Our voyage to the West Coast was unchequered by any incident. We ran past Madeira and Teneriffe, and sighting Cape Verde and Sierra Leone, we first anchored off Solymah, a place on the African coast, where my father left some goods on trust, the country produce in payment for which was to be ready for us on our return. The chiefs with whom he traded, he said, could be thoroughly relied on, though they also had many dealings with slave-traders. The next place off which we anchored was Cape Mount, where Captain Caillaud, a notorious slave-trader, had his head-quarters, and where our appearance at first caused a scare on board two Spanish schooners which were lying there, and which, as soon as we hove in sight, made sail and got under way. But when they saw that we did not chase them, they lay-to in the offing; and signals being made to them from Caillaud’s barracoons that we were not to be feared, they returned to the anchorage and came-to alongside of us.

I was very much excited at seeing real slavers, and examined them long and closely through my spy-glass. They were both most beautiful craft, long and low; and though their black hulls were unrelieved by any stripe or colour, they were most carefully kept, and their masts, spars, and sails were in perfect order. To look at them one would have thought that, instead of being devoted to that most detestable trade in human beings, they were the floating homes of some enthusiastic yachtsmen.

As I was watching them, I saw the one nearest to us lower a gig, which, when it was manned, came alongside of us. A man dressed in a striped shirt and white trousers, with a scarlet silk sash round his waist, in which were a brace of pistols and a long dagger, came up on deck, and in broken English asked to speak with our captain. My father asked what he might want, and he said he had been sent to inquire if we could supply them with any stores for their cabin, for which he would pay in Spanish doubloons. At first my father said that he did not wish to have any dealings with people engaged in the slave-trade; but the Spaniard told him that it was a question of must, for if he did not let them have what was wanted willingly, in which case he would be paid, and paid handsomely, the Santa Maria, as his vessel was called, and her consort the Santiago were quite strong enough to help themselves.

My father saw that there was nothing for it but to make the best of a bad bargain; and while he was talking to his unwelcome visitor, Mr. Pentlea, who had been forward on the forecastle attending to some work, came aft, and we were all astonished to find that he was recognized by the Spaniard, who at once addressed him in Spanish, and to whom he replied in the same language.

“Hallo, Mr. Pentlea,” said my father. “Do you know this person; and can you talk Spanish?”

“Yes, sir. For some time I was on board an American schooner which traded between New Orleans and Mobile and Cuba, and Spanish was necessary to us; and Senhor Camacho here I often met at the Havana and Santiago de Cuba. But then he was in an honest craft, and had nothing to do with slaving.”

“Very well. I do not like to have anything to do with people in the slave-trade, but this is a case of necessity; so, as you understand his lingo, will you find out what he wants, and we will get through with the business as soon as may be.”

Camacho and Pentlea had a long conversation, and the latter took down a list of the articles which the slavers required; and as we could spare them without difficulty, orders were at once given for the hold to be opened and to get them on deck.

I went down with Jack Adams to assist in slinging some of the casks and bales that had to come up; and when he was down below, he said to me, so as not to be overheard by anybody,—

“I knows as how it ain’t my place to remark on an officer, but that Jack Spaniard talking to the mate ain’t after no good; and though I can’t manage to parleyvoo in Spanish, I haven’t been in the West Indies and South America for nothing, and I can manage to get the bearings of a word now and again, and I’m sartain sure that all that palaver that those two has been having was not all about these here stores. As far as I could fix it, he was asking how this craft of ours sails, and what ports we were bound for. In course these questions were no more than one friend might ask another; but there were no need for the Spaniard to write ’em down as he did, and I’m out of my reckonings altogether if Mr. Pentlea and the Spaniard don’t know more of each other than they says.”

“What do you suppose they want? Do you think the slavers will attack us? Why, our carronades would beat them off easy.”

“No; Caillaud here won’t allow no piracy near his head-quarters. He slaves surely, but in all other matters he is an honest gentleman. But, bless you, they schooners carries a long eighteen or maybe a thirty-two pounder, and they could keep to windward out of range of our guns, and just do what they like. I don’t suppose they want to put their necks in a noose; but trouble they may give us, and it’s my opinion they means to do it.”

