The Pirate

“Massa Francisco, dis really fine ting,” said Pompey, holding up a splendidly embossed tankard, which he had been rubbing.

“Yes,” replied Francisco, gravely; “it is, indeed, Pompey.”

“How Captain Cain came by dis?”

Francisco shook his head, and Pompey put his finger up to his mouth, his eyes, full of meaning, fixed upon Francisco.

At this moment the personage referred to was heard descending the companion-ladder. Pompey recommenced rubbing the silver, and Francisco dropped his eyes upon the book.

What was the tie which appeared to bind the captain to this lad was not known; but, as the latter had always accompanied, and lived together with him, it was generally supposed that he was the captain’s son; and he was as often designated by the crew as young Cain as he was by his Christian name of Francisco. Still it was observed that latterly they had frequently been heard in altercation, and that the captain was very suspicious of Francisco’s movements.

“I beg I may not interrupt your conversation,” said Cain, on entering the cabin; “the information you may obtain from a Krouman must be very important.”

Francisco made no reply, but appeared to be reading his book. Cain’s eyes passed from one to the other, as if to read their thoughts.

“Pray what were you saying, Mr Pompey?”

“Me say, Massa Captain? me only tell young Massa dis very fine ting; ask where you get him—Massa Francisco no tell.”

“And what might it be to you, you black scoundrel?” cried the captain, seizing the goblet, and striking the man with it a blow on the head which flattened the vessel, and at the same time felled the Krouman, powerful as he was, to the deck. The blood streamed, as the man slowly rose, stupefied and trembling from the violent concussion. Without saying a word, he staggered out of the cabin, and Cain threw himself on one of the lockers in front of the standing bed-place, saying, with a bitter smile, “So much for your intimates, Francisco!”

“Rather, so much for your cruelty and injustice towards an unoffending man,” replied Francisco, laying his book on the table. “His question was an innocent one,—for he knew not the particulars connected with the obtaining of that flagon.”

“And you, I presume, do not forget them? Well, be it so, young man; but I warn you again—as I have warned you often—nothing but the remembrance of your mother has prevented me, long before this, from throwing your body to the sharks.”

“What influence my mother’s memory may have over you, I know not; I only regret that, in any way, she had the misfortune to be connected with you.”

“She had the influence,” replied Cain, “which a woman must have over a man when they have for years swung in the same cot; but that is wearing off fast. I tell you so candidly; I will not (even) allow even her memory to check me, if I find you continue your late course. You have shown disaffection before the crew—you have disputed my orders—and I have every reason to believe that you are now plotting against me.”

“Can I do otherwise than show my abhorrence,” replied Francisco, “when I witness such acts of horror, of cruelty—cold-blooded cruelty, as lately have been perpetrated? Why do you bring me here? and why do you now detain me? All I ask is, that you will allow me to leave the vessel. You are not my father; you have told me so.”

“No, I am not your father; but—you are your mother’s son.”

“That gives you no right to have power over me, even if you had been married to my mother; which—”

“I was not.”

“I thank God; for marriage with you would have been even greater disgrace.”

“What!” cried Cain, starting up, seizing the young man by the neck, and lifting him off his seat as if he had been a puppet; “but no—I cannot forget your mother.” Cain released Francisco, and resumed his seat on the locker.

“As you please,” said Francisco, as soon as he had recovered himself; “it matters little whether I am brained by your own hand, or launched overboard as a meal for the sharks; it will be but one more murder.”

“Mad fool! why do you tempt me thus?” replied Cain, again starting up, and hastily quitting the cabin.

The altercation which we have just described was not unheard on deck, as the doors of the cabin were open, and the skylight removed to admit the air. The face of Cain was flushed as he ascended the ladder. He perceived his chief mate standing by the hatchway, and many of the men, who had been slumbering abaft, with their heads raised on their elbows, as if they had been listening to the conversation below.

“It will never do, sir,” said Hawkhurst, the mate, shaking his head.

“No,” replied the captain; “not if he were my own son. But what is to be done?—he knows no fear.”

Hawkhurst pointed to the entering port.

“When I ask your advice, you may give it,” said the captain, turning gloomily away.

In the meantime, Francisco paced the cabin in deep thought. Young as he was, he was indifferent to death; for he had no tie to render life precious. He remembered his mother, but not her demise; that had been concealed from him. At the age of seven he had sailed with Cain in a slaver, and had ever since continued with him. Until lately, he had been led to suppose that the captain was his father. During the years that he had been in the slave-trade, Cain had devoted much time to his education; it so happened that the only book which could be found on board of the vessel, when Cain first commenced teaching, was a Bible belonging to Francisco’s mother. Out of this book he learned to read; and, as his education advanced, other books were procured. It may appear strange that the very traffic in which his reputed father was engaged did not corrupt the boy’s mind, but, accustomed to it from his infancy, he had considered these negroes as another species,—an idea fully warranted by the cruelty of the Europeans towards them.

