Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
which I fastened behind my neck as I stood on the forecastle; and
then, placing the oar beneath my arm, I glided from the bows into the
quiet water.
The night was not only very dark, but a heavy squall of wind and rain,
accompanied by thunder, helped to conceal my escape; and free the
stream from sharks. I was not long in reaching a native town, where a
Krooman from below, who had known me at Gallinas, was prepared for my
reception and concealment.
Next morning, the cabin-boy, who did not find me as usual on deck,
took my coffee to the state-room, where, it was supposed, I still
rested in comfortable oblivion of last night's carouse. But the bird
had flown! There were my trunk, my garments, my watch,--undisturbed as
I left them when preparing for bed. There was the linen of my couch
turned down and tumbled during repose. The inquest had no doubt of my
fate:--_I had fallen overboard during the night_, and was doubtless,
by this time, well digested in the bowels of African sharks! Folks
shook their heads with surprise when it was reported that the
notorious slaver, Canot, had fallen a victim to _mania a potu_!
The _report_ of my death soon reached shore; the British townsfolk
believed it, but I never imagined for a moment that the warm-hearted
tar who commanded the prize had been deceived by such false signals.
During eight days I remained hidden among the friendly negroes, and
from my loophole, saw the Russian vessel sail under the Saracen's
escort. I was not, however, neglected in my concealment by the worthy
tradesmen of the British colony, who knew I possessed money as well as
credit. This permitted me to receive visits and make purchases for the
factory, so that I was enabled, on the eighth day, with a full
equipment of all I desired, to quit the British jurisdiction in a
Portuguese vessel.
On our way to New Sestros, I made the skipper heave his main-yard
aback at Digby, while I embarked thirty-one "darkies," and a couple of
stanch canoes with their Kroomen, to land my human freight in case of
encountering a cruiser.
And well was it for me that I took this precaution. Night fell around
us, dark and rainy,--the wind blowing in squalls, and sometimes dying
away altogether. It was near one o'clock when the watch announced two
vessels on our weather bow; and, of course, the canoes were launched,
manned, filled with twenty of the gang, and set adrift for the coast,
ere our new acquaintances could honor us with their personal
attention. Ten of the slaves still remained on board, and as it was
perilous to risk them in our own launch, we capsized it over the
squad, burying the fellows in its bowels under the lee of a sailor's
pistol to keep them quiet if we were searched.
Our lights had hardly been extinguished in cabin and binnacle, when we
heard the measured stroke of a man-of-war oar. In a few moments more
the boat was alongside, the officer on deck, and a fruitless
examination concluded. The blacks beneath the launch were as silent as
death; nothing was found to render the "Maria" suspicious; and we were
dismissed with a left-handed blessing for rousing gentlemen from their
bunks on so comfortless a night. Next morning at dawn we reached New
Sestros, where my ten lubbers were landed without delay.
But our little comedy was not yet over. Noon had not struck before the
"Dolphin" cast anchor within hail of the "Maria," and made so free as
to claim her for a prize! In the darkness and confusion of shipping
the twenty slaves who were first of all despatched in canoes, one of
them slipped overboard with a paddle, and sustained himself till
daylight, when he was picked up by the cruiser whose jaws we had
escaped during the night! The negro's story of our trick aroused the
ire of her commander, and the poor "Maria" was obliged to pay the
forfeit by revisiting Sierra Leone in custody of an officer.
There were great rejoicings on my return to New Sestros. The coast was
full of odd and contradictory stories about our capture. When the tale
of my death at Sierra Leone by drowning, in a fit of drunkenness, was
told to my patron Don Pedro, that intelligent gentleman denied it
without hesitation, because, in the language of the law, "_it proved
too much_." It was _possible_, he said, that I might have been
drowned; but when they told him I had come to my death by strong
drink, they declared what was not only improbable, but altogether out
of the question. Accordingly, he would take the liberty to discredit
the entire story, being sure that I would turn up before long.
But poor Prince Freeman was not so clever a judge of nature as Don
Pedro. Freeman had heard of my death; and, imbued as he was with the
superstitions of his country, nobody could make him credit my
existence till he despatched a committee to my factory, headed by his
son, to report the facts. But then, on the instant, the valiant prince
paid me a visit of congratulation. As I held out both hands to welcome
him, I saw the fellow shrink with distrust.
"Count your fingers!" said Freeman.
"Well," said I, "what for?--here they are--one--two--three--four--
five--six--seven--eight--nine--ten!"
"Good--good!" shouted the prince, as he clasped my digits. "White men
tell too many lies 'bout the commodore! White man say, John Bull catch
commodore, and cut him fingers all off, so commodore no more can
'makee book' for makee fool of John Bull!" Which, being translated
into English, signifies that it was reported my fingers had been cut
off by my British captors to prevent me from writing letters by which
the innocent natives believed I so often bamboozled and deceived the
cruisers of her Majesty.
