Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop

Chapter Thirty.

Better Luck Next Time

“Why, where have you been?” cried the second lieutenant, as the two boats ran alongside. “The captain’s been nearly mad with excitement and anxiety.”

“Oh, don’t ask me,” cried Mr Anderson. “But tell me this, has the stream forked anywhere as you came up?”

“Yes, once: about a mile lower down; but the river was very shallow and insignificant, and I did not think it was worth while to explore there. But why?”

“Shallow – insignificant!” said the lieutenant bitterly. “It was big and important enough to float a large lugger – the one we are pursuing.”

“The one that we saw at the mouth of the river when we entered the bay? I was wondering where that had gone as we came up.”

“No doubt the same,” replied Mr Anderson. “Well, you’ve let the enemy slip, Munday.”

“Nonsense! You don’t mean that, man?”

“There’s no mistake,” said the lieutenant; “and it means this, that you will have to share the captain’s anger and disappointment over my failure.”

“I? But why?”

“For not catching the gang of scoundrels I was driving down before me. Oh, Munday, you ought to have taken that boat!”

“But how was I to know, man?”

“Don’t stop to talk. Run on back and find the lugger if you can, while I keep on down the main stream. We may overtake the wretches after all, and if either of us sees the enemy in the offing of course we must pursue, even if it’s right out to sea.”

“But the captain – the Seafowl? We must report what has happened.”

“I will, of course, in passing. You, if you come up first, need only say that there is a nest of slavers up the river, and that I have had a sharp fight. If the captain has seen the lugger, tell him it is full of a gang of scoundrels who have fired upon us, and that the vessel ought to be sunk.”

“You had better tell him all this yourself, Anderson,” said the second lieutenant, in a whisper that the men could not hear, “and I wouldn’t say a word about my missing the lugger on the way, for he’s in a towering rage, and will only be too glad to drop on to me for what I really could not help.”

“No, I suppose not,” said the first lieutenant good-humouredly; “but you might take your share of his ill-humour.”

“But it is all on account of your being so long away.”

“Well, that was not my fault, man. We’ve had a rough time of it; but be off sharply, and as to the missing business, follow and catch the scoundrels, and I won’t say a word.”

“Oh, I say, Anderson!” protested the second lieutenant.

“Well, there, be off and I’ll see.” The second cutter’s sails were sheeted home, and she glided off without more being said, while at little more than half the rate the first cutter went on under oars, but well helped by the current; and they had not gone far down the winding river before the silence of the cane brake was broken by a dull report which made the two middies half rise from their seats by their leader.

“That means the Seafowl firing at the lugger to heave to, sir,” said Murray.

“May you be right, my lad,” replied Mr Anderson. “Step the masts, my lads, and hoist sail.”

The orders were obeyed, and sometimes catching the light breeze and at others helped by the sturdy pulling at the oars, the cutter sped on, her occupants hearing shots fired from time to time, and reading clearly enough that the occupants of the lugger, if it was she who was being summoned to heave to, had not obeyed, but were racing on and trying to make their escape.

This grew more and more certain as the time glided on, and Roberts went so far as to assert that he could tell the difference between the unshotted and the shotted guns which followed.

Then, to the delight of the two lads, the firing ceased, and as they sat anxious and excited, they compared notes and passed opinions, while the lieutenant sat sombre and silent, looking straight out before him, only uttering an ejaculation of impatience from time to time as the wind dropped in some bend of the river, or filled the sails again upon a fresh tack.

Only once did the lieutenant rouse himself a little, and that was when they came in sight of the place where the river forked and down which the second cutter had long passed. Murray pointed it out, while Roberts exclaimed —

“Of course! I remember that well now; but I had forgotten all about it before.”

“Yes; I can recollect it now,” said the lieutenant bitterly; and he relapsed into silence again, though he was listening to the conversation of the two middies all the same, as he proved before long.

