though I might pass through many dangers I would come safe out of them all at last. For this prophecy they demanded more rum, which we had to give them; and then I made the best of my way to the factory to wash myself and get clean after their handling me and pulling me about.

Even when I had washed my face I found that the stain of the stuff that had been rubbed on it remained. My father said I had best go on board at once and remain there until I could appear on shore like a Christian, and as it was growing late he came off with me.

CHAPTER VI.

TAKEN PRISONER.

Two Glass, who was intrusted with this duty, soon reported that he could see the boat being got ready, and then that she was launched and coming off. Suddenly he gave a great yell and sung out, “Boat capsize; all men lib for water.” I instantly ran up aloft, and Willie sent me my spy-glass up by the signal halyards, and I could make out the boat rolling over and over in the surf, and the heads of men swimming. After a little the boat washed up on the beach, and then we could see the crew crawling out of the water one by one. I anxiously watched to see if my father was safe, and at last made him out being helped up the beach by the Kruboys. “Hurrah, Willie! he’s safe,” I shouted, “and not hurt,” as I made out that he was walking about giving directions about the boat, which I could see had had a large hole knocked in her bottom.

I came down on deck, where Willie was giving orders for the other surf-boat to be manned and to go ashore, as he was sure that if possible my father would come on board, as the weather was now very threatening.

I begged and prayed to be allowed to go; but Willie said no, I was to stay on board. I did not feel inclined to obey, and just as the boat was going to shove off I jumped into her, and as time was pressing, the wind and sea both rising rapidly, Willie did not insist on my coming back.

Before we had got half-way ashore it was blowing very hard indeed, and Fore-topsail two or three times wished to put back to the brig; but I taunted him with being afraid, and he said, “Me no fraid, lilly massa, but surf make plenty bad. S’pose boat capsize and massa drown, what capen say?”

“Never mind; the captain wants to get on board. Give way, give way!”

“Bery good.—Pull, boys, pull,” he answered, and the boat’s crew bent to their paddles with renewed energy. But do all that they could, they could not make the place for entering the surf abreast of Mr. Macarthy’s factory, but were driven up to where Pentlea had landed the night before. We had taken so long to reach this spot that the sun had already set before we headed direct for the beach.

The first line of breakers was passed in safety. We were about to cross the second when a squall came down, accompanied by heavy rain; and notwithstanding all Fore-topsails struggles at the steer oar, we were broadside on, and in another instant we were all struggling in the water.

I have an idea of struggling and of the sound as of thousands of tons of water being dashed over me, but I very soon lost all consciousness. When I came to myself I found I was in a small room lighted only by a small hole about six inches square, through which the rays of the moon were pouring, and I could see by them that the place was perfectly empty. My clothes were wet, and I was cold and shivering, and had a racking headache. At first I lay quite still, feeling too bad to have any interest in where I was or what had happened to me; but soon I began to think, and then I remembered leaving the brig, and the capsizing of the surf-boat.

Where was I? and what had happened since the capsize? became now pressing problems to be solved. I was not drowned, nor, as far as I could make out, injured; but who could have put me in this wretched cell without anything to lie on, and without even changing my wet clothes? I must have been saved by some one from drowning; but whoever that some one was, he did not seem to care much about my comfort.

I got up from the corner where I was lying and began to examine my prison—for such I supposed the place I was in must be—and could only feel the rough planks of which the walls and door were composed, and quantities of dust, of cockroaches as big as young sparrows, and of other loathsome insects.

The little hole through which the moon shone was high up, and it was with great difficulty that I managed to jump up so as to hook my fingers on the lower edge and draw myself up and look out. Outside was a deep veranda, and I could see the beach, and the surf thundering in, and beyond the ships lying at anchor, rolling about, their black spars showing distinctly against the bright moonlight. I puzzled to make out which was the Petrel, but at last I did so, and then I knew by her position with regard to the others that I must be in Souza’s factory. I hung on as long as I could, and counting the vessels at anchor in a mechanical way, I made out that two topsail schooners had come in since I left the Petrel. I could not remain long at the window, and I slid down, and soon found that combating the cockroaches, which were flying about, hitting me in the face and sticking in my hair, gave me a considerable amount of employment; and notwithstanding that my clothes were still wet, I soon was bathed in perspiration.

After a time I smelt tobacco smoke, and then I heard footsteps on the veranda outside and chairs being pulled about. Presently I heard Pentlea’s voice calling for a boy to bring some brandy and a cooler of water. I now remained as quiet as I possibly could, and tried to listen for any conversation.

