CHAPTER III.

UNPLEASANT NEWS.

Our voyage to the West Coast was unchequered by any incident. We ran past Madeira and Teneriffe, and sighting Cape Verde and Sierra Leone, we first anchored off Solymah, a place on the African coast, where my father left some goods on trust, the country produce in payment for which was to be ready for us on our return. The chiefs with whom he traded, he said, could be thoroughly relied on, though they also had many dealings with slave-traders. The next place off which we anchored was Cape Mount, where Captain Caillaud, a notorious slave-trader, had his head-quarters, and where our appearance at first caused a scare on board two Spanish schooners which were lying there, and which, as soon as we hove in sight, made sail and got under way. But when they saw that we did not chase them, they lay-to in the offing; and signals being made to them from Caillaud’s barracoons that we were not to be feared, they returned to the anchorage and came-to alongside of us.

I was very much excited at seeing real slavers, and examined them long and closely through my spy-glass. They were both most beautiful craft, long and low; and though their black hulls were unrelieved by any stripe or colour, they were most carefully kept, and their masts, spars, and sails were in perfect order. To look at them one would have thought that, instead of being devoted to that most detestable trade in human beings, they were the floating homes of some enthusiastic yachtsmen.

As I was watching them, I saw the one nearest to us lower a gig, which, when it was manned, came alongside of us. A man dressed in a striped shirt and white trousers, with a scarlet silk sash round his waist, in which were a brace of pistols and a long dagger, came up on deck, and in broken English asked to speak with our captain. My father asked what he might want, and he said he had been sent to inquire if we could supply them with any stores for their cabin, for which he would pay in Spanish doubloons. At first my father said that he did not wish to have any dealings with people engaged in the slave-trade; but the Spaniard told him that it was a question of must, for if he did not let them have what was wanted willingly, in which case he would be paid, and paid handsomely, the Santa Maria, as his vessel was called, and her consort the Santiago were quite strong enough to help themselves.

My father saw that there was nothing for it but to make the best of a bad bargain; and while he was talking to his unwelcome visitor, Mr. Pentlea, who had been forward on the forecastle attending to some work, came aft, and we were all astonished to find that he was recognized by the Spaniard, who at once addressed him in Spanish, and to whom he replied in the same language.

“Hallo, Mr. Pentlea,” said my father. “Do you know this person; and can you talk Spanish?”

“Yes, sir. For some time I was on board an American schooner which traded between New Orleans and Mobile and Cuba, and Spanish was necessary to us; and Senhor Camacho here I often met at the Havana and Santiago de Cuba. But then he was in an honest craft, and had nothing to do with slaving.”

“Very well. I do not like to have anything to do with people in the slave-trade, but this is a case of necessity; so, as you understand his lingo, will you find out what he wants, and we will get through with the business as soon as may be.”

Camacho and Pentlea had a long conversation, and the latter took down a list of the articles which the slavers required; and as we could spare them without difficulty, orders were at once given for the hold to be opened and to get them on deck.

I went down with Jack Adams to assist in slinging some of the casks and bales that had to come up; and when he was down below, he said to me, so as not to be overheard by anybody,—

“I knows as how it ain’t my place to remark on an officer, but that Jack Spaniard talking to the mate ain’t after no good; and though I can’t manage to parleyvoo in Spanish, I haven’t been in the West Indies and South America for nothing, and I can manage to get the bearings of a word now and again, and I’m sartain sure that all that palaver that those two has been having was not all about these here stores. As far as I could fix it, he was asking how this craft of ours sails, and what ports we were bound for. In course these questions were no more than one friend might ask another; but there were no need for the Spaniard to write ’em down as he did, and I’m out of my reckonings altogether if Mr. Pentlea and the Spaniard don’t know more of each other than they says.”

“What do you suppose they want? Do you think the slavers will attack us? Why, our carronades would beat them off easy.”

“No; Caillaud here won’t allow no piracy near his head-quarters. He slaves surely, but in all other matters he is an honest gentleman. But, bless you, they schooners carries a long eighteen or maybe a thirty-two pounder, and they could keep to windward out of range of our guns, and just do what they like. I don’t suppose they want to put their necks in a noose; but trouble they may give us, and it’s my opinion they means to do it.”

“What can we do?”

“Why, nothing much; but just you tell your father to keep his weather eye lifting, and not trust Mr. Pentlea too much.”

“Very well; I will do so.”

We soon had the required stores ready, and Camacho returned with a boat to take them away, and with the promised doubloons he paid the prices asked without any bargaining. At the same time messages came from the shore which decided my father not to have any trade at Cape Mount; and he gave orders to prepare to get under way to proceed to Cape Palmas. There he intended to ship the Kruboys who are always taken on board ships trading on the West Coast of Africa, to work the surf-boats and do all work which would expose the white men of the crew to the sun and night-dews, and thus risk their health and lives.

