The embarkation was still going on, and most of the unfortunate creatures had been carried aboard, when the boat of the Kroomen was observed coming rapidly up stream. These had been sent down to the mouth of the river to reconnoitre, and keep watch until the slaver should be ready for sea. In case the cutter or any sail should come in sight, they had orders to row back as quickly as possible and give the alarm.

The fact of them coming back at all was proof that some sail had been made out; and the rapidity with which they were plying their oars not only confirmed this belief, but showed that they had something very important to tell.

Both Dingo Bingo and the skipper beheld their approach with consternation, which was not allayed in the least when the Kroomen rowed alongside and delivered their report.

A sail was in sight, sure enough, and not only in sight, but actually heading in for the coast! The Kroomen had no doubt about the sort of craft it was. They had seen the cutter before setting out from the English factory. They had noted her rig. It was she.

The captain at first exhibited some signs of dismay, but after looking up to the sky and around to the tree-tops, to note which way blew the wind, he appeared to recover his spirits a little, and ordered the embarkation to be hurried on.

Meanwhile the Kroomen were despatched back to the point of observation at the mouth of the river, with orders to report from time to time the progress which the cruiser was making. The captain saw that the wind was in his favour, and dead ahead for the cutter; it would be impossible for her to enter the river so long as the wind remained in that quarter, and as it was now within an hour of night, she would scarce attempt to venture near the shore, at all events not before morning. His hopes were that she would cast anchor a mile or two from land, and that in the darkness he would be able to run the gauntlet and get past her. He might catch a shot or two while doing so, but his cargo was worth the risk, and, besides, he had now no other chance of saving either cargo or vessel. Should he remain where he was, both would be captured before another night.

He had formed his resolution, therefore, to run the gauntlet as described, that is, provided the cutter came to anchor far enough out to sea to give him a chance. His trust was in the wind, which from this time forth he watched with the greatest anxiety.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

The living freight was at length all taken aboard and stowed away between decks, the grated hatches were fastened down, and a ruffian sentry with musket and bayonet stood by each, ready to use his weapon upon any of the poor wretches who might try to get on deck.

The captain only waited for the report of the Kroomen.

This came at length, and proved favourable, as the slaver had expected. The cutter had failed to beat in to the shore. She had given up, and cast anchor at about two miles' distance from the river's mouth, there to await a change in the wind, or the light of another day. It was the very course that the slave-captain had desired her to take, and which he had expected. From the position which the cutter occupied, and which had been faithfully described by the boatmen, he had no doubt of being able to get past her in the night. He was once more in high spirits, and sanguine of success. Both he and his majesty were in a big humour, and the rum-glass went merrily round.

This final carouse occurred upon shore, and in the quarters of his majesty, whose "treat" it was. The mate, with a boat, had gone down the river to have a good view of the anchored enemy and become perfectly acquainted with her position, with the object of making correct calculations about passing her.

Meanwhile, the captain remained on shore, to enjoy the parting glass and talk over future prospects with King Dingo Bingo. Some of the crew were there as well, among whom were Brace and myself—our purpose being to man the captain's gig and row him aboard as soon as he should take leave of his majesty and suite.

It still wanted about half an hour of sunset when the mate returned from his reconnoissance and reported that the cutter was anchored just as the Kroomen had described; and as the wind was still in the same quarter, blowing directly from the shore, there was every probability that the Pandora would make her escape. Both mate and captain knew the coast well, and knew that they could run out by keeping well to the south of where the cutter lay. On that side the water was deep and open, and if the wind held fair their chances would be good. There was one thing, however, which both feared, and that was the cutter's boats entering the river before the Pandora should have time to weigh anchor and drop down to the sea. It was possible enough that the cruiser knew the slaver was in the river. If so, and finding that she could not beat near enough under the contrary wind, she might get out her boats and row them up to the river's mouth, so as to blockade it. The cruiser's people might do this very thing in anticipation of the trick which the slaver intended to serve them. If, on the contrary, they were not yet aware of the neighbourhood of the Pandora, they might not think of coming in before the morning. It is true they could not perceive the slaver's masts—these were not visible from the sea—the tall teak-trees and other giants of the forest interposed their umbrageous tops between, and even the high truck of the barque could not be observed so far inland. But it was possible that the cruiser was acting upon information, and if so she would know well enough where the slaver was to be found, and might design to make the attack by means of her armed boats that very night.

All this was probable enough—the slaver captain knew it to be so, and hence his anxiety to be gone at the earliest moment.

As soon, therefore, as darkness should descend upon the earth it was his intention to take in his anchor, drop quietly down the river, and then make a bold dash to seaward.

His design was a sufficiently good one. Though it appeared rash, there was no rashness about it. It was his only chance of saving his vessel, and cargo too, for the one being captured he would be likely to lose the other, and if the Pandora but remained all night at anchor where she now lay, she would, in all probability, be a prize before the morning. Whether or not, her chances of escape in the daylight would be greatly diminished. The cutter would see her tall masts long before she could get out of the river, and, of course, would have time to manoeuvre and intercept her. Whereas, by dropping down in the night, she might be well out to sea before any one on board the cruiser should notice her at all.

It was finally resolved then by the Pandora's officers to sail the moment the darkness came down; and both were wishing, in their own blasphemous way, for a dark night.

It yet wanted a few minutes of sundown as the captain took his last embrace of King Dingo Bingo, and stepped out of the "palace." His majesty came swaggering along to conduct his guest to the landing, while several of the sable courtiers followed in his train.

All stood upon the bank while the captain was getting into his gig. Brace and I, with the other men of the crew, had already seated ourselves in the boat, and were holding the oars balanced and ready, when all at once we were interrupted by a singular exclamation from the king.

On looking up I perceived that his eyes were fixed upon me, and the fat monster was gazing at me as if he desired to eat me up—while all the while he kept jabbering to the captain in a language which I could not comprehend.

Notwithstanding the time we had been at his factory, I had never attracted the attention of his majesty before. I don't think he had ever seen me before—that is, to take particular notice of me. I had been, as already stated, all the time on board, with the exception of that very evening, and the day I had spent with Brace in the woods; and although the slave-king had been often aboard I had never come in his way, as he usually stayed about the quarter-deck, or in the cabin. It is likely enough, therefore, that this was the first time he had set eyes upon me to notice me.

But for what reason was he taking such particular notice of me now? Although I could not tell what he said—for the captain and he talked in a sort of bastard Portuguese (the best-known language in these parts); yet I perceived by his countenance and the animated gestures which he made use of, that either myself, or something about me, greatly interested him.

Brace was sitting near me, and, without raising my voice above a whisper, I asked him to tell me what the fuss was all about—for it had now assumed something of this character—both the captain and the king talking hurriedly, earnestly and loudly, in their barbarous jargon.

Brace's reply was—

"The king ha' taken a fancy to you—he wants to buy you!"



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

On hearing this explanation I at first felt inclined to laugh, but my mirthful inclinations were soon dissipated. The serious tone of my companion's voice, and, above all, the earnest manner of the skipper and king, as they talked the subject between them, at once proved that the thing was no joke.

The captain did not at first appear desirous of acceding to the request of the negro; but the latter appeared to press the point with so much solicitation and earnestness that the white ruffian, stimulated by feelings of cupidity, evidently began to yield. Five blacks were offered in exchange for me—so Brace said, and they were now squabbling about a sixth! The captain had, in fact, virtually consented to sell me—it was only a question of price!

I was perfectly horrified when I learned this much. Brace himself was greatly troubled—for he knew well that the brute in whose power I was would have no scruples in making such a bargain. The only reason he refused at first was because he had found me useful on board his barque, but if he could add six able-bodied blacks to his cargo—six that would fetch 200 pounds each on the Brazilian coast, that would be a consideration that would far outbalance any service of mine. Of course he felt no responsibility about the matter. To whom was he accountable?—a slaver! an outlaw! Where and when was I ever to report or punish him! Nowhere and never. He might have sold me into slavery a dozen times—taken my life, if it had so pleased him, without the slightest danger of being called to account for it—and he well knew this.

No wonder then I became horrified. The idea of becoming the slave of that hideous and greasy savage—that cruel monster—a wholesale dealer in human lives—a trafficker in flesh and blood. Oh! it was revolting!

I can hardly describe the remainder of that trying scene. I was in such agony I knew not how to act, or what to say. I remember being told that the bargain was concluded, that the king had agreed to give six blacks for me, and the skipper had consented to take them; and to prove that this was really so, I saw the latter step out of the boat and return to the hut, arm in arm with the gross savage. They were gone, so said Brace, to conclude the bargain over a glass of rum.

I raved, and shouted, and threatened, and, perhaps at that moment, blasphemed. I was not master of my speech, nor yet of my actions. I was so appalled with the prospect before me that I could have thrown myself into the river. Oh! it seemed a horrible fate—thus to be sold into worse than captivity—a slavery worse than death, to live the slave of a barbarous monster, with no hope of deliverance, for whence could deliverance come? Oh! it seemed a horrible fate! and I was almost frantic.

