The Pirate Slaver Page 2

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  Chapter Two.

  We receive some important Intelligence.

  We had barely got our canvas furled and the decks cleared when we saw a fine, handsome whale-boat, painted white, with a canvas awning spread over her stern-sheets, and the Portuguese flag fluttering from a little staff at her stern, shove off from the wharf and pull toward us. She was manned by four Krumen, and in the stern-sheets sat a tall, swarthy man, whose white drill suit and white, broad-brimmed Panama hat, swathed with a white puggaree, caused his suntanned face and hands to appear almost as black as the skins of his negro crew. The boat swept up to our gangway in very dashing style, and her owner, ascending the accommodation ladder, stepped in on deck with a genial smile that disclosed a splendid set of brilliantly white teeth beneath his heavy, glossy black moustache.

  “Good-morning, sar,” said he to the first lieutenant, who met him at the gangway. “Velcome to Banana,” with a flourish of his hat. “Vat chip dis is, eh?”

  “Her Britannic Majesty’s brig Barracouta,” answered Young. “You are the Portuguese consul here, I suppose?”

  “No—no; I not de consul,” was the answer. “Dere is no consul at Banana. I am Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo, Portuguese trader, at your savice, sar; and I have come off to say dat I shall be happie to supply your chip wid anyting dat you may require—vattare, fresh meat, vegetabl’, feesh, no fruit—de fruit not ripe yet; plenty fruit by an’ by, but not ripe yet—parrots, monkeys—all kind of bird and animal, yes; and curiositie—plenty curiositie, sar.”

  Here the skipper, who had been below for a few minutes, re-appeared on deck, and, seeing the stranger, advanced toward him, whereupon the first lieutenant introduced Señor Joaquin Miguel Lobo in proper form.

  “Glad to see you, señor,” remarked the skipper genially. “Will you step below and take a glass of wine with Lieutenant Young and myself?”

  “Ver’ happie, captain, I am sure,” answered the señor with another sweeping bow and flourish of his Panama; and forthwith the trio disappeared down the hatchway, to my unbounded astonishment, for it was not quite like our extremely dignified skipper to be so wonderfully cordial as this to a mere trader.

  “Ah, I’m afraid that won’t wash,” remarked Bates, catching the look of astonishment and perplexity on my face as I turned my regards away from the hatchway. “The captain means to pump the Portuguese, if he can, but from the cut of the señor’s jib I fancy there is not much to be got out of him; he looks to be far too wide-awake to let us become as wise as himself. I’ll be bound that he could put us up to many a good wrinkle if he would; but, bless you, youngster, he’s not going to spoil his own trade. He professes to be an honest trader, of course—deals in palm-oil and ivory and what not, of course, and I’ve no doubt he does; but I wouldn’t mind betting a farthing cake that he ships a precious sight more black ivory than white out of this same river. Look at that brig, for instance—the one flying Spanish colours, I mean. Just look at her! Did you ever set your eyes upon a more beautiful hull than that? Look at the sweep of her run; see how it comes curving round to her stern-post in a delivery so clean that it won’t leave a single eddy behind it. No drag there, my boy! And look at her sides: round as an apple—not an inch of straight in them! And do you suppose that a brig with lines like that was built for the purpose of carrying palm-oil? Not she. I should like to have a look at her bows; I’ll be bound they are as keen as a knife—we shall see them by and by, when she swings at the turn of the tide. Yet if that brig were overhauled—as she probably will be—nothing whatever of a suspicious character would be found aboard her, except maybe a whole lot of casks, which they would say was for stowing the palm-oil in. Well, here we are; but we shall have to keep our eyes open night and day to weather upon the rascally slavers; they are as sly as foxes, and always up to some new circumventing trick.”

  With which reflection, followed by a deep sigh at the wily genius of the slaving fraternity in general, the worthy master turned upon his heel and retired below.