We hove short by sunset, and set the topsails. The land-breeze coming off soon after midnight, we weighed and steered eastward, keeping sufficiently far off the shore to avoid the dangers. When the sun rose we could see the tree-clad line of coast with the surf beating on it, diversified by the native villages and the more pretentious towns of the Liberian Republic. The land-breeze had now died away, and we were drifting along with the east-going current; but soon after ten o’clock the sea-breeze began to set in, and we were soon running along about seven knots, with all plain sail and the starboard fore-topmast studding-sail set.

When the sail was made and trimmed, my father called me to come under the monkey-poop for my

daily lesson in navigation; and I was able to tell him what Jack Adams had said to me the day before about Mr. Pentlea and Camacho. At first he laughed, and said that Jack Adams was a suspicious old sea-dog; but just as he was saying this, Black Bill the cook came aft, under pretext of speaking to my father about killing a pig, but when he saw that there was no one within hearing distance he said,—

“Please, Capen Baldwin, me tink that Massa Pentlea bad man for true. What time me lib slave-ship, dat Camacho he be one ossifer, and he be bery bad; and now when me catch see him and Massa Pentlea make palaver, me tink one, two times, and den me remember dat Massa Pentlea he lib for come aboard slave-ship plenty time what time we lib in river where me bought.”

“Nonsense, man,” said my father; “you are dreaming. Do you mean Mr. Pentlea was a slaver?”

“Me no sabey for true; but when we lib Bristol, and Massa Pentlea come aboard, me tink me see dat man before; but though me tink plenty much no catch sabey where me see him, and so me no peak; but now me remember he plenty time come on board slaver.”

“Very well. Bill. Have you told any one about this?”

“No, sah; me tink only good tell capen. ’Spose tell all men, dey make plenty palaver; and quick one time Massa Pentlea catch sabey me sabey him.”

“That’s right. Bill; don’t you tell any one.—And, Frank, mind not a word to any one about this, not even to Willie, for I will tell him myself.—Yes, Bill, you can kill the pig. I daresay we shall see some Bristol craft to-day, and they will be glad of a fresh bit of English pork.”

Bill went away, and soon we heard the screams of the pig having its throat cut; and my father told me that my lesson for the day was over, and that I was to tell Mr. Pentlea that he wanted him. I ran and did as I was told; and then, having put away my books, I climbed up to the fore-topmast cross-trees to look at the land as we were running past it, and at the fishing-canoes and small country sailing-boats, many of which were quite close to us. The native villages with their round thatched huts, and the people on the strip of yellow beach, I could easily make out through my telescope; and after a little I observed the masts and yards of some vessels at anchor, and hailed Willie, who was in charge of the deck, to tell him.

When we drew near, we made out that they were Bristol traders like ourselves. We took in the topmast studding-sail and royals, and hauling up the courses, hove-to just to windward of the first of them. Soon her captain was on board, and glad to get a budget of letters and a leg of the pig Black Bill had killed; and then, when he had in return told my father the news of the coast, we filled again and stood on to the next, and for the whole afternoon we were passing by and communicating with Bristol traders, at that time entirely dependent for news of the world on the arrival of one of their own number from Europe, except when occasionally one of the squadron engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade had later news than they themselves.

To me it was intensely interesting to see all the brigs, barques, and ships lying at anchor, with their awnings spread, and the boats belonging to them manned by Kruboys, naked, except for a scanty cloth round their waists, and to hear them chattering in their Kru English, which every one speaks to them, and which, though it may not conform to the rules of Lindley Murray, has the advantage of being expressive, forcible, and easy of comprehension.

At last we had nearly finished our mail-distributing for the day, when we saw, about four miles ahead of us, a large ship flying a signal for us to speak with her.

We hove-to about a quarter of a mile to windward, and her boat came alongside of us just before we drifted down abreast; and in her there was no white man, but only Kruboys. One of them, scrambling up the side, came to my father and said,—

“Please, sah, bring book from capen ob Empress. All white man lib for be sick, and two, tree lib for die. No catch medicine plenty soon, all man die.”

My father tore open the letter, which was written by the master of the ship Empress of Liverpool, and which said that all the white men on board were down with fever, and that only the day before two had died, and he begged for some medicine to be sent, so that those who survived might have a chance for their lives.

My father gave the word to fill and reach up close to the Empress, and shortening sail, anchored a short distance to windward of her. Then having selected such medicines as might be useful, he went on board the Empress to see what he could do for the fever-stricken crew.