My cries and gestures only drew laughter from the crowd of blacks that still lingered upon the bank, and some of them mocked and taunted me in their native gibberish. Even the men in the boat did not care much about the matter.

Brace alone felt and sympathised with me, but what could he do? I saw from his manner that he felt powerless to protect me. They would have mastered and punished him, had he opposed their wishes.

I wondered, however, that he kept so cool and quiet. I fancied he might have shown more feeling; but I was wronging him. He felt keenly, and I soon learnt the cause of his being so silent. He had been busy all the while—busy with his thoughts—busy in maturing a plan for my escape.

As soon as the captain and king had gone back from the bank, my companion shifted a little nearer; and in a low, muttering voice that could not be heard by the rest, thus addressed me:—

"No help for't, my lad—sold you for six blacks. Go along wi' king— pretend to go willin', or they'll tie you. Don't be obstropelous an' get tied—be patient and keep sharp look out till 'Pandy' trips anchor, then gie 'em the slip—easy enough in the dark—keep down the bank o' the river—near the mouth take to water—swim straight for barque—I'll be on the look out and throw ye a rope's end. Don't fear to come on—old Mugs won't mind your getting aboard—only too glad to get you back an' play Dingo Bingo a trick. Mind an' do as I've told you. Avast, hush—yonder they come."

Delivered as this speech was, half in whisper, and half in interrupted mutterings, I comprehended its reasonable design, and had just time to promise obedience to its directions when I perceived the captain returning to the boat.

He was not alone. The king was waddling by his side, and just behind them were six large negroes, chained two and two, and driven forward by as many armed myrmidons of their own colour.

It was for the first six I was to be "swopped," or rather had already been, for the bargain was concluded and the blacks were being delivered over to form part of the slaver's cargo.

These new "bultos" were not slaves—at least, they had not been such ten minutes before. They were some of the regular followers of the negro king; and, but a short while ago, carried muskets and formed part of his military array, ready to kill or capture his enemies at his nod, or even his friends if bidden. But fortune is fickle to such heroes, and their more favoured companions had just been directed to capture them and deliver them over to a life-long bondage.

In a few minutes more they were huddled unceremoniously into the boat, while I was pulled out of it with as little ceremony and handed over to my new master upon the bank.

No doubt the skipper was surprised that I made so little opposition, and the king seemed equally pleased—for he conducted me with a species of drunken politeness into the palace and insisted upon my drinking with him a glass of his best rum.

I looked through the apertures of the upright palms that formed the walls of the hut. I saw the gig cross over to the anchored vessel, and those whom she carried mount over the gangway. The boat was then rowed astern, the tackle was let down from above, and in a few minutes she was hauled high out of water to her place under the poop.

No longer had I a chance to reach the barque without swimming for it, and for that was now to prepare myself.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

I remembered the advice of Brace, and submitted, with as good grace as I could, to the hospitalities of his black majesty. I drank a portion of his rum, and even appeared jolly! He seemed greatly pleased with my behaviour, and evidently esteemed me a good bargain; though the slave-captain had screwed him far above his original offer. His first bid had been a fair exchange—man for man, or man for boy—a black for a white, and he must have been strongly bent on the purchase to have given six to one!

What could he intend me for?—a slave to wait upon him? hand him his food when he should feel inclined to eat? his rum when he desired to drink? fan the mosquitoes off him when he was asleep? and amuse him when awake? Was this the sort of life for which he had designed me? or was he going to promote me to some higher employ? make me his private secretary or clerk? his prime minister, perhaps? marry me to one of his dark-skinned daughters? make a prince of me?

From the hospitable manner in which he began his treatment of me, I really had thought, that if I continued to please him, he would give me an easy life of it. I had heard of such cases, where white men had become the favourites of negro princes, and had been placed in offices of high trust; and, perhaps, such would have been my destiny, had I remained with King Dingo Bingo.

But even had I been assured of the best of treatment—even had I been promised the highest office in his kingdom—the throne itself, with the handsomest of his daughters for my queen—I should have held on to my intention of running away from him all the same, and returning to the barque. It was certainly no Elysium to fly to—perhaps from the fire into the frying-pan; but still there was the hope that my life on board the Pandora would not be of long continuance, and even there, under the protection of Brace, they had of late treated me less cruelly.

As for King Dingo Bingo, I felt a loathing in his company that I cannot describe. I felt a presentiment of some terrible evil, and I was resolved, if I did not succeed in reaching the barque, to run away from him all the same and try my fortune in the woods. Yes; notwithstanding its lions and other fierce brutes, I was determined to escape to the forest and live as I best might, or die if I could not live.

There was a thought in my mind. I had heard them talk of the English factory farther up the coast—fifty miles farther. I might succeed in getting there. An Englishman was its chief.

True, they said he was a friend of King Dingo—a partner in fact—and from what had transpired I had reason to believe that this was but too true. Still he was an Englishman. Surely he would not give me up— surely he dared not. I thought, too, of the cruiser. She would protect, she would not give me up; but, on the contrary, would have blown his black majesty to the skies for making such a demand. If I could only make known my situation—but how was that to be done? Impossible! By the morrow's sun she would be he longer on the coast. She would be gone in pursuit of the Pandora—perhaps within another hour!

I was loathing the presence of the negro king, who appeared trying, in his rude manner, to be agreeable. He plied me with rum, and I pretended to drink it. I could not understand his talk, though a few English words, and those of the most vulgar in our language, were familiar enough after my voyage in the Pandora. But his majesty was by this time so drunk that even his own people could with difficulty understand him; and every moment he was yielding more and more to the potent spirit.

I joyed at observing this—it would help my purpose. I joyed to see him stagger over the floor, and still more when he stumbled against a sort of couch-bed and fell heavily upon it.

The next moment he was sound asleep—a deep, drunken sleep. His snore was music to my ears—though it resembled the dying snort of a prize ox.

At this moment I heard across the river the clacking of the windlass, and the rough rasping of the anchor chain as it was drawn through the iron ring of the hawse-hole.

Most of the royal attendants were out upon the bank to witness the departure of the barque, just visible through the dim twilight.

I waited a few minutes longer, lest I should set forth too soon, and, therefore, be pursued and overtaken before I could get down to the mouth of the river. I knew that the barque would move but slowly—the stream was narrow and curved in several places, and therefore she could not use her sails. She would drop down by the force of the current, and I could easily keep up with her.

The attendants of the king were in no way suspicious of my intentions. They observed that I appeared well pleased with my new situation. No doubt most of them envied me my good fortune, and it is probable I was looked upon as the "new favourite." It was not likely I should run away from such splendid prospects—not likely indeed! Such an idea never entered the mind of one of the sable gentlemen who surrounded me; and as soon as his majesty fell asleep, I was left free to go about wherever I pleased. Just then it pleased me to skulk backward behind the great barracoon, and a little further still into the thick woods beyond. For this point I took a diagonal line that led me back to the river bank again—only at a considerable distance below the "factory"—and, having now got beyond earshot of the negro crew, and altogether out of their sight, I advanced as rapidly down the bank as the brushwood would permit me.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

I had observed before starting, that the barque had got up her anchor and was slowly gliding down stream. At intervals I turned a little out of my way and came close to the edge of the water, to make sure that she was not getting ahead of me; and then I would glide back into the path, which ran parallel with the stream, but at several yards' distance from the bank.

Guiding myself thus, I advanced at about the same rate as the vessel was going, and every now and then had her under my eye through the openings in the trees.

I had no difficulty in making her out, for, contrary to the wish of the slave-captain, the night was a bright one, with a clear moon coursing through a sky that was without a single cloud.

Slowly as sailed the barque, it was just as much as I could do to keep up with her. Had the path been open there would have been no difficulty—but there was in reality no path at all, only a track made by wild animals, which here and there was closed up above with trailing vines and creeping plants, that stretched from tree to tree and hindered my rapid advance. Though beasts could go under these natural bridges without impediment, a human being had to crouch under or climb over, and all this required time. There were so many of these obstructions that I was greatly delayed by them, and found it just as much as I could do to keep square with the vessel constantly moving onward. I knew that I must get a good way ahead of her, so as to choose a place for taking to the water and swimming out to her as she passed down. As the river grew wider near its mouth I was likely to have a long swim for it.

Several times I was terrified by the appearance of wild beasts, whose forms I could just distinguish in the obscurity that reigned under the shadows of the trees. I saw several kinds, and some of immense size that went crashing through the underwood as I came suddenly upon them. These must have been either rhinoceroses or the large hippopotamus—I could not tell which under the shadows—but whichever they were, they ran off at my approach. I might have feared them more than I did, had it not been that a greater fear was upon me. I feared to hear the voices of King Dingo Bingo and his black guards behind me. I feared this more than anything; and at intervals I stopped upon the path and listened.