Evidently there were three or four men present, and I heard the names of Camacho and Souza frequently mentioned; and though I could understand nothing, as the conversation was carried on in Spanish, I gathered that both of these worthies as well as Pentlea were present, and that after a time other persons joined them who were either English or American, to judge from the oaths which studded their conversation plentifully.

Their conversation lasted a long time, and at last I made out that Camacho, Souza, and Pentlea went away and left the others to smoke and drink by themselves.

Soon they commenced to speak, and their voices sounded like music in my ears, for they spoke in English, and I hoped from their conversation to learn something of what had happened. At first all they said was, “Pass the bottle,” “Give me a light,” and such-like phrases; but at last one said, “Strike me silly but Simon’s a cute one.”

“How so, Bill? He’s robbed his skipper, and he’s safe here. The caboceers ain’t such fools as to give up a gentleman as deals in black ivory.”

“No, it ain’t that; but to watch the brig so close as to know that the skipper’s cub left in the boat, and to have the beach watched to pick him up.”

“How so? what good is he to us?”

“Lots. Simon hates his skipper, and now he can play him with his son. But there’s news that one of those abominable English steamers is coming here. The Rover sailed as soon as her captain heard we were at Cape Mount, and we got the news it was not safe here sharp. We must get away as soon as we can. Camacho has about fifty slaves, and they will be sent aboard; and the boy we’ll take with us too, and he’ll be useful to Simon.”

A boy now came and summoned these two worthies away, and almost directly after the door of my den was opened, and Pentlea, carrying a lantern, appeared, followed by three or four negroes, who stripped me of my clothes and rubbed me all over with some stuff which made me quite black.

Pentlea looked on approvingly, and said, “Now, Master Frank, you are a nice little nigger, and the people searching the beach for you won’t know you.”

As he said this a ray of hope darted into my mind, for I thought that surely I might call out who I was, and then some one would notice that a slave spoke English, which could not be a common thing on the Whydah beach.

As soon as I was well blacked over, and my hair cut close off, so as not to betray my European blood, I was taken down to a courtyard where there were a number of slaves, and was roped into the middle of a string of five. Pentlea, as soon as this was done, struck me and said, “Now, you whelp, you will have a chance of learning about niggers; you’ll soon know as much as your Livingstone you’re always prating about.”

“O Mr. Pentlea,” I answered, “what do you want to do to me? Only let me go, and I’m sure my father will never do anything against you.”

“No, he would not, I daresay; but I’ve old scores against your father, though he don’t know it, and I intend to square yards with him before I’ve done.”

“Why, my father was always kind to you.”

“Kind? ha, ha! D’ye suppose I mean in the Petrel? No, boy; my debt is of old standing. I should have been a rich man but for your father sending two cruisers after me. I lost my ship and my cargo and nearly my life. Now I have you—that counts for one slave—and I’ll have the Petrel too before very long.”

“Let me go, do let me go. I’m sure my father will pay you to let me go.”

“No, you hound; I’ve made up my mind. And you shan’t have a chance to make a noise on the beach.” He proceeded to give orders to have me gagged, which was immediately done by a big negro who seemed to be a sort of driver.

The gates of the courtyard were now opened, and the slaves were driven out on the beach and packed into the bottom of two big surf-boats, which were launched and paddled through the surf and alongside one of the schooners, which turned out to be our old acquaintance the Santa Maria. As soon as we were on deck I was unfastened from the slaves to whom I had been bound, and the gag was removed. The slaves were at once sent down to the hold, and a man whom I recognized as being one of those who had been drinking outside in the veranda said to me, “Here, you younker, I guess you’d better lay aft and keep quiet.”

I did as I was told, and in a few minutes I heard the anchor weighed, and the Santa Maria and her consort were slipping out to sea before the land breeze.

For several days nothing particular happened. I was made to do all sorts of work about the decks, and wait in the cabin on Camacho, Pentlea, and the Yankee who had spoken to me when I came on board; and though I was not well treated, still I could not complain of any absolute cruelty. We had the usual alternations of wind and calm, sunshine and rain. Once or twice the appearance of smoke on the horizon, or the heaving in sight of some ship whose spars were more than usually lofty, gave a fright to my captors, who dreaded that the stranger might turn out to be a man-of-war come in chase of us. But at last we arrived at the mouth of a large river, up which Pentlea, who seemed thoroughly acquainted with the place, piloted the Santa Maria, taking her into a small creek, where, when her topmasts were sent on deck, she was perfectly invisible from the main stream, and where the Santiago was soon moored alongside of her.

