Read Ebook: The Black Barque A Tales of the Pirate Slave-Ship Gentle Hand on Her Last African Cruise by Hains T Jenkins Thornton Jenkins Dunton W Herbert Illustrator

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Ebook has 1398 lines and 74925 words, and 28 pages

OFFICERS

WILLIAM HOWARD, master. RICHARD HAWKSON, first officer. JOHN GULL, second officer. SHERMAN HENRY, third officer.

CREW

PETER RICHARDS, American, boatswain. JOHN HEYWOOD, American, gunner .

WATKINS, steward |THE "DOCTOR," cook

OWNERS AND PASSENGERS

YANKEE DAN, of Nassau, trader .

ROSE ALLEN, his daughter.

LORD RENSHAW, an outcast from society, with money in the enterprise.

SIR JOHN HICKS, bankrupt, engaged in the slave traffic.

MR. CURTIS, engaged in the slave traffic.

THE BLACK BARQUE

When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift upon that port's dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French privateers and had fought under Napoleon's eagles. The peace that had followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of support.

The old man seemed to think I couldn't be happy without thrashing every day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small experience.

We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my failings.

The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough, so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third mate, who was the captain's son.

It wasn't the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me. They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I didn't care very much.

As an American man-o'-war's man, it was my duty to invite the captain ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and, sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence.

I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it, while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and return.

I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends upon its finding something it is not looking for.

"Bon jaw," he said.

I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face.

"I'm a Yankee sailor," said I, "and if you want any business with me you'll have to speak something I understand. And besides," I added, edging closer to him, "I don't allow fellows to talk about me in a foreign language,--unless I've got a good reason to think they're saying something truthful. You savvey? Or I'll make a handsome monkey of you by changing that figurehead you've got there."

A sudden scowl came over the fellow's face and went again. "I kin give you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do you a favour."

"'Virtue is its own reward,'" I said, reaching into my pocket as though for a piece of money. "Cast loose!"

"It's on account of that reward I reckon you don't practise it," grinned the fellow. "Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--"

"Shut up!" I snapped. "If you are an American or English, let's have your lay.

"Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that's your game, you better slant away. Don't you see I've enough ship for the rest of my life, hey?"

The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They were enormous.

"Look a-here now, don't you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all these here swabs a-looking on? You look like you had sense enough to go below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there's a ship without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you'll come go along with me, an' talk the matter over, there'll be no harm done except to the spirruts,--an' they's free."

"Good-bye, old barkey," I cried, holding my right hand high up,--"good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you."

I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man gave a sneer.

"Very sentimental and proper feeling," said he. "A ship's like a person, more or less, an' when one gets used to her he don't like to give her up."

"What do you know about sentiment, you swine?" I asked, fiercely. "I've a good notion to whang you for your insolence."

"A very fine spirit," he commented, as though to himself, as he walked ahead, "a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here's the ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better."

He did not come into the room, but stood in the doorway, his fierce eyes fixed upon my face, and his long, drooping moustache hanging below his jowls, giving him a most sinister appearance. Our companion appeared not to perceive his presence at first, and only when he tilted his mug and threw his head back did his weasel eyes seem to fall in with those of the stranger.

"Come in, you terrier!" I cried. "Come in and have a mug to soak your whiskers in. Sink me, but barbers must be scarce around here. Soldier o' the guard, hey? No one but a Voltigeer-r-r o' the guard-r-rd would wear such hangers."

"May the devil seize me if you ain't the holy joe I'm looking for!" I cried. "Sit down, man, sit down."

"And why not on the frigate now?" I asked Mr. Raymond, who still seemed to be absorbed in prayer.

"Lost, man, lost!" said my little companion, taking a fresh mug. "Don't you know she was lost?"

"Well," I cried, "what difference? Should a holy man desert his ship any the sooner for being holy, hey? Answer me that. Why didn't you get lost in her? Sink me, but I like a man who will do something more than talk for the good of a soul. I like a bit o' sacrifice now and again to show the meaning true. I'd like to see our friend drink this mug of ale to save me from the devil, for, if he'll drink it, I vow I'll not buy another for myself."

"Deliver us from evil," moaned Raymond. "Oh, Henry, I couldn't do it," and his eyes rolled up.

"So your name is Henry, is it?" I asked my little companion.

He looked queerly at me.

"Why didn't you say so before?" I asked, roughly.

"You never asked me," said he. "The chaplain has known me many years."

"Well," I cried, rising and advancing upon Mr. Raymond, "you'll either drink this ale or get it in the face, for I'll not be badgered by every hairy heaven-yelper I run against. Drink!" and I held the mug toward him.

His fierce eyes gleamed curiously, and he reached for the tankard. Then he raised it to his lips, and the long moustache was buried half a foot in the foam. When he let it down it was empty. The next instant something crashed against my head, and I saw many stars. Then came a blank. It must have been some minutes before I came to, and, when I did, I found myself lying upon the floor with my Mr. Henry and the barmaid wiping the blood from my face. The tall man had disappeared, and I struggled to my feet, my head whirling. Upon the floor lay pieces of the mug.

"Did that sky-pilot do it?" I asked, feebly.

Henry grinned.

"Ah, ah, pauvre gar?on, pauvre, pauvre--what eet is, boy? Pauvre boy. C'est poar boy, poar boy," said the stout girl, wiping my clothes gently and laying a hand on my shoulder.

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