Chapter 38 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
I have no doubt that the skipper knew all about my coming aboard. Indeed, there had been such a noise made by the men while the crocodile was in pursuit of me, that it was impossible that either he or the mate could be ignorant of the cause of it. I was taken down to the forecastle, however, and heard not a word about being sent back. In truth, as Ben had already informed me in his mutterings, the skipper was rather pleased than otherwise, at being able to overreach King Dingo, and as he had found me useful to himself he had no desire to let me go. It was only the large profit he expected by the exchange that had tempted him to part with me; but so long as he had kept his bargain and regularly delivered me over, his conscience was satisfied, and he was in no way offended or displeased that I found my way back to the barque. Unless, therefore, the canoe came after us and demanded me to be given up, I would not have to go back to Dingo Bingo.
It was not until we were cleverly out of the river, and the Pandora had spread her wings to the breeze, and was standing towards the open sea, that I felt easy in my mind. Many an uneasy glance did I cast up the river as we floated slowly towards its mouth, noting every dark object and every ripple that appeared upon its current. It was not the crocodile that caused me to look tremblingly back; it was a still more hideous monster I dreaded—the long canoe with its row of sable rowers, and King Dingo Bingo in the stern.
The thought of being taken back was dreadful in the extreme. I should no longer be treated with kindness; on the contrary, the spiteful monarch would punish me for my attempt to escape, would revenge himself for the deception I had practised upon him—would lead me a life of the greatest misery.
Yes, it would be a sad affair to be retaken; and not till the Pandora had swept out of the river’s mouth—not till the Kroomen’s boat had been passed, and we were scudding out into the wide sea did I get over my apprehension.
Then was I relieved from all uneasiness on the score of Dingo Bingo, and the moment after had ceased to think of him and his brutal myrmidons.
Yes—the moment after—for a new scene was upon the stage—a new spectacle was to be enacted of which I was to be a witness.
As soon as the the Pandora had passed the river-bar she was visible to the cutter, from the water-line to the truck, and so was the cutter to her. Both vessels had a full view of each other, or might have had, for the moon was shining so clear that a ship could be traced at a long distance off. The cutter’s people, however, did not appear to notice the slaver, until the latter had got several hundred yards out to sea. Perhaps the shadowy background of the forest obscured her, or the watch may have been careless. Whether or no, it was some minutes before there was any movement on board the cruiser. Then a movement was observed which showed that she had discovered the barque. The drum was heard sounding the alarm, and her sails were unfurled with all the rapidity which results from sufficient strength in a crew, combined with perfect discipline.
Notwithstanding the advantage which the slave-captain had obtained from the boldness of his attempt and the suddenness of his appearance, there was one circumstance that had turned against him. During the hour or two that had intervened since the cruiser had dropped anchor, the wind had veered round nearly a full quarter, and, instead of blowing direct from the land, its course was now nearly parallel with the shore.
Of course the experienced skipper had observed the change long ago—it required only a glance to perceive it—the cutter herself, now lying at anchor, beam-ends to the shore, indicated the change, for the Kroomen had reported, that when she first anchored her head was pointed directly for the land.
The slave-captain with chagrin observed this change in the wind, and with an apprehension he had not before felt. Had the wind continued in the same quarter as when the cruiser was first reported, he knew that he could easily run out past her. The breeze would have then been upon his own quarter, and in that way his crank-vessel sailed best; and by making good speed along the diagonal line, he had calculated on being able to get past, with only the risk from a long shot or two.
The change, however, was against him. The cruiser was directly out to sea—about two miles from the river’s mouth. He could not sail to windward of her, as that would be too close to the wind for his own vessel, unless he kept within range of shot; and it so happened that to leeward there was a shoal, or long sand-bank, that stretched almost from the shore to where the cutter was lying. There may have been a distance of half a mile between the cutter and the edge of this shoal, but this was not a sufficient width for running the gauntlet as the slave-captain had intended. The warship, running down the wind, would easily have intercepted the barque before she could have passed through, and given the latter such a broadside as would have crippled and brought her to at once.
I was standing near the skipper and his mate, and listening to their horrid execrations as they perceived the dilemma they were in. I was listening, because I was as much interested as they could have been in the result—though with hopes and wishes directly antagonistic to theirs—I was praying in my heart that we should be captured! Even at the risk of being killed by a broadside from one of my own country’s ships, I could not help desiring this termination to the affair.
Even though I had been but a few minutes aboard, since the lading of the cargo, I was already impressed with the awful scene—I felt pity—keen compassion—blended with loathing. The horrid howling of the blacks, crowded to suffocation below—their cries of entreaty, and, at times, of menace—were a foretaste of what I should be compelled to listen to for weeks, perhaps months. Oh! it would be a fearful existence. In my heart I prayed that we should be captured.