Next day my father went on shore again, and I was kept to work on board, where I much chafed in consequence of the stripe down my face, which was of a deep reddish brown, and which all the scrubbing I could manage seemed not to have the slightest effect in removing. Jack Adams comforted me by saying that it would not come off for six weeks or more, scrub and scrape as I liked.

Towards the evening there were signs of a tornado; and Willie, who was fully alive to the responsibilities of his new position as first mate, sent the upper yards on deck, and told one of the Kruboys to go up to the mast-head to look out for our father coming off.

Two Glass, who was intrusted with this duty, soon reported that he could see the boat being got ready, and then that she was launched and coming off. Suddenly he gave a great yell and sung out, “Boat capsize; all men lib for water.” I instantly ran up aloft, and Willie sent me my spy-glass up by the signal halyards, and I could make out the boat rolling over and over in the surf, and the heads of men swimming. After a little the boat washed up on the beach, and then we could see the crew crawling out of the water one by one. I anxiously watched to see if my father was safe, and at last made him out being helped up the beach by the Kruboys. “Hurrah, Willie! he’s safe,” I shouted, “and not hurt,” as I made out that he was walking about giving directions about the boat, which I could see had had a large hole knocked in her bottom.

I came down on deck, where Willie was giving orders for the other surf-boat to be manned and to go ashore, as he was sure that if possible my father would come on board, as the weather was now very threatening.

I begged and prayed to be allowed to go; but Willie said no, I was to stay on board. I did not feel inclined to obey, and just as the boat was going to shove off I jumped into her, and as time was pressing, the wind and sea both rising rapidly, Willie did not insist on my coming back.

Before we had got half-way ashore it was blowing very hard indeed, and Fore-topsail two or three times wished to put back to the brig; but I taunted him with being afraid, and he said, “Me no fraid, lilly massa, but surf make plenty bad. S’pose boat capsize and massa drown, what capen say?”

“Never mind; the captain wants to get on board. Give way, give way!”

“Bery good.—Pull, boys, pull,” he answered, and the boat’s crew bent to their paddles with renewed energy. But do all that they could, they could not make the place for entering the surf abreast of Mr. Macarthy’s factory, but were driven up to where Pentlea had landed the night before. We had taken so long to reach this spot that the sun had already set before we headed direct for the beach.

The first line of breakers was passed in safety. We were about to cross the second when a squall came down, accompanied by heavy rain; and notwithstanding all Fore-topsails struggles at the steer oar, we were broadside on, and in another instant we were all struggling in the water.

I have an idea of struggling and of the sound as of thousands of tons of water being dashed over me, but I very soon lost all consciousness. When I came to myself I found I was in a small room lighted only by a small hole about six inches square, through which the rays of the moon were pouring, and I could see by them that the place was perfectly empty. My clothes were wet, and I was cold and shivering, and had a racking headache. At first I lay quite still, feeling too bad to have any interest in where I was or what had happened to me; but soon I began to think, and then I remembered leaving the brig, and the capsizing of the surf-boat.

Where was I? and what had happened since the capsize? became now pressing problems to be solved. I was not drowned, nor, as far as I could make out, injured; but who could have put me in this wretched cell without anything to lie on, and without even changing my wet clothes? I must have been saved by some one from drowning; but whoever that some one was, he did not seem to care much about my comfort.

I got up from the corner where I was lying and began to examine my prison—for such I supposed the place I was in must be—and could only feel the rough planks of which the walls and door were composed, and quantities of dust, of cockroaches as big as young sparrows, and of other loathsome insects.

The little hole through which the moon shone was high up, and it was with great difficulty that I managed to jump up so as to hook my fingers on the lower edge and draw myself up and look out. Outside was a deep veranda, and I could see the beach, and the surf thundering in, and beyond the ships lying at anchor, rolling about, their black spars showing distinctly against the bright moonlight. I puzzled to make out which was the Petrel, but at last I did so, and then I knew by her position with regard to the others that I must be in Souza’s factory. I hung on as long as I could, and counting the vessels at anchor in a mechanical way, I made out that two topsail schooners had come in since I left the Petrel. I could not remain long at the window, and I slid down, and soon found that combating the cockroaches, which were flying about, hitting me in the face and sticking in my hair, gave me a considerable amount of employment; and notwithstanding that my clothes were still wet, I soon was bathed in perspiration.

