Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
the tigress fastened on his scanty locks with one hand, while, with
the other, she pummelled his eyes and nose. Badly used as he was, I
must confess that the captain proved too generous to retaliate on that
portion of his spouse where female charms are most bewitching and
visible; still, I am much mistaken if the sound spanking she received
did not elsewhere leave marks of physical vigor that would have been
creditable to a pugilist.
It was remarkable that these human tornados were as violent and brief
as those which scourge tropical lands as well as tropical characters.
In a quarter of an hour there was a dead calm. The silence of the
night, on those still and star-lit waters, was only broken by a sort
of chirrup, that might have been mistaken for a cricket, but which I
think was _a kiss_. Indeed, I was rapidly going off again to sleep,
when I was called to give the key of the spirit-locker,--a glorious
resource that never failed as a solemn seal of reconciliation and
bliss.
Next morning, before I awoke, the captain went ashore, and when his
wife, at breakfast, inquired my knowledge of the night's affray, my
gallantry forced me to confess that I was one of the soundest sleepers
on earth or water, and, moreover, that I was surprised to learn there
had been the least difference between such happy partners. In spite of
my simplicity, the lady insisted on confiding her griefs, with the
assurance that she would not have been half so angry had not her
spouse foolishly thrown her silver spoons into the sea, with the bread
and butter. She grew quite eloquent on the pleasures of married life,
and told me of many a similar reproof she had been forced to give her
husband during their voyages. It did him good, she said, and kept him
wholesome. In fact, she hoped, that if ever I married, I would have
the luck to win a guardian like herself. Of course, I was again most
gallantly silent. Still, I could not help reserving a decision as to
the merits of matrimony; for present appearances certainly did not
demonstrate the bliss I had so often read and heard of. At any rate, I
resolved, that if ever I ventured upon a trial of love, it should, at
least, in the first instance, be love _without_ liquor!
On our return to Europe we called at Dover for orders, and found that
Antwerp was our destination. We made sail at sunset, but as the wind
was adverse and the weather boisterous, we anchored for two days in
the Downs. At length, during a lull of the gale, we sailed for the
mouth of the Scheldt; but, as we approached the coast of Holland, the
wind became light and baffling, so that we were unable to enter the
river. We had not taken a pilot at Ramsgate, being confident of
obtaining one off Flushing. At sundown, the storm again arose in all
its fury from the north-west; but all attempts to put back to England
were unavailing, for we dared not show a rag of sail before the
howling tempest. It was, indeed, a fearful night of wind, hail,
darkness, and anxiety. At two o'clock in the morning, we suddenly
grounded on one of the numerous banks off Flushing. Hardly had we
struck when the sea made a clean sweep over us, covering the decks
with sand, and snapping the spars like pipe-stems. The captain was
killed instantly by the fall of a top-gallant yard, which crushed his
skull; while the sailors, who in such moments seem possessed by utter
recklessness, broke into the spirit-room and drank to excess. For
awhile I had some hope that the stanchness of our vessel's hull might
enable us to cling to her till daylight, but she speedily bilged and
began to fill.
After this it would have been madness to linger. The boats were still
safe. The long one was quickly filled by the crew, under the command
of the second mate--who threw an anker of gin into the craft before he
leaped aboard,--while I reserved the jolly-boat for myself, the
captain's widow, the cook, and the steward. The long-boat was never
heard of.
All night long that dreadful nor'wester howled along and lashed the
narrow sea between England and the Continent; yet I kept our frail
skiff before it, hoping, at daylight, to descry the lowlands of
Belgium. The heart-broken woman rested motionless in the stern-sheets.
We covered her with all the available garments, and, even in the midst
of our own griefs, could not help feeling that the suddenness of her
double desolation had made her perfectly unconscious of our dreary
surroundings.
Shortly after eight o'clock a cry of joy announced the sight of land
within a short distance. The villagers of Bragden, who soon descried
us, hastened to the beach, and rushing knee deep into the water,
signalled that the shore was safe after passing the surf. The sea was
churned by the storm into a perfect foam. Breakers roared, gathered,
and poured along like avalanches. Still, there was no hope for us but
in passing the line of these angry sentinels. Accordingly, I watched
the swell, and pulling firmly, bow on, into the first of the breakers,
we spun with such arrowy swiftness across the intervening space, that
I recollect nothing until we were clasped in the arms of the brawny
Belgians on the beach.
But, alas! the poor widow was no more. I cannot imagine when she died.
During the four hours of our passage from the wreck to land, her head
rested on my lap; yet no spasm of pain or convulsion marked the moment
of her departure.
That night the parish priest buried the unfortunate lady, and
afterwards carried round a plate, asking alms,--not for masses to
insure the repose of her soul,--but to defray the expenses of _the
living_ to Ostend.
CHAPTER III.
I had no time or temper to be idle. In a week, I was on board a Dutch
galliot, bound to Havana; but I soon perceived that I was again under
the command of two captains--male and female. The regular master
superintended the navigation, while the _bloomer_ controlled the whole
of us. Indeed, the dame was the actual owner of the craft, and, from
skipper to cabin-boy, governed not only our actions but our stomachs.
