Chapter Twenty One.
“Niggah, Sah.”
A month passed swiftly away, during which the Seafowl sighted and chased vessel after vessel, each of which had been forced to lie to in response to a shot fired across her bows, but only with a disappointing result—one which sent the captain into a temper which made him dangerous to approach for a full half-hour after the strangers’ papers had been examined, to prove that she had nothing whatever to do with the slave-trade.
Then the captain would calm down, and something like the following would take place:
“Did I speak rather sharply to you when the boat returned, Mr Anderson?”
“Oh! Well, rather hastily, sir,” said the chief officer drily. “But that’s nothing, sir. I’m afraid I was not very polite to you. I was horribly disappointed, sir.”
“Naturally,” the captain cried excitedly. “Here we are, getting well within range of the islands where we know this wretched traffic is carried on, where the plantations are cultivated by the unfortunate blacks, and we seem bound to encounter a slaver, and yet the days pass on and we prove to be hunting a will-o’-the-wisp.”
“Yes, sir, it is maddening,” replied the lieutenant. “Day after day I have swept the offing, feeling certain that fate would favour us by letting the sloop come up with that Yankee, or with one of his kidney; but disappointment is always the result.”
“Yes, Mr Anderson,” cried the captain; “always the result. Never mind,” he continued, speaking through his closely set teeth; “our turn will come one of these days.” And then with his telescope tightly nipped beneath his arm he would tramp up and down the quarter-deck, pausing now and then to focus his glass, take a peep through, close it again with a snap and renew his march.
“Look at him,” said Roberts, one bright morning, as the two lads stood together well forward, where they fondly hoped that they were quite out of their chief’s way.
“No, thank you, Dick,” was the response; “it isn’t safe. He’s just in one of his fits, ready to pounce upon any one who gives him a chance. Every one is getting afraid of him. I wish to goodness we could overtake something and have a chance of a prize.”
“Well, we must find something to do soon, lad. We’re right in amongst the islands, and we shall have to land and hunt out some nigger driver’s nest.”
“But we can’t do anything if we do. We daren’t interfere with any plantation where the blacks are employed.”
“No, I suppose not; but it would be a glorious change if we got orders to land at one of the islands and could pick up some news or another.”
“What sort of news?”
“What sort? Why, information that a slaver was expected to land a consignment, and then—”
“Oh yes, and then! Well, we shall see.”
“Yes, we shall see; but I don’t believe any of the planters will give us a bit of information.”
“Don’t you? I do,” said Murray. “There are good planters as well as bad planters, and I feel full of hope.”
“I don’t,” said Roberts bitterly. “I think we ought to go back to the West Coast and watch the rivers again. We shall do no good here.”
But Murray proved the more likely to be right, for after touching at the little port of one island, where the Seafowl was visited by the English gentleman who acted as consul, and who had a long interview with the officers in the cabin, it became bruited through the vessel that something important was on the way, and after boats had been sent ashore and a plentiful supply of fresh water and vegetables taken in, the sloop set sail again, piloted by a fishing boat. Under its guidance the Seafowl lay off the shores of what seemed through the glasses to be an earthly paradise, a perfect scene of verdant beauty, with waving trees and cultivated fields, sheltered by a central mountain the configuration of which suggested that it must at one time have been a volcano, one side of which had been blown away so that a gigantic crater many miles across formed a lake-like harbour. Into this deep water, after careful soundings had been taken, the sloop glided and dropped anchor, the pilot with his two men hoisting sail directly after receiving pay.
“This is something like,” said Roberts, rubbing his hands. “I wonder how soon we shall go ashore.”
“Almost directly, I expect,” replied Murray.
“Why? What do you know?”
“Not much; only what Mr Anderson let drop to me.”
“Let drop to you!” cried Roberts pettishly. “He never lets things drop to me.”
“Well, what does that matter? I always tell you anything that I hear.”
“Never mind that. What did Anderson let drop?”
“That the skipper has learned that there is an English gentleman here who farms a plantation with a number of slaves.”
“Well, lots do,” said Roberts sharply.
“And on the other side of the island there is a very large sugar plantation belonging to an American who is suspected of having dealings with slaving skippers who trade with the West Coast. What do you say to that?”
“That sounds likely; but what then?”
“Well, according to what Mr Anderson told me, the skipper will, if he waits for a chance, be able to catch one if not more of the slavers who come here to land their cargoes, for this American planter to ship off by degrees to other planters who require slaves.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” cried Roberts. “This Yankee, then, keeps a sort of slave store?”
“Something of the kind,” replied Murray, “and if we are careful I suppose that the skipper will have his chance at last; only he says that he is not going to trust any stranger again.”
“Well, never mind that,” said Roberts, speaking excitedly now as he scanned the slopes of the old verdure-clad hollow in which the sloop lay as if in a lake. “If we are about to lie up here for a time and go ashore and explore we shall have plenty of fun and adventure, with a bit of fighting now and then.”
“Likely enough,” said Murray.
“But I should like for us to have hit upon the place where that West Coast Yankee brought his cargoes. There’s no possibility of this being the spot?”
“One never knows,” said Murray thoughtfully.
“Too much to hope,” said his companion.
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ve been horribly unlucky, but the luck is bound to turn some time. One thing we do know for certain: that Yankee skipper brings slaves across to the West Indies.”