“What can we do?”

“Why, nothing much; but just you tell your father to keep his weather eye lifting, and not trust Mr. Pentlea too much.”

“Very well; I will do so.”

We soon had the required stores ready, and Camacho returned with a boat to take them away, and with the promised doubloons he paid the prices asked without any bargaining. At the same time messages came from the shore which decided my father not to have any trade at Cape Mount; and he gave orders to prepare to get under way to proceed to Cape Palmas. There he intended to ship the Kruboys who are always taken on board ships trading on the West Coast of Africa, to work the surf-boats and do all work which would expose the white men of the crew to the sun and night-dews, and thus risk their health and lives.

We hove short by sunset, and set the topsails. The land-breeze coming off soon after midnight, we weighed and steered eastward, keeping sufficiently far off the shore to avoid the dangers. When the sun rose we could see the tree-clad line of coast with the surf beating on it, diversified by the native villages and the more pretentious towns of the Liberian Republic. The land-breeze had now died away, and we were drifting along with the east-going current; but soon after ten o’clock the sea-breeze began to set in, and we were soon running along about seven knots, with all plain sail and the starboard fore-topmast studding-sail set.

When the sail was made and trimmed, my father called me to come under the monkey-poop for my

daily lesson in navigation; and I was able to tell him what Jack Adams had said to me the day before about Mr. Pentlea and Camacho. At first he laughed, and said that Jack Adams was a suspicious old sea-dog; but just as he was saying this, Black Bill the cook came aft, under pretext of speaking to my father about killing a pig, but when he saw that there was no one within hearing distance he said,—

“Please, Capen Baldwin, me tink that Massa Pentlea bad man for true. What time me lib slave-ship, dat Camacho he be one ossifer, and he be bery bad; and now when me catch see him and Massa Pentlea make palaver, me tink one, two times, and den me remember dat Massa Pentlea he lib for come aboard slave-ship plenty time what time we lib in river where me bought.”

“Nonsense, man,” said my father; “you are dreaming. Do you mean Mr. Pentlea was a slaver?”

“Me no sabey for true; but when we lib Bristol, and Massa Pentlea come aboard, me tink me see dat man before; but though me tink plenty much no catch sabey where me see him, and so me no peak; but now me remember he plenty time come on board slaver.”

“Very well. Bill. Have you told any one about this?”

“No, sah; me tink only good tell capen. ’Spose tell all men, dey make plenty palaver; and quick one time Massa Pentlea catch sabey me sabey him.”

“That’s right. Bill; don’t you tell any one.—And, Frank, mind not a word to any one about this, not even to Willie, for I will tell him myself.—Yes, Bill, you can kill the pig. I daresay we shall see some Bristol craft to-day, and they will be glad of a fresh bit of English pork.”

Bill went away, and soon we heard the screams of the pig having its throat cut; and my father told me that my lesson for the day was over, and that I was to tell Mr. Pentlea that he wanted him. I ran and did as I was told; and then, having put away my books, I climbed up to the fore-topmast cross-trees to look at the land as we were running past it, and at the fishing-canoes and small country sailing-boats, many of which were quite close to us. The native villages with their round thatched huts, and the people on the strip of yellow beach, I could easily make out through my telescope; and after a little I observed the masts and yards of some vessels at anchor, and hailed Willie, who was in charge of the deck, to tell him.

When we drew near, we made out that they were Bristol traders like ourselves. We took in the topmast studding-sail and royals, and hauling up the courses, hove-to just to windward of the first of them. Soon her captain was on board, and glad to get a budget of letters and a leg of the pig Black Bill had killed; and then, when he had in return told my father the news of the coast, we filled again and stood on to the next, and for the whole afternoon we were passing by and communicating with Bristol traders, at that time entirely dependent for news of the world on the arrival of one of their own number from Europe, except when occasionally one of the squadron engaged in the suppression of the slave-trade had later news than they themselves.