I know not whether it was piety or economy that swayed her soul, but I
never met a person who was so rigid as this lady in the observance of
the church calendar, especially whenever a day of abstinence allowed
her to deprive us of our beef. Nothing but my destitution compelled me
to ship in this craft; still, to say the truth, I had well-nigh given
up all idea of returning to the United States, and determined to
engage in any adventurous expedition that my profession offered. In
1824, it will be remembered, Mexico, the Spanish main, Peru, and the
Pacific coasts, were renowned for the fortunes they bestowed on
enterprise; and, as the galliot was bound to Havana, I hailed her as a
sort of floating bridge to my EL DORADO.
On the seventh night after our departure, while beating out of the bay
of Biscay with a six-knot breeze, in a clear moonlight, we ran foul of
a vessel which approached us on the opposite tack. Whence she sprang
no one could tell. In an instant, she appeared and was on us with a
dreadful concussion. Every man was prostrated on deck and all our
masts were carried away. From the other vessel we heard shrieks and a
cry of despair; but the ill-omened miscreant disappeared as rapidly as
she approached, and left us floating a helpless log, on a sea
proverbial for storms.
We contrived, however, to reach the port of Ferrol, in Spain, where we
were detained four months, in consequence of the difficulty of
obtaining the materials for repairs, notwithstanding this place is
considered the best and largest ship-yard of Castile.
It was at Ferrol that I met with a singular adventure, which was
well-nigh depriving me of my personal identity, as Peter Schlemhil was
deprived of his shadow. I went one afternoon in my boat to the other
side of the harbor to obtain some pieces of leather from a tannery,
and, having completed my purchase, was lounging slowly towards the
quay, when I stopped at a house for a drink of water. I was handed a
tumbler by the trim-built, black-eyed girl, who stood in the doorway,
and whose rosy lips and sparkling eyes were more the sources of my
thirst than the water; but, while I was drinking, the damsel ran into
the dwelling, and hastily returned with her mother and another sister,
who stared at me a moment without saying a word, and simultaneously
fell upon my neck, smothering my lips and cheeks with repeated kisses!
"_Oh! mi querido hijo_," said the mother.
"_Carissimo Antonio_," sobbed the daughter.
"_Mi hermano!_" exclaimed her sister.
"Dear son, dear Antonio, dear brother! Come into the house; where have
you been? Your grandmother is dying to see you once more! Don't delay
an instant, but come in without a word! _Por dios!_ that we should
have caught you at last, and in such a way: _Ave Maria! madrecita,
aqui viene Antonito!_"
In the midst of all these exclamations, embraces, fondlings, and
kisses, it may easily be imagined that I stood staring about me with
wide eyes and mouth, and half-drained tumbler in hand, like one in a
dream. I asked no questions, but as the dame was buxom, and the girls
were fresh, I kissed in return, and followed unreluctantly as they
half dragged, half carried me into their domicil. On the door-sill of
the inner apartment I found myself locked in the skinny arms of a
brown and withered crone, who was said to be my grandmother, and, of
course, my youthful _moustache_ was properly bedewed with the moisture
of her toothless mouth.
As soon as I was seated, I took the liberty to say,--though without
any protest against this charming assault,--that I fancied there might
possibly be some mistake; but I was quickly silenced. My _madrecita_
declared at once, and in the presence of my four shipmates, that, six
years before, I left her on my first voyage in a Dutch vessel; that my
_querido padre_, had gone to bliss two years after my departure; and,
accordingly, that now, I, Antonio Gomez y Carrasco, was the only
surviving male of the family, and, of course, would never more quit
either her, my darling sisters, or the old _pobrecita_, our
grandmother. This florid explanation was immediately closed like the
pleasant air of an opera by a new chorus of kisses, nor can there be
any doubt that I responded to the embraces of my sweet _hermanas_ with
the most gratifying fraternity.
Our charming _quartette_ lasted in all its harmony for half an hour,
during which volley after volley of family secrets was discharged into
my eager ears. So rapid was the talk, and so quickly was its thread
taken up and spun out by each of the three, that I had no opportunity
to interpose. At length, however, in a momentary lull and in a jocular
manner,--but in rather bad Spanish,--I ventured to ask my loving and
talkative mamma, "what amount of property my worthy father had deemed
proper to leave on earth _for his son_ when he took his departure to
rest _con Dios_?" I thought it possible that this agreeable drama was
a Spanish joke, got up _al' improvista_, and that I might end it by
exploding the dangerous mine of money: besides this, it was growing
late, and my return to the galliot was imperative.
But alas! my question brought tears in an instant into my mother's
eyes, and I saw that the scene was _not_ a jest. Accordingly, I
hastened, in all seriousness, to explain and insist on their error. I
protested with all the force of my Franco-Italian nature and Spanish
rhetoric, against the assumed relationship. But all was unavailing;
they argued and persisted; they brought in the neighbors; lots of old
women and old men, with rusty cloaks or shawls, with cigars or
_cigarillos_ in mouth, formed a jury of inquest; so that, in the end,
there was an unanimous verdict in favor of my Galician nativity!