“Yes, we know that.”
“Well, this is one of the West Indian Islands.”
“A precious small one, though,” said Roberts in a depreciatory tone.
“What of that? We know for certain that there is the owner of a plantation here who trades in slaves, and there is nothing to prevent his having dealings with the man we want.”
“M-m-no; but there must be several such men as he. Well, we must get some fun,” cried Roberts, “and if we don’t find all we want—”
“We may get something,” said Murray cheerfully. “Now then, which of us will have the first chance of going ashore?”
“You, of course,” replied Roberts bitterly. “Some fellows get all the luck. No, no; I don’t mean that, old chap.”
“Look at Anderson,” cried Murray; “he’s taking orders from the skipper. Hooray, Dick! See if it isn’t for a boat to be sent ashore. Whose turn is it going to be?”
That question was soon answered, for the captain, who was pacing to and fro searchingly overlooking the preparations for a boat going ashore, suddenly caught sight of the two lads.
“Oh, there you are, Mr Murray!” he exclaimed. “Well, has not Mr Anderson given you your orders to accompany the boat?”
Roberts’s face puckered up.
“No, sir,” said the lieutenant, taking upon himself to answer. “I intended to take Mr Roberts with me.”
Murray felt disappointed, but all the same he could not refrain from laughing at the sudden change which came over his fellow middy’s face, to the latter’s wonder.
“Oh, I see,” said the captain, raising his hat and re-adjusting it in a fidgety way he had when excited, which was followed by a fresh settling of the head-covering. “Quite right; quite right; but here’s Mr Murray growing dull and sluggish with doing nothing; you had better take him too. One will help to keep the other out of mischief.”
Roberts winced, and turned sharply to glance at Murray angrily, as the latter hurried to take his place in the stern sheets.
“What’s the matter, Dick?” Murray whispered, as soon as the pair were in their places.
“Matter? Any one would think I was a child and ought to have some one to take care of me. Now, look here, young fellow, if you grin at me before old Anderson there’s going to be a quarrel.”
“All right,” said Murray coolly; “but keep it till we get back.”
Roberts looked round sharply, but he had no opportunity to say more, for the chief officer descended to his place, Murray moved aside to let his comrade take the tiller ropes, the boatswain gave the cutter a vigorous thrust off, the men lowered their oars, and then bending low to their task they made the smooth water of the natural harbour begin to rattle beneath the bows.
The boat was run across beside the heavily forested shores, where, before long, but after many disappointments, an opening was found which seemed to be the entrance to a sluggish river, and as they glided in the overhanging trees soon shut them off from all sight of the sunny bay they had crossed. The bright light gave place to a dim twilight which at times grew almost dark, while the river wound and doubled upon itself like a serpent, and twice over, after a long pull, the lieutenant bade the men lie upon their oars, to rest, while he hesitated as to whether he should go farther.
But all seemed so mysterious and tempting that, in the full expectation of reaching some town or port belonging to the island, the rowing was again and again resumed till hours had passed, and at last the chief officer exclaimed—
“It’s like chasing a will-o’-the-wisp, gentlemen, but I cannot help feeling that we are on the highroad to the interior, and, in spite of the utter loneliness of the place, I don’t like to give up.”
“Of course you don’t, sir,” said Murray, as the men rested upon their oars, and he scanned the heavily wooded banks. “I wonder whether there are any plantations worked by the slaves: I can see no sign of a house.”
“No, I was thinking of that,” said Roberts, who was sweeping the distance with a glass; “but there is a bit of an opening yonder which looks as if the river branched there, and—Hallo! I didn’t see it at first. There’s some sort of a boat lying moored in that nook.”
“Where?” cried Murray.
“Yonder among the trees. Take the glass, sir.”
Mr Anderson took the telescope.
“To be sure: the river does branch there. Steer for that cove, Mr Roberts, and let us see what the little vessel is like. At all events here is some sign of the place being inhabited. Give way, my lads.”
The men pulled hard, and as they progressed, instead of obtaining a better view of the vessel, it seemed only to glide in behind the trees until they were close in and passed up what proved to be the mouth of a little creek, when Murray uttered an ejaculation.
“What is it, Mr Murray?” cried the lieutenant.
“The lugger, sir!”
“Well, I see it is, my lad. I dare say its owner’s house is close at hand.”
“But don’t you see, sir?” cried Murray excitedly.
“Of course I do, but there’s no one aboard, apparently.”
“Oh, I don’t mean that, sir!” cried the lad. “It’s the lugger we first came upon off that African river.”
“What!” cried the lieutenant. “Impossible! Run close in, Mr Roberts.” And the men pulled the cutter close alongside the swift-looking boat with its raking masts and lowered lug sails.
“Humph!” said the lieutenant. “The same build, the same rig, the same coloured canvas. Well, really, Mr Murray, it is a strange resemblance.”
“I’m almost sure it is the same boat, sir,” cried Murray.
“That’s as good as saying that the Yankee who tricked us so has sailed right across the Atlantic with the slaving schooner, and we have had the luck to follow in her track, and caught up to her.”
“Yes, sir; I don’t think there’s any doubt of it,” cried Murray.
“Then, if you are right, Mr Murray, the slaving schooner will be somewhere close at hand.”