He came back in an hour and said he had found that the captain and officers were new to the coast, and had neglected many precautions, but that, as there were enough Krumen on board to work the ship properly, he had advised the captain to get under way and beat slowly to windward, which would soon blow the fever out of the ship. The bark and quinine he had been able to leave with them would, he had no doubt, set most of her English crew on their feet again.

As soon as he came on board he gave orders to weigh and make sail; and then leaving Mr. Pentlea in charge of the deck, he told Willie and myself to come into the cabin, as he wished to speak with us about what he had seen on board the Empress.

As soon as we were in the cabin he said, “My boys, I wish now at once, while it is fresh in my mind, to tell you of the state of that ship, and how it could have been avoided. Her captain is a smart young fellow, but he has never been on this coast before, and he thought that he could manage here as he had done in other parts of the world, and has not followed out the rules laid down for him by his owners. When his men got down and dispirited from the climate and fever, he thought he would pull them up by giving them more rum than the usual allowance, and the consequences have been fatal.”

Having said this, our father gave us a regular lecture on keeping the ship and men clean, avoiding chills and night-dews, and opened out to us all the knowledge he had gained during an experience of the West Coast of Africa of over thirty years. When he had finished this he said: “I have other and perhaps more immediately important matters to speak to you about. Frank knows something of it, for he told me what Jack Adams said to him on the subject, and was also here when Black Bill told me that he had seen the mate on board the ship in which he was taken from his native country. I am afraid that we shall have to watch Mr. Pentlea very carefully; for though I did not think much of what Jack Adams said, and even if Black Bill had seen him on board the slaver it might have happened without much loss of character to him—for I am sorry to say many of our traders do not mind having dealings with the Spaniards and Portuguese who form the crews of most of the slavers—still I am now afraid that he has actually been a slaver himself. For the captain of the Empress, who recognized him through his glass, said that the reason he left Liverpool and did not get a ship there was that though he had done very well in the British Queen, there were stories afloat about him with regard to his having been a regular slaver before he sailed in her; indeed, even whilst he was in her he was supposed to have been in communication with some of his old companions, and to have furnished them with information as to the whereabouts of British men-of-war, and otherwise to have made himself useful to them. Now I cannot say that there is any truth in this, but as we shall visit some very little frequented places where usually the only vessels seen are slavers, he may play us some trick with them, and we must watch him very closely. I can’t get rid of him now—and even if I could, I have no one to take his place—so you must both help me to watch him carefully. Mind, you must neither of you say a word of this to any one—not even to Jack Adams or Black Bill.”

“All right, father,” we both answered at once; and then saying good-night, we went off to our berths to turn in for the night.

CHAPTER IV.

ROBBERY AND DESERTION.

At first they overran the whole upper deck, shouting and bawling and finding out their old friends among the crew, and begging odds and ends from Black Bill in the galley. On my father recognizing one of the men who had sailed with him before, he called to him and asked where his old head-man Frying Pan was.

“Frying Pan, sah, lib for make country; yam time, sah.”

“What for he go country when Petrel come?”

“Oh, he no sabey Petrel lib for come; but one, two hour he catch.”

“Yes, one, two hour, and all men make plenty bobbery.”

“Me sabey you no like bobbery plenty much. S’pose you make sure Frying Pan head-man one time, me make bobbery plenty quiet.”

“What, you. Bottle of Beer! they won’t listen to you.”

“Plenty true, sah, Bottle of Beer picaninny no sabey stop bobbery; but Frying Pan brother, Flying Jib, him lib and be head-man for true: he make palaver plenty strong—bobbery stop one time.”

“Very well; call Flying Jib. Where is he?”

“He lib for canoe,” answered Bottle of Beer; and jumping overboard, he swam to a canoe in which a tall Kruman was sitting, being paddled by two others.

As soon as Bottle of Beer told this man, who was Flying Jib, that he was wanted, he put his canoe alongside, and springing into the main chains, clambered over the nettings, and coming to where my father was standing, pulled off a very dilapidated tall hat, which was his only article of clothing besides a handkerchief round his waist, and said,—

“Marnin, capen; what you wish?”

“Why your brother no lib for come? You sabey I no like bobbery in my ship. Plenty boy make bobbery.”

“Frying Pan lib for him small country, catch yam. One time see capen flag, me send boy, run tell him Petrel libs.”

“All right; now tell those fellows to be quiet. Clear out all but your own and Frying Pan’s men.”

“All right, sah,” said Flying Jib; and with Bottle of Beer and some other men whom he called to him, they drove the majority of the Kruboys overboard, where they soon regained their canoes and paddled after the brig until she came to an anchor.

Flying Jib’s boys now furled sails, squared yards, and coiled down ropes; and just as they were finished Frying Pan himself came off. He had dressed himself somewhat for his appearance on board the Petrel, and had on a tall hat ornamented with peacock’s feathers, a sailor’s shirt and trousers, and round his neck a brass chain, from which hung a plate on which was engraved, “Frying Pan, Captain Baldwin’s head Kruman,” and of which he seemed very proud.

