Upon the arrival of this little flotilla alongside it was found that the white prisoners brought off for surrender numbered twenty-eight, all of whom were in a most wretched plight from sickness and the barbarous neglect with which they had been treated during their long and wearisome captivity. They consisted of the Sapphire’s late second and third lieutenants, one midshipman, nine marines, and sixteen seamen; one midshipman, three marines, and two seamen having died of fever during the time that they had been in Matadi’s hands. So frightfully were they reduced by suffering and despair, that when the poor little surviving mid—a mere lad of sixteen—was helped up the side to the schooner’s low deck his nerve entirely gave way, and he fell upon the planks in a paroxysm of hysterical tears, and wild, incoherent ejaculations of gratitude to God for having delivered him from a living death; while as for the others, they were too deeply moved and shaken to utter more than a husky word or two for the moment, but the convulsive grip of their emaciated hands, their quivering lips, and the look of almost incredulous delight with which they gazed about them and into our faces, spoke far more eloquently than words. Needless to say, we gave them a most hearty and fraternal welcome, at once and before every thing else providing as far as we could for their physical comfort, while Armstrong, our warm-hearted Scotch surgeon, immediately took them in hand with a good-will that promised wonders in the way of speedy restoration to health and strength.
During all this while the three canoes had remained alongside; and by and by, when I had once more time to think of other matters than those more immediately concerning my guests, Lobo came to me and informed me that the chiefs who had brought off the released white men were waiting for the payment of the promised ransom. I thought this tolerably cool, after the treacherous manner in which they had attacked us during the preceding night; but I was too greatly rejoiced at the success of my mission to be very severe or retributive in my behaviour just then. I therefore paid the full amount agreed upon, but directed Lobo to say that although I paid it I did not consider that Matadi was entitled to claim a single article in view of his unprovoked attack upon the schooner, and the miserable condition in which he had delivered up his captives. But I paid it in order that he might practically learn that an Englishman never breaks a promise that he has once made. And having duly impressed this upon them, I gave them further to understand that, should it ever happen that other white men fell into their hands, they would be expected to treat them with the utmost kindness and consideration, upon pain of condign punishment should they fail to do so, and that upon delivering any such whites, safe and sound, to the first warship that might happen to enter the river, they would be handsomely rewarded.
This matter settled, our business with Matadi was at an end, and although there happened to be not a breath of wind stirring, I determined to make a start down the river at once, and get to sea as soon as possible, in order that the rescued men might not be deprived, for one moment longer than was absolutely necessary, of the restorative effects of the pure salt breeze. We accordingly manned the capstan forthwith, hove short, and then proceeded down-stream by the process of navigation known as “dredging”; that is to say, we kept the schooner in the proper channel by means of the anchor and the rudder combined, allowing the anchor to just touch and drag along the ground when it became necessary to sheer the ship away from a danger, and at other times heaving it off the ground a few feet and allowing the craft to drift with the current. And so strong was the rush of the river just then, that by its means alone we accomplished a descent of no less than thirty miles that day before sunset, anchoring for the night in a very snug cove on the northern bank of the river, under the shadow of some high hills. Then, during the night, a light southerly air sprang up, freshening towards morning into a spanking breeze that soon became half a gale of wind, and under its welcome impulse—although we found it rather shy with us in some of the narrowest and most intricate parts of the navigation—we contrived to complete the descent of the remaining portion of the river on our second day out from Matadi’s town, arriving off the mouth of Banana Creek about an hour before sunset. Here, in fulfilment of my promise, I released Lobo, who, to do him justice, had served us well when he found that it was to his interest to do so. And I may now dismiss him finally from my story by saying that when one of the ships of our squadron put into the river about three weeks later, it was found that Señor Lobo had profited by my advice to the extent that he had disposed of his factory and other property, just as it stood, to his former manager—the purchase-money being paid three-fourths down, the remainder to be paid by instalments at three and six months’ date. And a very excellent bargain he contrived to make, too, so I understood, the unfortunate buyer suffering a heavy loss when the captain of the cruiser made it his first business to destroy the barracoon, which formed a portion of the property, although the aforesaid buyer of course made a point of vowing most emphatically that he had no intention whatever of using the structure for slave-dealing purposes, to which also, as a matter of course, he declared that he had a most righteous aversion.
Having landed Lobo, we proceeded to sea that same night, carrying the southerly breeze with us all through the night, and then falling in with a regular twister from the eastward that carried us right across the Line to about latitude 0 degrees 47 minutes North. From thence we had light and variable breezes to Sierra Leone, despite which we made an excellent passage, arriving in the anchorage in just three days short of a month from the date of our leaving it upon our rescuing expedition; and I am happy to say that when we landed the rescued party they had all so far rallied as to render their perfect recovery merely a matter of time, provided, of course, that the deadly fever of the coast did not carry them off in the meanwhile.