The two schooners were anchored so that their guns should command the entrance. Some of the guns were landed and put in small forts on either side which had evidently been constructed for a long time. The schooners had not long been in this hiding-place before canoes began to flock round them, and as far as I could make out arrangements were being made for the captains of the slavers to pay a visit to the chief of a big town close by, to enter into negotiations for filling their holds with slaves.

I looked at the trees on shore—cocoa-nut and oil palms growing in groves close to where we were lying, and plantations of bananas giving sign of the proximity of villages. Though I was but a captive, I could not help wishing for a trip ashore; and as I knew it was useless to ask Pentlea, I waited until he had quitted the schooner, and then went to the American mate, who had been kinder to me than any other person on board, and made my request to him, saying, “Please, Mr. Silas, may I go ashore?”

He looked at me in astonishment, rolling his quid in his mouth, and said, “Etarnal thunder, what does the boy want? I guess, young feller, you’d best not let Pentlea see you going ashore. Jest you polish that brass work on the binnacle.”

I saw that there was no chance of getting ashore, and slowly obeyed his orders. Soon a boat came from the Santiago, in which was a man who, as soon as he came on deck, said, “Mornin’, Silas. I guess, now the bosses are ashore, we may as well have a talk together as stop one in each schooner.”

“Reckon that’s so,” said Silas. “What d’ye think, Reuben?—there’s that lad Pentlea carried off from the Britisher wants to go ashore.”

“Waal, I kinder think that wouldn’t suit friend Simon; it’s the last place in the hull coast whar that lad should land.”

“How so? I guess thar’s nought but alligators, snakes, and niggers about,—nare a Britisher to be seen or smelt.”

“Guess Simon and Camacho keep their tongues quiet. It’s jest the bisness I wished to overhaul along of you—why we come here.”

“Sartain sure we comed here for nigs, you bet your hide.”

“We’ve come for nigs—true, sir, for you—but we’ve come for more.”

“How now, mate? Don’t keep backin’ and fillin’, but jest out with what you have to say plain.”

“Waal, that Simon’s a deep one, and he’s jest made Camacho fall in with him. The brig the lad came from comes here to trade. Her old man has made a book with the fellow they calls King Okopa here; and Okopa has oil, ivory, and rubber ready, so when the brig comes she can load quick.”

“Why, how does that go? I guess Simon ain’t too cute; for if the Britisher guesses we’re here, he’ll off and set some of their bull-dogs after us.”

“I reckon Pentlea and Camacho won’t let him.”

“How, mate, can he stop it?”

“Not so difficult. Simon, he’s real bad and bitter; for the skipper of the brig laid a cruiser on him some four years back, and he lost his ship. And now he says to Camacho we can get the brig, and her cargo’ll pay for slaves to fill her and both schooners.”

“But, mate, I say that’s piracy.”

“Waal, ain’t slaving piracy?”

“Not so. It stands to reason as nigs was made for slaves; but to rob white men, that’s a different guess sort of thing.”

“I don’t care much for the job myself, but the fellows we have here will do for Camacho what he says; and though when we meets a man-of-war we hoists the gridiron and oysters, and we’s American captains, and has papers all c’rect, still we ain’t nought but the two mates when all’s said and done.”

“That’s so. So long as no murder goes on I don’t care much. Let Camacho and Pentlea manage their own business. Let’s go down and liquor.”

As soon as I heard this conversation commencing I had left off cleaning the binnacle and slipped out into the main-chains, where I could hear every word they said; and when they went below I slipped forward and made them wait a long time before I answered their call to bring them brandy and water and fire for their pipes.

Evidently neither had thought anything of me, and they were now engaged in a game of euchre, and were so absorbed in it that they thought of nothing else save their brandy and pipes. As soon as I had supplied their wants I went to the main chains again, as being the place where I was least likely to be disturbed by any of the crew, and tried to consider what had best be done. It was evident that this place was one where my father traded, which was not much frequented by ordinary traders, and where he therefore could get quicker and larger profits than elsewhere; and that Pentlea was going to take the opportunity of the Petrel calling here to try to make himself master of her.

CHAPTER VII.

AN INTERESTING CONVERSATION.

“That’s another guess kind of matter. Camacho has a good house, and I reckon he can live well; but that black fellow Okopa, when a white man hasn’t got trade, he’ll see him further afore he’d let him sleep in a hut or give him bite or sup.”

“Waal, Silas, you don’t seem to care for this hyar job; no more do I. But what can we do?”