“Yes, sir; I hope so,” replied Murray. “I am ready to hope so, my lad, but I say it is impossible. That was a lugger, and this is a lugger, and of course there is a certain amount of resemblance in the rig; but you are jumping at conclusions just because this is similar.”
“I think not, sir. I took so much notice of the boat; but look here, sir, Tom May was with me when I went forward to speak to the Yankee, and he would know.—Here, May, isn’t that the lugger the American planter was on when we brought her to?”
The sailor stared hard at the vessel hanging by a line fastened to what seemed to be a cocoanut tree.
“Same build, sir; same rig, sir. Might have been built up the same river, but it arn’t the one we saw that day, sir—Wish it was!”
“There, Murray, what do you say now?”
“That I didn’t think it possible that I could have been so deceived. Would it be possible that it could have been built by the same shipwright, sir?”
“Quite, my lad; and it is quite possible that we may come across a schooner or two built just like the one we saw escape. There is no doubt that many slaving schooners are built in these islands especially for the trade. Look out, my lads, and don’t miss anything. There may be one of them moored safely in a snug creek.—What was that?”
“Nigger, sir,” said Tom May. “I just ketched sight of him squinting at us among the trees. There he is again, sir.”
This time Roberts had caught sight of a black figure wearing the very simple costume of a pair of loose cotton drawers, his round woolly head covered with a broad-brimmed hat formed of extremely thin strips of thin cane.
“Scared at us,” said the sailor, for as the cutter was rowed alongside of the lugger, the black darted out of sight, but, evidently curious to know what was going on and the object of the strangers, he peered out again.
“Ahoy there!” shouted one of the sailors.
That was enough. The black disappeared once more, but only for a few moments before he was peeping again.
“You hail him this time, Mr Murray,” cried the lieutenant.
“Ahoy there!” cried Murray. “What boat’s that?”
The black clung to one of the trees on the bank of the river and watched the speaker eagerly.
“He doesn’t understand,” said the lieutenant. “I dare say he only speaks bad Spanish. But try him again.”
“Can you speak English?” cried Murray.
“Yes, massa!”
“Come, that’s better,” said the lieutenant. “Try him again, Mr Murray.” And the lad shouted—
“Whose lugger is that?”
“Massa’s, sah.”
“Oh!” cried Murray; and then obeying a sudden thought, “Where is the schooner?”
“Gone sail round um ilum, sah.”
“With slaves?” said Murray.
“Gone take big lot black fellow, sah.”
“What for?”
“Hoe de cotton, sah; plant de sugar, sah,” said the black, showing his white teeth.
“When will the schooner come back, Sambo?” said Murray.
“Name not Sambo, sah,” said the black.
“What is it then?”
“Jupe, sah, Jupiter.”
“Ask him where his master lives.”
“Yes, sir!—Where does your master live?”
The black rested the heavy hoe he carried among the thick growth of the trees which rang alongside of the stream, and pointed away into the dense cover at the back.
“Jupe show massa.”
“Is your master away with the schooner?” asked Murray.
“No, sah. Massa never go to sea. Cap’ Huggum go in um schooner.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Mr Anderson. “Now then, my lad; if we land you will show us the way to your master’s place?”
“Yes, sah. Massa Huggum’s ’long with massa now.”
“Who is Master Huggums?” said the lieutenant.
“Massa, sah. Make um niggah work, sah;” and as he spoke the black showed his teeth, raised his hoe, and brought the handle sharply against the trunk of some kind of palm-tree. “That’s de way make um work. Lazy rascal go to sleep. Massa Huggum wake um up.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Does he wake you up like that?”
The black burst into a hoarse laugh.
“Iyah, iyah, iyah!” he cackled out, and evidently thoroughly enjoying the questioning, he threw himself down in the thick cane growth, rolled over and over, and then sprang up again. “No give Jupe de whip, massa. Find Jupe fas’ sleep. Ck, ck, ck!”
And he threw out one bare foot as if emulating some one who had heavily kicked a slave who was lying asleep.
The feeling of fear that had made the black dart back into the cover of the trees had now passed away in favour of a display of eager curiosity, and he came close to the boat, where he watched the sailors laying in their oars and the coxswain hook on to one of the trees, while the officers prepared to land.
“Now, then,” said the lieutenant, “show us a dry place; it is all muddy here.”
“Jupe show landum place, sah,” said the man sharply.
“Very well, and then you can lead us up to the house.”
“Yes, sah. Take buccra up through plantashum, but Jupe no dare go.”
“What do you mean?” said Mr Anderson. “You offered to go just now.”
“Yes, sah; but Jupe forget all ’bout Massa Huggum. De overseer go in great big pashum, sah. Call Jupe ugly black nigger, sah.”
“What for?”
“Take buccra officer up to plantashum see de niggers, sah.”
“Oh, that’s how Mr Huggins or Huggum goes on, is it? Well, never mind him,” said the lieutenant; “lead us up to your master.”
The black showed his teeth again and indulged in his cackling laugh.
“Well, what does that mean, sir?”
“Jupe no dah go, sah. Massa Huggum say cut him libbah out.”
“Never mind Mr Huggins, my lad. He’d better! Here, what’s your real master’s name?”
“Massa Allum, sah.”
“Well, take us to him.”
The black shook his head.
“Mass’ Allum ’fraid Massa Huggum, sah. Massa Huggum call um big name.”