But indeed they would need to have been near for me to have heard them. The forest was filled with other sounds, and only a very loud noise could have been heard above the general chorus. There was the shrill chirrup of cicadas and tree-crickets, the hoarse croaking of toads and frogs—some of these as loud as the routing of a bull—there was screaming of cats, the barking of jackals, and the chattering and howling of monkeys. A perfect chorus of discordant sounds produced by the barque moving down the river, and no doubt partially by my own passage through the underwood. One kind set the other a-going, and the alarm and consequent noises proceeding from it spread to a far distance through the forest.

I thought it less probable that I should be followed through the woods, than down the stream itself. When missed, a canoe was most likely to be brought into requisition—perhaps the royal galley itself, with his majesty to guide the pursuit. They would remember that I had disappeared just at the moment the barque weighed anchor, and would suspect that I had gone aboard at once. It was far more likely, therefore, the search would be made upon the water, and the pursuers would paddle their craft directly for the barque. Under this belief I gave uneasy glances up the river, whenever I could command a view of it. As yet no pursuers appeared.

Another consideration troubled me. The Kroomen had gone to the river's mouth to watch the movements of the cruiser and report whether she had launched any boats. Now these fellows were entirely in the interest of King Dingo. They might see me as I swam to the barque, and, taking me into their boat, carry me back to the factory. They had been present when the bargain was made, and knew all about it. I must, therefore, look out for their boat and avoid it.

With such thoughts and resolves passing through my mind, I once more marked the progress of the vessel and, diving into the underwood, kept on.

At length I reached a point where there was a bend in the river. It was not far from its mouth. Beyond this place the stream widened into a sort of bay.

It would not do for me to go beyond. I should have too long a swim for it; besides, the barque was about being got under sail—her canvas was already loose; and once the sails were sheeted home, they would catch the wind and carry her rapidly through the water—so rapidly that I might not be able to get aboard.

I had gone far enough. I had reached the point where it was best for me to take to the water; and, flinging off my shoes and most of my clothing, I stepped down to the water's edge and plunged in.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

The barque was not yet opposite me; but, by the rate at which she was moving, I calculated she would be so by the time I could arrive in midstream.

Brace had told me to swim for the bows—for he would be there with his rope; while, in case I should not be able to lay hold of it another would be ready at the gangway ports with a second rope. One or other would be sure to haul me in; but it would be better if I could get aboard at the bows, as then I might not be observed either by mate or skipper, and even should his majesty come after me I could be hidden away about the forecastle. The skipper, not knowing I was aboard, would, of course, deny me with a will. I was determined, therefore, to do all I could to get aboard by the bows.

I was an excellent swimmer—not surpassed by any of the Pandora's crew, except, perhaps, by Brace himself, who was one of the best in the world. I had practised a great deal in my schooldays in rivers, fresh-water lakes, and the sea itself; and I thought nothing of swimming a mile or more without rest. Crossing from the bank of the river to midstream—a distance of not over two hundred yards—was a mere bagatelle, and I had no apprehension of not being able to accomplish it at my ease.

But although I had no apprehension about my powers of swimming, I was keenly sensible of danger from another source. I had not thought of it before that moment—for the excitement of escaping, and the difficulty of making my way through the underwood, had driven every thought of danger out of my head, except that of being pursued. The peril from behind had prevented me from dwelling upon dangers ahead; and, it was only after I had plunged into the stream, that I became the victim of a keen apprehension. Then, and not till then, did I remember the fate of the unfortunate Dutchman!—then, and not till then, did I think of the crocodiles!

A horrid sensation came over me—a dread feeling of fear. My blood ran cold—far colder than the water of the stream—perhaps at that moment I was within reach of a huge man-eating crocodile? at all events, within sight, for some of these hideous monsters were sure to be near, either by one bank or the other. Indeed, as I was about to plunge in I saw a long dark form by the shore, some twenty yards further down, which I had taken for a floating log. The noise made by my body striking the water had caused it to move. I thought then it was the current; but now, under my keen apprehensions, I thought differently. It was no dead log—it was the motion of a living creature—beyond doubt a huge crocodile!

This conjecture soon became a conviction. A floating log would scarce have settled there, against the sedgy bank, and where there was current enough to carry it onward; it was no log, it was the great lizard itself.

I could not restrain myself from half turning round, and raising my body body high in the water to look back. The clear moonlight gave me every advantage, and I could perceive any object on the water almost as distinctly as by day.

One glance was sufficient to make me aware of my perilous position. Merciful heaven! my conjecture was too true!—the dead log was no log, but an enormous crocodile!—its hideous shape was plainly seen; its long cloven head and broad scaly back glittered high above the water, and its snout was elevated and turned towards me, as though it was just getting over a surprise, and coming to the knowledge of what sort of creature I was.

Its surprise, however, was soon over, and before I could stretch myself to swim on, I saw it lash the water into foam with its tail—as if to set itself in motion—and the next moment it parted from the bank and came rushing towards me!

Its body was now sunk below the surface, but its blunt, haggard head, and sharp snout were projected high above the water.

I saw all this as I turned round again; and with a feeling of cold horror upon me I swam on.

The barque was now near—her bows were not fifty yards distant, and the crocodile was still more than a hundred behind me. But I well knew that these amphibious monsters can far outswim a man. Through the water they make progress as an otter, and with like rapidity. I felt sure I should be overtaken, and then—

The cold horror continued—I screamed out for help—I continued my cries as I swam on!

I heard voices from the barque, in answer to my cries. I could see forms gliding about the head, and running out upon the bumpkin-shrouds, and along the bowsprit I could distinguish the deep voice of Brace uttering words of encouragement and direction.

I was under the bowsprit-end—I could see no rope—I looked in vain for a rope—none had been thrown to me. Oh, heavens! what was I to do?

Once more I raised myself in the water, and looked back. It was an appalling sight. The black head of the crocodile glittered within ten feet of me—I could see the jaws extended—the long, irregular tusks— the strong, scaly limbs, as they paddled the water.

In another instant I should have felt those terrible teeth; and, gripped between the hard jaws of the monster, as in a vice, would have been dragged to the bottom of the dark waters had it been my destiny.

But it was not so written in the book of fate. Just as I had given myself up for lost, I felt a strong hand clutching my garments by the waist, and the instant after I was lifted clear out of the river, and hoisted high into the air! The crocodile made a rush forward and leaped far above the surface; but I had been raised beyond his reach, and he fell back with a plunge, and for some moments continued lashing the water with his tail. Then, seeing that his victim had escaped him, he swam off, and disappeared round the side of the vessel.

I scarce knew how I had been so miraculously saved. Despair and terror had confused my senses; and it was only after I had passed above, and set upon my feet upon the firm deck, that I understood all.

Brace was my preserver. He had run out to the bowsprit-end, and from that had slipped down the dolphin-striker, and let himself still lower by means of a looped rope. By this means he had been enabled to swing himself down, so that he could reach the surface. Fortunately, it was at that moment that I had risen in the water to face the crocodile, and had thus given Brace the opportunity of gripping me firmly and jerking me aloft.

It was a very tight fit, however; and I vowed, that, unless forced to it, I would never again bathe my limbs in the waters of an African river.



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

I have no doubt that the skipper knew all about my coming aboard. Indeed, there had been such a noise made by the men while the crocodile was in pursuit of me, that it was impossible that either he or the mate could be ignorant of the cause of it. I was taken down to the forecastle, however, and heard not a word about being sent back. In truth, as Ben had already informed me in his mutterings, the skipper was rather pleased than otherwise, at being able to overreach King Dingo, and as he had found me useful to himself he had no desire to let me go. It was only the large profit he expected by the exchange that had tempted him to part with me; but so long as he had kept his bargain and regularly delivered me over, his conscience was satisfied, and he was in no way offended or displeased that I found my way back to the barque. Unless, therefore, the canoe came after us and demanded me to be given up, I would not have to go back to Dingo Bingo.

It was not until we were cleverly out of the river, and the Pandora had spread her wings to the breeze, and was standing towards the open sea, that I felt easy in my mind. Many an uneasy glance did I cast up the river as we floated slowly towards its mouth, noting every dark object and every ripple that appeared upon its current. It was not the crocodile that caused me to look tremblingly back; it was a still more hideous monster I dreaded—the long canoe with its row of sable rowers, and King Dingo Bingo in the stern.

The thought of being taken back was dreadful in the extreme. I should no longer be treated with kindness; on the contrary, the spiteful monarch would punish me for my attempt to escape, would revenge himself for the deception I had practised upon him—would lead me a life of the greatest misery.

Yes, it would be a sad affair to be retaken; and not till the Pandora had swept out of the river's mouth—not till the Kroomen's boat had been passed, and we were scudding out into the wide sea did I get over my apprehension.