“Do, Rube?—nought. If we says a word again Pentlea or Camacho they’ve their bowies and pistols ready, and our answer from them wouldn’t be long a-coming.”

“Say, Silas, I’ve a plan. We can hinder the job, I reckon, and nary one be the wiser.”

“How so? Tell me at once.”

“Why, that boy, he ain’t no fool, for all he’s so tarnal quiet. Now, what time the brig comes up we’ll jest let him hook it.”

“How now? he can’t swim ashore. There’s as many alligators here as are in a bayou in Florida; and when he gets to land he can’t pass the village, and through the swamps no mortal man could pass.”

“Sure, man, I ain’t quite a fool. But s’pose the brig comes up on the flood to-morrow about six bells in the forenoon watch. Camacho can do nothin’ that day, and the lad may make tracks in a canoe, say at two bells in the first watch; and I guess we can manage that.”

“So, p’raps; but I guess we must be spry, or that fellow Sour Simon and his pal Camacho, if they only has the leastest thought we has done ought in the matter, I guess they’ll give us a passage overboard.”

“Maybe; but I don’t care to be pirate, mate. If you ain’t got grit to go through with it, I’ll do it myself; for my dander’s riz, and I’ll get the lad aboard the Petrel.”

“I’m with you. Don’t say I ain’t got grit; but jest keep a close luff, and don’t let nary a man know.”

“All right, mate. Let’s go down and have a hand at euchre.”

I was overjoyed to have heard the above conversation, and could scarcely believe that it was true. Could they have been talking in order to test me? But no; what was the use of their doing that? and how could I be more thoroughly in the power of Camacho and Pentlea than I was now? I walked up and down the deck of the schooner as happy as if I were already free; and when a shout from the cabin told me that I was wanted, I ran there as readily as when at school I had run to get my bat and ball for a game at cricket.

Just as I was going down the ladder, however, I heard the sound of oars, and a boat with Camacho and Pentlea in it came alongside, and I had to run and attend the side for them, while Silas and Reuben came up on deck to receive them. All four went down into the cabin together, and as soon as I thought it would be safe I crept aft and lay down alongside of the skylight to try to overhear what they were talking about. I had, however, only just got into my place when a mulatto servant of Camacho called Pedro noticed me, and kicking me in the ribs told me to get forward.

I obeyed, and though I waited for hours I could get no chance to approach either of the American mates, for Camacho and Pentlea remained on board all night, and did not leave until after nine in the morning. Before they left, though the topmasts and upper yards were not sent up, the schooners were got ready for getting under way with their lower sails, and branches of trees were lashed to the lower mast-heads so as to prevent all chance of their being seen from the upper yards of any vessel passing up the river.

When they had gone ashore I had to take breakfast into the cabin for Silas and Reuben, and as I brought it down I looked anxiously at them in the hope that they would speak to me. But not one word did they say, and I at last summoned up courage to say, “Is there a ship coming to-day?”

They both started and said, “What business is that of yours, younker? Don’t bother yourself about what don’t concern you.”

Just after this Camacho’s mulatto servant came down the ladder, having evidently been left on board to keep a watch on their actions. As soon as he entered the cabin he told me to go on deck, and that he would attend to the wants of the senhors. I went and sat down under the lee of the forecastle bulwarks, and soon I noticed that the schooners were swinging to the flood-tide; and looking up overhead I could see that the sea-breeze was playing among the tree-tops, and I thought I would go up to the mast-head and see if I could notice any signs of the Petrel coming up the river.

I clambered up the fore side of the foremast so as to keep out of the sight of the mulatto, and managed to seat myself on the collar of the forestay, partially sheltered by the branches which had been lashed to the mast-head. After some time I saw the white royals and top-gallant sails of a large brig above the trees. Was it the Petrel? I looked long and earnestly, trying to make out the flag which flew at the main-royal mast-head, to see if it was my father’s; but the royal interfered. It was not until she was nearly abreast of us that, the royals being taken in, I made out the black with a red diamond; and as she was not more than five hundred yards away, I could recognize the men on the royal-yards furling the sails.

A sudden impulse seized me, and I pulled out my knife and began cutting the lashings of the branches, so that the men might see the mast-head of the schooner; and ripping away, the branches fell sideways, so that it stood out clear, and I climbed up and stood on the lower cap, waving my arms to attract attention. The royals were furled, and the men laid in and commenced to go down from aloft without noticing me. I began to fear that I had committed a foolhardy action without reaping any benefit from it, when, to my joy, the flag at the main-royal mast-head of the brig got caught in an eddy wind and fouled the signal halyards, and I saw Jimmy Duds going up to clear it. Just as he reached the truck he looked in my direction, and I redoubled my antics, and was rejoiced to see that I attracted his attention. Another man came up on the royal-yard, and standing on it was evidently speaking to those on deck about me.