“Then this Huggins is the real master; eh, boy?”
“Dat’s the trufe, sah. Ebbery boy in plantation ’fraid of Massa Huggum.”
“Well, look here, my sable friend, please understand this: nobody here is afraid of your Mr Huggins. Show us the way to the plantation, and if he dares to touch you I’ll take him on board, and the boatswain’s mate shall tie him up and give him the cat—flog him; do you understand?”
“Mass’ say give Mass’ Huggum whip?”
“Yes, or any one else, boy. Now then, show us the way.”
“Massa say quite sewer?”
“Yes, quite sure. Now then, lead on.”
The black grinned at everybody in turn, and tramped along by the edge of the sluggish stream for some hundred yards before stopping short by the trampled bank which was plainly marked, and the commencement of a rough path was seen running in amongst the trees.
The lieutenant gave orders for the men to land, a couple of boat-keepers were left, and the well-armed crew were ready for starting when a black face suddenly presented itself peering round a good-sized tree-trunk and gazing curiously at the newcomers.
Murray was the first to catch sight of the fresh comer and draw the lieutenant’s attention to his appearance.
“Is this one of your men, you sir?” cried the chief officer, and he pointed down the winding path.
The black stared for a moment or two before following the direction of the officer’s pointing hand. Then catching sight of his fellow black he uttered a yell, raised his hoe in both hands, and sent the heavy iron implement whirling along the path, to be brought up with a crash against a good-sized tree. But before it came in contact with the trunk the black at whom it was aimed sprang in among the bushes and disappeared, while the guide trotted on to where the hoe had fallen and picked it up, shouting in through the thick growth—
“You let me catch you ’way from your work, you ugly, lazy, black rasclum, I crack you cocoanut!” Then striking the haft of the hoe he had picked up against the tree-trunk to tighten the loosened head, he turned again to the approaching boat crew. “Lazy black rasclum,” cried the grinning guide, as if for the benefit of all the newcomers. “Jupe gib um toco catch him again. Massa come along now.—Black dog! Let me catch um again!”
The lieutenant frowned and glanced at the two midshipmen, who were exchanging glances which meant a great deal. Then with a shrug of his shoulders he made a sign to the black guide to go on, a sign which was grasped at once, and the fellow stepped out with his heavy hoe shouldered and a grin at the lads.
“Jupe make um run fas’,” he said. “Jupe teach um leave um work!”
“Look sharp, sir, and show the way,” cried the chief officer angrily.
“Yes, massa; yes, massa,” cried the fellow, grinning. “Jupe show massa de way. Jupe de boy teach de black fella do de work. Lazy rasclum. Ketchum ’sleep under tree.”
“Here, May,” cried the lieutenant angrily, “take this black brute forward a dozen yards and make him show the way and hold his tongue the while.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” growled the sailor, with a grim look, as giving his musket a hitch and then turning it in his hands he brought the butt roughly against the guide’s chest. “Now then, Ebony,” he cried, “for’ard it is, and drop all that there palaver. Lead on and show the way.”
“Yes, sah; Jupe show de—”
“D’yer hear, you black swab!” cried the sailor. “Show the way to your master’s house, and keep that talking box of yours shut up, or—”
May made an offer at the black as if to bring the butt of the musket he carried down upon his toes, and accompanied it with so meaning a look that the guide’s eyes opened widely and he was in the act of making a dash sidewise into the cane brake at the side, but the sailor’s free hand came down upon the fellow’s shoulder with a loud clap.
“Ah, would you!” he cried. “None of that! Bullets run faster than legs, my lad.”
“That will do, May,” cried the lieutenant; “but mind he does not slip through your fingers.”
“No, sir; right, sir,” said the sailor, keeping a firm grip upon the black’s shoulder and seeming to steer him in and out along the windings of the rough track, while the boat’s crew and officers followed behind.
“The black fellow disgusted me, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant, turning a glance at the lads. “Jack in office generally proves to be the worst tyrant.”
The distance from the creek proved far greater than the officers expected, and they threaded the forest for hours before they came upon cultivated plantations dotted with black figures hard at work, and evidently superintended by men of the same type as the guide, who moved forward quietly and quite cowed by the stern-looking seaman who had him in custody, and who at last stopped short pointing at a long, low, well-built house half hidden amongst the trees and beautiful enough to raise an exclamation from Murray.
“Yes, the place looks beautiful enough,” said the lieutenant, “but I’m afraid its beauty depends upon the supply of poor wretches who are forced to labour beneath the burning sun with the lash as a stimulus whenever they show signs of slackening. Oh, here we are,” continued the speaker. “Is this the redoubtable Mr Huggins?”
“No, sir; I should say it would be Mr Allen,” replied Murray.
“Yes, you must be right, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant. “He looks more like a sick man than the owner of a slave plantation.”
For a quiet, subdued-looking individual in white cotton garments had stepped out of a wide window with green painted open jalousies, to take off his Panama straw hat and stand screening his eyes with his hand.
The next minute the officer had halted his men in front of the place, and May touched his hat.
“Let the prisoner go, sir?”
“Yes: we can find our way back;” and as the sailor slackened his grasp and gave his head a jerk in the direction of the well-tilled fields, the black made a bound and dashed off, turning sharply before reaching the edge of the trees which backed up the house and seemed to shelter a range of buildings, to raise his hoe and shake it threateningly at the sailor.
