When we came alongside the man-of-war, another small boat had already arrived. Lights were in the gangway, and forms showed along the rail. The vessel was a brig-rigged cruiser, not very large, but, judging from the heaviness of her spars that towered above in the darkness, she was very fast, capable of overhauling the majority of traders. She would not have caught The Gentle Hand in a breeze of any weight, and, as I gazed at her, I remembered the sail I had seen before dark, and to which I had called Bill’s attention while aloft. This vessel was evidently the one seen but not reported, and she had probably crept up on us in the darkness without our knowing it. Then came the rising forward among the men, planned and led by Shannon and Martin, who had plotted with the slave-driver ashore for some of the profits. They had intended taking the barque in themselves, selling and landing the cargo somewhere on either the Cuban or American coast, and then making 314another trip, or sinking her before being overhauled and found out. It was a game easily played among dealers who asked few questions and who paid cost prices. Clearing would not be difficult to men who thought nothing of forging papers, and who would close the mouths of certain officials of the Spanish ports well known to them by handing over a small percentage of the profits. How it all ended is now known, and I seemed to be the sole survivor of the affair.
We ranged alongside the cruiser, and the order came to peak oars. How the accurate obedience of the men and quick, certain movements brought back memories of the days when I wore the blue uniform and served frigate’s guns. Then we were fast, and I was ordered to stand up.
“Now then, up with you,” snapped the officer aft. “Clap that fellow in irons as he comes aboard,” he added to the quartermaster, who stood in the gangway, and who promptly laid a heavy paw upon my shoulder. I was seized by two sailors and hustled below without further ado, and when I arrived in the ’tween-decks, a fellow clapped the irons upon my wrists.
“Where’ll we put him?” asked one of the sailors of the master-at-arms, who was superintending operations.
The light from the lanterns shone upon me, and 315I must have presented a pretty hard spectacle. Several wounds that I had received had begun to bleed afresh, and the salt water mixed with the blood, completely saturating my clothing.
“You look like you had a clip or two, my friend,” said the master-at-arms to me. “Had a bit of a fracas, hey?”
The tone was familiar, and I looked hard at the man. Then, in spite of his clean-shaved face and uniform, I had no difficulty in recognizing old Peter Richards, bos’n of The Gentle Hand.
“Well, how in thunder did you get here?” I asked.
“Didn’t you get my note?” said Richards.
“I did, but am not the scholar you appear to be. Sink you, Peter, how did you play it on me so?”
Richards smiled grimly.
“You know,” he said, “when you first signed with old Watkins, I did not want to go in the barque. Your gaff set me on, John, and I thought you such a fool you would get in trouble. I knew what she was, well enough, but I would have stayed with her if they had treated me right. But folk in that business don’t treat people right. The whole game is one of wrong and oppression,--an’ you know it. When I left, I knew she was going out the next day, and tried to tell you, but you had just gone 316ashore, and when I found you had gone, I went as far as the place where you had the outfly with Curtis on account of the gal. I heard of the mess, an’ got to the long skipper’s boat in time to see him rowing you back to The Gentle Hand.”
“Did you know what he had in the chest, too?” I asked.
“No, but I knew he was up to something. I knew he couldn’t do much with the vessel he had, and I thought I would come along in your wake in this brig. We got here too late. Tell me how the trouble came about.”
I told as much as I could of the rising, and before I was through, an officer called him aft to give instructions about me. I knew he would do what he could, and hoped to have him stand between me and the end of the gant-line.
While he was gone, a master’s mate came up and took me in hand.
“What became of the rest of the crew?” he asked,
“They killed all hands,” I answered, sullenly. “I’m the only one left.”
“Not exactly,” answered the sailor, kindly. “Not exactly, my boy. There’s a pretty good lump of a Welshman and a fairly sized Dutchman already ahead of you.”
317“What!” I cried. “Did you pick up Miss Allen and Big Jones?”
“I haven’t the honour of the gal’s acquaintance,” said the fellow, “but we’ve got her aboard all right, and the men with her. Who is the young lady,--the skipper’s daughter?”
“Daughter of the trader,” I answered, with a feeling of relief. “Her father was killed with the rest. So she’s aboard, is she?”
“All safe, but we don’t hang women for piracy, so I don’t know what the old man’ll do with her. No, Sam, we won’t put him in the brig,” he said, addressing one of the men. “It’s too hot, too much like the hold of a slaver to suit him. I’ve always noticed these fellows are mighty particular about themselves. You can stow yourself there in that hammock to-night, my friend, and here’s some togs for you,” he continued to me, “and here’s a nip of grog for you. Stand by for a call to come aft and be sentenced.”
His tone was kindly, but so cool withal, when discussing my probable end, that I hated the fellow. Hadn’t I gone through enough? Must I be goaded and hung, after all? I changed my dripping clothes, with the help of a couple of men who loosed my hands for a few minutes, and then the order was passed to bring me aft to the captain for examination.
318Tired and exhausted as I was, I was hustled aft between two sailors, and brought to the poop, where sat the captain of the cruiser in a chair. He was only partly dressed, on account of the heat, and he smoked a long cigar of the kind rolled in Cuba. Richards had passed a word for me, and he looked less dangerous than I expected.
He was an intelligent officer, and, as I told my story, beginning at t............