Then was I relieved from all uneasiness on the score of Dingo Bingo, and the moment after had ceased to think of him and his brutal myrmidons.

Yes—the moment after—for a new scene was upon the stage—a new spectacle was to be enacted of which I was to be a witness.

As soon as the the Pandora had passed the river-bar she was visible to the cutter, from the water-line to the truck, and so was the cutter to her. Both vessels had a full view of each other, or might have had, for the moon was shining so clear that a ship could be traced at a long distance off. The cutter's people, however, did not appear to notice the slaver, until the latter had got several hundred yards out to sea. Perhaps the shadowy background of the forest obscured her, or the watch may have been careless. Whether or no, it was some minutes before there was any movement on board the cruiser. Then a movement was observed which showed that she had discovered the barque. The drum was heard sounding the alarm, and her sails were unfurled with all the rapidity which results from sufficient strength in a crew, combined with perfect discipline.

Notwithstanding the advantage which the slave-captain had obtained from the boldness of his attempt and the suddenness of his appearance, there was one circumstance that had turned against him. During the hour or two that had intervened since the cruiser had dropped anchor, the wind had veered round nearly a full quarter, and, instead of blowing direct from the land, its course was now nearly parallel with the shore.

Of course the experienced skipper had observed the change long ago—it required only a glance to perceive it—the cutter herself, now lying at anchor, beam-ends to the shore, indicated the change, for the Kroomen had reported, that when she first anchored her head was pointed directly for the land.

The slave-captain with chagrin observed this change in the wind, and with an apprehension he had not before felt. Had the wind continued in the same quarter as when the cruiser was first reported, he knew that he could easily run out past her. The breeze would have then been upon his own quarter, and in that way his crank-vessel sailed best; and by making good speed along the diagonal line, he had calculated on being able to get past, with only the risk from a long shot or two.

The change, however, was against him. The cruiser was directly out to sea—about two miles from the river's mouth. He could not sail to windward of her, as that would be too close to the wind for his own vessel, unless he kept within range of shot; and it so happened that to leeward there was a shoal, or long sand-bank, that stretched almost from the shore to where the cutter was lying. There may have been a distance of half a mile between the cutter and the edge of this shoal, but this was not a sufficient width for running the gauntlet as the slave-captain had intended. The warship, running down the wind, would easily have intercepted the barque before she could have passed through, and given the latter such a broadside as would have crippled and brought her to at once.

I was standing near the skipper and his mate, and listening to their horrid execrations as they perceived the dilemma they were in. I was listening, because I was as much interested as they could have been in the result—though with hopes and wishes directly antagonistic to theirs—I was praying in my heart that we should be captured! Even at the risk of being killed by a broadside from one of my own country's ships, I could not help desiring this termination to the affair.

Even though I had been but a few minutes aboard, since the lading of the cargo, I was already impressed with the awful scene—I felt pity—keen compassion—blended with loathing. The horrid howling of the blacks, crowded to suffocation below—their cries of entreaty, and, at times, of menace—were a foretaste of what I should be compelled to listen to for weeks, perhaps months. Oh! it would be a fearful existence. In my heart I prayed that we should be captured.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

I was beginning to draw hope from the behaviour of the slave-captain and his mate. Their apprehension increased as they saw the cutter expand her sails and commence moving through the water. So rapid was the manoeuvre, it was evident she had not waited to take up her anchor, but had cut the cable! So said the people of the Pandora.

The mate appeared to urge some desperate course upon his superior. His words were—as I heard them:—

"We can't pass her—it's no use, by —, the other's our only chance—the tide's well in—there'll be no danger."

"Try it, then!" was the captain's reply; "we'll be taken anyhow if we don't, and, by —, I'd rather go to pieces on a reef than be taken by this bloody so-and-so."

The blasphemous dialogue ended, and the mate hurried off to give some directions to the crew.

I knew not what they meant to do, but in a few moments after, I observed that the Pandora suddenly changed her course and steered direct for the cutter! One would have thought she was going to run right down upon the latter, as if to ride over her, or have a shot from her bow-ports; and no doubt the warship was astonished at the manoeuvre, as were many of the slaver's own crew.

The mate, however, who had counselled this movement, had a method in his madness. It was not his intention to rush upon destruction, so certain as that would have been; and before the Pandora had sailed three cables' length in its new direction, she was seen to tack round, till the wind lay upon her beam and her bowsprit once more pointed towards the land!

This manoeuvre was still a mystery to most of the slaver's crew, who, of course, acted only in obedience to orders. There were a few of them, however, in the confidence of their officers who knew the intention.

The cruiser evidently did not. No doubt the idea of her commander was that the barque was making back for the river, for towards that point was she now heading. Seeing that she could not escape out to sea, she was giving up the attempt, and her crew were now resolved in running the vessel either into the river again, or ashore anywhere, with the design of abandoning her and making their escape to the boats. Thus only could the cutter's commander interpret the strange manoeuvre of the barque. He never suspected a ruse, for there seemed no chance of affecting one. But the cutter's commander was mistaken. A ruse was intended, and, in less than twenty minutes after, was carried out before the commander's eyes, no doubt to his astonishment and chagrin. If the slave-captain and his assistant lacked humanity, they were not deficient in seamanship, and their superior knowledge of the coast now gave them the advantage.

As soon as it was perceived that the slaver had tacked and was heading back towards the river, the cruiser also changed her course and followed after. Of course the latter made all speed, in full expectation of either capturing the barque at once, on chasing her into the river, where she would become an easy prey. The only fear now among the cutter's crew was, that the slaver's would either scuttle the barque, or set fire to her on leaving; and, with the thoughts of prize-money in their minds, this was their great source of apprehension. But they were determined to give no time either for scuttling or burning, and every hand on board the warship was exerting himself to produce speed.

I have stated that there was a reef to leeward: it should rather be called a shoal, since it was a sort of muddy sand-bank formed by the current of the river, and running diagonally into the sea for a long distance—a sort of low peninsula. Now this sand-bank, where it joined the land, was usually covered with water, and, during full tides, a good-sized ship might cross over the miniature isthmus, and get out to sea through the long reach of water between the sand-bank and the shore. It was only at high-tide that this could be done, with a vessel drawing any considerable depth of water.

For some ten minutes had the chase continued—one vessel following directly in the wake of the other. The barque was now close into the land, and as if about to enter the river's mouth, while the cutter was a half-mile astern, and just opposite the longitudinal edge of the shoal.

At this moment the slaver let slip her lee braces—her head came round till the wind was right astern, and she stood right in behind the reef. It was a moment of anxiety among her crew. In another instant she would strike or go free. In another instant she would be bilging helplessly among the sands of Africa, or would be on her course free and unimpeded for the shores of America!

This time the triumph was for the wicked. The barque scraped the sand upon the bottom, but passed safely across. The crisis was over, and the hoarse huzza of that ruffian crew announced the victory!

Further pursuit was useless. The cutter was still climbing along the edge of the sandy shoal—slowly, for wind and tide were against her, while the barque, with all sail set, was scudding down the opposite side at the rate of twelve knots an hour!

Shots were fired from the cruiser's guns, but with little effect—a broken spar and a rope or two cut in the rigging were easily set to rights; and before the cutter could wear and get out to sea the slave-ship was far, far away towards the rim of the horizon!



CHAPTER FORTY.

Of the cutter we never saw more. When the sun rose there was no sail in sight, and the slaver alone upon the ocean, was standing upon her westward course, under a soft gentle breeze and a cloud of sail. No doubt the cutter had abandoned the chase near the coast—for her former experience had taught her, that under such a light wind she was no match for the barque. She saw that the later had escaped—that it would be useless to follow her out into the Atlantic—and she was constrained, therefore, to go in search of other slavers that might prove less fleet than the Pandora.

Under these circumstances the chase was abandoned, and the barque was now free to traverse the wide Atlantic ocean, and deliver her human cargo on the Brazilian shores. It would be a mere accident if she met with further interruption. Possibly, an English man-o'-war of the South American squadron might yet overhaul her; but far more likely she would find her way into some quiet little Brazilian harbour—or into Cuba if she preferred it—where she would be entirely welcome, and where her owner would find not the least difficulty in disposing of his five hundred "bales," or ten times the number if he had had them.

This then was the probable destiny of the Pandora. Her voyage was to be a success; five hundred more unfortunate beings were to swell the ranks of slavery—her captain would be enriched—her crew would receive bounty and live for a time in riotous debauchery—and all this at the expense of every right of humanity—every principle of morality.