“That man ought not to behave in this way,” said the gentleman who had stepped out. “Has he been insolent to you, sir?”
“More unpleasant than insolent,” replied the lieutenant. “I have required him for a guide to find your house, sir.”
“Ah!” said the former speaker slowly, as he looked slowly round. “You are an officer from one of the King’s ships?”
“Yes, sir; exactly so,” replied the gentleman addressed.
“And I presume that your ship is off the island. Can I be of any service to you?”
“Well, yes,” said Mr Anderson, “by giving me the information I am seeking.”
“I shall be glad to do so, sir, of course. May I ask what you require?”
“Information about the slaving that is carried on here. I see you employ many slaves.”
The stranger winced slightly, and then bowed his head.
“Yes,” he said; “I have a large tract of cultivated land here in sugar, cotton and a little coffee, but I have a right to employ slave labour after the fashion of many of my fellow-countrymen.”
“No doubt, sir,” said the lieutenant firmly, while the two midshipmen and the boat’s crew stood listening and looking on—“slaves born upon your estate.”
The owner of the plantation winced again, and then in a nervous hesitating way continued—
“I have employed slave labour for many years now, sir, and I hope with humanity and quite in accordance with the law.”
“I am sorry to say, sir,” said the lieutenant, “that my captain has been otherwise informed. He has been given to understand that at this plantation and in connection herewith a regular trade in the unfortunate blacks is systematically carried on.”
“Do I understand, sir,” said the planter, in the same low hesitating fashion, “that you are connected with one of the King’s ships whose object is to suppress the slave-trade?”
“Yes, sir; that is quite right.”
“Will you step in, sir?” said the planter. “You are heated with your walk in the hot sun, and your men must need refreshment.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and said gravely, “I am here, sir, to do my duty.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” said the planter; “and I beg you will not think that I am trying to bribe you in any way. I am not surprised at this visit. I have expected it for years. I am sorry, sir, but I must own it: I am not my own master.”
At this moment another figure appeared upon the scene in the shape of a little thin yellow-complexioned man, dressed like the planter in white cotton, and wearing a similar hat of Panama make. He stepped out of the French window where the late speaker had appeared, but with a quick, eager movement, and as he stood glancing sharply round the lieutenant and the midshipmen simultaneously gave a start which seemed to be communicated to the whole of the party, and with a thrill of excitement running through him Murray whispered sharply—
“Our friend the Yankee, Dick!”
“Yes,” whispered back that individual, “and we’re going to hold him tight.”
As for the lieutenant, he took a couple of steps forward, and exclaimed in a sarcastic tone of voice—
“How do, sir! I think we have met before.”
Chapter Twenty Two.
The Overseer.
The American turned quickly at the officer’s words, and looked at him curiously.
“Met?” he said, without the slightest sign of recognition. “Very like, sirr,” he added, in a peculiar drawl; “where was it?”
“You do not seem to remember,” said the lieutenant. “Let me refresh your memory: a few weeks back, off the coast of Africa.”
The man half-closed his eyes and stared hard at the first lieutenant and then at the two middies in turn.
“Last year, yew mean, squire?” he said. “No: don’t seem to know you again.”
“Then I shall have to refresh your memory a little more. Mr Murray,” continued the officer, “who do you say this man is?”
“The indiarubber planter, sir, who played us that trick.”
The man turned sharply upon the lad.
“And who do you say he is, Mr Roberts?”
“The skipper of the lugger, sir, who guided us up the African river.”
“There,” said the lieutenant; “will that do for you?”
“I guess I don’t know what you are talking about, mister,” said the man sharply. “You said something about a trick. Is this some trick of yours?”
“Why, confound your impudence, sir!” cried the lieutenant hotly. “How dare you speak like this to a King’s officer!”
“Don’t get in a fuss, mister,” said the Yankee coolly. “We don’t deal in King’s officers here, and don’t want to. Here, Mr Allen, you’re an Englishman; these people are more in your way. What do they want?”
“It is the lieutenant of a ship that has cast anchor here, Huggins,” said the gentleman addressed agitatedly. “It is about the slaves.”
“Eh? About the slaves? Our slaves—your slaves? Well, what about ’em?”
“Yes; about the slaves we have here. You understand?”
“Not me! Not a bit. He’s been talking to you, has he?”
“Yes—yes.”
“Well, then, you’d better finish the business. Tell him I don’t want to trade any away. We’ve got no more than will get in the crops.”
“Speak to him,” said the other, who seemed to grow more nervous and agitated.
“Oh, very well. Look here, mister; you’ve come to the wrong shop. I don’t understand what you mean by making believe to know me, but I don’t know you, and I’m not going to trade in blacks with any British ship. Understand?”
“Understand, sir?” cried the lieutenant, who was growing scarlet with heat and wrath. “It seems to me that you do not understand. Pray, who are you?”
“Business man and overseer of this plantation for my friend here, Mr James Allen, who trusts me to carry on his affairs for him, being a sick man just getting over a fever. There, I don’t want to be surly to an English officer, though I never found one civil to me. You’ve dropped anchor off here, and I suppose you want water. Well, if you do I’ll put a gang of my slaves on to help your men fill their casks.”