  The Portuguese remained in the cabin for over an hour; and when he came on deck again, accompanied by the captain and the first lieutenant, I thought that the two latter looked decidedly elated, as though, despite the master’s foreboding, they had succeeded in obtaining some important information. The captain was particularly gracious to his visitor, going even to the length of shaking hands with him ere he passed out through the gangway, the first luff of course following suit, as in duty bound.

  “Then we may rely upon you to send us off the fresh meat and vegetables early this afternoon?” remarked Young, as he stood at the gangway.

  “Yais, yais; dey shall be alongside by t’ree o’clock at de lates’!” answered the Portuguese. “And as soon as you have receive dem you had better veigh and leave de creek. Give dat point”—indicating Boolambemba Point—“a bert’ of a mile and you veel be all right.”

  “Yes, thanks, I will remember,” returned the first lieutenant. “And where are we to pick you up?”

  “Hus–s–sh! my dear sair; not so loud, if you please,” answered Lobo, hastily leaving his boat and coming half-way up the gangway ladder again. “Dere is a leetl’ creek about two mile pas’ de point, on de nort’ bank of de river. I vill be on de look-out for you dere in a small canoe vid two men dat I can trus’. And you mus’ pick me up queevk, because if eet vas known dat I had consent to pilot you my t’roat would be cut before I vas a mont’ oldaire.”

  “Never fear,” answered Young. “We will keep a sharp look-out for you and get you on board without anybody being a penny the wiser. Good-bye.”

  The Portuguese bowed with another flourish of his hat, seated himself in the stern-sheets of his boat, gave the word to his Krumen, and a few minutes later was on the wharf, walking toward his factory, into the open door of which he disappeared.

  “Come,” thought I, “there is something afoot already. The captain and the first luff have, between them, evidently contrived to worm some intelligence out of the Portuguese. I must go and tell Bates the news.”

  Before I could do so, however, the captain, who had been standing near the gangway, listening to what was passing between Young and Lobo, caught sight of me and said—

  “Mr Dugdale, be good enough to find Mr Bates, and tell him that I shall feel obliged if he will come to me for a few minutes in my cabin.”

  I touched my hat, dived down the hatchway, and gave the message, whereupon the master stepped out of his cabin and made his way aft. He was with the captain nearly half-an-hour; and when he re-appeared he looked as pleased as Punch.

  “I’ll never attempt to judge a man’s character by his face again,” he exclaimed, as he caught me by the arm, and walked me along the deck beside him. “Who would have thought that a piratical-looking rascal like that Portuguese would have been friendly disposed towards the representatives of law and order? Yet he has not only given the captain valuable information, but has actually consented to pilot the ship to the spot which is to serve as our base of operations, although, as he says, should the slavers get to know of his having done such a thing, they would cut his throat without hesitation.”

  “Yes,” said I, “I heard him make that remark to Mr Young just before shoving off. And pray, Mr Bates—if the question be not indiscreet—what is the nature of the expedition upon which we are to engage this afternoon?”

  “Well, I don’t know why I shouldn’t tell you,” answered Bates, a little doubtfully. “Our movements are of course to be conducted with all possible secrecy, but if I tell you I don’t suppose you’ll go ashore and hire the town-crier to make public our intentions; and all hands will have to know—more or less—what we’re after, very soon, so I suppose I shall not be infringing any of the Articles of War if I tell you now; but you needn’t go and publish the news throughout the ship, d’ye see? Let the skipper do that when he thinks fit.”

  “Certainly,” I assented. “You may rely implicitly upon my discretion.”