Just as this was occurring I heard Silas on deck shouting out, “Come down out o’ that, you young rascal. What in thunder are you doing there?”

I kneeled down on the cap and commenced to descend, giving a last wave of my hand as I did so, and getting on the peak halyards was sliding down as fast as I could, when a bullet whizzed past my head and struck the mast about a foot above me. I did not look round to see to whom I was indebted for this compliment, but almost let go the rope, and reached the deck quicker than I had thought possible, and rolled on my back at the foot of the foremast.

When I got on my feet I was seized by Silas, who administered to me a sound rope’s-ending, during the administration of which I saw the mulatto steward standing aft with a smoking musket in his hand, so that to him evidently I owed my thanks for the attempt on my life which had been so nearly successful. He now came forward and said something to Silas, of which I could not understand the meaning; but its purport was soon explained to me when a set of slave-irons was brought up and I was fastened to a ring-bolt in the deck.

Silas put them on me himself, and took the occasion to whisper in my ear, “Ye doddered young fool, you’ll spile all. Jest keep quiet now. The irons ain’t locked; and to-night at three bells in the first watch there’ll be a canoe under the starboard fore-chains. You’ll hear me and Rube having a bit of a fight over our cards, and then you fly at once.” And giving me a smack on the side of the head, and saying, “Yer won’t be in a hurry to go to the mast-head again, I reckon, you young skunk,” left me to my meditations.

Though I was sore and bruised I had hopes of escape, and I also felt sure that my friends on board the brig knew where I was; and I was happier than I had been for many a long day, and looked forward eagerly for the time when I might make my dash for liberty.

The mulatto brought me some biscuit and a gourd of water. As I was about to put the latter to my lips I caught sight of Silas frowning at me, and dropped it on the deck; and Silas sung out, “If the young whelp is careless, let him go thirsty.”

CHAPTER VIII.

ESCAPE FROM THE SLAVE-SHIP.

Soon I heard the soughing of the wind in the treetops, and then it became dead calm and everything was still, the only sound to be heard being the voices of the mates in the cabin and a few of the crew who were on board in the forecastle. Suddenly there was a vivid flash of lightning which seemed to last for minutes, followed by a crashing peal of thunder, and then the rain came down, as I have since heard it described, “like marline-spikes and fixed bayonets.”

I instantly freed myself from my fetters, and crawling across the deck got through a port into the forechains, and fast to the foremost lower dead-eye I found the painter of a canoe, into which I lowered myself carefully; and then cutting myself away from the Santa Maria I let the canoe drift, lying down in her bottom so as not to be seen in any of the flashes of lightning, which were now nearly continuous.

I soon found that I could not remain still, for the rain was rapidly filling the canoe, and I had to sit up and bale with might and main to prevent her sinking. I could see, by the flashes of lightning, that I was rapidly leaving the neighbourhood of the schooners, and trusted that I might get out of the creek without being noticed; but unfortunately a man was sitting in one of the port-holes of the forts or blockhouses as I was passing between them, and saw me as the lightning shone on me. He instantly gave the alarm, and seizing his musket began firing at me. I got hold of my paddle and plied it for dear life to the best of my ability, and though I could see that the alarm was taken up on board, I managed to get out into the main stream without being hit.

Whilst in the creek I had not felt the force of the tornado; but the moment I was in the main stream the canoe, which I could but imperfectly manage, was twisted round by the force of the wind, and I found myself drifting rapidly towards the mouth of the river. From time to time the flashes of lightning showed me that I was passing near the shore, and that the mangrove bushes ran far out into the water. I managed in some manner, how I hardly know, to get the canoe in towards a clump of mangroves which projected somewhat, and caught hold of the suckers hanging from the branches and gradually hauled myself into the trees. I had just got my hands on the roots of one, when an extra squall of wind and rain came sweeping down, and the canoe being dragged from under my feet, I was left hanging to the tree, into which I scrambled. Having found a fairly commodious fork, I wedged myself in it, and tried to collect my scattered thoughts.