“How now, Frying Pan?” said my father; “why you no be here one time when ship come?”

“Sorry, sah, but lib for small country; now catch tree wive, and he make plant yam.”

“All right now; make your boys fall in and I will see whom we will take.”

“Bery good; see two surf-boat lib. He want ten men for each and one bosun—dat be two tens and two bosuns; now for work hold ten men—dat be tree ten; and want tree cook.”

“Yes, I want thirty men, and you can have two bosuns; but you must make the men cook for themselves.”

“Bery good.—Here, Fore-topsl, you catch ten men; Billy Barlow, you catch ten; and me catch ten myself.”

Soon Frying Pan, with his two “bosuns,” had the thirty men required ranged on the quarter-deck; and my father told me to write all their names down after he had inspected them and seen that none of them were suffering from guinea-worm or any other illness.

My list of names, as might be expected from those we have already heard, was a curious one. Among them there were Fore-topsail and Billy Barlow, the two “bosuns” as they were called, who were to be coxswains of the surf-boats, our old acquaintance Bottle of Beer, Two Glass, Billy Duff, Liverpool Jack, Bristol Tom, Sunday, Mexican Joe, and Little Billy, the last being over six feet in height. As soon as they were entered they turned to work at once; and Flying Jib, having received a “dash” or present and a glass of grog, left the ship.

The two surf-boats were got out and hoisted up to davits which were shipped for them. On either side of the waist and awning ridge ropes were rove and awnings spread, and the Petrel assumed her regular African appearance, derricks being got up over the fore and main hatches for getting cargo in and out, while Frying Pan’s own canoe was lashed under the main-chains.

The Kruboys had a cooking place made for them out of a large shallow box full of sand, in which they could light a fire to boil their rations of rice, which formed their principal food, and which was supplemented by biscuits and small quantities of salt fish and salt pork which had been shipped specially for their use.

As soon as all had shaken down and the Kruboys had been told off into their watches, we got under way again for Whydah, which was the next port we were to call at, and where we arrived without any incident worthy of notice.

The English portion of the crew were now principally employed in overhauling sails and other light and easy work. The only work connected with sailing the ship which now fell to their lot was taking the weather helm and heaving the lead, and in this latter duty the leadsman was assisted by a Kruman, who hauled in the lead for him after it had been hove.

Off Whydah we found four or five ships at anchor, and one of the brigs of the West African squadron. Soon after we anchored, my father went on shore in one of the surf-boats, steered by Fore-topsail, to see the agent in charge of the factory with which he was in the habit of doing business, while Willie and I were told to prepare the customs for the King of Dahomey, and the presents for the caboceers in charge of the beach at Whydah.

My father had not left the ship above half an hour before Mr. Pentlea ordered the other surf-boat to be manned, saying that he was going on shore too. This astonished Willie very much, as he knew that our father was very particular that the chief officer should not be on shore at the same time as himself; and he ventured to say as much to Mr. Pentlea, who told him that it was all right, and that he had something to do on shore for which he had received the captain’s permission.

Of course Willie could say nothing, and came back to me in the trade-room, where we had several bales open, selecting different kinds of cloth for the king and caboceers; and Jack Adams, who was busy with us, said,—

“I can’t fathom this nohow. I know Captain Baldwin would never give leave for the mate to be ashore, especially in a place like Whydah, when he is out of the ship himself.”

“Well, Jack,” said Willie, “what can I do? While the captain is out of the ship I must obey Mr. Pentlea’s orders.”

“That’s true; but you might send a note to the captain, sir.”

“Certainly, I can do that.”

Willie at once went to the cabin with the intention of writing a letter to our father; but Mr. Pentlea, seeing him going in, said, “What are you going into the cabin for? go and attend to your work;” and a few minutes afterwards he sent Willie and myself aloft to the fore and main topmast cross-trees to examine, as he said, the eyes of the topmast rigging.

While we were still aloft he got into the surf-boat, into which he had four bales of valuable cloth put, and shoved off; and from aloft both Willie and I could see that the boat was making for quite a different part of the beach from that where the factory to which our father had gone was situated.

As soon as he had left we both came down from aloft and went to the cabin, which we found locked. We sent for Warspite the steward, who said that on coming into the cabin to ask if Mr. Pentlea required anything before going on shore, he was told to go forward and mind his own business.

Willie and I were very much puzzled what to do, for evidently Mr. Pentlea had taken the key of the cabin with him, and wherever he was going he certainly was not going to see our father. In our dilemma, we called Jack Adams and Sam Peters to advise with us, and after some consideration we determined that I should go over the stern in a bowline, and through the stern-posts take a survey of the cabin. I could see, when I looked in, that all the doors of the berths were fastened, but that evidently the lockers round the stern had been overhauled and ransacked.

