The Pirate Slaver

by Harry Collingwood

  “Heave the grapnels! Come along, lads, follow me, and hurroo for ould Oireland!”

  The two schooners being fast together, every man Jack of us sprang after our leader, only to be confronted by the boarding nettings triced up on board our antagonist, however; and as we sprang on the bulwarks and commenced hacking away at the obstruction they opened a hot and most destructive fire upon us with their muskets and pistols. I saw our men dropping to right and left of me, and then one of the tricing-lines of the netting gave way—one of our lads had shinned aloft and cut it—and we half tumbled, half scrambled down upon her deck all in a heap, and were instantly engaged in a desperate hand-to-hand struggle with her crew, who greatly out-numbered ourselves, weakened as we were by the casualties that had already seriously reduced our force. Moreover, we soon discovered that our antagonists were by no means the despicable poltroons that we are perhaps too prone at all times to believe them to be; on the contrary, they fought manfully, and held their own with a sturdy determination worthy of a better cause. The casualties were rapidly multiplying on both sides, yet we were slowly driving the Frenchmen forward, when they were unexpectedly reinforced by a crowd of at least sixty people who had come alongside in boats from the other craft, boarding on the larboard side of the schooner, on which side, as it had been impossible for us to reach it with the Felicidad, the nettings had not been triced up, and in an instant we found ourselves confronted by overwhelming odds. Above the tumult of shouts and oaths and groans, of pistol-shots and clashing steel, I heard Ryan give a ringing cheer and an encouraging shout of “Hurroo, bhoys, the more the merrier! Lay on with a will, now, and make short work of it;” and I saw him at the head of a small division of our men laying about him manfully and driving himself and his little band wedge-like through the thickest of the crowd, and I turned and struck out right and left to get to his assistance, for it seemed to me that he must be speedily overpowered. Before I could reach him, however, he suddenly threw up his hands, and striking one of them to his temples sank in an inert heap to the deck, and at the same instant a sickening blow fell upon my head, the whole scene whirled confusedly before my eyes for the fraction of an instant, and for a time I knew no more.

  * * *

  When at length I recovered my senses I found that I was undressed and comfortably stowed away in a bunk in a small but light and airy state-room that certainly was not my own, nor had I ever seen it before. The snuggery was very tastefully fitted up, the bunk itself being of polished mahogany, enclosed with handsome lace curtains, that I presumed were intended as a protection against the mosquitoes, the sharp, ringing buzz of multitudes of which pertinacious tormentors I heard distinctly as I lay, weak, sick, and with a most distracting headache, safe within the shelter of the curtains. These curtains were suspended from a polished brass rod that traversed the underside of the deck above close to the ship’s side, so that they sloped over the bunk tent-fashion, an ingenious arrangement of frilling along the upper edge imparting a sufficient stiffness to the flimsy material to cause it to stand up close to the planking, thus leaving no opening by which the persevering little insects could obtain access to the interior. The bulkhead was panelled with pilasters of satin-wood supporting a handsomely-carved cornice, and the panels, like the underside of the deck, were painted a delicate cream colour, the former being decorated with a thin gilt moulding which formed the framework of a series of beautifully-painted pictures of tropical flowers, butterflies, and birds. There was a polished mahogany wash-stand in one corner of the room, and a small mahogany swing-table against the bulkhead between the bunk and the closed door of the berth; a horsehair sofa ran along the ship’s side, opposite the doorway; a small lamp, apparently of silver, hung in gimbals from the ship’s side, near the head of the bunk, and the apartment was amply lighted by a large round open port or scuttle, through which the gentle sigh of the evening breeze came pleasantly, and the rich, orange beams of the setting sun poured with so brilliant an effulgence that I could scarcely endure the dazzling light, and was obliged to close my eyes again.

  Where was I? Certainly not on board the Felicidad; for she had no such luxurious sleeping-accommodation as this on board her. Then, if not on board her, I must most probably be on board the French schooner; a surmise that was to some extent confirmed by the powerful effluvium that pervaded the ship, and proclaimed her character beyond all question. Then there were sounds on deck—the voices of men laughing and jesting together, and addressing occasional brutal remarks to, presumably, the wearers of certain chains, the clanking of which, together with the sounds of boats or canoes coming alongside, and an occasional order issued by some one nearly overhead, powerfully suggested the idea that the craft, whatever she was, was now taking in her human cargo. I soon recognised, however, that the orders and conversation generally were in Spanish, not French; still, this proved nothing, for slavers were as a rule by no means particular as to the colour of the flag that they fought or sailed under, often hoisting the first ensign that happened to come to hand.

  But Spanish or French, the vessel on board which I now found myself could scarcely be other than one of those that we had engaged earlier in the afternoon; and if so, I was in the hands of the enemy—an enemy, be it said, that, if report spoke truly, showed but scant mercy to such of its legalised opponents as happened to fall into his hands. Yet this scarcely tallied with the evident care that had been taken of me, and the exceedingly comfortable—not to say luxurious—quarters wherein I now found myself.

