Chapter Two

The storm increased, but the brig, brought under snug canvas, rides buoyantly over seas. “Hillo, youngster, you are afraid of drowning are you?” cried old Joe Growler, as he saw Jack’s eye watching the heavy seas, which came rolling up as if they would engulf the vessel. “This is nothing to what you may have to look out for, let me tell you.” Jack thought the sea rough enough as it was, but he made no reply, for old Joe seldom passed him without giving him the taste of his toe or of a rope’s end. The other sailors laughed and jeered at Jack. He was not, however, afraid of the heavy seas. He soon got accustomed to the look of them. He had a feeling also that God, who had put it into the heart of the negro to help him on the topgallant yard, would not desert him. The other men often reminded him of that awful name, but, alas, they used it only to blaspheme and curse.

During the day the weather appeared finer, though the brig still lay hove to; but at night the wind blew fiercer and fiercer, the sea broke more wildly than ever. Towards morning a loud report was heard, as if a gun had been fired on board: the fore-topsail had been blown from the bolt-ropes. Before another sail could be set a terrific sea struck the ship, washing fore and aft. “Hold on, hold on for your lives,” sung out the master. Jack grasped the main rigging, so did Sambo and others; but two men were forced from their hold by the water and carried overboard. A flash of lightning revealed their countenances full of horror and despair. A shriek – their death wail – reached his ears. Jack never forgot those pale terror-struck faces.

When morning broke, the crew no longer seemed inclined to jeer and laugh at Jack. The ship was labouring heavily. About noon, the carpenter, who had been below, appeared on deck with a countenance which showed that something was the matter. “What’s wrong now?” asked the captain. “Why, the ship’s sprung a leak, and if we don’t look out we shall all go to the bottom,” answered the carpenter gruffly. He and the captain were on bad terms. “All hands man the pumps,” sung out the captain. The men looked sulkily at each other, as if doubting whether or not they would obey the order. “Let’s get some grog aboard; and no matter, then, whether we sink or swim,” said one. “Ay, hoist up a spirit cask, and have one jolly booze before we die,” chimed in another. It was evident that they would if they could break into the spirit room, and steeping their senses in liquor, die like brute beasts. Sambo and Jack, however, rushed to the pumps to help the mates rig them. When the captain saw the hesitation of the rest of the crew, uttering a dreadful oath, he entered his cabin, and immediately returned on deck with a pistol in each hand. “Mutiny – mutiny!” he exclaimed. “You know me, my lads – just understand I’ll shoot the first man who disobeys me.” Strange, that the men who an instant before would not have hesitated to rush into the presence of their Maker, were now afraid of the captain and his pistols. Without another word they went to the pumps. The labour was incessant, but they were able to prevent the water from increasing. All day, and through the next night, they pumped on. In the morning the storm began to break; and soon, the wind shifting, the brig was put on her proper course. Still the water poured in through the leak; but as the sea went down, half the crew were enabled to keep it under. It was hard work though, watch and watch at the pumps. The captain and his mates walked the deck with their pistols in their belts, ready to shoot any man who might refuse to labour. Jack and Sambo were the only ones who pumped away with a will. Several days passed thus. At length the water grew of a yellowish tinge, and a long line of dark-leaved trees appeared, as if growing out of the sea. Jack was told that they were mangrove bushes, and that they were on the coast of Africa. A canoe came off from the shore full of black men. One of them, dressed in a cocked hat and blue shirt, with a pair of top boots on his legs, but no other clothing, stepped on board. He told the captain that he was son to the king of the country; and having begged hard for a quid of tobacco and a tumbler of rum, offered to pilot the brig up the river. The brig’s head was turned in shore, and passing through several heavy rollers which came tumbling in, threatening to sweep her decks, she was quickly in smooth water, and gliding up with the sea breeze between two lines of mangrove bushes. The men required to shorten sail, had slackened at their labours at the pumps. This neglect allowed the water to gain on them; so the captain, instead of ordering the anchor to be let go, when some way up the river, ran the brig on shore. He did this to save her from sinking, which in another ten minutes she would have done. It was now high tide; and the captain hoped when the water fell to get at the leak and repair damages. He was come to trade in palm oil, ivory, and gold dust, besides gums and spices, and any other articles which might sell well at home. He had brought Manchester goods – cottons, and cloths, and ribbons; and also other merchandise from Birmingham, such as carpenters’ tools, and knives and daggers, and swords and pistols and guns, to give in exchange for the productions of the country.