What cared they for this, either captain or crew? They knew that governments winked at their transgressions—that some openly approved of them—some of these rough fellows were even intelligent enough to know, that the apparently earnest endeavours on the part of the government of Great Britain to suppress slavery and and the slave-trade were only mock-earnest after all—a mere political pretence—a ruse against the republicanism of America. Yes; some of these rough fellows knew it, to be sham—knew, too, that the sums annually expended by Great Britain on the barbaric luxuries of an idle court would have been sufficient to have stopped slave-dealing over the whole world—but that, instead, this profuse waste only created slaves—white slaves, and a far greater number than all the blacks that ever crossed the Atlantic. Yes; many of these rough fellows had wit enough to understand such matters; and it is, therefore, less to be wondered at that they should fall into this life of reckless outlawry. Moreover, success once obtained there would be no outlaws on the further side. The rich skipper would take rank among merchant-princes there. He would go into the best company—and be well entertained. No matter that his hand was stained with blood and his brow stamped with guilt. Kings, princes, and emperors of our day are similarly branded, but for all that, the dainty white hand of woman is contented to grasp theirs in the cordial embrace of amity and approval. With such high examples before the world no wonder there are slavers—no wonder there should be pirates. It is only singular there are not more of them.

Joyful and jolly were the crew of the Pandora when they beheld the cutter hull down upon the horizon, and saw that she abandoned the chase. Their labour would now be of the easiest kind, for a run across the Atlantic, from the Gulf of Guinea to the Brazils, is one of the easiest of voyages to the seaman. The trade-winds blow almost constantly in his favour. The trim vessel sweeps smoothly along, and the sails but rarely require shifting. It is more like floating with the current of some gentle stream, than making way across the broad billowy bosom of the Atlantic.

Alas! smoothly as we ran, it was far from being a pleasant period of existence to me. I was called upon to witness a scene of constant suffering, daily—ay, hourly—my heart was wrung with pain, for there was not an hour in which some agonising spectacle did not transpire among the wretched denizens of the "half-deck."

I need not here describe the ordinary sufferings of the slave-ship. They are recorded in many books; and I believe the most heartrending tales that have been told are not a whit exaggerated. My own experience convinces me that most of them are within the boundaries of truth. On board the Pandora these poor wretches were treated as is usual on other slave-vessels. They were kept below, close packed and without any accommodation as to sleeping, or even for lying down. They were obliged to huddle together and lie over one another! They had not even space enough to be all seated at one time; and the air which they were compelled to breathe was foul and exhausted of all healthy principle. They were fed and watered just as a farmer would provender his hogs or cattle; and in fact they were treated in all respects as cattle are, when transported across the sea—perhaps not quite so well as these. Even brutes would scarce have been used so cruelly. They were only permitted on deck four or five at a time, and only for a few minutes, after which they were forced without ceremony to plunge back into their loathsome quarters, and the merciless grating was shut down upon them.

Over this stood a sentry with loaded musket and bayonet—the latter of which was called into requisition in the most wanton and cruel manner. The object was to awe the poor wretches into such fear as would paralyse all efforts at conspiracy or mutiny, for these are sometimes dreaded on board the slaver.

Of course such treatment speedily produced its effect. In a few days a change was apparent upon both the faces and forms of the unfortunate victims. Their bodies became attenuated, their cheeks emaciated, and their eyes sunk far into their sockets. Their high cheek-bones rose higher, and gave to their features a gaunt, wolfish appearance that was hideous to behold; while the shining black departed from their complexions, and their skin assumed a whitish powdered appearance, as if they had been rolling in meal.

It was indeed an awful spectacle, this transformation of the image of God into what had more of the semblance of the Devil—an awful spectacle; and hourly was my heart wrung with grief and pain.

Not so the crew of the Pandora. They ate and drank and were jolly all the way. They never even thought of the sufferings of the poor wretches below, whose groans often echoed their laughter. No, these blacks were but brutes, to be bought and sold, and as such did they in reality regard them.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

I shall spare the reader many details of this voyage of of the Pandora. There were but few incidents outside the vessel itself to break the monotony—not even one sail was seen for two weeks after leaving the Gulf of Guinea. But there were incidents enough on board, many horrid ones, of which I shall spare the reader the details.

One I must relate in all its particulars. It will be found to contain horrors enough for a thousand, which I would spare the reader if possible; but by doing so my narrative must come to a sudden termination, since in this incident lies the continuation of my story.

Incident is hardly the name for what I am about to relate. It was more than a mere occurrence; it was a dread and awful calamity; and in a retrospect of the events of my life, this is the one which rises upon my memory the saddest and darkest; indeed, at the time of its occurrence it made upon my mind an impression so appalling, that it was a long while before I could think of anything else. Even now, long years after the terrible drama, I was witness of, and partly an actor in, is often passed in review before the eye of memory; and its horrid scenes appear to me with all the painful vividness of reality.

Listen, then! and I shall make known the nature of this dread occurrence.

As already stated, we had been about two weeks out to sea, with a favouring wind nearly all the time, and had arrived in mid-Atlantic— that is, about half-way between Cape Palmas in Africa and the most easterly point of South America—of course, therefore, we were many hundreds of miles from either shore.

The breeze continued fair, for we were sailing under the southern trade-wind, and everything seemed to promise a quick passage to the coast of Brazil. I was myself gratified at our progress, for I looked upon every day as a week of misery, and every hour a day, not only to myself but to the poor creatures who lived only in torments, and by these torments daily died. Not daily, but hourly, I might almost say, were they dying; and the plunge of their bodies, as they were unceremoniously tumbled over the side, had become of as frequent occurrence as the ringing of the watch bells. Over the side were they pitched in all their ghastly nakedness—just as a dead dog would have been thrown—with not even a shot or a stone tied to them to sink their corpses below the surface of the water. On the contrary, many of their bodies, swollen in an unnatural manner after death, remained upon the surface of the sea, and could be seen in our wake bobbing up and down upon the waves that had been made by the keel of the vessel in her passage through the water! Never for a very long period was this awful spectacle before our eyes. Though oft repeated it was usually a short scene, and ended in an abrupt strife among the monsters of the deep, amid the foam and spray flung aloft by the violent strokes of their tails, until a cloud seemed to rest over the spot, concealing the hideous struggle underneath. Then as this cloud slowly settled away, it could be seen that a human form was no longer there, but in its place might be observed some mangled remains, with the sail-like fin of the shark projected above the surface or gliding rapidly through the water.

This, at first, had been a painful spectacle to me, whilst, incredible to relate, it afforded only amusement to the crew of the Pandora. But in a short while, it had been so oft repeated that it ceased to interest them even as a momentary diversion; and I—my heart growing, not hardened, I hope, but only practised to bear the pain—was less every day touched with the hideous spectacle.

I had infinite opportunities of observing the habits of those sea-monsters, the sharks. Many of them, I have no doubt, had followed us all the way from the African coast, for there were several with whose aspect I had grown familiar, from having noticed them day after day. Indeed several of them were marked by the cicatrices of old wounds, which probably they had received in encounters with antagonists of their own species, or in battles with some other voracious monsters of the deep. By these scars was I enabled to distinguish more than one; and I am certain they had followed us all the way, for I had noticed some of the marked individuals as we sailed out of the Gulf. I had observed, too, that there were several kinds of them, though the sailors took little notice of the distinction, calling them all by their well-known characteristic name of "sharks." Indeed, my own observations of them were not very minute or scientific. I had too much upon my mind, as well as upon my hands, to direct any thoughts beyond the boundaries of the vessel; and it was only at intervals that I gave any attention to the sea or its finny inhabitants. One thing I could not help observing, and that was, that the number of the sharks had daily increased, and kept increasing; and now, at the end of two weeks, they could be seen around the barque in dozens—sometimes gliding across her course, and sometimes running in the same direction, like a shoal of porpoises! At other times they would be seen all around the vessel, looking up at her sides as though they would leap aboard, and glaring greedily with their eyes, like hungry dogs expecting a bone to be thrown them.

To one not accustomed to it, it would have been a fearful sight; but, along with the rest, I had grown so used to these demonstrations that I could look upon them without the slightest feeling of concern.

But to return to the relation of that fearful calamity I have promised to describe.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

We were in the middle of the wide Atlantic, hundreds of miles from any land. Let this fact be remembered.

One morning I came upon deck rather later than usual. Most generally I was awakened out of my sleep, and at a very early hour, by the thundering voice of the mate, and usually either with an oath or a rough shaking—the latter always when the ruffian was near enough to administer it.

On this particular morning, for what reason I could not divine, I was permitted to lie still undisturbed; and taking advantage of the indulgence, and, indeed, overpowered by sleep, of which I never had enough, I lay still and slept on.

It was considerably after daylight when I awoke. The sun was shining down into the forecastle and lit up that little wooden chamber—which was at most times as dark as a dungeon—with unusual brilliancy; and I could see distinctly everything and every person in the place. Of the latter there were only two or three. The bright light gushing into my eyes told me that I had overslept myself, and that it was far past the hour at which I should have been on deck and at work. For this reason the first idea in my mind was, that I was in for a rope's-ending from the mate, which I might expect as soon as I made my appearance on the quarter-deck.