  I was parched with thirst, and looked round the state-room for some liquid wherewith I might quench it. There was none; but I now observed a small mahogany shelf, close to the head of the bunk, which had hitherto escaped my notice, and upon it stood a small silver hand-bell, quaint of shape, and elegantly adorned with repoussé work. With considerable pain and giddiness I contrived to turn my body far enough round to seize the bell and ring it; in instant response to which the state-room door opened—revealing a glimpse of a small but elegantly—furnished cabin—and a young mustee lad, clad only in a white shirt thrown open at the neck, and white drill trousers girt to his slender figure by a crimson sash, entered, and demanded in Spanish—

  “Can I do anything for you, señor?”

  “What is your name, my lad?” said I, answering his question with another.

  “I am called Pedro, señor.”

  “Well then, Pedro,” said I, “you can do two things for me, if you will. In the first place you can get me something to drink, if you will be so kind; and, in the next, you can tell me the name of this ship and her captain.”

  “I will willingly do both, señor, with pleasure. The drink first,” answered the lad, with a bright smile that disclosed an array of small and beautifully regular, ivory-white teeth. And, turning on his bare heel, he retired as noiselessly as he had entered, only to reappear, a moment later, with a tumbler in one hand, and a large glass jug full to within an inch of the brim with lemonade, upon the surface of which floated two or three slices of the fruit and a curl of the rich golden green rind. He filled and handed me a bumper, which I instantly drained and begged for another. The lad laughed, and handed me a second tumblerful, which I also drained. The liquid was deliciously cool, and of that peculiar acid and slightly bitter flavour that seems so ineffably refreshing when one is parched with fever.

  “Another yet, señor?” asked Pedro, with a laugh, as I handed the glass back to him.

  “Well—n–o—not just now, I think, thank you,” answered I. “And now, Pedro, my boy, tell me about this ship and her captain, and how I came to be here.”

  “That is easily done, señor,” answered the lad. “In the first place, the brigantine is named the Francesca after my mother; she hails from Havana; and is commanded by my father, Don Fernando de Mendouca; and you were brought here by him, when he found you lying apparently dead upon the deck of the Requin after your people had been driven off and compelled to beat a retreat.”

  “What?” I exclaim
ed. “Driven off? Compelled to retreat?”

  “Certainly, señor,” the lad answered proudly. “You surely did not seriously expect to capture all four of us with that paltry schooner of yours, and so small a force as you brought against us, did you?”

  “Well,” I admitted, “I must confess that when I saw what we had to contend with, I had my doubts as to the issue. But then, you see, I was not the captain.”

  “Your captain must have been mad to have attacked us in broad daylight, as he did. And, indeed, he seemed to be mad by the desperation with which he fought. I never saw anything like it in my life.”

  “You?” I exclaimed again. “Do you mean to say that you took part in the fight?”

  “Certainly, señor; why not?” demanded Pedro haughtily. “True, I am very young; but I am strong. And I am bigger than the little officer who was fighting near you when the French sailor struck you down with the handspike.”

  “Yes; that is very true,” I agreed, knowing, from the lad’s description, that he was referring to Freddy Pierrepoint. “So you were in the fight, and saw our captain, eh, Pedro? Can you tell me what became of him?”

  “He was shot—by one of our men, I believe; and I think he was killed, but am not quite sure. He was carried back into his own schooner by two of his men; and after the fight had lasted about two minutes longer a very handsome, light-haired officer appeared to take the command, and seemed to order a retreat; for your men steadily retired to their own vessel, and, fighting to the very last, cast her adrift, set the sails, and retired, hotly pursued by the Requin.”

  “Phew!” exclaimed I; “we seem to have made rather a mess of it this time. Poor Ryan! I am sorry for him; very sorry indeed. You are right, Pedro, our captain was mad; the poor fellow was badly wounded in the head not long ago, and he had by no means recovered from his injuries. And now he is wounded again, if not killed outright. I am very sorry for him. And now, Pedro, can you tell me how your father proposes to dispose of me?”

  “No, señor, I cannot. Nor can he at present, I think,” answered the lad. “It was at my entreaty that he brought you on board here; otherwise you would have been thrown overboard to the crocodiles that swarm in the creek just here. He said that prisoners were only a useless encumbrance and an embarrassment; but somehow I liked your looks as you lay, white and still, upon the French schooner’s deck, and I begged him so hard to save you that he could not deny me. And I am sure that we shall be friends—you and I—shall we not? There is no one on board here that I can be intimate with—except my father, of course—and he is so much older than I, that I can scarcely look upon him as a companion. Besides—”

  The lad stopped, embarrassed.

  “Besides what?” demanded I.

  “Well—I—perhaps I ought not to say. You see we are strangers yet, and father has often said that it is a great mistake to be confidential with strangers. Some other day perhaps I may feel that I can speak more freely. And that reminds me that I have let you talk far too much already; you need rest and perfect quiet at present, if you are to escape a bad attack of fever, so I shall leave you for a little while to sleep if you can. But first let me bathe your wound for you, and bandage it afresh.”