There are some dispositions so naturally kind and ingenuous that even example and evil contact cannot debase them: such was the disposition of Francisco. As he gained in years and knowledge, he thought more and more for himself, and had already become disgusted with the cruelties practised upon the unfortunate negroes, when the slave-vessel was seized upon by Cain and converted into a pirate. At first, the enormities committed had not been so great; vessels had been seized and plundered, but life had been spared. In the course of crime, however, the descent is rapid: and as, from information given by those who had been released, the schooner was more than once in danger of being captured, latterly no lives had been spared; and but too often the murders had been attended with deeds even more atrocious.

Francisco had witnessed scenes of horror until his young blood curdled: he had expostulated to save, but in vain. Disgusted with the captain and the crew, and their deeds of cruelty, he had latterly expressed his opinions fearlessly, and defied the captain; for, in the heat of an altercation, Cain had acknowledged that Francisco was not his son.

Had any of the crew or officers expressed but a tithe of what had fallen from the bold lips of Francisco, they would have long before paid the forfeit of their temerity; but there was a feeling towards Francisco which could not be stifled in the breast of Cain—it was the feeling of association and habit. The boy had been his companion for years: and from assuetude had become, as it were, a part of himself. There is a principle in our nature which, even when that nature is most debased, will never leave us—that of requiring something to love, something to protect and watch over: it is shown towards a dog, or any other animal, if it cannot be lavished upon one of our own species. Such was the feeling which so forcibly held Cain towards Francisco; such was the feeling which had hitherto saved his life.

After having paced up and down for some time, the youth took his seat on the locker which the captain had quitted: his eye soon caught the head of Pompey, who looked into the cabin and beckoned with his finger.

Francisco rose, and, taking up a flagon from the buffet which contained some spirits, walked to the door, and, without saying a word, handed it to the Krouman.

“Massa Francisco,” whispered Pompey, “Pompey say—all Kroumen say—suppose they run away, you go too? Pompey say—all Kroumen say—suppose they try to kill you? Nebber kill you while one Krouman alive.”

The negro then gently pushed Francisco back with his hand, as if not wishing to hear his answer, and hastened forward on the berth deck.

Chapter Eight.

The Attack

In the meantime, the sea-breeze had risen in the offing, and was sweeping along the surface to where the schooner was at anchor. The captain ordered a man to the cross-trees, directing him to keep a good look-out, while he walked the deck in company with his first mate.

“She may not have sailed until a day or two later,” said the captain, continuing the conversation; “I have made allowance for that, and, depend upon it, as she makes the eastern passage, we must soon fall in with her; if she does not heave in sight this evening, by daylight I shall stretch out in the offing; I know the Portuguese well. The sea-breeze has caught our craft: let them run up the inner jib, and see that she does not foul her anchor.”

It was now late in the afternoon, and dinner had been sent into the cabin; the captain descended, and took his seat at the table with Francisco, who ate in silence. Once or twice the captain, whose wrath had subsided, and whose kindly feelings towards Francisco, checked for a time, had returned with greater force, tried, but in vain, to rally him to conversation, when “Sail ho!” was shouted from the mast-head.

“There she is, by God!” cried the captain, jumping from, and then, as if checking himself, immediately resuming, his seat.

Francisco put his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes as his elbow leant upon the table.

“A large ship, sir; we can see down to the second reef of her topsails,” said Hawkhurst, looking down the skylight.

The captain hastily swallowed some wine from a flagon, cast a look of scorn and anger upon Francisco, and rushed on deck.

“Be smart, lads!” cried the captain, after a few seconds’ survey of the vessel through his glass; “that’s her: furl the awnings, and run the anchor up to the bows: there’s more silver in that vessel, my lads, than your chests will hold: and the good saints of the churches at Goa will have to wait a little longer for their gold candlesticks.”

The crew were immediately on the alert; the awnings were furled, and all the men, stretching aft the spring cable, walked the anchor up to the bows. In two minutes more the Avenger was standing out on the starboard tack, shaping her course so as to cut off the ill-fated vessel. The breeze freshened, and the schooner darted through the smooth water with the impetuosity of a dolphin after its prey. In an hour the hull of the ship was plainly to be distinguished; but the sun was near to the horizon, and before they could ascertain what their force might be, daylight had disappeared. Whether the schooner had been perceived or not, it was impossible to say; at all events, the course of the ship had not been altered, and if she had seen the schooner, she evidently treated her with contempt. On board the Avenger, they were not idle; the long gun in the centre had been cleared from the incumbrances which surrounded it, the other guns had been cast loose, shot handed up, and everything prepared for action, with all the energy and discipline of a man-of-war. The chase had not been lost sight of, the eyes of the pirate-captain were fixed upon her through a night-glass. In about an hour more the schooner was within a mile of the ship, and now altered her course so as to range up within a cable’s length of her to leeward. Cain stood upon the gunwale and hailed. The answer was in Portuguese.

“Heave to, or I’ll sink you!” replied he in the same language.

A general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets from the Portuguese, was the decided answer. The broadside, too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not without effect—the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running rigging came rattling down on her decks. The volley of musketry was more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely.

“Well done! John Portuguese,” cried Hawkhurst: “by the holy poker! I never gave you credit for so much pluck.”