I tried to get in through a stern-port, but found that I was too big to manage it, and called to Willie to have me hauled up again; and when I was on the poop, I reported the results of my examination. We now thought that the best thing to do would be to break open the cabin door; and Sentall the carpenter bringing his tools, we soon effected an entrance, and found a scene of confusion which far surpassed what I had expected from my glimpse through the port.

All the drawers and lockers had been opened, and their contents were strown in all directions, and a chest in which my father kept his money and the ship’s papers had been emptied of its contents.

“How can I send to my father?” said Willie. “The blackguard has robbed us, and with both surf-boats away we cannot send ashore.”

“Surely, sir,” said Sam Peters, “you have Frying Pan’s canoe; he can take a piece of paper ashore in that.”

“Certainly, I had not thought of it; pass the word for Frying Pan.”

Frying Pan soon came, and seeing the state of the cabin, said,—

“Dat mate be bad tief man; me always tink him bad.”

“That may be, Frying Pan,” answered Willie; “but now I want you take book one time to captain.”

Frying Pan ran up on deck at once, and by the time Willie had written the letter (or book as the Krumen called it) his canoe was in the water, and with Bottle of Beer as his companion, he was ready to start to tell our father of the desertion of Simon and his stealing the contents of his chest.

We had caused a watch to be kept on Pentlea from the mast-heads, and the sharp eyes of the Kruboys who were intrusted with this duty made out that on landing he went straight up to a large factory flying the Portuguese flag, and that the surf-boat was hauled up and there were no signs of her coming off again.

As soon as Frying Pan had started we began to try to put things in order, and soon found that Pentlea had been malicious as well as a thief, for the ship’s chronometer and barometer were both broken; and we found that Camacho’s doubloons, as well as a considerable sum in English gold which my father had in the chest, had been taken.

“I suppose we shall be able to catch him,” I said.

“No, sir,” said Sam Peters; “that factory he has gone to is a regular slaving-shop, and he will be away to Lagos or Porto Novo before the captain can get the caboceers to look for him.”

“Well, what must we do, Willie?” I said.

“We can do nothing except get things as straight as we can, and then go on with what we were doing before the blackguard bolted. Look here; he has even broken open my desk and stolen my watch and what little money I had locked up!”

“He certainly made the most of his time; he can’t have had more than ten minutes to himself here.”

Warspite was told to get order restored in the cabin; and Willie and I returned to the trade-room, where we found that the four bales we had seen passed into the boat were composed of very costly silks which were intended specially for presents to big chiefs, and which had been brought there for us to select presents for the King of Dahomey and his caboceers.

Jack Adams and Sam Peters came down to us, and they said they thought we should have stopped Pentlea from leaving the ship. “But then,” they said, “he gave his orders, and no one could disobey him.”

“It’s no use crying over spilt milk,” said my brother. “I could not have gone against the mate’s orders, and none of us could know what he was doing in the cabin.”

While we were discussing the flight of Pentlea and sorting the cloths according to a list left for us by my father, Warspite came running into the trade-room, bringing with him a couple of small manuscript books which he said he had found in Pentlea’s berth, and which contained a number of entries about anchorages in the bights and oil rivers, and also about the Gaboon and Congo, with notes about the numbers of slaves shipped at different places.

“Why, the man is a regular slaver! See in this book there are names of ships and their captains. Why, there are all the vessels of the squadron—which are steamers, and which can sail best off and on a wind; and, hallo! here is a full description of the Petrel and a list of the places we are going to.”

I looked over Willie’s shoulder as he turned the leaves of the books over, and saw that evidently these were memoranda of what Pentlea had considered the capabilities of our brig, and among them he had noted that she might easily carry two hundred and fifty slaves.

“What! does he intend to take her?” I said.

“Never mind,” said Sam Peters, “forewarned is forearmed; and I don’t think that any Jack Spaniards of the lot will be able to take a Bristol brig manned by Bristol men.”

“Just you two keep this quiet,” said Willie to Peters and Adams; “and you, Warspite, if you say a word about it you’ll be sent to work with the Kruboys.”

Just as he said this the look-out men hailed that the captain was coming off, and we were very glad to think that he would soon be among us and able to judge for himself what should be done.

CHAPTER V.

A RUN ASHORE.