After a time I smelt tobacco smoke, and then I heard footsteps on the veranda outside and chairs being pulled about. Presently I heard Pentlea’s voice calling for a boy to bring some brandy and a cooler of water. I now remained as quiet as I possibly could, and tried to listen for any conversation.

Evidently there were three or four men present, and I heard the names of Camacho and Souza frequently mentioned; and though I could understand nothing, as the conversation was carried on in Spanish, I gathered that both of these worthies as well as Pentlea were present, and that after a time other persons joined them who were either English or American, to judge from the oaths which studded their conversation plentifully.

Their conversation lasted a long time, and at last I made out that Camacho, Souza, and Pentlea went away and left the others to smoke and drink by themselves.

Soon they commenced to speak, and their voices sounded like music in my ears, for they spoke in English, and I hoped from their conversation to learn something of what had happened. At first all they said was, “Pass the bottle,” “Give me a light,” and such-like phrases; but at last one said, “Strike me silly but Simon’s a cute one.”

“How so, Bill? He’s robbed his skipper, and he’s safe here. The caboceers ain’t such fools as to give up a gentleman as deals in black ivory.”

“No, it ain’t that; but to watch the brig so close as to know that the skipper’s cub left in the boat, and to have the beach watched to pick him up.”

“How so? what good is he to us?”

“Lots. Simon hates his skipper, and now he can play him with his son. But there’s news that one of those abominable English steamers is coming here. The Rover sailed as soon as her captain heard we were at Cape Mount, and we got the news it was not safe here sharp. We must get away as soon as we can. Camacho has about fifty slaves, and they will be sent aboard; and the boy we’ll take with us too, and he’ll be useful to Simon.”

A boy now came and summoned these two worthies away, and almost directly after the door of my den was opened, and Pentlea, carrying a lantern, appeared, followed by three or four negroes, who stripped me of my clothes and rubbed me all over with some stuff which made me quite black.

Pentlea looked on approvingly, and said, “Now, Master Frank, you are a nice little nigger, and the people searching the beach for you won’t know you.”

As he said this a ray of hope darted into my mind, for I thought that surely I might call out who I was, and then some one would notice that a slave spoke English, which could not be a common thing on the Whydah beach.

As soon as I was well blacked over, and my hair cut close off, so as not to betray my European blood, I was taken down to a courtyard where there were a number of slaves, and was roped into the middle of a string of five. Pentlea, as soon as this was done, struck me and said, “Now, you whelp, you will have a chance of learning about niggers; you’ll soon know as much as your Livingstone you’re always prating about.”

“O Mr. Pentlea,” I answered, “what do you want to do to me? Only let me go, and I’m sure my father will never do anything against you.”

“No, he would not, I daresay; but I’ve old scores against your father, though he don’t know it, and I intend to square yards with him before I’ve done.”

“Why, my father was always kind to you.”

“Kind? ha, ha! D’ye suppose I mean in the Petrel? No, boy; my debt is of old standing. I should have been a rich man but for your father sending two cruisers after me. I lost my ship and my cargo and nearly my life. Now I have you—that counts for one slave—and I’ll have the Petrel too before very long.”

“Let me go, do let me go. I’m sure my father will pay you to let me go.”

“No, you hound; I’ve made up my mind. And you shan’t have a chance to make a noise on the beach.” He proceeded to give orders to have me gagged, which was immediately done by a big negro who seemed to be a sort of driver.

The gates of the courtyard were now opened, and the slaves were driven out on the beach and packed into the bottom of two big surf-boats, which were launched and paddled through the surf and alongside one of the schooners, which turned out to be our old acquaintance the Santa Maria. As soon as we were on deck I was unfastened from the slaves to whom I had been bound, and the gag was removed. The slaves were at once sent down to the hold, and a man whom I recognized as being one of those who had been drinking outside in the veranda said to me, “Here, you younker, I guess you’d better lay aft and keep quiet.”

I did as I was told, and in a few minutes I heard the anchor weighed, and the Santa Maria and her consort were slipping out to sea before the land breeze.

For several days nothing particular happened. I was made to do all sorts of work about the decks, and wait in the cabin on Camacho, Pentlea, and the Yankee who had spoken to me when I came on board; and though I was not well treated, still I could not complain of any absolute cruelty. We had the usual alternations of wind and calm, sunshine and rain. Once or twice the appearance of smoke on the horizon, or the heaving in sight of some ship whose spars were more than usually lofty, gave a fright to my captors, who dreaded that the stranger might turn out to be a man-of-war come in chase of us. But at last we arrived at the mouth of a large river, up which Pentlea, who seemed thoroughly acquainted with the place, piloted the Santa Maria, taking her into a small creek, where, when her topmasts were sent on deck, she was perfectly invisible from the main stream, and where the Santiago was soon moored alongside of her.