First I wondered if Jimmy Duds and the other man had recognized me or not. Then as I remembered that the colouring of the fetichman at Whydah and the black which had been smeared over me by Pentlea had not yet worn off, it was very improbable that I should have been recognized. At all events I could be certain that my father knew of the presence of the slavers in the river, and would be on his guard. But what was to become of me I did not know. There was small chance of my being able to get through the mangrove swamp to the dry ground beyond; and even if I did, I was sure to be caught either by men from the slavers or by some of Okopa’s people and made a prisoner again; while to escape from my prison by swimming was almost impossible, besides the risks I should run from the alligators with which the stream swarmed.

Fortunately the squall which drove my canoe from under my feet was the last of the tornado. The rain soon ceased, the clouds cleared away, and all the stars came out with that peculiar brilliancy which is only observable after a storm in the tropics. I was miserably cold and wet, and did not feel in a mood for admiring the marvellous beauty of the scene, but rather racked my brains for some means of extricating myself from the dangerous position in which I was.

Suddenly I heard the sound of heavy guns and musketry, and some way up the river I could see the reflection of the flashes of guns and rifles, and masses of smoke rising in the air. Could the brig be attacked already? and had those on board been taken at a disadvantage, or had they been warned by my attempts to attract their attention? The sounds seemed after a time to be drawing closer, and then to be becoming less; and presently I saw the lofty sails of the brig above the mangroves, as, aided by the first of the land breeze, she was stemming the young flood which was now making up the river. Almost immediately after I had seen her I heard heavy firing again, and judged, and rightly too, that she was passing the creek where the slavers were hidden, and that the blockhouses had opened fire on her.

My determination as to what I should do was now taken; for looking at the river abreast of me I did not think that the Petrel could pass more than ninety or a hundred yards from where I was, so I stripped off all my clothes and made up my mind, as soon as she came near, to risk all on the attempt to swim off to her.

I watched anxiously for her hull to appear round a point a short way above me, and when I saw her flying-jib coming past the trees, I got down close to the water, ready to make my plunge the moment I judged her within the proper distance. Behind the brig I now saw the sails of one of the schooners, and soon both vessels were in sight, exchanging a heavy fire of musketry, for the schooner being right astern of the Petrel none of the guns of either vessel could bear.

The moment came when I should try for my swim, and slipping into the water I struck out for the brig. I swam my strongest, and rapidly closed on her, and thought that in another two or three minutes I should be alongside of her and be hauled up on her deck and find myself in the arms of my father and Willie, when suddenly I felt myself being swept so fast up the stream that there would be no chance of my reaching her. I had just reached the strong stream of the tide, which I had not allowed for. The schooner seemed to be now my best chance of safety, as evidently she was gaining on the brig, and intended to run her on board; but though I got within six or seven yards of her, I was unable to reach her, and was left out in the middle of the river, with the tide running up so fast that I could not possibly struggle against it.

For a time, in my despair, I swam after the vessels, but soon found that they were rapidly leaving me astern, and that if I were not to be drowned I must endeavour to make my way back to the shore again. As a last and a forlorn hope I shouted and yelled to try to attract the attention of some on board the schooner; but I might as well have attempted to wake the dead. And so, sadly and despondently after my desperate try for freedom, I turned again toward the shore, which I almost despaired of ever reaching.

I now swam without energy, and more from an instinct of self-preservation than from any hope that I would reach the shore; and even when I got there, if I ever did, there seemed to be no hope for me. As I was doggedly striking out I saw before me on the surface of the water something that looked long and black; and remembering what Silas had said about crocodiles, and fearing that it was one of these monsters, I ceased swimming, and only floated, for fear of making any noise by which I would attract the brute’s attention.

The time which I remained still with this dreaded object close to me seemed hours, though it could have been only a few moments, when the moon rising over the trees, her rays fell on what I supposed to be an alligator and showed it to be an empty canoe.

Hope came back to me, and I struck out lustily for it, and managed with some difficulty to get on board. I now had time to look round, and I saw that the Petrel and the schooner were crossing the bar alongside of each other, and that evidently from the noise of firing a hand-to-hand struggle was going on on board.

I watched them anxiously, and suddenly I saw both vessels give a sort of plunge, while their masts shook as if they would have gone out of them. Then I saw the Petrel draw away and the schooner falling broadside on to the surf, which made a clean sweep over her. She had evidently struck on the bar, and the Petrel was safe. What would I not have given to have been on her deck and been sure that my father and Willie were alive! But I was drifting rapidly up the stream, and had to think about what I should do for my own safety.