We soon told him of how Simon Pentlea had left, and the condition in which we had found the cabin when we broke into it. On looking round, he said that matters might have been much worse; for though the doubloons Camacho had given for the stores and some fifty pounds in English money had been stolen, the mate had not found out the place where he kept his greatest store of coin, nor yet where the corals and valuable beads worth five hundred pounds were kept. Altogether with the cloth and the money that had been taken the loss would amount to two hundred pounds. But the breaking of the chronometer and barometer was a serious matter, as he did not see how they could be replaced. As night was now coming on, we could not lodge a complaint with the caboceer of the beach before morning; and it was much to be feared Pentlea would have cleared out before then. As for obtaining any satisfaction from his slave-dealing friends, that was not to be expected at all.

As it was there was nothing to do but to put the cabin straight and wait for the morning. My father then went on shore again, and this time took me with him, as he said I could be useful to him in writing down the goods he was selling and the produce he was to receive for them.

I was delighted with the idea of a run ashore, and dressed myself in clean white clothes, and was going into the boat, when Fore-topsail, who was boatswain of the one we were going to land in, said, “Why, massa, s’pose water come in boat where white kit be.” I ran down again for my waterproof, which I was going to put on, but I was stopped by Willie, who said I should only put it over my shoulders, so that if the boat should capsize I should be clear of it at once.

We shoved off from the ship, the Kruboys sitting at the sides of the boat looking forward, and as they dashed their paddles into the water, striking up a wild song to which they kept time, Fore-topsail stood up aft and steered with an oar, giving them occasional bits of solo—I was going to say melody, but to an Englishman the vocalism of these fellows did not possess melody.

The boat creaked with the strain of the paddling, and seemed to fly over the glassy surface of the swell which was rolling in toward the beach, and I thought that in a minute or two more we should be on shore. Suddenly Fore-topsail ordered the men to be quiet, and my father said, “Now, my lad, sit as quiet as possible, and if the boat does capsize, mind the first thing you have to do is to get clear of her, and then trust yourself to the boys, and they will bring you safe on shore.”

This gave me the first real idea that I had had that crossing a surf was really dangerous. Though I had been told all sorts of yarns about boats capsizing and accidents in the surf, and had hoped, in the way that boys always do hope for adventures, that I might see something of the kind and be the hero of one, yet I had not thought that it was to come so soon. When I saw the huge rollers in front of us, and heard the roar of the surf as it dashed on the beach, I began then to wish that some one else might be the hero of a capsize instead of myself.

I sat quiet, as my father told me, and watched Fore-topsail, who carefully scanned the rollers coming in mountains high, and seeming as if they would swallow up our boat altogether. The men paddled gently along, and then suddenly began to back at a word from Fore-topsail, and when we were lifted up on the top of a great billow, they held their paddles out of the water, ready to paddle like mad at the right moment.

Before us was a great gulf, and we seemed to slide back on the shoulder of the wave that fell down in front of us with a surge and a crash. The men dashed their paddles into the water, and we were hurried along at railway speed, with foaming water flying all around us, and Fore-topsail straining at his oar to keep us straight. Little by little the flying water left us astern, and another huge billow rose threatening behind. We again backed to let it pass us before it began to curl over before breaking. In this we were successful, and again came a plunge and a dash and a hurrying along like a whirlwind. I entirely lost all idea of fear. The motion of boat and water, and the voices of the men urging each other to strain their muscles to the utmost, were most exhilarating. I could have wished that the lines of breakers through which we had to pass had been five times as numerous as they were, and I was sorry when at last we touched ground.

The moment the bow of the boat touched the beach the Kruboys, throwing their paddles overboard, jumped into the water, and seizing hold of the gunwale, ran us up high and dry on the beach out of the reach of the waves.

My father, who had watched me carefully during our passage through the breakers, said, “You’ll do, my boy. What do you think of an African beach now?”

“Why, father, it is lovely. I don’t know anything more delightful than flying in on the back of a wave as we did.”

“Yes, it’s delightful, certainly, but it’s dangerous. But now we must make haste to see if we can find anything of that fellow Pentlea.—You, Fore-topsail, tell four men to carry those things,” pointing to some packages of samples, “to Mr. Macarthy’s factory; and send two men to Billy Barlow and tell him to let his men bring his boat along the beach to where yours is, and come himself to me at the factory.”

The beach at Whydah was a curious sight to me. There were boats belonging to the different ships in the roads loading and discharging cargo; pigs and turkey-buzzards revelling in filth and garbage of all descriptions; gangs of slaves working under the orders of the officials of the king; Dahoman soldiers with flint-lock muskets, and men, black and white, mounted on little spirited ponies; the large factories of the European traders with their stockaded yards, those of the slave-dealers being distinguished by large barracoons attached to them; and the native town, which was a regular jumble of huts of all sorts and kinds, the houses of the caboceers and other great men standing up among them like line-of-battle ships among a lot of cock-boats. All made a picture very different from anything I had ever seen or dreamed of.

