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

"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.

The effect of a little sympathy was strange, especially from a woman.

"Never mind," I said, taking her hand from my shoulder and holding it a moment. "Get some fresh ale. There is no damage done. If that fellow was a man of peace, I should not like to come across his breed as man of war. Sit down, you son of a fox," I continued to Henry, "and let's have your yarn, and if I see you so much as grin, this shop will be unlucky." We drew up again to the table.

"I should think," said Richards, "you have had your say long enough now, and would listen to reason. Steady yourself and get back into some ship before you get in jail. I don't care any more for the hooker you just left than you do, and wouldn't go back in her if there was any other vessel wanting hands."

"That is certain," said the sailor, with conviction that angered me not a little.

Richards's manner was a bit trying to me at all times when I wanted to have a say, and this time I lost patience. Yet, when I thought of it afterward, I saw a steady head would have kept me out of much trouble. He was a perfectly balanced man. He would neither lose his head with joy, nor sink with despair at some seeming desperate trouble. He had learned this by experience, and his steady eyes were not those of a dullard. He felt as much as any one, as I soon learned when I gave him the sharp edge of my tongue. He was not a large man, but rather small and wiry. His size, I often thought, had governed his actions, for aboard ship a small man cannot talk too loud. Since he had served with me, I had reason to believe his body had little to do with his mind.

"Peter," I said, acidly, "I'm looking for a ship. Will you go along in her with me?"

"That I will," he said, but I thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time.

"Then, my weasel," said I, turning to Mr. Henry, "you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, I'll hold my mate to his word if I ship in nothing better than a West Indian sugar-boat. Sail in, my bully. Let's have the old tune I've heard so often."

Henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. We were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. I have always had this happen when there were others around, but I take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that I was a well-put-up man. I had nothing whatever to do with my birth.

"You see," said he, "I don't make any bones wot I'm up to. I'm after men sech as you an' me. My father were a Yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as I have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time I think of her."

"You can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue," I growled.

"Perhaps so," he assented; "maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that's why I'm lookin' out fer men wot's men. I get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an' I stands in with the crowd. No shanghai business with me. It don't pay. Why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? A matter o' a pound or two an' a good name fer fair dealin' gone. Oh, no! I don't run fer bad ships. I only takes the clippers, an' I give handsome."

"What's the hooker's name?" I asked.

"That's just what I'm coming to if you'll only say the word to go in her. They want a mate, and they'll pay a big whack for a good man."

"Name, you wolf," I repeated, draining my mug. "Give the name, or pay for this ale and clear."

"I'll take you to her--"

He was interrupted by the entrance of a small man who strode quickly into the room and sat at once in an empty chair near the door. As the newcomer entered, Henry half-rose and saluted, receiving a slight nod of recognition in return.

"Who's your friend?" I asked, gruffly.

"Sh-h! not so loud," and he scowled at me. "That's Captain Howard."

"Who the saints is Captain Howard? Can he drink ale?" I asked.

"I wouldn't ask him if I were you. He's not a man of peace," and he looked at me slantwise.

"I see," I answered, and I looked the stranger over carefully. He was quite small in stature and his face was pale. His hands were soft, white, and effeminate-looking. Upon one finger a huge diamond sparkled. Just then he turned his gaze to meet mine, and I must admit his eyes gave me quite a turn. They were as glassy and expressionless as those of a fish. His whole smooth face, in fact, seemed to express nothing but vacancy. I had never seen a human face so devoid of expression. There was hardly a line in it save about the drooping corners of his mouth.

"He don't look dangerous," I said, with a chuckle. "However, I'm not hunting trouble, and, if you think he'll be offended at my acquaintance, he can go without it."

"He's related to the great English house,--them--them ar'stocrats, ye know. That's the way he's got the king's pardon."

"Pardon for what?" I asked.