The king’s son remained on board, and acted as interpreter. Numbers of natives came down to the banks of the river, and a brisk trade commenced. No vessel had been there for some time, and the captain congratulated himself on quickly collecting a cargo. The men, meantime, had to work in the mud under the ship’s bottom to stop the leak; and the hot sun came down on their heads, and at night the damp mists rose around them, and soon the dreadful coast-fever made its appearance. One by one they sickened and died. Jack’s heart sank within him when he heard their ravings as the fever was at its height. They died without consolation, without hope, knowing God only as a God of vengeance, whose laws they had systematically outraged. The mates died, and the carpenter and the boatswain, till two men only of the crew besides the captain and Jack’s friend, Sambo, remained alive. The captain thought that he had discovered the means of warding off disease, and always talked of getting the brig afloat, and returning home with a full cargo. He seemed to have no sorrow for the death of his shipmates, and cursed and swore as much as ever. At last Jack felt very ill, and one morning when he tried to get up he could not. Sambo came and looked at him, and telling him not to fear, returned on deck and sent off for a cocoa-nut-bottle full of some cooling liquid. When it came, no mother could have administered the beverage with greater gentleness than did Sambo. Though it cooled his thirst, still Jack thought he was going to die. The fever grew worse and worse, and for many days Jack knew nothing of what was taking place around him.

While he had been well he had never said his prayers; but now the recollection of them came back to his mind, and he kept repeating them and the verses he had learned from his mother over and over again.

Chapter Three

At last Jack completely recovered his senses. The two men who had remained in the berth were no longer there. Sambo, who nursed him tenderly as before, was the only person he saw. He inquired what had become of the rest. “Captain and all gone. Fis’ eat them,” was the answer. Yes; out of all that crew the negro and the boy were the only survivors. The king’s son and his subjects had carried away all the cargo, and the rigging and stores and the bare hull alone remained.

Jack was still very weak, but his black friend carried him on deck whenever the sea breeze blew up the river, and that refreshed him.

While he lay on his mattress, he bethought him of repeating the verses from the Bible and his prayers to Sambo. The black listened, and soon took pleasure in learning them also. Jack remembered something about the Bible, and how Jesus Christ came on earth to save sinners; and Sambo replied it was very good of him, and that he was just the master he should like to serve.

Thus many weeks and months passed away till Jack was quite strong again, and he wished to go on shore and to see what was beyond all those dark mangrove trees; but Sambo would not let him, telling him that there were bad people who lived there, and that he might come to harm.

But a change in their lives was coming which they little expected. As they were sitting on the deck one evening, a long dark schooner appeared gliding up the river like a snake from among the trees. Sambo pulled Jack immediately under shelter of the bulwarks, and hurried him below. “The slaver – come to take black mans away – berry bad for we.” The slaver, for such she was, dropped her anchor close to the brig. Jack and Sambo lay concealed in the hold, and hoped that they had not been seen. Oh that men would be as active in doing good as they are when engaged in evil pursuits. The slaver’s crew, aided by numerous blacks from the shore, forthwith began to take on board water and provisions, and in the mean time gangs of blacks, tied two and two by the wrists, came down to the river’s banks from various directions. Sambo looked out every now and then, and said that he hoped the schooner would soon get her cargo on board and sail. “She soon go now,” said he one day, “all people in ship.”