We soon reached Mr. Macarthy’s factory, and went up a flight of stairs into a wide veranda, where we found him dressed in a cool white suit, and employed in giving orders to some of his clerks, whom he dismissed as soon as he saw us.

“Good morning, Captain Baldwin; is this one of your sons?”

My father answered his salutation, and then asked him if he had any news of Pentlea.

“Not yet,” he said. “I have sent men to try to find out if they could get any news of him up at Souza’s factory, where he has gone; but they are a regular set of bad ones there, and would say anything. Why, not long ago they attacked my factory, and I had some trouble in beating them off; the caboceers have condemned them to pay me five puncheons of palm-oil, but I shall never get any of it. I have sent to the caboceers, and one will come here in the course of the day. Have you reported the case to the man-of-war?”

“Why no; what can they do?”

“Certainly they can’t land men to hunt for the thief; but the captain and some of his officers might perhaps be present at the palaver between you and the caboceer. It would make them promise more and ask less, though whether they will do any more I can’t say.”

“Very well; I will write a letter and send it off. What is the name of the captain and his ship?”

“She’s the Rover, and her captain’s name is Howard.”

“Very well; let me have paper, pen, and ink, and I will write at once, and Frank here shall take it off.”

“Why not go yourself?”

“I don’t want to lose a chance, and perhaps the caboceer may come while I am away.”

“Very good; only mind to apologize for not coming in person.”

“Certainly I will, and say the reason.”

The letter was soon finished, and Fore-topsail was ordered to take me off with it to H.M. brig Rover, sixteen guns.

I found going off against a surf a very different matter from landing through one, and though it is much safer, it is a far harder piece of work. There was none of the pleasurable sensation of flying along on the back of a wave that I had enjoyed so much in going ashore.

We got through without anything worse occurring than shipping a little water, and we were soon alongside of the Rover.

A sentry at the gangway hailed to know what I wanted, and when I answered that I had a letter for the captain, he told me to be sharp and come up with it, while a couple of man-ropes were paid down the side for my use. Seizing hold of them I ran up the side, and not forgetting, as I had been told, to touch my cap, I came on the quarter-deck.

I was astonished to see the cleanliness and neatness of everything, but had not much time to indulge my wonder, for a midshipman came to me and asked me what I wanted. I answered that I had brought a letter for the captain.

“Give it to me then,” he said, and taking it from me, and going up to an officer, who was walking on the starboard side of the quarter-deck, he touched his cap and gave it to him.

I thought at first that this was the captain; but he went down the after-ladder with it, and returned immediately, closely followed by Captain Howard, who was saluted by every one as he came on deck.

“Here, youngster,” Captain Howard called to me, “you come from the Petrel? Why didn’t your captain come on board himself?”

“Please, sir,” I answered, “I think my father wanted to find out all he could.”

“Oh, you’re the captain’s son, are you? Well, can you tell me what you know about this deserter—what’s his name—Pentlea?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Hammond the mate broke his leg, and Mr. Pentlea was shipped the evening before we sailed; and we none of us liked him, and he talks Spanish.”

“Talks Spanish, does he? How do you know that?”

“Why, sir, a Spaniard called Camacho came on board from a slaver at Cape Mount, and he knew him and spoke to him.”

“Indeed; and now he has stolen money and some bales of goods and gone to Souza’s factory. Very well.—Quartermaster, tell the first lieutenant I want him.”

The first lieutenant came at once, and Captain Howard said, “Here, Stannard, there’s that fellow Camacho up at Cape Mount, and we’re looking for him down here.—What craft had he, youngster?”

“There were two schooners, sir—the Santa Maria and Santiago!”

“Two! And what did you have to do with them?”

“They made us sell them some stores, sir.”

“Were the schooners full of slaves?”

“I don’t know, sir; I couldn’t see any.”

“Were their sides clean or dirty?”

“Oh, beautifully clean, sir. I thought they looked like yachts.”

“That’ll do; they hadn’t shipped them.—Stannard, I’ll go on shore and see what I can do for Captain Baldwin, and you get everything ready for sea. Hoist the boats up and heave short. I’ll go on shore in this youngster’s boat. Send to my clerk, Mr. Smith, that he’s to come with me.—Quartermaster, get my sword and waterproof.”

In almost less time than I can write we were in the surf-boat and paddling ashore; while on board the Rover the men were busy putting on chafing-mats, uncovering sails, and reeving anchor gear.

“I hope we shall meet that fellow Camacho; he has played us one or two smart tricks—eh, Mr. Smith?” said Captain Howard.

“Yes, sir, indeed he has,” answered the clerk, who did not at all relish the passage through the surf.

We were soon safe on shore, and made our way at once to Mr. Macarthy’s factory. We found Mr. Macarthy and my father waiting for us with some anxiety, as a message had come that the caboceer in charge of the beach was coming at once to make a palaver about Pentlea’s desertion and theft.