On our arrival in Sierra Leone I was greatly surprised to find the Barracouta still in harbour; and I of course lost no time in going on board to report myself and, incidentally, to find out the reason of her prolonged stay in port. But on presenting myself on board I discovered that I had been mistaken in supposing her to have lain there idle during the whole period of my cruise—on the contrary, she had only arrived three days before the Felicidad; and after I had told my story and received the compliments of the captain and the rest of the officers upon what they were pleased to term the boldness and judgment with which I had executed my mission, I had to listen in return to a story as gruesome as can well be imagined, although it was told in very few words. It appeared, then, that a day or two after my departure, the Barracouta again put to sea with the fixed but unexpressed determination to prosecute a further search for the Francesca, the wind and weather having meanwhile been such as to encourage Captain Stopford in the hope that by adopting certain measures he might yet contrive to fall in with her. And he had done so, though by no means in the manner that he had expected, the cruise being without result in the direction in which he had hoped to meet with success. Some days later, however, after the search had been reluctantly abandoned, and while the brig was edging in towards the coast again, hoping to pick up a prize to recompense them in a measure for their disappointment, they had unexpectedly fallen in with the Francesca, again, and were not long in coming to the conclusion that something was seriously wrong on board her, both her topmasts being carried away close to the caps and hanging suspended by the rigging, with no apparent effort being made to clear away the wreck, although the weather was then quite fine. Sail was of course at once made to close with the dismantled craft, and then another surprise met them, for although the intention of the brig must have been from the first moment unmistakable, no attempt was made to avoid the encounter, which, however, was accounted for a little later by the fact that the Francesca appeared to be in an unmanageable condition. Then, as the brig neared her still more closely, it was seen that the sweeps were rigged out but not manned, although the deck was crowded with people, unmistakably blacks. And then it was that for the first time the dreadful surmise dawned upon Captain Stopford’s mind—a surmise tha
t soon proved to be true—that the negroes, doubtless goaded to frenzy by their continued ill-treatment, had risen upon and massacred the entire crew and taken possession of the brigantine, which of course they had not the remotest idea how to handle.
The Barracouta soon arrived upon the Francesca’s weather quarter, and the evidences of the fearful deed then became unmistakable, the scuppers still bearing the stains of the ensanguined stream that had poured from them, while among the whole of that crowd of yelling, fiercely gesticulating blacks, not a single white face was to be seen. Boats were at once lowered and a strong crew sent away to take possession of the disabled vessel, but the emancipated slaves, maddened at the thought of again falling into the hands of the hated whites, and, of course, unaware of the fact that the brig’s crew were anxious only to render them a service, offered so desperate a resistance to the boarders that Young, who led the latter, recognising the impossibility of taking the brigantine without serious loss of life, withdrew to consult with Captain Stopford as to the best course to pursue. Meanwhile, the wind fell away to a calm, of which circumstance the slaves took advantage by manning the sweeps and gradually withdrawing from the vicinity of the Barracouta, This was about sunset; and three hours later a bright blaze upon the horizon proclaimed that the notorious Francesca had either caught or been set on fire in some inexplicable way. The brig’s boats were at once manned and dispatched to the rescue of the unhappy blacks, or as many of them as it might be possible to save; but the brigantine was by this time some nine miles away, the flames burnt with ever-increasing fury, and while the boats were still some three miles distant the doomed ship blew up, and the occupants of the boats saw the bodies of the miserable blacks hurled high in the air in the midst of a dazzling sheet of flame and a cloud of smoke. When the boats arrived upon the scene of the disaster, all that remained of the once gallant but guilty Francesca consisted of a few charred timbers and fragments of half-burnt planking, in the midst of which floated some forty or fifty dead bodies of negroes; the rest had vanished—whither?
Such, reader, is the story, and such was the end of the Pirate Slaver, the terrible doom of which, when it became known, caused such a thrill of horror in the breasts of those who had emulated her crew in their career of crime, that from that time forward there was a noticeable falling-off in the number of vessels frequenting the West African rivers in search of slaves; and finally, a year or two later, the appearance of fast steamers in the slave-squadron rendered the chances of success so remote that but a few of the most enterprising had heart to continue the pursuit of so risky and unprofitable a business. And when these were one by one captured and their vessels condemned, the infamous trade dwindled more and more, until it finally died out altogether, never, let us hope, to be revived again.
The End.
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