During my absence, a French captain, who was one of our most
attentive friends, had left a donkey which he brought from the Cape de
Verds for my especial delectation, by way of an occasional _promenade
a cheval_! I at once resolved to bestow the "long-eared convenience"
on Freeman, not only as a type, but a testimonial; yet, before a week
was over, the unlucky quadruped reappeared at my quarters, with a
message from the prince that it might do well enough for a bachelor
like me, but its infernal voice was enough to cause the miscarriage of
an entire harem, if not of every honest woman throughout his
jurisdiction! The superstition spread like wildfire. The women were up
in arms against the beast; and I had no rest till I got rid of its
serenades by despatching it to Monrovia, where the dames and damsels
were not afraid of donkeys of any dimensions.
CHAPTER LX.
It was my habit to employ at New Sestros a clerk, store-keeper, and
four seamen, all of whom were whites of reliable character, competent
to aid me efficiently in the control of my _barracoons_.
One of these sailors died of dropsy while in my service; and, as I
write, the memory of his death flashes across my mind so vividly, that
I cannot help recording it among the characteristic events of African
coast-life.
Sanchez, I think, was by birth a Spaniard; at least his perfect
familiarity with the language, as well as name and appearance, induced
me to believe that the greater part of his life must have been spent
under the shield of Saint Iago. The poor fellow was ill for a long
time, but in Africa, existence is so much a long-drawn malady, that we
hardly heeded his bloated flesh or cadaverous skin, as he sat, day
after day, musket in hand, at the gate of our barracoon. At last,
however, his confinement to bed was announced, and every remedy within
our knowledge applied for relief. This time, however, the summons was
peremptory; the sentence was final; there was no reprieve.
On the morning of his death, the sufferer desired me to be called,
and, sending away the African nurse and the two old comrades who
watched faithfully at his bedside, explained that he felt his end
approaching, yet could not depart without easing his soul by
_confession_!
"Here, Don Teodor," said he, "are five ounces of gold--all I have
saved in this world,--the lees of my life,--which I want you to take
care of, and when I am dead send to my sister, who is married to ----,
in Matanzas. Will you promise?"
I promised.
"And now, Don Teodor," continued he, "I must _confess_!"
I could not repress a smile as I replied,--"But, Jose, I am no
_padre_, you know; a _clerigo_ in no part of a slave factory; I cannot
absolve your sins; and, as for my _prayers_, poor fellow, alas! what
can they do for your sins when I fear they will hardly avail for my
own!"
"It's all one, _mi capitan_" answered the dying man; "it makes not the
least difference, Don Teodor, if you are a clergyman or any thing
else; it is the law of our church; and when confession is over, a
man's soul is easier under canvas, even if there's no regular _padre_
at hand to loosen the ropes, and let one's sins fly to the four winds
of heaven. Listen,--it will be short.
"It is many years since I sailed from Havana with that notorious
slaver, Miguel ----, whose murder you may have heard of on the coast.
Our vessel was in capital order for speed as well as cargo, and we
reached Cape Mount after a quick voyage. The place, however, was so
bare of slaves, that we coasted the reefs till we learned from a
Mesurado Krooman that, in less than a month, the supply at Little
Bassa would be abundant. We shipped the savage with his boatman, and
next day reached our destination.
"Miguel was welcomed warmly by the chiefs, who offered a choice lot of
negroes for a portion of our cargo, inviting the captain to tarry with
the rest of his merchandise and establish a factory. He assented; our
brig was sent home with a short cargo, while I and two others landed
with the captain, to aid in the erection and defence of the requisite
buildings.
"It did not take long to set up our bamboo houses and open a trade,
for whose supply Miguel began an intercourse with Cape Mesurado,
paying in doubloons and receiving his merchandise in vessels manned by
American blacks.
"Our captain was no niggard in housekeeping. Bountiful meals every
day supplied his friends and factory. No man went from his door hungry
or dissatisfied. When the colonists came up in their boats with goods,
or walked the beach from the Cape to our settlement, Miguel was always
alert with a welcome. A great intimacy, of course, ensued; and, among
the whole crowd of traffickers, none were higher in our chief's
estimation than a certain T----, who rarely visited the _barracoons_
without a gift from Miguel, in addition to his stipulated pay.
"In due time the brig returned from Havana, with a cargo of rum,
tobacco, powder, and _a box of doubloons_; but she was ordered to the
Cape de Verds to change her flag. In the interval, the Mesurado
colonists picked a quarrel with the Trade-Town chiefs, and, aided by
an American vessel, under Colombian colors, landed a division of
colonial troops and destroyed the Spanish barracoons.[G]
"The ruin of a Spanish factory could not be regarded by our captain
with any other feeling than that of resentment. Still, he manifested
his sensibility by coolness towards the colonists, or by refraining
from that _profitable_ welcome to which they had hitherto been
accustomed. But the Monrovians were not to be rebuffed by disdain.
They had heard, I suppose, of the box of doubloons, and Miguel was 'a
good fellow,' in spite of his frigidity. They were _his_ friends for
ever, and all the harm that had been done his countrymen was
attributable alone to their Colombian foes, and not to the colonists.
Such were the constant declarations of the Monrovians, as they came,
singly and in squads, to visit us after the Trade-Town plunder. T----,
in particular, was loud in his protestations of regard; and such was
the earnestness of his manner, that Miguel, by degrees, restored him