A large room on the ground floor of the factory was prepared at once, in which Captain Howard sat with my father and Mr. Macarthy on either hand, while Mr. Smith and myself sat behind them at a small table to take down any notes that it might be deemed advisable to make.

A sound of tom-toms, bells, and firing of guns announced the approach of the great man, who alighted from the litter in which he was carried, and coming into the room followed by his interpreter, umbrella-bearer, and some half-dozen men bearing swords of office, with hilts covered with gold, sat down opposite to Captain Howard.

The caboceer was dressed in an elaborately laced uniform coat, and had on his head a footman’s hat, with a gold band and cockade further adorned by a bunch of cock’s feathers. Round his waist was a handsome silk cloth, in which were stuck a couple of brace of silver-mounted pistols; and his legs were so covered with beads and bangles that he could hardly walk. Mr. Smith whispered to me that the most precious portion of all his dress or ornaments was a string of aggry beads which he wore round his neck.

Captain Howard, as soon as the ordinary and necessary compliments had passed, accompanied by the indispensable drinks of liquors and gin, without which no business can be transacted on the coast, opened the palaver, and told the caboceer that as his master, the King of Dahomey, was a friend of the Queen of England, it was his duty to give up all criminals escaping into his country, and shortly demanded that the caboceer should send at once to Souza’s factory and bring Pentlea down to us.

The caboceer made many excuses, and said that Souza was the subject of a friend of the king’s also, and that he could not go into his factory.

Captain Howard insisted, and at last, after a somewhat stormy discussion, the caboceer promised that if Pentlea could be found he would be brought down to us.

Drinks were again handed round, and the caboceer took his departure.

When he had gone Captain Howard said, “Well, gentlemen, I do not know that I can do much more for you. I must go at once to look after those schooners you met at Cape Mount; but in a day or two the Dragon, a paddle-wheel steamer, will be here, and her captain will take up your case. I should very much like to see this fellow Pentlea, for I believe he must be a man who is pretty well known and more wanted; for if he be the man I think, he has been a pirate as well as a slaver, and deserves hanging if ever a man did.”

I here spoke of the manuscript books which the steward had found in Pentlea s berth, and my father handed them to Captain Howard, who, looking over them, said, “It is even as I thought. If I could see my way, I would land my men and get him out of Souza’s factory dead or alive; but my orders are so strict that I dare not do it. Captain Baldwin, you will have to keep a good look-out, for he will not scruple to make himself master of your brig if he sees a chance. You can trust the remainder of your crew?”

“I believe so, Captain Howard; they are all Bristol men, and I have known them for a long time.”

“That’s all right; but mind you keep a good watch for any of those slavers, especially Senhor Camacho. He would do no harm to any one off Caillaud’s place, for the Frenchman, though a slaver, has his ideas of honour and honesty. If Camacho and this Pentlea, who is half a Spaniard, get together, there will be a couple of the greatest scoundrels unhung in company. Now I must be off; you will let your boat put me on board?”

“Certainly, sir. I’m much obliged to you for coming.”

“Well, I’m glad I’ve seen you. Mind when the Dragon comes in you go and see Captain Thompson. He will do what he can to make the caboceer move in this business.”

Captain Howard went off, and Mr. Macarthy and my father were soon busy about trade, while I was sent under the charge of a native clerk to have a look round the town.

I was much astonished at seeing some women walking about armed with muskets and great curved knives, and still more so when I was told that they were a part of the regular forces of the king of Dahomey, whose most trusted troops were women formed into regiments.

Another curious thing which the clerk took me to see was the house where the sacred snakes were kept. Here, in a hut standing in the middle of a courtyard, I saw hundreds of snakes, nearly if not all being a species of python, which seemed quite tame, and allowed themselves to be handled by the attendant priests with impunity. The priests had to be given rum for allowing us to look at their charges, and we had to buy fowls to throw to the snakes.

As it chanced, one of these fowls was a white cock with red hackles and tail feathers, and it was seized upon by the biggest of the snakes.

As soon as one of the priests saw this he ran at me and smeared a great stripe of some noisome compound down my face. I was about to shove him away and wipe the nasty stuff off, when my guide begged me to be quiet, for if we did anything to offend the fetichmen our lives would be forfeited. I remained as quiet as I could. Two more of the priests caught hold of my hands and began examining them; while the first pulled open my shirt, and seeing a mole on my breast pointed to it, and began chattering away in a most excited manner to his companions.

I asked the clerk what all this meant, and he said he could not tell, but that it was evidently nothing bad for me. After a time my tormentors, for so I deemed them, became quiet, and my companion managed to make out from them that I was a great fetichman, and that I would go far and see many things, and that