  “Oh
yes, of course,” retorted the master ironically. “A midshipman is a perfect marvel in the way of prudence and discretion; everybody knows that! However,” he continued, in a much more genial tone, “I will do you the justice to say that you seem to have your ballast pretty well stowed, and that you stand up to your canvas as steadily as any youngster that I’ve ever fallen in with; so I don’t suppose there’ll be very much harm in trusting you. You must know, then, that there’s a bit of a creek, called Chango Creek, some fourteen or fifteen miles up the river from here; and in that creek there is at this moment lying snugly at anchor, quite unconscious of our proximity, and leisurely filling up her complement of blacks, a large Spanish brig called the Mercedes hailing from Havana. She is a notorious slaver, and is strongly suspected of having played the part of pirate more than once, when circumstances were favourable. Moreover, from what our Portuguese friend Lobo says, she was in the river when the Sapphire’s two boats with their crews disappeared; and according to the dates he gives, she must also have been the craft that the plucky little Wasp was in chase of when last seen. There is very little doubt, therefore, that the Mercedes is the craft—or, at all events, one of them—which it is our especial mission to capture at any cost; and we are therefore going to weigh this afternoon for the purpose of beating up her quarters. Lobo has undertaken to pilot us as far as the mouth of the creek; and as he tells us that the brig is fully a hundred tons bigger than ourselves, is armed to the teeth, and is manned by a big crowd of desperadoes, every man of whom has bound himself by a fearful oath never to lay down his arms while the breath remains in his body, I shouldn’t wonder if we find out before all is done that we have undertaken a pretty tough job.”

  “It would seem like it, if Señor Lobo’s information is to be relied upon,” said I, an involuntary shudder and qualm thrilling me as my vivid imagination instantly conjured up a vision of the impending conflict. “But I suppose every precaution will be taken to catch the rascals unawares?”

  “You may be sure of that,” answered the master, peering curiously into my face as he spoke. “Captain Stopford is not the man to court a reverse, or a heavy loss of life, by unduly advertising his intentions. But you look pale, boy! You are surely not beginning to funk, are you?”

  “No,” said I, a little dubiously, “I think not. But this will be my first experience of fighting, you know—I have never been face to face with an enemy thus far—and I must confess that the idea of a hand-to-hand fight—for I suppose it will come to that—a life-and-death struggle, wherein one has not only to incur the awful responsibility of hurling one’s fellow-creatures into eternity, but also to take the fearful risk of being hurled thither one’s self, perhaps without a moment of time in which to breathe a prayer for mercy, is something that I, for one, can hardly contemplate with absolute equanimity.”

  “Certainly not,” assented Bates kindly, linking his arm in mine as he spoke; “certainly not; you would be something more or less—less, I should be inclined to say—than human if you could. But, as to the responsibility of hurling those villains into eternity, do not let that trouble you for a single moment, my lad; in endeavouring to put down this inhuman slave-trade we are engaged upon a righteous and lawful task—lawful and righteous in the eyes of God as well as of man, I humbly believe—and if the traffickers in human flesh and human freedom and human happiness choose to risk and lose their lives in the pursuit of their hellish trade, the responsibility must rest with themselves, and in my humble opinion the earth is well rid of such inhuman monsters. And as to the other matter—that of being yourself hurried into eternity unprepared—it need not occur, my boy; no one need die unprepared. What I mean is, of course, that all should take especial care to be prepared for death whenever it may meet us, for we know not what a day, or an hour, or even a moment may bring forth; the man who walks the streets of his native town in fancied security is actually just as liable to be cut off unawares as are we who follow the terrible but necessary profession of arms; the menaces to life ashore are as numerous as they are afloat, or more so; the forms of accident are innumerable. And therefore I say that all should be careful to so conduct themselves that they may be prepared to face death at any moment. And if they are not, they may easily become so; for God’s ear is always open to the cry of His children, and I will take it upon myself to say that no earnest, heartfelt prayer is ever allowed to go unanswered. So, if you have any misgivings about to-night’s work, go to God and ask for His mercy and protection and help; and then, whatever happens, you will be all right.”

  So saying, the good old fellow halted just abreast the hatchway, which we had reached at this point in our perambulation fore and aft the deck, and, gently urging me toward it suggestively, released my arm and turned away. I took the hint thus given me and, without a word—for indeed at that moment I was too deeply moved for speech—made my way below to the midshipmen’s berth, which I found opportunely empty, and there cast myself upon my knees and prayed earnestly for some minutes. When I arose from this act of devotion I was once more calm and unperturbed; and from that moment I date a habit of prayer that has been an inexpressible comfort and support to me ever since.