It was no use, however, to think of "dodging" it. I should be certain to get it, sooner or later, and the sooner the better, thought I, since then the dread of it would be off my mind, and the thing would be over.

Indulging in this view of the case, I slipped on my jacket and shoes (these were the only portions of my dress I ever took off), and nerving myself for the expected punishment, I sprawled up the ladder, and, emerging, through the forecastle-hatch, stood upon deck.

On reaching the deck I had an impression that something was wrong in the vessel; indeed, I had already some such impression before coming up. There were only two men below in the forecastle—foreigners they were— and they were conversing in their own language, which I did not understand; but there was something in the expression of their faces that struck me forcibly. Both looked gloomy, though excited, and their gesticulations, as they talked with each other, led me to believe that they were discussing some serious event that had either happened, or was about to happen, to the Pandora.

"Perhaps," thought I, catching hope with the thought, "perhaps there is a sail in sight—a man-of-war with a British flag? perhaps the slaver is being chased?"

I would have endeavoured to communicate with the men, and ask them what had happened, but they chanced to be a brace of morose fellows who had always shown ill-will towards me, and I refrained from putting any questions to them. I should find out by going on deck; and, my spirits somewhat lightened by the conjecture I had formed, I sprang more cheerfully up the steps.

As soon as I reached the deck my impressions were confirmed, though not my conjectures; for almost the first thing that I did was to sweep the sea with my glance, turning all round as I looked. No sail was in sight. It was almost a perfect calm upon the water, and the sky was blue and cloudless. I could have seen the sail, had there been one, at the distance of many miles; but neither sail nor spar appeared between the barque and the horizon's verge. It was not that, then, that was creating the excitement aboard; for I now saw that there was an excitement, and of no ordinary kind.

Both mate and captain were upon the quarter-deck, storming and swearing, while sailors were hurrying to and fro, some plunging down the open hatchways, and some returning up them, with gloom and ghastly paleness upon their faces that indicated feelings of alarm and terror!

I noticed several water-butts upon the deck that had been brought freshly from the hold. Men were grouped around them—some knocking out the bungs, and others with tin dippers suspended upon strings, plunging them into the holes and apparently gauging the contents or trying the water.

One and all, however, appeared to take an interest in the operations, far above what they would have manifested in any ordinary labour of the vessel, and I could tell from their looks and gestures that something very serious was on the tapis. What it was I could not guess. I fancied, however, that it was something connected with the water.

I became anxious to know the cause of this strange, sudden commotion. I looked for Brace, but could not see him. Most probably he was down below, in the hold where the water-butts were kept—for this seemed to be the point of interest. I, therefore, left the foredeck, and stepped forward to the main-hatchway.

I was now close to the mate. He saw me, but took no notice of me. This of itself was strange enough, and I now felt positively convinced that some serious event had arisen, or was going to arise.

What could it be that was thus to save me from the expected castigation? Something of great import—some dread danger!

I looked down the hatchway for Brace. I saw him below, far down in the bottom of the hold, busy among the great casks, rolling them over one another. There were others along with him—some standing by, and some helping him. Like those on deck, all wore gloomy looks, that bespoke feelings of doubt mingled with apprehension.

I could endure the suspense no longer. Only waiting till the mate turned away his head, I glided into the open hatchway, and descended first to the half-deck, and then down a ladder to the hold.

I scrambled over the casks until I was close to my friend. I took hold of him by the sleeve to draw his attention. He turned round as I did so.

"What is it, Ben?" I enquired.

"Ugly news, Will! ugly news!"

"What news?"

"The water be out!"



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

I was not so much affected by this laconic piece of intelligence, as I might have been had I known more of the sea; and perhaps I should have regarded it still less, but for the gloomy glances and apprehensive air of those around me. I was not stunned by it at the first announcement; but it was not long before I became sufficiently alive to the terrible meaning of those simple words—"The water be out."

Puzzled by the ungrammatical construction of the phrase, you are probably inquiring what it meant. I shall tell you.

It meant that all the fresh-water on board the Pandora had been used— that the water casks were empty, and that we were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, with not the slightest chance of obtaining a fresh supply—that it would be weeks before we could possibly reach land—that under the burning tropic sun that was shining constantly down upon us, one week would be enough for thirst to do its work; but if any should survive that period, then a second week would finish them—in short, within two weeks one and all of us were doomed to perish! Black slaves and white masters—tyrants and victims—the innocent and the guilty, must all succumb to the same fate—every living thing on board the Pandora must die!

This then was the meaning of the four short words that were muttered so despondingly by the sailor. Words of dread import were they, a phrase of fatal meaning.

I say that at first I did not clearly feel the full significance of the information given me by Brace; but a very little reflection enabled me to comprehend it; and I soon became as apprehensive as an of the others, and took as earnest a part in the investigation that was going forward.

There was an investigation, and it was about this the crew of the Pandora were engaged. It was not yet clearly made out that the casks were empty. In fact they were not—not half of them were so; and if it had been a simple question of whether empty or full, it could have been decided at once. More than half of them were full—full to the very bung.

But what were they full? That was the serious question. Of fresh-water? No. The appalling discovery that had been made was, that the water within them was salt! in fact, water out of the sea itself, salt as brine!

This was indeed a fearful discovery; but it was easily explained. It was known from the beginning that these butts had been filled with salt-water—to serve as ballast on the out voyage from England; and the intention had been to empty them all into the African river and substitute fresh-water instead. It appeared now that this had only been partially done!

Various explanations were offered for the dangerous neglect. Neither captain nor mate had superintended the duty. Both had been too busy in bartering and carousing with King Dingo Bingo and his boon companions— and the irresponsible hands who had been set about the work were half-drunk while executing it—many of the casks that had been emptied of the sea-water were found to have been only partially refilled; and it was also discovered that more than half of the others had never been emptied at all! Some of the crew alleged that others had told them that these already contained fresh-water—that it would be no use bothering about them—while the men who were named as having given this assurance now stoutly denied it. Mutual recriminations took place—the lie was given and returned—filthy language was used profusely; and, what with the quarrelling of the men, and the shouting and swearing of the officers, a scene was carried on that might have rivalled an Irish row in the infernal regions.

The principal reason why such a culpable error had been committed—and this all hands knew—had been the appearance of the cruiser. She had caught them at their work, and suddenly put a stop to it.

Had she not arrived, it is probably enough that the men—however idle and drunken—would have finished their work and provided water enough for the voyage, but the unexpected appearance of the warship had driven all ideas of the water casks out of their heads; and they had thought only of shipping the "freight" and getting out of the river as speedily as possible.

In reality the skipper was the man answerable for the whole misfortune. He had allowed no time to complete the filling of the casks; and, indeed, had he done so, he would never have set sail, but must have lost both his barque and his cargo in the river.

It is probable enough he had never thought of the other horn of the dilemma; indeed, it is certain he had not—else he would long before have discovered the shortness of his supply, and taken some means to remedy it. No means had been used either to provide more water, or to economise what there was. Neither crew nor cargo had been upon rations since the beginning of the voyage; water had been dealt out to all as freely and lavishly as if the ocean itself had been a fresh-water lake.

I watched the investigation with painful forebodings. I waited, as patiently as I could for the result.

The report was at length delivered in presence of the whole crew. Its effect was like that of an electric shock upon all of them. There were but two casks on board that contained fresh-water, and these were only half-full!



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

Yes—two half casks or one whole one—in all, about one hundred gallons of fresh-water to serve for a crew of forty white men and a cargo of five hundred black ones; to serve them for weeks! Why, it would not be a single day's allowance—far less, indeed—it would scarce give each of them a drink!

I have said, that the announcement, as to the quantity of water remaining, produced upon the crew a very marked effect. Up to this time they had been in a state of gloomy apprehension—still not without hope that among the many casks, whose weight proclaimed them full, they would find a few containing fresh-water. All had now been carefully examined. Every bung had been taken out, and the contents tasted; but in every case disappointment was the result. Nothing but the bitter brine of the sea was found inside.

Every one of them had been examined and tried by several of the crew— doubt and apprehension were at an end. The truth had now been reached, was known to a certainty by all—and the result was a general paroxysm of despair.

Rage, too, freely exhibited itself. Some, who considered themselves innocent of having brought about this dilemma, accused and incriminated those who were responsible for it; and some were bold enough openly to charge the captain and mate with the neglect. Mutinous language was freely used, threats uttered aloud, and for awhile all discipline appeared to have departed from the ship.

After a long time spent in stormy altercation and the profuse exchange of oaths and menaces, the angry tone died away, and all parties began to assume a more pacific bearing towards each other. The common danger made them friends again, or at all events put a stop to their useless hostility; and at length, calming down to greater moderation, each proceeded to offer suggestions, or listen to them, about what measures should be adopted under the circumstances.