While, however, he was speaking, a boat touched the side of the brig, and to their infinite dismay the footsteps of people were heard on deck. Still they hoped that they might escape discovery. “What dis smoke from?” exclaimed Sambo. “Dey put fire to de brig!” So it was. The smoke was almost stifling them. They had not a moment to lose. Up the fore-hatchway they sprung, and as they did so they found themselves confronting three or four white men.

“Ho, ho, who are you?” said one, who turned and spoke a few words to his companions in Spanish.

Jack replied that they were English sailors belonging to the brig, and that they wished to return home.

“That’s neither here nor there, my lads,” was the unsatisfactory answer. “You’ll come with us, so say no more about the matter.”

Thereon Jack and Sambo were seized and hurried on board the schooner. Her hold was crowded with slaves. The anchor was apeak, and with the land breeze filling her sails, she ran over the bar and stood out to sea. “We are short handed and you two will be useful,” said the white man who had spoken to them, and who proved to be the mate; “it’s lucky for you, for we don’t stand on much ceremony with any we find troublesome.” Sambo had advised Jack to say nothing, but to work if he was bid, and the mate seemed satisfied.

What words can describe the horrors of a crowded slave ship, even in those days before the blockade was established. Men, women, and children all huddled together, sitting with their chins on their knees and without the power of moving. A portion only were allowed to come on deck at a time, and the crew attended to their duties with pistols in their belts and cutlasses by their sides ready to suppress an outbreak. Many such outbreaks Jack was told had occurred, when all the white men had been murdered. He was rather less harshly treated than in the brig, but he had plenty of work to do and many masters to make him do it. It was dreadful work – the cries and groans of the slaves – the stench rising from below – the surly looks and fierce oaths of the ruffian crew, outcasts from many different nations, made Jack wish himself safe on shore again.

Thus, the slave ship sailed on across the Atlantic, the officers and men exulting in the thought of the large profit they expected to make by their hapless cargo.

But there was an avenging arm already raised to strike them. No enemy pursued them – the weather had hitherto been fine. Suddenly there came a change. Dark clouds gathered rapidly – thunder roared – lightning flashed vividly. It was night – Jack was standing on deck near Sambo – “Oh! what is dat?” exclaimed Sambo, as a large ball of fire struck the main-topmast head. Down it came with a crash, riving the mast into a thousand fragments. Wild, wild shrieks of horror and dismay arose. Bright flames burst forth, shewing the terror-struck countenances of the crew. Down – down sank the ship, the fierce waves washed over her decks. Jack thought his last moment had come as the waters closed over his head, while he was drawn in by the vortex of the foundering vessel; but he struck out boldly, and once more rose to the surface. He found himself among several spars with a few fathom of thin rope attached to them. He contrived to get hold of these spars, and by lashing them together to form a frail raft. This was the work of a minute. He listened for the sound of a human voice, yet he feared that he himself was the sole survivor of those who lately lived on board the slave ship. Not a sound did he hear, nothing could he see. How solitary and sad did he feel thus floating in darkness and alone on the wide ocean. Oh picture the young sailor boy, tossing about on a few spars in the middle of the Atlantic, hundreds of miles away from any land, thick gloom above him, thick gloom on every side. What hope could he have of ultimately escaping? Still he remembered that God, who had before been so merciful to him, might yet preserve his life. He had not been many minutes on his raft when he shouted again, in the hopes that some one might have escaped to bear him company. With what breathless anxiety did he listen! A voice in return came faintly over the waters towards him from no great distance. He was sure he knew it. “Is that you, Sambo?” he exclaimed. – “Yes, Jack, me. Got hold of two oars. Come to you,” answered Sambo, for it was the black who spoke. After some time Sambo swam up to him, and together they made the raft more secure. It was a great consolation to Jack to have his friend with him; yet forlorn, indeed, was their condition.