The canoe was apparently the one in which I had escaped from the Santa Maria, but the paddle had been washed out of her, and I had no means of directing her course, and had to let her drift as she would. I reflected how all my troubles had come on me by being disobedient to Willie, and bitterly bewailed my not having listened to him when he told me to remain on board and not leave her in the surf-boat at Whydah; and I did what was the best thing under the circumstances—namely, prayed earnestly to Almighty God for his protection and care.

I could see lights in the blockhouses as I passed them, and soon afterwards could see large villages on the banks of the river. Then the stream began to narrow rapidly, and after about two hours’ drifting my canoe grounded on the southern bank of the river, the creek in which I had left the schooner being on the northern side. I was bitterly cold, and being without clothes or the means of making a fire, I did what was perhaps the wisest thing—scraped a hole in a bank of dry sand which lay above high-water mark and covered myself up in it. The sand was soft and warm, and soon I fell asleep, and slept soundly and dreamlessly.

CHAPTER IX.

AMONG THE NATIVES.

They chattered away, and evidently asked me many questions, which, as I did not understand a word of their language, I was unable to answer. Finding they could learn nothing from me, two of them ran up the path, while the rest sat down round me and signed to me to do the same.

After we had been waiting ten minutes the two girls who had gone away returned, accompanied by four men, two of whom were armed with ancient flint-lock muskets and two with long spears, who made me get up, and tying a rope round my neck led me up into the centre of a large village.

The village was surrounded with a heavy stockade of tree trunks, inside of which were numerous enclosures of canes surrounding groups of huts, while in the centre, under the shade of a splendid silk-cotton tree, was a shed where four big drums surrounded a large and roughly carved image. To this shed I was led by my guards; and being made to sit on the ground with my legs on either side of one of the posts that supported the roof, my ankles were lashed together, and my hands being tied behind my back, I was secured so that there was no possibility of escape.

The whole population of the village turned out to look at me, and some of the children, little fat black imps, who at first were much afraid of the white man, losing their fear when they saw I was not able to move, came up and poked their fingers into my eyes and pulled my hair, at which they were much amused, and rubbed my skin to see if white was my real colour

or not, while their elders laughed at them and at my ineffectual attempts to avoid their familiarities.

I may have been sitting like this for about an hour, when the drums round the image were beaten, and a very old white-haired negro came and sat down on a stool close by me, attended by other old men, who were evidently regarded with much veneration by the people.

When he had seated himself the drums ceased, and the girls who had found me by the river-side were called up and evidently examined about me, and then the four men who had brought me to the village had in their turn to be interrogated as to their share in the transaction. After this was completed the old man, whose face was most marvellously wrinkled, consulted for some time with the other elders, and gave some orders, which resulted in the appearance on the scene of a man whose face was masked. This individual bore in one hand a huge knife, and was followed by a woman carrying a large wooden bowl, who squatted down on the ground in front of me, while the man went through an expressive pantomime, intended to intimate that he was about to cut off my head.

I felt even more lost than when I was swimming in the river and thought the canoe was an alligator. I determined, however, not to show any sign of fear, but if I were to be killed, to die in a manner worthy of my English blood. The old man now commenced a long speech, in which I several times heard the name of Okopa mentioned; and when he had finished he turned toward me and said something in broken Spanish, in which all that I could make out were the words “Okopa,” “capitano,” and “esclavos.”

I broke out at last and said, “I’m no Spaniard, and can’t understand a word you’re saying. I’m English.”

Instantly there was a change among the people, and the man who was about to be my executioner cut the lashings which secured me, and the old man said, “Inglish bery good, Spagnole bery bad. You be Inglish?”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m English, and have been prisoner to the Spaniards.”

“Bery long time,” said the old man, “Hararu make war with Okopa father, and Hararu wife he kill, he picaninny kill. Okopa make slave and sell to Spagnole. Got long time in one Spagnole canoe. Inglish catch Spagnole, and Hararu come back to he country. All Inglish good for Hararu.”

I was now led away into an enclosure in which Hararu and his family lived, and taken into a hut, where a large chest was opened, and Hararu said, “Plenty clothes lib dere; Inglishman take what he want.” I wanted to thank him, but he said, “No good, for Inglishman go all same black man. One time catch clothes, make chop; s’pose chop finished, den make palaver.”

I looked in the chest, which was full of all kinds of clothes and pieces of silk and calico, and after some searching found a shirt, jacket, and trousers which fitted me fairly well, and I put them on. Then Hararu said, “Want hat; hat lib,” and going to another box brought out an old naval officer’s cap, which he gave to me.

When I was dressed he took me into another hut, where I was provided with a dish of some sort of stew (which was very good, except that it was made so hot with peppers that I could hardly eat), some bananas, and a large gourd full of palm wine.