“You may be right or you may be wrong,” said Murray, after a time. “I think you are wrong and haven’t told the difference between the shotted and the unshotted guns; but the firing has quite ceased now, and that means that the lugger has given up, and lowered her sails.”

“Maybe,” said Roberts, “but more likely after holding on so long she has had an unlucky shot and been sunk.”

“Lucky shot,” said Murray grimly.

“Ah, that depends upon which side you take. I believe that our lads have grown pretty savage, and sunk her.”

A low murmur of satisfaction arose from amongst the men who overheard the conversation, and then there was silence again, till the lieutenant suddenly spoke out.

“You’ve only provided for two alternatives, gentlemen,” he said.

“Do you mean about the lugger, sir?” asked Murray.

“Of course. You settled that she had lowered her sails or been sunk.”

“Yes, sir; there is no other way.”

“Indeed, Mr Roberts?” said the lieutenant. “It seems to me that there is another alternative.”

“I don’t understand you, sir,” said the lad.

“Perhaps Mr Murray does,” said the lieutenant sadly. “What do you say, my lad?”

“I’m afraid so, sir, but I hope not,” cried the lad; “but we shall soon know, for the river is opening out fast.”

“Yes, that will soon be proved,” said the first lieutenant; and he relapsed into silence.

“I say,” whispered Roberts, giving his companion a nudge, “what do you mean by your alternatives? The lugger must either have lowered her sails or been sunk.”

“What about the coast here?” replied Murray.

“Well, what about it?”

“Isn’t it all wooded and covered with jungle?”

“Of course: don’t we know it well!”

“Yes, and don’t the slaving people know it well?”

“Of course they must.”

“Then isn’t it possible for them to have held on, sailing all they knew, and made for some other river or creek running into the shore right up perhaps into some lagoon or lake known only to themselves, and where we could not follow, knowing so little as we do of the country?”

“Oh, I say,” cried Roberts, “what a miserable old prophet of ill you are, Frank! You shouldn’t go on like that. Haven’t we been disappointed enough, without coming in for worse things still? You might as well stick to it that the lugger has been sunk.”

“I can’t, old fellow,” said Murray, “for I honestly believe – ”

“Oh, bother your honest beliefs!” cried Roberts pettishly. “Be dishonest for once in a way. You might give us a bit of sunshine to freshen us up. Haven’t we got enough to go through yet, with the captain fuming over our failure and being ready to bully us till all’s blue?”

“Can’t help it, old fellow; I must say what I feel. But there, we needn’t talk, for we shall soon know now.”

The lieutenant was of the same opinion, for he suddenly rose from where he was seated, and pressing the sheets on one side as he went forward he made for the bows, where he stood looking out where the mouth of the river became a wide estuary, and then came back to his place in the stern sheets, and as he sat down he pointed past the sails.

“There, gentlemen,” he said; “there lies the Seafowl, in quite a different position; but there is no lugger.”

“No, sir, but there lies the second cutter,” cried Roberts; and he pointed to where their fellow boat was sailing far away and close in shore. “That means she had been chasing the lugger until a lucky shot from the sloop sunk her.”

“No, my lad,” said the officer gravely. “I hold to Mr Murray’s idea – that the second cutter chased the scoundrels till they dodged into one of their lairs, and they have by this time penetrated far up the country, perhaps been able to get round by some back way through some forest labyrinth to where the plantation house is.”

“Well, sir, we know our way better now,” said Murray, “and we must go again. Better luck next time.”

“Thank you, Mr Murray. Better luck next time. Now to hear what the captain has to say!”

Chapter Thirty One.

Mr Allen’s Visit

The captain had too much to say when the first cutter’s crew went on board and learned that matters had taken place just as had been anticipated, the lugger having suddenly glided out of what had seemed to those on board the sloop to be a patch of dense tropical forest, and then sailed away as if to reach the open sea, paying not the slightest heed to the repeated summonses which she received from the Seafowl.