Of course, the first idea was, that the water should from this time forth be measured out: but the question was, how much at a time? and how often should the rations be issued? This required a nice calculation to be made; and in this calculation all had the greatest interest. If too large a quantity were to be allowed daily, then the stock might be exhausted before relief should be near, and they must perish all the same. How long would a hundred gallons last? and at what rate might they use it? These were the two questions of importance.

These calculations were easy enough. There were just forty of the crew—officers included—and these last were now to be put on equal rations with the rest; for, in this crisis of peril, the government of the Pandora had suddenly assumed the form of a republic. Both captain and mate had lost their authority, and hereafter everything was to be conducted on the commonwealth system—share and share alike.

There were forty then in all, and, as near as could be ascertained, about one hundred gallons of water.

After all, the prospects was not so bad—so thought they, as they hurriedly ran over the calculation. One hundred gallons to forty men would be two and a half gallons, or twenty pints to each man—which would give a pint a day for twenty days, and upon a pint a day they could subsist. In twenty days, and less time than that, they were confident of coming within sight of land. Even should they not reach a haven before the twenty days were expired—should they be delayed by calms, or contrary winds, they might reduce the ration still lower, and by so doing extend the time. Half a pint a day would enable them to exist; and even far less in case of extreme necessity. After all, their prospect was not so perilous as they had at first judged it to be, and they began to recover from the shook which they had received—for on the announcement that there was only one hundred gallons left the quantity had appeared as nothing to them, accustomed as they had been to drinking and wasting that much daily. The calculation, however, showed that, with this quantity they might make shift without any great deprivation, until land, or perhaps a ship, might appear in sight.

With regard to the latter contingency, they had already formed a purpose. If any ship came in view—excepting, of course, a ship of war—they had come to the determination to chase and board her; and if a supply of water was denied them they would take it from the vessel nolens volens. Perhaps, even more than water—for both captain and crew were now so desperate that they would not have stuck at anything; very little provocation would have transformed the slaver into a pirate.

Such were the views of the Pandora's crew, and such their determinations in regard to the use of the water. Each man was to be allowed a pint per diem; and, in case of any obstruction that might prolong the voyage, the ration was to be reduced still lower—even to a single glass a day, if this should become necessary.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

During all these deliberations not one word was said about the five hundred unfortunate wretches between decks! It is a question whether even a thought was spent upon them, except by myself, perhaps by Ben Brace, and most likely the captain of the Pandora. But if the skipper thought of them, it was from no motives of humanity. Profit and loss were the only considerations that had any interest for him, and if he was thinking of the poor creatures with regret, it was not any regret for the horrid fate they were likely to meet with, but solely on account of the pecuniary loss he would sustain by their destruction!

I feel certain that, up to the moment when their future plans had been fully discussed and agreed upon, not one of that reckless crew had given thought to the situation of the blacks. Had these human beings been so many head of cattle, they could not have entered less into the calculations that had been made; for they were not considered at all. Not one drop of water had been apportioned to their use. No suggestion of such a thing had been afforded—it would have been ridiculed as preposterous.

It was only after everything had been settled, that mention was made of them. Then a rough fellow cried out, in a tone of mock surprise, that smacked of a disgusting levity:—

"Thunder an' 'oun's! what's to be done with the niggers!"

"Ay, ay," shouted several, in a breath; "what is to be done with 'em? There's no water for them—that's sartin."

"Why, what can be done?" responded an inhuman monster. "Chuck 'em overboard!"

"Dunder an' blitz!" exclaimed a ferocious German, who appeared pleased with the idea; "dhat is de besht blan—wees not can do petter dhan to glear 'em out from de sheep."

"Pe Gar!" cried the Frenchman, Le Gros, "it be von great big drown— von grand splash in ze vater—Sacr-r-r-e!"

I cannot describe the feelings I had in listening to this conversation. These men were actually serious, and yet jesting. It is almost too horrid to be credible, and yet it is true!

But they were serious—I knew they were—and I expected every minute to hear that this horrible suggestion was adopted, and that the blacks were to be thrown overboard!

But the villains were not unanimous; and for a length of time they continued to discuss the question in the same half-serious, half-jocular way. It was awful to listen to that inhuman debate!

The slave-captain's wishes, however, were opposed to throwing his cargo overboard; and, notwithstanding the mutinous disposition of the men, he had still authority enough to carry the point. He was obliged however, to humiliate himself by resorting to argument. His speech was characteristic; and throughout the whole of it, there was not one word about humanity.

He alleged that the niggers could only die, anyhow, and a few days could make no difference to them. Neither could it signify to them (the crew) whether the blacks died of thirst or by drowning. They could throw them overboard, after the breath was out of them, all the same. But some of them might live it out. He had known niggers to stand it a long while without water—they could hold out much longer than white men—for in this respect they resembled the ostriches, camels, and other animals of their own country, that could go for whole weeks without drinking! No doubt many of them would die, and therefore be lost to him; but they would not die if they could help it, and there were still the chances that a good many would stick it out (these were the captain's words) till they had made land, or overhauled some vessel; and though they might be pretty far gone (another phrase of the speaker), a drink of water would set their stomachs all right again. So ran the ruffian speech.

He further proceeded to point out to his audience the destitute condition that he and they would be in, should they reach the Brazilian coast without a cargo. There would be no bounty—no spending-money— nothing; whereas, if they could only get there with even a portion of the negroes alive—even one out of five (a hundred out of the whole lot)—there would still be a large sum realised; and he promised that he would be liberal to all hands.

It was absurd, therefore, to talk of flinging the cargo overboard. They could do no harm as they were; there could arise no danger, since they would keep the blacks securely under hatches; and, therefore, in every way it was better to let these hold out as long as they could, and take chance of bringing some of them to a market. Such was the skipper's speech; and I have followed his phraseology as nearly as I remember it. It was an awful harangue, and my heart sickened within me as I listened to it.

Meanwhile, the ill-starred victims who were the subject of these deliberations were, happily for themselves, still ignorant of the horrid fate with which they were threatened. A few of them, whose gaunt faces looked up through the grating, may have noticed that something was amiss; but, ignorant both of the language and ways of their tyrant gaolers, they could not possibly have known the danger in which their lives were now placed.

Alas! alas! they would soon learn—too soon. Soon would they experience the agony of thirst; soon would they feel its horrid cravings.

Even at that moment was it drawing upon them; even then were they crying for water—for, in consequence of the discovery that had been made, their morning's allowance had not yet been served to them; and water was always the thing they seemed most to covet and desire. Its scarcity was to them their greatest grief. Even at that moment, as I passed the hatchway, I could hear them calling for "water—water," some in their native tongue, and others—in hopes of being better understood—in that language best-known along the African Coast—the Portuguese—repeating the word:—

"Agoa—agoa!"



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

Unhappy beings! I shuddered as I reflected on what was before them. They were to endure thirst in all its gradations—from the simple, scarce painful longing for water—which most of them already felt—to the extremest agony and torture which that appetite can inflict. But a few days before, I had myself experienced thirst; but what signified that compared to what they would be compelled to endure? Simply nothing—a mere foretaste, that enabled me to judge how terribly painful thirst may become. Yes; I shuddered as I reflected on what was before them!

Little did I dream how short was to be the period of their endurance. Little thought I, as I paced along the deck and listened to their cries for water, that their sufferings from thirst would soon be at an end.

It was not their destiny to die from the want of water. Alas! a far more horrible doom was in store for them—a doom that I almost shudder to recount.

As the day advanced, their cries for water—"agoa! agoa!"—became more frequent and plaintive. There were some who shouted in anger. Wondering why they had been denied their customary allowance, there were some who fancied it arose either from neglect on the part of their white tyrants—whom they saw moving about perfectly indifferent to their entreaties—or else from some capricious cruelty to torture and punish them! It is hard to say what might have been their imaginings; but many of them exhibited symptoms of fury amounting almost to frenzy. They approached the grating with gestures of menace, and endeavoured by main strength to force the strong woodwork from off the hatch. Some gnashed their teeth and frothed at the lips; beating their breasts with clenched fists, and yelling their native war-cries, until their voices echoed far over the waters!

To all these demonstrations the crew of the Pandora paid no heed— except that two sentries instead of one were placed over the hatchway where the male portion of the slaves were confined. This precaution was taken, because it was now deemed possible that the negroes might make their way upon deck; and, should they succeed in doing so in their infuriated state, woe to the white men who had hitherto ruled them!

Both sticks and bayonets were used freely upon the frantic creatures, until the carpenter with ready tools had strengthened the grating and battened it down, beyond the possibility of its being raised up, or broken by those who were striving underneath.

What added to the sufferings of the slaves, as also to the apprehension of the Pandora's crew, was that the wind had suddenly ceased, and it had fallen to a dead calm.