To me it was intensely interesting to see all the brigs, barques, and ships lying at anchor, with their awnings spread, and the boats belonging to them manned by Kruboys, naked, except for a scanty cloth round their waists, and to hear them chattering in their Kru English, which every one speaks to them, and which, though it may not conform to the rules of Lindley Murray, has the advantage of being expressive, forcible, and easy of comprehension.

At last we had nearly finished our mail-distributing for the day, when we saw, about four miles ahead of us, a large ship flying a signal for us to speak with her.

We hove-to about a quarter of a mile to windward, and her boat came alongside of us just before we drifted down abreast; and in her there was no white man, but only Kruboys. One of them, scrambling up the side, came to my father and said,—

“Please, sah, bring book from capen ob Empress. All white man lib for be sick, and two, tree lib for die. No catch medicine plenty soon, all man die.”

My father tore open the letter, which was written by the master of the ship Empress of Liverpool, and which said that all the white men on board were down with fever, and that only the day before two had died, and he begged for some medicine to be sent, so that those who survived might have a chance for their lives.

My father gave the word to fill and reach up close to the Empress, and shortening sail, anchored a short distance to windward of her. Then having selected such medicines as might be useful, he went on board the Empress to see what he could do for the fever-stricken crew.

He came back in an hour and said he had found that the captain and officers were new to the coast, and had neglected many precautions, but that, as there were enough Krumen on board to work the ship properly, he had advised the captain to get under way and beat slowly to windward, which would soon blow the fever out of the ship. The bark and quinine he had been able to leave with them would, he had no doubt, set most of her English crew on their feet again.

As soon as he came on board he gave orders to weigh and make sail; and then leaving Mr. Pentlea in charge of the deck, he told Willie and myself to come into the cabin, as he wished to speak with us about what he had seen on board the Empress.

As soon as we were in the cabin he said, “My boys, I wish now at once, while it is fresh in my mind, to tell you of the state of that ship, and how it could have been avoided. Her captain is a smart young fellow, but he has never been on this coast before, and he thought that he could manage here as he had done in other parts of the world, and has not followed out the rules laid down for him by his owners. When his men got down and dispirited from the climate and fever, he thought he would pull them up by giving them more rum than the usual allowance, and the consequences have been fatal.”

Having said this, our father gave us a regular lecture on keeping the ship and men clean, avoiding chills and night-dews, and opened out to us all the knowledge he had gained during an experience of the West Coast of Africa of over thirty years. When he had finished this he said: “I have other and perhaps more immediately important matters to speak to you about. Frank knows something of it, for he told me what Jack Adams said to him on the subject, and was also here when Black Bill told me that he had seen the mate on board the ship in which he was taken from his native country. I am afraid that we shall have to watch Mr. Pentlea very carefully; for though I did not think much of what Jack Adams said, and even if Black Bill had seen him on board the slaver it might have happened without much loss of character to him—for I am sorry to say many of our traders do not mind having dealings with the Spaniards and Portuguese who form the crews of most of the slavers—still I am now afraid that he has actually been a slaver himself. For the captain of the Empress, who recognized him through his glass, said that the reason he left Liverpool and did not get a ship there was that though he had done very well in the British Queen, there were stories afloat about him with regard to his having been a regular slaver before he sailed in her; indeed, even whilst he was in her he was supposed to have been in communication with some of his old companions, and to have furnished them with information as to the whereabouts of British men-of-war, and otherwise to have made himself useful to them. Now I cannot say that there is any truth in this, but as we shall visit some very little frequented places where usually the only vessels seen are slavers, he may play us some trick with them, and we must watch him very closely. I can’t get rid of him now—and even if I could, I have no one to take his place—so you must both help me to watch him carefully. Mind, you must neither of you say a word of this to any one—not even to Jack Adams or Black Bill.”

“All right, father,” we both answered at once; and then saying good-night, we went off to our berths to turn in for the night.