  “You are very kind, Pedro,” remarked I, as the lad with singular deftness proceeded to remove the stiff and blood-stained bandage from my head. “And I must not allow you to leave me until I have thanked you—as I now do, very heartily—for having saved my life. Perhaps I may have an opportunity some day to show my gratitude in some more convincing form than that of mere words, and if so, you may depend upon me to do so. Meanwhile, I see no reason whatever why we should not be friends, and good friends too, if your father is willing that it should be so. At the same time—but there, we can talk about that too, when we know a little more of each other, and understand each other better. Thanks, Pedro; that is very soothing and comfortable indeed. Now, another drink of lemonade, if you please—by the way, you may as well leave the jug and glass within my reach—and then, if you insist upon running away, why, good-bye for the present.”

  The lad left me, and I fell into a rather gloomy reverie upon the fate of poor Ryan and that of the gallant fellows who had fallen in our ill-planned attack upon the occupants of this unlucky creek, as well as upon my own future, the uncertainty of which stood out the more clearly the longer I looked at it. I think I must have become slightly light-headed eventually, for twice or thrice I caught myself muttering aloud in a rather excited fashion, now imagining myself to be in the thick of the fight once more, and anon fancying myself to be one of the slaves that were imprisoned in the brigantine’s noisome hold; until finally my ideas became so hopelessly jumbled together that I could make nothing of them, and then followed a period of oblivion from which I awoke to find the state-room faintly illumined by the turned-down lamp screwed to the ship’s side near the head of my bunk, and by the more brilliant rays of a lamp in the main cabin, the light of which streamed through the lattices in the upper panel of the state-room door. The ship was heeling slightly, and I knew by the gurgle and wash of water along her side that she was under weigh, but still in perfectly smooth water, for I was unable to detect the slightest heave, or rising and falling motion in her. There was an intermittent faint murmur of voices overhead, an occasional footfall on the deck, and now and then the creak and clank of the wheel-chains following a call from the forecastle, all of which led me to the conclusion that the brigantine was effecting the passage of the creek on her way seaward. This state of things continued for perhaps a quarter of an hour, when I felt the vessel lift as if to a small swell, the wash and splash of the water along her side became more pronounced, then came a light plunge, with a corresponding roar of the bow wave; her heel perceptibly increased, and the pipe of the wind took a more sonorous sound; an expression or two in tones that seemed to indicate a feeling of relief and satisfaction passed between the persons overhead, and then a string of orders pealed forth from one of them, followed by the clatter of ropes thrown down on the deck, and the cries of the crew as they made sail upon the vessel. The movements of the craft now rapidly grew more lively; she heeled still more steeply under the pressure of the wind; the splash and rush of water alongside grew momentarily more confused; bulkheads began to creak, and cabin-doors to jar and rattle upon their hooks; the two people overhead began to pace the deck to and fro; the wind whistled and blustered with increasing loudness through the rigging; and as the craft plunged more sharply I caught the sound of an occasional clatter of spray upon the deck forward. This went on for some considerable time, and then I became aware of the sound of surf booming distantly, but rapidly increasing in strength and volume, until after a period of perhaps ten minutes its thunder seemed to suddenly fill the air, as the brigantine brought it square abeam; then it rapidly died away again until it was lost altogether in the tumult of wind and sea that now stormed about the vessel, and I knew that we had passed close to either Shark or French Point, and were fairly at sea. This conviction was confirmed a few minutes later by the descent of some one—presumably the captain—into the cabin, where, as I could tell by the clink of bottle and glass and the gurgle of fluids, he mixed and tossed off a glass of grog, after which he retired to a state-room on the opposite side of the cabin and closed the door. Then, lulled by the motion of the ship and the sound of the wind and sea, I gradually sank into a feverish sleep, from which I did not fairly awake until the sun was streaming strongly in through the glazed scuttle of my state-room next morning.

  Shortly afterwards Pedro entered and bade me good-morning with a cheery smile.

  “You are looking better, señor,” he remarked; “your eyes are brighter, and there is more colour in your face. I hope you were not greatly disturbed last night by the noise of getting the ship under weigh?”

  “Not at all,” I answered; “on the contrary, I did not awake until you were clear of your moorings and passing down the creek. I remained awake until the ship seemed to be fairly at sea, and then
I went to sleep again. I suppose we are out of sight of land by this time?”

  “Yes, thanks be to the blessed Virgin! And I hope we shall see no more until we make Anegada,” was the reply.

  “Anegada?” I queried. “Where is that?”

  “What!” exclaimed Pedro, “do you not know Anegada? Then you have never been to the West Indies?”

  “That is very true,” I admitted. “I have never been to the other side of the Atlantic.”

  “I was certain of it, or you would know Anegada,” answered Pedro. “Anegada is the most easterly of the Virgin Islands; and my father always endeavours to pick it up on his westerly runs. It makes a good landfall, and enables us to continue the rest of our run with confidence, and to dodge those pestilent cruisers of yours. Anegada once sighted, my father knows every inch of the rest of the way, and could take his ship from thence to Havana blindfold, I believe. But while we are talking this water is cooling, and I want to bathe your wound and bind it up afresh. So; am I hurting you?”