More stringent commands in the shape of shot would have followed, but for the fact that the second cutter, which had been despatched up the river in search of Mr Anderson’s expedition, suddenly, to the surprise of all on board, glided out of the same patch of forest as the lugger had appeared from some little time before, and upon catching sight of the sails of the craft they had followed, had continued the pursuit as rapidly as the crew could force their boat along.

“The place is a regular maze, Mr Anderson,” said the captain, as he described all that had taken place, “and the scoundrel who commands the lugger – I’ll hang him to the yard-arm, Mr Anderson, whether he’s a Yankee or English born, and the bigwigs of the United States and in Parliament at home may settle among themselves whether I’ve done right or not, for he has got the wrong man to deal with if he thinks he is going to play with me. He played with me, Mr Anderson, and tricked me into the belief that he had surrendered, so that I should not fire upon him, and manoeuvred his lugger so as to keep Mr Munday with the second cutter between us. Bah! I’ll never forgive Mr Munday for letting himself be so out-manoeuvred. He has been as bad as you have, sir.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” said the first lieutenant meekly.

“And so you ought to be, sir! But, as I was telling you, the scoundrel led the second cutter a pretty dance, Munday following him till from the deck here it seemed that all he had to do was to tell his coxswain to put his boat-hook on board the lugger and bring his prisoners alongside here.”

“Well, sir, and he did not?” asked the chief officer.

“No, sir, he did not!” cried the captain angrily; and then he stopped short for a few moments. “Well,” he continued then, “aren’t you going to ask why he didn’t take the lugger a prize?”

“I was not going to interrupt you, sir, but I should be glad to hear.”

“Very good, then, Mr Anderson, I will tell you. It was because the scoundrel played a regular pantomime trick upon us – yes, sir, a regular pantomime trick. Look yonder,” continued the captain, pointing towards the shore. “What can you see there?”

“The edge of the forest that comes down to the bay nearly all round as far as I can make out, sir.”

“Exactly. Well, somewhere over yonder the lugger suddenly sailed out, and of course we were astonished, for no glass that we have on board shows the slightest sign of an opening, while before we had got over our surprise, all of a sudden the second cutter, which went up the river to follow you, popped out of the same place as the lugger. Now, sir, how do you explain? Could you come out of the mouth of the river where you went in, while the second cutter, which I sent up the river after you, came out at the same spot as the lugger? Explain that, if you please.”

“It is simple enough, sir; the little river forks and forms two mouths. I sailed down one, and Mr Munday after we had met sailed down the other in pursuit of the enemy, and came out as you saw. It is quite simple, sir.”

“Then I must be too dense to understand it, Mr Anderson,” said the captain angrily; “and now look here, sir,” he continued, “you tell me that the river has two mouths?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s one, then,” said the captain, pointing to where it could be plainly seen.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then where’s the other, sir?”

“Really, sir,” replied the first lieutenant, glancing round and seeing that the two middies were hearing every word and striving hard to keep their faces straight in spite of an intense desire to laugh – “Really, sir, I cannot point out the exact spot, but I suppose that it is where the lugger and the second cutter came out.”

“You suppose that, sir, do you – suppose it!” roared the captain, thumping the rail with his open hand. “Well, that’s what Mr Munday supposes; but where is it, sir – where is it?”

“I must ask Mr Munday, sir, for I suppose he examined that part of the coast when he came out himself.”

“Suppose – suppose – suppose!” cried the captain. “I’m sick of all this supposition. Mr Munday knows nothing whatever about it. The lugger sailed out, and after a bit the second cutter sailed out and continued the pursuit – for I suppose it was a pursuit?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Don’t say of course, Mr Anderson. I tell you it was all like a pantomime trick. He has thoroughly examined the coast there, and he can find no second mouth.”

“River’s shut it up again, Dick,” whispered Murray.

“He has regularly muddled it, Mr Anderson,” continued the captain – “just as you muddled your part of the expedition; and the fact is that these slaver people have here an intricate what-do-you-call-it? – the same as the classical fellow. Here, you boys, it is not long since you left school: What did they call that puzzle? You, Mr Roberts.”