“I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir,” said the lieutenant sarcastically.
“Wal, that’s spoke better,” said the American. “And if you want some fresh meat and vegetables you can have a boat-load or two if you like to pay for ’em with a chest or so of tea. You’d like a few bottles o’ port wine, too, for your complaint, wouldn’t you, Allen?” he continued, turning to the pale, nervous man at his side.
“Yes—yes,” faltered the poor fellow.
“Really, you are too condescending,” cried the lieutenant. “Mr Roberts—Mr Murray—did you ever hear the like of this? Here, May—Titely—what do you say to this American gentleman?”
Tom May took off his straw hat and gave his curly hair a rake with his fingers, while Titely stared with all his might.
“It caps me, sir,” said the latter, while Tom May looked at the American, then at the two middies in turn, and shook his head.
“Well, sir, why don’t you speak?” cried his officer angrily.
“’Cause it’s such a rum un, sir.”
“Bah! Speak out, man, and don’t hesitate. You remember seeing this man before?”
“Well, sir, I seem to ha’ seen him afore, and then I don’t seem, and get kind o’ mixed up. Sometimes it looks like him and sometimes it don’t look like him, sir. Beg your pardon, sir, but would you mind asking my messmate here—Titely?”
“Bah, man! The sun has made you giddy.”
“Well, skipper, when you like I’m ready for an answer. Want the water and fresh vittles?”
“My dear Huggins,” said the trembling owner of the place, “it would be far better if you explained to the King’s officer—”
“You leave me and the King’s officer alone, James Allen,” said the American sturdily.
“But I’m sure—” whispered the planter.
“So’m I. You keep your tongue between your teeth, and I dessay we can settle matters. Look here, Mr Officer, I’m boss of all the business here, and you needn’t take no notice of this gentleman. I telled you that Mr Allen has been in bed with fever, and it’s left him, as you see, very shaky upon his legs. Your coming has upset him and made him a bit nervous. Here, I’ll put in a word for him, poor chap. Jes’ you ask your skipper to give him a small bottle o’ quinine. You won’t want paying for that, being charity.”
The lieutenant turned his back upon the speaker angrily, and spoke to the feeble-looking planter.
“Look here, sir,” he cried, “you are nominally owner of this plantation and the slaves upon it.”
“Now, look here, mister,” said the American angrily; “I spoke civil to you, and I offered to help you and your ship with what you wanted in the way of fresh meat and vegetables. What’s the good of returning stones for stuff?”
“My good fellow, will you be silent,” cried the lieutenant, “and let me deal with your master?”
“My master!” snarled the American. “I am my own master, sirr. I tell you I’m boss of all this here show, and if I like to turn nasty—”
“My dear Huggins—” interposed the planter.
“Shut your mouth, you old fool,” growled the American, “and don’t interfere.”
“Why, you insulting scoundrel!” roared the lieutenant. “Here, Mr Allen—that is your name, I believe?—you had better leave this matter in my hands, and I will settle it.”
The American stood listening with his eyes half closed and a peculiarly ugly look upon his countenance, while the planter made a deprecating sign with his hands.
“I see very plainly, sir,” continued the lieutenant, “that this insolent Yankee is presuming upon your weak state of health and assuming a power that he cannot maintain. You have been placing yourself in a position in which it would be better to—”
“Now see here, stranger,” burst in the American, “I’m a man who can stand a deal, but you can go too far. You come swaggering here with a boat-load of your men and think that you’re going to frighten me, sirr—but you’re just about wrong, for if I like to call up my men they’d bundle you and your lot back into your boat—for I suppose you have got one.”
“Look here, sir,” said the lieutenant, as he caught the flashing eyes of the two middies and the fidgety movements of his men, “I am loth to treat an American with harshness, but take this as a warning; if you insult your master and me again I’ll have you put in irons.”
“What!” cried the man, with a contemptuous laugh. “You’d better!”
The lieutenant started slightly, and that movement seemed to tighten up the nerves of his men.
“Can’t you understand, sirr, that if I like to hold back you’ll get no provisions or water here?”
“Confound your supplies, sir! And look here, if I must deal with you let me tell you that I have good reason to believe that under the pretence of acting as a planter here, you are carrying on a regular trade in slaves with the vile chiefs of the West Coast of Africa.”
“I don’t care what you believe, mister,” said the American defiantly. “I am working this plantation and producing sugar, coffee and cotton—honest goods, mister, and straightforward merchandise. Who are you, I should like to know, as comes bullying and insulting me about the tools I use for my projuce!”
“You soon shall know, sir,” said the lieutenant, and he just glanced at the pale, trembling man, who had sunk into a cane chair, in which he lay back to begin wiping his streaming brow—“I am an officer of his Britannic Majesty’s sloop of war Seafowl, sent to clear the seas of the miscreants who, worse than murderers, are trading in the wretched prisoners of war who are sold to them by the African chiefs.”
“Don’t get up too much of it, Mr Officer,” said the American, deliberately taking out a very large black cigar from his breast pocket and thrusting it between his lips, before dropping into another cane chair and clapping his hands; “this here ain’t a theayter, and you ain’t acting. That there’s very pretty about his Britannic Majesty’s sloop of war. Look here, sirr; bother his Britannic Majesty!”
