probability of losing it.

We finally reached the sailors’ harbour, that is, a wine-shop, and because I had not forgotten the effects of the last carouse I had in Nassau, I refused to drink. The swinish crew insisted, and the Doctor wished to know why I would not drink with him.

“Disha nigger’s as good as any white man, an’, if I am a slave, I belong to er man wat’s er m-a-an, an’ he’s done quit drinkin’ milk. I never did think much of you nohow, an’ I kin lick yo’ fur tuppence, dat I kin,” said he, advancing and showing his ugly, sharp teeth.

There was no earthly use of starting a fight, and there was little glory in handling a man who was bound by law to submit to the white man’s will. I therefore left the crowd and went alone through the town, hoping to see something besides debauch.

I strolled through the quaint streets, attracting more or less attention, and somehow I found myself straying in the direction of the inn where Yankee Dan and his daughter were staying. Then I began to feel a bit ashamed of my appearance, for, although I rated a gunner, and therefore a petty officer, I was dressed but little better than an average sailor, and my linen, though put on fresh for the beach, was not what I wished it to be. I soon recognized the place, and looked to see Mr. Curtis around, but he was evidently with the captain and Dan, making a settlement for the spars we had shipped, and fixing the barque’s papers.

I caught sight of the flutter of a dress on the broad loggia, and then saw Miss Allen sitting there in the breeze. An unaccountable impulse made me stop and head directly toward her, for she was the only thing that relieved the coarseness and roughness of the life I had led aboard the barque.

“Good evening, Miss Allen,” I said, stopping just in front of her.

“Good evening, John,” she answered, kindly, as if addressing an old servant, and she smiled and laid aside her book.