“I forget, sir,” said the midshipman, upon whom the captain had turned sharply.

“More shame for you, sir! Now, Mr Murray, I hope you have a better memory.”

“Labyrinth, sir,” replied the lad. “Of course – labyrinth! A child could have answered such a simple question;” and the speaker turned to the first lieutenant again, while Murray cocked his eye at Roberts and Roberts made a derisive “face” suggestive of scorn and contempt, and as much as to say, Then if a child could have answered it, why couldn’t you?

“Yes,” continued the captain – “a labyrinth, Mr Anderson, and it is very plain that the slaving scoundrels believe that their place is so confusing and strong that they can set his Majesty’s sloop of war at defiance, and continue to carry on their abominable traffic as they please. But I think not, Mr Anderson – I think not, sir, for we are going to show them that we laugh at all their slippery talk about the island, or whatever it is, belonging to the American Government, and that we are a little too sharp to be deceived over their hiding-places. Only narrow ditches like so much network through swamps. Dreadfully confusing, of course, till you have been through them once, and afterwards as easy to thread as a big packing-needle. I’m disappointed in Mr Munday, I must say, but here is a splendid opportunity for you, you young gentlemen. You are not going to allow yourself to be baffled by a bit of a maze, Mr Murray?”

“No, sir; I hope not,” said the lad. “And you, Mr Roberts?”

“No, sir, now we have been through forest, or cane brake, as Murray calls it.”

“Of course you will not let such trifling obstacles stand in your way,” said the captain, beginning to pace up and down now, and rubbing his hands. “We are going to find out here more than we expect, and after long disappointments make up for the past. Now, Mr Anderson, it is very plain that this Mr er – What do you say the American scoundrel is called?”

“His principal, Allen, addressed him as Huggins,” replied the first lieutenant.

“Huggins! Bah! What a name! It suggests a convict of the worst type. It is a name bad enough, young gentlemen, to condemn any ruffian. Huggins! Why, it literally smells of villainy. But as I was going to say, this Huggins has placed himself completely in our hands by firing upon his Majesty’s forces, and we are now going to give him a thoroughly severe lesson.”

“I hope so, sir,” said the chief officer. “Hope so, Mr Anderson!” cried the captain, turning. “We are going to, and at once. But look here, you tell me that the man’s principal owns quite a handsome country seat up yonder?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you saw the slaving barracks where they collect the unfortunate wretches which are brought over from the West Coast of Africa?”

“No, sir; we saw nothing of that kind, but the surroundings are thickly wooded as well as highly cultivated, and this must all be done by numbers of slaves.”

“Exactly, and this – what do you say his name is? – Allen?”

“Yes, sir.”

” – lives the life of a wealthy slave-owner there?”

“Boat just slipped out from among the trees, sir!” cried Murray excitedly.

“How dare you interrupt me in that rude – Eh? Yes, of course! A boat, Mr Murray? What do you make her out to be? – Not coming to the attack?”

“No, sir,” replied the middy, giving his fellow a quick glance full of mirth. “Row-boat, sir, pulled by a dozen black fellows – six oars a side. Man holding the ropes in white. Looks to me like – ”

“The scoundrel Huggins coming out to surrender?”

“No, sir,” said the lad eagerly. “I can’t quite make out at this distance, but I think it’s like the thin delicate-looking Mr Allen whom Huggins was so insolent to.”

“What!” cried the captain.

“Yes, sir,” said the chief officer, who had had his glass to his eye; “Mr Murray is quite right. This is the head man – proprietor, I suppose – of the plantation.”

“Come to surrender,” said the captain, rubbing his hands, and then taking the glass his chief officer offered to him. “A nice scoundrel!” muttered the captain, as he scanned the boat. “Everything in style, eh, and a black slave to hold a white umbrella over his head for fear the sun should burn his cheeks. Well, things are going to alter a good deal for him. The cowardly dog! This is showing the white feather, and no mistake. Well, Mr Anderson, I did not expect this.”