I ate and drank, old Hararu keeping on pressing me to eat more; but I was so anxious to know what the happy change in my treatment was due to that I soon finished, and said to Hararu, who had refused to answer any questions until I was satisfied, that I could eat no more.

Hararu then said: “See, massa, me one time slave for Spagnole. He plenty bad—he flog, he burn, he be all same one bad tief. One time one Englishman he catch Spagnole and take Hararu Sa Leone, where Hararu him call Jack Sprat. Bery good name Jack Sprat—he be English name. Den one English trader come here dis river Ogowai, and me come too. One time here me sabey my fader, my broder, my sister—dey all lib—and den Englishman he gibs me gun, cloth, rum, plenty ting, and me stop here, be one big man. Okopa he be one big tief, but him plenty strong, plenty gun, plenty ting he catch from Spagnole. He sell plenty nigger.”

I explained to Hararu, or Jack Sprat, as he wished me to call him, all that had happened to me since I was capsized in the surf at Whydah, and how I had escaped from the Santa Maria, and seen my father’s brig leave the river.

The old man said, “Dat be so: him Spagnole bad man, Okopa bad man; dey try tief fader ship. Now dey be mad, and s’pose dey hear you lib here dey send catch you and cut troat one time. Big blaggard Okopa.”

I did not remind my new friend that while he thought I was a Spaniard he had been ready enough to cut my throat, but said, “You will not give me to them?”

“No, me no gib you to Okopa; but s’pose Okopa come, Spagnole come plenty gun, what can do, s’pose you lib in town? No plenty people talk say white man lib for my town, and den people come look and say Hararu white man he be Inglish all same Hararu, and den Okopa come and dat man you call Camacho, and dat oder bad man Pentlea, and catch you one time. S’pose now one time you go in bush to big fetichman and lib dere. My son, me call him Tom, and he peak English, no all proper same me; he take you away to oder country, and den dey send you where English ship he come, and den you go see your fader and broder.”

The whole of this conversation had taken place inside Jack Sprat’s own hut, and no one had been present but some of his womankind, and these he now sent away. His boy Tom, as he called him, who proved to be a grizzled negro of about fifty years of age, was sent for, and his father gave him a long series of instructions in the native language, to which Tom answered, “Bery good, bery good.”

When these were finished the old man said, “Now you go one time along with Tom, and me tell all people big fetich come take you away what time you sleep.”

I thanked old Jack Sprat for his kindness, and asked him if he could not manage to get me a pair of shoes, as I was afraid my feet would get hurt walking about on shore without them. He told me he would do what he could, but I must now get away at once.

Tom opened a sort of secret door in the side of the hut, and beckoning me to follow him, led the way along a very narrow passage between two lines of cane fence to the outer stockade of the village. Here removing a great log, which taxed all his strength, he was able to swing two of the trunks that formed the palisade on one side. We then scrambled down in the ditch and struck at once into a small and little frequented path, which we followed for about an hour and a half, till at last it seemed to lose itself in the thick and dense jungle.

From time to time Tom said to me, “Bery good, bery good,” as if to encourage me, and to all my questions he only answered, “Bery good,” so that I thought that these two words formed his whole stock of English. When he said “Bery good” once more, I thought that it was anything but “bery good,” for it seemed to me as if we had entirely lost our way. Tom now lifted up his voice and gave a series of most appalling yells, which after a little were answered by similar ones proceeding from what seemed to me the thickest part of the surrounding jungle. After a few minutes a mass of creepers hanging from one of the trees was pulled on one side, and a man appeared.

Tom went down on his knees before the new-comer, and picking up dust from the ground rubbed his arms and forehead with it; then getting up he spoke long and quickly, occasionally pointing to me. I could distinguish the words “Ingliz,” “Spagnole,” “Okopa,” and “Hararu” constantly repeated. The man answered him in a similar manner, and then signing to Tom and me to follow him, pulled the screen of creepers on one side and led the way along a very narrow and winding path, which every here and there had logs laid ready for blocking it.

After following our guide for ten minutes, Tom keeping on saying “Bery good,” we arrived at a strong sort of gate in a fence of tree trunks, which we passed through. We then found ourselves in a clear space, where there were about a dozen idols like the one I had seen in the village, each under its own little shed, and some half-dozen huts, in which the fetichmen (of whom our guide was one) who attended on them lived. In the centre was another stockade, inside which was a very large hut, and Tom, pointing to it, said, “Big fetich,” thus showing that he did know more English than “bery good.”