The two schooners were anchored so that their guns should command the entrance. Some of the guns were landed and put in small forts on either side which had evidently been constructed for a long time. The schooners had not long been in this hiding-place before canoes began to flock round them, and as far as I could make out arrangements were being made for the captains of the slavers to pay a visit to the chief of a big town close by, to enter into negotiations for filling their holds with slaves.

I looked at the trees on shore—cocoa-nut and oil palms growing in groves close to where we were lying, and plantations of bananas giving sign of the proximity of villages. Though I was but a captive, I could not help wishing for a trip ashore; and as I knew it was useless to ask Pentlea, I waited until he had quitted the schooner, and then went to the American mate, who had been kinder to me than any other person on board, and made my request to him, saying, “Please, Mr. Silas, may I go ashore?”

He looked at me in astonishment, rolling his quid in his mouth, and said, “Etarnal thunder, what does the boy want? I guess, young feller, you’d best not let Pentlea see you going ashore. Jest you polish that brass work on the binnacle.”

I saw that there was no chance of getting ashore, and slowly obeyed his orders. Soon a boat came from the Santiago, in which was a man who, as soon as he came on deck, said, “Mornin’, Silas. I guess, now the bosses are ashore, we may as well have a talk together as stop one in each schooner.”

“Reckon that’s so,” said Silas. “What d’ye think, Reuben?—there’s that lad Pentlea carried off from the Britisher wants to go ashore.”

“Waal, I kinder think that wouldn’t suit friend Simon; it’s the last place in the hull coast whar that lad should land.”

“How so? I guess thar’s nought but alligators, snakes, and niggers about,—nare a Britisher to be seen or smelt.”

“Guess Simon and Camacho keep their tongues quiet. It’s jest the bisness I wished to overhaul along of you—why we come here.”

“Sartain sure we comed here for nigs, you bet your hide.”

“We’ve come for nigs—true, sir, for you—but we’ve come for more.”

“How now, mate? Don’t keep backin’ and fillin’, but jest out with what you have to say plain.”

“Waal, that Simon’s a deep one, and he’s jest made Camacho fall in with him. The brig the lad came from comes here to trade. Her old man has made a book with the fellow they calls King Okopa here; and Okopa has oil, ivory, and rubber ready, so when the brig comes she can load quick.”

“Why, how does that go? I guess Simon ain’t too cute; for if the Britisher guesses we’re here, he’ll off and set some of their bull-dogs after us.”

“I reckon Pentlea and Camacho won’t let him.”

“How, mate, can he stop it?”

“Not so difficult. Simon, he’s real bad and bitter; for the skipper of the brig laid a cruiser on him some four years back, and he lost his ship. And now he says to Camacho we can get the brig, and her cargo’ll pay for slaves to fill her and both schooners.”

“But, mate, I say that’s piracy.”

“Waal, ain’t slaving piracy?”

“Not so. It stands to reason as nigs was made for slaves; but to rob white men, that’s a different guess sort of thing.”

“I don’t care much for the job myself, but the fellows we have here will do for Camacho what he says; and though when we meets a man-of-war we hoists the gridiron and oysters, and we’s American captains, and has papers all c’rect, still we ain’t nought but the two mates when all’s said and done.”

“That’s so. So long as no murder goes on I don’t care much. Let Camacho and Pentlea manage their own business. Let’s go down and liquor.”

As soon as I heard this conversation commencing I had left off cleaning the binnacle and slipped out into the main-chains, where I could hear every word they said; and when they went below I slipped forward and made them wait a long time before I answered their call to bring them brandy and water and fire for their pipes.

Evidently neither had thought anything of me, and they were now engaged in a game of euchre, and were so absorbed in it that they thought of nothing else save their brandy and pipes. As soon as I had supplied their wants I went to the main chains again, as being the place where I was least likely to be disturbed by any of the crew, and tried to consider what had best be done. It was evident that this place was one where my father traded, which was not much frequented by ordinary traders, and where he therefore could get quicker and larger profits than elsewhere; and that Pentlea was going to take the opportunity of the Petrel calling here to try to make himself master of her.