The captain tucked the telescope under his arm and drawing himself up, marched off, while preparations were made for the coming boat’s reception. The men were at their stations, and a couple of marines took their places at the gangway, while the young officers eagerly scanned the chief occupant of the boat, the doctor, who had just come on deck after seeing to the slight injuries of the first cutter’s men, joining the midshipmen.

“Thank you, Murray,” he said, handing back the glass the lad had offered him. “So this is the diabolical ruffian whose men fired upon his Majesty’s able seamen and officers, is it? Well, he doesn’t look very terrible. I think I could tackle him with a little quinine.”

“Yes, doctor; he looked to me like a thorough invalid,” whispered Murray.

“He is an invalid, my lad. Had fever badly. The fellow’s come for advice.”

“What’s that?” said the captain sharply, for the doctor had made no scruple about giving his opinions aloud.

“I say your slaver or pirate captain looks as if he had come to visit the doctor and not the captain,” replied the gentleman addressed.

“Come to go into irons,” said the captain.

“Not he, sir. He doesn’t want iron; steel is more in his way. Poor fellow! He looks as if you could blow him away.”

“From the mouth of a gun? Well, he deserves it.”

“But surely this is not the ruffian you folks have been talking about – firing upon the boats, and – Ah, here he is!”

For the well-made cutter now came alongside, the slave crew who rowed it and the coxswain being well-armed, and hooking on quite as a matter of course, the latter showing his white teeth, an example followed by the rest of the crew, while the occupant of the stern sheets rose feebly and painfully, gladly snatching at the hands offered to him, by whose aid he climbed the side with difficulty and stood tottering on the deck.

“The captain?” he said to Mr Anderson. “No; I saw you ashore, sir. Thanks,” he added, taking the arm the chief officer extended to him. “I am greatly obliged, sir, for I am very weak.”

“Yes,” said the doctor, stepping forward. “A deck-chair, there. That’s right, Mr Murray; a little more under the awning. Sit down, sir. Mr Roberts, a glass of water, if you please.”

“You are very good, gentlemen,” said the visitor, recovering a little, for he was evidently on the point of fainting. “I am better now. Can I speak to the captain?”

“Yes, sir,” said that gentleman, coming forward frowning, and rather taken aback by the aspect of one he looked upon as a surrendered prisoner. “Now, sir, what have you to say?”

“Only that I wish to express my grief, captain, that the untoward business of the past twenty-four hours or so should have occurred.”

“Very pretty, sir,” said the captain sternly. “You set me at defiance, fire upon his Majesty’s forces, and then presume to come aboard my ship having the insolence to suppose that all you have to do is to offer an apology.”

“No, sir,” said the visitor sadly. “This has all been none of my doing. I think your officers will bear me out when I tell you that it was far from my wish that any resistance should be made to one of the King of England’s ships.”

“Indeed! To one of your king’s ships?”

“Yes; I own myself to be one of his Majesty’s most unworthy subjects.”

“Indeed!” said the captain sharply. “Why, Mr Anderson, I understood you to say that this man claimed to be a subject of the United States Government.”

“No – no!” interrupted the planter. “I can bear this no longer; the end has come. All this trouble, sir, has arisen from my weakness in allowing myself to be subjected to the oppression and led away by the villainy of the man whom I at first engaged to manage my plantation.”

“Look here, my good fellow,” cried the captain sternly, “I do not want to know anything about your overseer, but I take it that you are a slaver. Answer me that – yes or no.”

“Unwillingly, sir, yes.”

“And you confess to having fired upon his Majesty’s forces?”

“No, sir; no.”

“What, sir!” cried the captain. “Do you deny that your servants – your slaves – have done this thing?”

“Sir,” cried the planter bitterly, “for long enough my chief servant has made himself my master. I, the slave, have fought hard against what has been carried out in my name.”