Then I remembered well enough. He was the little fellow with the pirate crew that had held up the big East-Indianman in the China Sea some years back. It was he who took the treasure and squandered it in mad riot in the streets of Singapore, and defied the authorities. Here, indeed, was the man feared by both whites and savages of the Eastern seas, sitting in this little ale-house as unconcerned as though nothing unusual had happened to excite curiosity. I was so taken up looking at him and wondering at his foul crimes that he had received and drunk off his liquor before I realized what had happened. As he left, I seized my mug and drank it.

"Come along," I said. "Show me your ship," and Mr. Henry paid the score and started for the door, while I followed. As I reached it, I turned to see what Richards would do, but he was game.

"Here comes your nourse, sonny," he said. "I was paid off yesterday, and don't mind a change if it's for better," and he looked so serious that I burst out laughing.

Henry led the way through the streets until we came to the anchorage basin beyond the docks. He was talkative enough, but my head ached from the blow I had received from the man of peace, and I paid little attention to the fellow's words.

We passed a large American ship that had been captured by the English during the war and sold. She loomed up grandly from the small craft lying near, her long, tapering masts still showing the unmistakable Yankee rigging, and her yards having yet a vestige of the white American cloth which has since been a pleasant feature of all our craft. Her paint was worn off, however, and upon her decks a mongrel crew chattered away like a pack of monkeys. I halted a moment and looked at her in disgust.

"What ship is that?" I asked.

We went toward the vessel indicated, and I soon saw what indeed appeared to be a fine craft. She was large, probably five hundred tons, but she was barque rigged, with her mainmast stepped well aft. Her foreyards were lifted to starboard and her main were braced to all angles, giving her the appearance of having been suddenly deserted by her crew after making port. Upon the spars the white canvas lay bent and furled, the clews standing out a foot or two clear of the bunt, and the gaskets hove in taut as brass bands. Her black sides showed a good freeboard, but I thought little of this, as nearly all vessels bound to the westward were going pretty light at that time. She was coppered, and the top band was a good half-fathom clear of the water. She was pierced for six guns on a side, and had several more ports painted along the bulwarks on the main-deck, as was the custom of the day. At a distance she might have been taken for a vessel of twenty or more guns. Her build was English, but her rig was Scandinavian, and I noticed her poop was painted white everywhere except on deck, after the Yankee fashion.

Three heavy boats were slung amidships on booms. Forward of these a galley was built or lashed upon the deck, and from its window appeared the black head of an African. We went close to the water's edge and Henry hailed.

"Th-war-bull-yah! Ahoy!" he bellowed.

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Ha-Yah-Wah, ahoy!" he bellowed again in answer, and the nigger in the galley waved a white rag in reply.

"May the sharks eat me, you dock wrastler, but that's a queer name for a fine ship! How do you call her?" I asked.

"He's comin' now," said Henry, with a grin. "Names is mostly just sounds, an' furrin sounds is just like others, only different. We'll go aboard her, and you can see the old man an' settle with him. Don't be afraid o' high pay. He'll give it."

In a few minutes a boat left the barque from the side opposite us, where it had been out of sight. It rounded under her stern and came toward us, with the nigger standing aft sculling with the peculiar swing of the Bahama conch. He landed almost at our feet, and Henry motioned me to jump aboard.

"Ole man aboard, hey?" asked Henry, stepping in after me.

"Yassir, disha boat just done taken him abo'd. He's done expected mos' all han's afo' dis."

"Well, take us over," said Henry, and he settled himself heavily upon a thwart.

In a short time we were alongside. We clambered up a long hanging ladder amidships, and then over the rail to the main-deck.

As we did so a venerable, white-haired old fellow stepped out of the cabin door and greeted us.

Henry took off his cap and bowed with uncommon civility.

"Captain Watkins, allow me to make known Mr.--Mr.--"

"Heywood," I suggested.

The old fellow held out his hand gravely, and said how glad he was to make my acquaintance.

"I am just looking for a good navigator, and if you'll come at my terms, I'll reckon we'll deal."

I suggested that the terms be made known.

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