it was now broad daylight and the swift-looking schooner was gliding along apparently through the trees which covered a narrow spit of land.
“Hah!” said the captain quietly. “Yes, that’s it, Mr Anderson – our prize, and a beautiful morning for her to make her start for the West Indies. Bless that straightforward, timorous, modest American skipper! Do you know, Mr Anderson, I am strongly of opinion that he commands that craft and that he will find his way through some of the muddy creeks and channels of the mangrove forest back to where she will be waiting for him. Well, master, what do you think?” he continued, as that officer came up hurriedly. “Will the sloop lie over any further?”
“No, sir; that is stopped; but we are wedged in fast.”
“So I suppose. Well, Mr Thomson, it does not mean a wreck?”
“No, no, sir, nor any damage as far as I can say.”
“Damage, Mr Thomson,” said the captain, smiling at him pleasantly; “but it does, man; damage to our reputation – mine – Mr Anderson’s. But you were going to say something, to ask me some question.”
“Yes, sir; about taking steps to get the sloop out of the bed in which she lies.”
“Poor bird, yes; but you see no risk for the present?”
“Not the slightest, sir. The mud is so soft.”
“Mud generally is, Mr Thomson,” said the captain blandly. “Well, then, let her rest for a while. We are all tired after a long night’s work. Pass the word to Mr Dempsey, and let him pipe all hands for breakfast. I want mine badly.”
There was a faint cheer at this, followed by another, and then by one which Murray said was a regular “roarer.”
“I say,” he said to Roberts, “doesn’t he take it splendidly!”
“Don’t you make any mistake,” replied that young gentleman. “He seems as cool as a cucumber, but he’s boiling with rage, and if he had that Yankee here he’d hang him from the yard-arm as sure as he’s his mother’s son.”
“And serve him right,” said Murray bitterly.
“What’s that, young gentlemen?” said the captain, turning upon them sharply, for he had noted what was going on and placed his own interpretation upon the conversation – “criticising your superiors?”
“No, sir,” said Murray frankly; “we were talking about punishing the Yankee who tricked us into this.”
“Gently, Mr Murray – gently, sir! You hot-blooded boys are in too great a hurry. Wait a bit. I dare say we shall have the pleasure of another interview with him; and, by the way, Mr Anderson, I think as we are so near, we might as well inspect the indiarubber plantations of our friend. We might see, too, if he has any more work-people of the same type as those who manned his galley.”
“I’m afraid we should only find them on board the schooner, sir,” said the chief officer bitterly.
“Exactly,” said the captain; “but I wonder at you young gentlemen,” he continued – “you with your sharp young brains allowing yourselves to be deceived as you were. Those fellows who formed the lugger’s crew ought not to have hoodwinked you.”
“They did me, sir,” said Roberts, speaking out warmly, “but Murray, here, sir, was full of suspicion from the first.”
Chapter Eight.
Amongst the Horrors
The crew of the Seafowl had a busy day’s work after a good refresher, during which officers and men had been discussing in low tones the way in which “the skipper,” as they called him, had let himself be tricked by the Yankee. The younger men wanted to know what he could have been about, while the elder shook their heads sagely.
“Ah,” more than one said, “it has always been the same since the revolution; these Yankees have been too much for us. There’s something in the American air that sharpens their brains.”
Then old Dempsey, the boatswain, who had heard pretty well all that the captain had said, chewed it over, digested it, and gave it voice as if it was something new, to first one knot of listeners and then another, ending with the two midshipmen.
“You see, Mr Murray, and you too, Mr Roberts, it was like this. That schooner had just started for the West Injies with a full load of niggers, when she sighted the Seafowl and knowed she was a king’s ship looking after a prize.”
“How could the Yankee skipper know that?” said Murray. “He could only get just a glimpse before we were hidden by the fog.”
“Cut of the jib, sir – cut of the jib,” said the old man. “What else could he think? ’Sides, Yankee slaving skippers have got consciences, same as other men.”
“Rubbish, Mr Dempsey!” said Roberts contemptuously.
“Course they are, sir – worst of rubbish, as you say, but there’s bad consciences as well as good consciences, and a chap like him, carrying on such work as his, must be always ready to see a king’s ship in every vessel he sights. But well, young gentlemen, as I was a-saying, he sights us, and there was no chance for him with us close on his heels but dodgery.”
“Dodgery, Mr Dempsey?” said Roberts.
“Yes, sir; Yankee tricks. Of course he couldn’t fight, knowing as he did that it meant a few round shot ’twixt and ’tween wind and water, and the loss of his craft. So he says to himself, ‘what’s to be done?’ and he plays us that trick. Sends his schooner up the river while he puts off in that there lugger and pretends to be a injyrubber grower. That ought to have been enough to set the skipper and Mr Anderson thinking something was wrong, but that’s neither here nor there. He pretends that he was a highly respectable sort of fellow, when all the time he was a sorter human fox, and lures, as the captain calls it, our sloop into this sort of a branch of the big river where the current runs wrong way on because part of the waters of the great river discharges theirselves. And then what follows?”
“Why, we were carried by the strange current into the muddy shallow and nearly capsized, Mr Dempsey, while we had the satisfaction of seeing the slaver sail away with her crew,” interposed Murray impatiently.
The grizzly-headed, red-faced old boatswain turned upon the lad with an offended air and said with dignity —
“If you’d only had a little patience, Mr Murray, I was going to tell you all that.”
He grunted audibly as he walked away, and as soon as he was out of hearing Murray cried impatiently —
“What did he want to bore us with all that for? Tiresome old fogey! But I say, Dick, you take my advice – don’t you get anywhere near the skipper if you can help it to-day. He took things very smoothly before breakfast, but you’ll see now that he will be as savage as a bear with a sore head, as they say, and lead every one a terrible life.”
“Oh, if you are going to deal out old saws, young man,” replied Roberts, “you go and teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. Just as if I was likely to go near him until he has got the sloop well afloat!”
But what proved to have been every one’s opinion turned out entirely wrong, for the captain had never shown himself to better advantage.
As