The heat of the sun, no longer fanned by the slightest breeze, had grown intolerable. The pitch melted upon the ropes and in the seams of the deck; and every article, whether of hemp, wood, or iron, was as hot as if taken out of a fire. We had arrived in that part of the Atlantic Ocean, known among Spanish seamen as the "horse latitudes," because that there, during the early days of Spanish adventure, vessels often got becalmed, and their cargoes of horses, dying of the heat, were thrown overboard wholesale. This is one of the explanations given for the singular appellation—though others have been assigned.

Into the "horse latitudes," then, had the Pandora found her way; and the complete calm into which the atmosphere had all at once fallen was not only a source of suffering to all on board—but to the sailors an object of new apprehension.

On first discovering the shortness of the supply of water, a calm sea was the very thing they had most dreaded. A storm they feared not to encounter. Through that—even though the wind were dead ahead—they could still make way; but in a calm they could do nothing but lie quiet upon the hot bosom of the sleeping ocean, wasting their days and hours— wasting what was now more precious than all—their scanty supply of water.

One and all were terrified at the prospect. They were all men who had made many a trip across the line, and had run the torrid zone both eastward and westward. They could read well the indications of the sky; and from its present appearance most of them foresaw, and were not slow to foretell, a long-continued calm. It might last a week, perhaps twice or three times as long. Sometimes there is a month of such windless weather in these latitudes. If it continued only for the shortest of these periods, then, indeed, would they be in danger, and no wonder they were freshly apprehensive.

As the sun went down, his disc appeared red and fiery. There was not a cloud in the sky—not a curl upon the sea.

It was the last time that sun ever shone upon the Pandora—when morning came, that bad, but beautiful barque, was a wreck upon the sea— a field of floating fragments!



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

You desire an explanation? You wish to know how the Pandora was destroyed?

In the closing passages of the preceding chapter, I ran ahead of my narrative. I shall now return to it.

The night came down still, but not silent; at least not silent on board the slave-ship. The cries of the ill-fated beings below still loaded the air—their voices growing hoarser and hoarser. The ruffians might cage their bodies, but they could not confine their tongues; and ever and anon rose that awful din, pealing along the decks, and echoing far out over the still bosom of the waters.

It seemed at length to grow unendurable, even to the men; and those, who had before advocated throwing the slaves overboard, once more proposed adopting this course. The unexpected obstruction from the calm now added force to their arguments. They alleged that there was no chance of the niggers holding out. They would all be dead in a couple of days—by suffocation as well as thirst—and why not settle the business at once? They had now to look out sharply for their own lives, and better they should not be bothered any longer with these squalling brutes. (This was literally the language of one of those who advocated the drowning of them.) It was enough to drive a man mad to hear them, and it would be only mercy to them (much the ruffian cared for mercy) to make short work of it, and then the poor devils would have it over at once. This was the compassionate speech of one.

Another followed in a like strain, and said, interrogatively, "After all what did it amount to? The cargo was not such a great matter so long as the ship was safe? What signified all the niggers had cost? What they might fetch was another matter; but a man could not call that a loss which he had never had; and, therefore, all the loss the skipper should sustain would be the original outlay. It wasn't a million. He would soon repair the damage. Once they got the casks filled, they could return to Africa, and King Dingo was the man to find them a fresh cargo. Perhaps he would let them have it on credit, if they couldn't do better (at this improbability several laughed); but the skipper need not go a begging for credit. He was not so easily broken up as that came to. If he himself was short, he had friends in Brazil—ay, and in Portsmouth, too—who would soon find him the rhino."

The speech of this able logician turned the scale and settled the question; and, despite the protestations and entreaties of the slave-captain and one or two others, it was decided that the negroes should be thrown overboard!

A few minutes were now given to a discussion as to the mode of effecting this purpose; and it was finally agreed that the best way would be to remove a single bar from the grating—so that only one of the victims could come up at a time—and then, taking each aft out of sight of the hatchway—so that they might not be seen by the others—to seize one after another and cast them into the sea, whence there would be no fear of their returning. Doubtless many of them could not swim a stroke, and those that could would not swim long, amidst that multitude of voracious sharks that were beating around the barque!

The ruse of thus successively destroying the wretched victims, without making known to their companions below, originated in no ideas of mercy—it was a thought that sprang from simple convenience. The monsters knew that if those below were to get wind of the fate that awaited them above, they would no longer come on deck; and to have gone down amongst them to bring them up would have given trouble, and might have been attended with danger.

It was heartbreaking to listen to the details of their plan, and know that I could neither obstruct nor prevent it. Had I put in my voice, either to appeal or protect the unfortunates, it is likely enough I should have been myself the first morsel given to the sharks. I could do nought but suffer in silence.

Indeed, I am not sure, had it been in my power at that moment to prevent them from carrying out their design, whether it would have been right to interfere. Clearly it would not have served the cause of humanity. A death of some kind was certainly in store for these ill-starred beings— either a slow, lingering death by the torture of thirst, or one more rapid and far less cruel, such as that they were about to undergo. It might have been humanity to leave the ruffians to carry out their intent, and shorten the sufferings of their black victims by the easier death of drowning.

I had such a reflection at the moment, but I had no time to dwell upon it, for just then a rush of men towards the slave-hatchway told me that the monsters were actually on the way to carry out their diabolical purpose!

They were on their way, and would have proceeded in their intent. The carpenter was there with his axe to strike off one of the bars of the grating—he had already given a blow on the batten, another would have been enough—and then the horrid scene would have begun; but at that moment a cry came from the after-part of the vessel that caused the carpenter to suspend his work, and look up in dismay. Those who surrounded him were startled as well as he, and all looked aft with terror painted in their faces. One and all were terrified by that cry, and no wonder they were—it was the cry, of "fire!" The ship was on fire!



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

At this cry all hands rushed toward the after-part of the vessel. I ran with the rest.

On reaching the quarter-deck we found the black cook, "Snowball," in the hands of the captain and mate, who were beating him with thick ropes, and causing him to "sing out" at the top of his voice. Both were excited and angry—swearing loudly as they struck the blows—and already the man's back exhibited the keenness of their vengeance.

Some of the sailors—still apprehensive about the cry of fire which they had heard—demanded an explanation, which was immediately given. "Snowball" had gone down to the store-room under the main cabin—for the purpose of drawing brandy from a large cask of this spirit that was kept there. The only access to the store-room was through a small hatch in the floor of the cabin itself; and, as it was bulk-headed off from the rest of the hold, of course the place was quite dark. For this reason the cook had carried with him, as he always did on such occasions, a lighted candle.

It was not clearly explained how he had mismanaged—for the black as well as most of the crew of the Pandora were, ever since the discovery about the water, in a state of half-intoxication. Even at that moment it was evident that both mate and captain were nearly drunk, and gave but half-coherent replies to the eager inquiries of the men—who were still under apprehensions from the cries of fire that summoned them aft.

The accident was afterwards explained by "Snowball" himself. It appeared that the brandy-cask was without a regular tap, or stopcock, and that the cook was in the habit of drawing the liquor through the bung-hole, by means of an ordinary dipper. Somehow or other—of course through the black's drunken negligence—the burning candle had slipped from his fingers, and dropped right into the bung-hole; and, quick as a flash, the spirit had caught fire, and smoke and flame issued in volumes through the hole.

At first the cook, dreading chastisement, resolved not to make any alarm; but, coming on deck, provided himself as quickly as he could with a bucket of water. With this he returned, and, pouring the water into the cask, endeavoured by such means to stifle the flames. It was all to no purpose—the blue blaze flickered upward as before—each instant becoming stronger, as the brandy itself grew hotter and more of the spirit caught the fire.

It appeared that the cook had made several journeys back and forward from the store-room to the deck, before confessing to what had occurred, or warning any one of the peril in which the vessel was placed.

At length, however, his frequent passing to and fro with the water-bucket attracted the attention of the mate; and then the discovery was made that the brandy was on fire; for the black was now forced to confess the truth.

Then it was that the cry of fire was raised which had called the crew away from their demon purpose.

From the behaviour of the captain and his mate, it might have been supposed that the fire had been extinguished; and, for a time, such was the belief. Surely, before setting on to belabour the culprit as they were doing, they had seen that the fire was out? Such would have been the natural conclusion, and so everyone judged. It soon came out that they judged wrongly. The two officers were half-mad with drink and rage; and, without attempting to get the fire under, they had set upon the black and were expending their anger in blows, while the latter kept howling at the top of his voice, mingling with his cries for mercy the more startling cry of "fire!" It was this that had so suddenly alarmed the crew.

Was the fire out? or was it still burning? These were the questions that passed from mouth to mouth in quick and apprehensive utterance.

As soon as it was ascertained where it had occurred, a rush was made into the cabin—the men crowding together through the entrance, and treading upon one another's heels in their haste to be assured of the truth and relieved of the terrible suspense—for there is no calamity on board a ship so much dreaded as fire.