At these last words a thrill of rage seemed to run through the line of sailors, and they stood waiting for an order which did not come, for the lieutenant only smiled at the American’s insolent bravado and waited before interfering with him to hear what more he had to say.
“It sounds very lively and high faluting about your sweeping the high seas of miscreants, as you call ’em, and all that other stuff as you keep on hunting up with African chiefs and such like; but what’s that got to do with an invalid English gentleman as invests his money in sugar, coffee and cotton, and what has it to do with his trusted Aymurrican experienced planter as looks after his black farm hands, eh?”
“Only this, sir,” said the lieutenant, “that if he or they are proved to be mixed up with this horrible nefarious trade they will be answerable to one of the British courts of law, their mart will be destroyed, and their vessels engaged in the trade will become prizes to his Majesty’s cruiser.”
“Say, mister,” said the American coolly—and then to a shivering black who had come out of the house bearing a coarse yellow wax candle which he tried to shelter between his hands, evidently in dread lest it should become extinct,—“Take care, you black cuss, or you’ll have it out!”
Murray heard the poor fellow utter a sigh of relief, but he did not even wince, only stood motionless as his tyrant took the wax taper, held it to his cigar till it burned well, and then extinguished it by placing the little wick against the black man’s bare arm, before pitching the wax to the man, who caught it and hurried away.
“Say, mister,” said the overseer again, “don’t you think you fire off a little too much of your Britannic Majesty and your King George fireworks?”
“Go on, sir,” said the lieutenant, biting his lip. “Yes, that’s what I’m going to do,” continued the man coolly. “What’s all this here got to do with a free-born Aymurrican citizen?”
“Only this, sir, that your so-called American citizen will have no protection from a great country for such a nefarious transaction.”
“There you go again, mister! That’s I don’t know how many times you’ve let off that there prize word of yours, neefarious. There, don’t bluff, sir; to use your old country word, them as plays at bowls must expeck rubbers. No, no, no, don’t you begin ordering your fellows to meddle with me, because I’m rather nasty when I’m interfered with, ’sides which I’ve got some one inside the house to take care of me if it was wanted, as you can see for yourself—twenty of ’em, boys who can use a rifle; and that’s what your chaps can’t do.”
In spite of himself the lieutenant started and raised his eyes, to become aware of the fact that some dozen or fourteen rifle barrels were protruding from the windows of the long low house, while others were being thrust from another building away to the right—a shed-like place that had been unnoticed before, through its covering of densely growing creepers.
“Don’t do that, youngsters,” said the American, with a sneering laugh; “they wouldn’t hurt anybody if you pulled ’em out, and some of my fellows indoors might take it as what you call a signal to draw their knives.”
“Trapped!” muttered the lieutenant to himself; but he did not wince, only stood thinking out to himself what would be his best course to pursue, and his musings were interrupted by the American, who lay back sending forth great puffs of smoke without a quiver visible in his face.
“Looks nasty, don’t it, Mr Officer?” said the man, in his long, slow drawl. “But don’t you be skeart; they won’t fire without I give the order or they see me hurt. Then I won’t answer for them. ’Tain’t because they’re so fond of me, youngsters,” he continued, with an ugly cat-like grin, “because they ain’t; but they’re afraid, and that’s a good deal better for me. And look here, they’re lying back there in the dark because I told ’em to, and you can’t see them; but they’re not niggers—oh no! You can’t trust niggers to fight. Your Jack Tars there would send a hundred of ’em running. Niggers are good field hands, and my chaps are bad at that, but they can fight, and so I tell you. Now, skipper,” he continued, turning quietly to the lieutenant, who was pressing his lower lip hard between his teeth, “I think we understand one another now, and that you see I didn’t put up any bunkum when I telled you that I was boss of this show. So you let me alone, and I’ll let you.”
“Sir,” said the lieutenant firmly, “I give you fair warning that if harm happens to a man of my party my captain will land a force that will burn this place to the ground.”
“Very kind of him, too,” said the man grimly, “but he won’t, because he mustn’t. You don’t seem to savvy, skipper, that you ain’t at home here. Do you know, sir, where you are?”
“Yes, sir; on the shores of one of his Majesty’s West Indian Islands.”
“I thought so, squire; well, then, you’re jest about wrong, and you’ve no more business here than if this here was Spain. I dessay you think you can hyste the British flag here, but I tell you that you can’t, for this here island is called South Baltimore, and whenever a flag is hysted here it’s the stars and stripes and the Aymurrican eagle, what some fellows call the goose and gridiron; and that’s so.”
“South Baltimore!” cried the lieutenant, who looked puzzled by the announcement. “And pray, sir, who gave the island that name?”
“I did,” said the Yankee drily. “Now then, will that do for you?”
“No, it will not do,” cried the lieutenant hotly. “My officer will need some far better explanation—one based upon greater authority than this—before he gives up the duty he has to fulfil.”
“Vurry well, sir, let him go and find a better explanation, then. It don’t trouble me. Only you had better march your men back aboard your schooner, or brig, or whatever you call it, before they get falling out with my fellows. You see yon men’s sailors like yours are, and my fellows may get upset by your chaps, for I always find that British sailors get a bit sarcy and quarrelsome when they come ashore, and no matter how quiet and patient the Aymurricans, they lay themselves out for a fight.”
“As in the present case, sir,” said the lieutenant sarcastically.
“Jes’ so, squire. So now you take my advice and march your chaps back again. You see how the land lies, and as I’ve said afore, I don’t want to ride rusty over your skipper. You’ve on’y got to send word ashore as you wants fresh provisions and water, and say as you’re ready to make a fair swap with a few things as we want, and there you are.”
The lieutenant stood frowning in silence, turning his eyes from the American to the feeble-looking planter, and from him to the two middies and his men, in each case finding that he was being watched eagerly, every eye seeming to ask the same question—what are you going to do?—while on his part he felt the impossibility of responding.
For the responsibility he felt was almost maddening. It was plain enough that his men called upon him to resent the American planter’s insolence, and that if he did not do so at once, not only would the two lads and his men look upon his behaviour as cowardly and degrading to the British prestige, but the Yankee and his faintly seen scum of followers would treat the whole party with contempt.
It was a painful position, for the Yankee had plainly shown him the risks he ran. He would not have hesitated for a moment, in spite of the display of armed men ready to attack, for if he had felt free to act he would have chanced everything, depending as he felt he could upon his little party of thoroughly well-drilled able-bodied seamen, and boldly attacked at once; but he had to think of his captain and the great risk he ran of bringing him into difficulties and forcing him to answer for some international difficulty over the rights of the United States, which, if the American overseer was right, were sure to be jealously maintained.
It was hard to do, and Murray noticed a peculiar twitching about his officer’s lips as he turned at last to the smiling, sneering man, his first words showing his hearers how bitterly he felt his position and the necessity for obeying the teachings of the proverb that discretion is the better part of valour.
“Well, sir,” he said, in a cold, hard fashion, “I have heard all that you have to say. As to the correctness of your statement that we are not upon British soil, I must leave that to my superior’s judgment and decision, for certainly I cannot feel that it is my duty to proceed farther without drawing off my men and going back to lay the matter before Captain Kingsberry.”
“That’s right, Mr Lieutenant,” said the overseer. “Nothing like it. You always do that; when you find yourself in a tight corner, you get out of it as soon as you can.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” rang out in a harsh, discordant tone from somewhere inside the house, and this acted as the signal for a burst of jeering laughter which made the lieutenant wince and his face turn pale even to his lips, which he bit until they were white, while a low, dull murmur that sounded like the threatening premonitory growl of the British bulldog being pricked by an insult, ran through the group of sailors.
“Silence, there!” cried the lieutenant, in a choking voice; and the murmur died away.
“That’s right, Mr Officer,” said the American. “Yew always drop on to your fellows sharply when they show signs of mutiny. I allus do. And you within there, none of that row. Quiet, do you hear?”
There was another low mocking laugh, but the American paid no heed, only went on talking at Mr Anderson.
“That was very good of you, squire, but while you’re about it if I were you I’d just say a word or two to them two bantam-cock-like boys of officers of yours, who keep on sneering like at my men and setting their backs up. You don’t mean it, of course, being ready to do what’s right. So you give ’em a good talking to when you get ’em back safe aboard. You’d best do it, for if them puppies keep on that how they may make my chaps wild. Now just look at that!”
For the two midshipmen had been growing warmer for some minutes past as they listened to the American’s insulting language, and at last, hot with annoyance, Murray, unable to contain himself and forgetting discipline, clapped his hand upon his side-arms and took a step forward, his eyes flashing with boyish anger, and exclaimed—
“Do you mean that insulting language for me, sir?”
Perhaps there was something in the lad’s manner, as in that of Roberts’, who immediately followed his example, or maybe the overseer’s men were only waiting for an opportunity to be aggressive. At any rate, they seized upon the opportunity to burst out into a derisive laugh.
“Quiet! Steady, my lads!” cried the lieutenant fiercely.
“But, sir—” began Murray hotly.
“Silence, sir!” roared his officer; and then what happened was too much for him, for a dark shadow came from somewhere amongst the trees, a shadow-like something which described a curve and struck the speaker full in the chest, and fell to the ground in the shape of a great unhusked cocoanut.
In an instant the lieutenant’s hand flew to his sword, but he checked himself. His act, though, had its effect, for there was a yell of laughter, and the one great nut was followed by a shower, two of which half drove the two young officers mad as they struck heavily, the rest having effect amongst the sailors, who with one impulse fell into line and presented arms.
There was another yell of laughter, and the overseer sprang up from his cane chair.
“That’ll do!” he shouted; but he made no effort further to check his men, but dashed in through one of the open windows of the house, just as from another came the sharp flash and puff of smoke from a rifle, followed by a ragged volley from the creeper-covered building that lay farther back.
This was answered by a fierce British cheer and a rush on the part of the sailors, who either carried their officers with them or were led—no one afterwards seemed to know—but in almost less time than it takes to describe, the little party of sailors swept through the plantation house from front to back, driving its defenders before them, and without firing a shot till a few desultory rifle-shots began to spatter from the thick patch of tropic forest which sheltered the back of the attractive dwelling. Then, and then only, three or four volleys silenced the enemy’s fire, and it was evident that the overseer and his men had now fled, taking with them the planter, if he had not retreated by his own efforts, for he was nowhere visible. Then all was silence as soon as the rustling and crackling of cane and the heavy shaddock-like foliage had ceased.