The days following that storm were full of labour for all on board the barque. Rigging a jury maintopmast, and securing the yards that had remained fast to the line ahead, and which had acted as a sea anchor or drag and thereby saved us, we made the best of our way to Madeira. The voyage was uneventful and long, owing to our wrecked condition, but it ended at last.

During the days of toil the temper of the men grew worse, and at one time Martin and Anderson began to talk pretty freely in the watch below. Howard tied the Scandinavian up in the rigging, and was about to use even more severe methods, but Hawkson and Hicks prevailed. He was apprised of the murmurings forward by his steward, Watkins, who took care he lost very little of what went on.

Hawkson and Hicks, backed by Mr. Gull and Henry, however, knew that to precipitate trouble would ruin whatever prospects the voyage still held, and they made it plain to the trader that his influence was also necessary to curb the captain’s temper. Together they held him in check, and we made harbour without coming to desperate measures.

The behaviour of Mr. Curtis after the storm was most peculiar. He prayed very often, and seemed to develop a most pious disposition. This went to the extent of asking permission to have the men mustered on Sundays, so that by standing on the break of the poop he could address and harangue them upon religious matters.

The idea tickled Howard so keenly that he not only agreed to it, but insisted that it should happen twice a week until the men were in better temper. It was being enforced when the towering sides of Pico Ruivo rose above the eastern horizon.

Miss Allen had not been especially impressed by these harangues, and this day joined Hicks upon the poop, while the affair took place. Hicks had been below, but had appeared forward talking confidentially to Martin, and had passed a package which the brawny Scot had taken below very hurriedly just as all hands mustered. When Hicks reached the poop, coming up the cabin companion, we were already standing under the break, lounging in various attitudes of inattention.

I hardly remember what Mr. Curtis said on this occasion, but he pointed to the distant mountains and waxed very eloquent. We had seen this land before, but he had not.

“It is the prayers of us poor sinners,” said he, stretching forth his hand, “that has at last saved our barque from storm and calm. We are poor, weak mortals, and must ask for help.”

“Who calls er mon like me er weak mortil, hey?” came a voice from the crowd, and there stood Martin, the empty bottle in hand, his eyes shifty and dangerous.

“I’m a true Christian man, d’ye ken that, an’ if ye dare say I be ither, I’ll wallop ye like er babe.”

Curtis was off the poop in an instant, and there was a mix-up that promised much in the way of diversion, for whatever our preacher lacked, it was not a quick temper. He seized the tipsy Scot by the hair with both hands, and, in spite of the hoots and wallops he received, was making a very fair job of him when Jones and Henry separated them.

Howard stood on the poop and cackled away, enjoying the scene, refusing to do anything to Martin unless Curtis ordered it. This the younger man’s vanity would not permit, and upon the whole it was just as well, for it made the feeling a little less uncomfortable forward, which was a good thing for a vessel going into a harbour where crews might be scarce.

There was some hesitancy on Hawkson’s part about going in with such a large crew, for trading-vessels generally were not heavily manned. It might create enough comment to attract the attention of a man-of-war, and even though our papers might be fixed satisfactorily, a boarding of the barque would be hazardous to a slaving enterprise. At all events, it was decided that Mr. Gull should take a boat’s crew and land upon the Desertas, the rocks about a dozen miles to the southward. Here they would kill as many wild goats and hogs as they could, and await the barque’s signal before venturing in, bucanning the meat for the voyage back.

We soon anchored in the open roadstead not very far from the beach. The town of Funchal lay before us to the north’ard, its terraces and vineyards rising from the water up the steep sides of the mountains. A very pretty place it was, and in a short time the captain’s gig was called away to take him ashore. Richards silently brought the boat to the ladder, and sat stiff and motionless, a regular man-o’-war cockswain. The whole after-guard, except Henry and Watkins, clambered into the boat, Yankee Dan and his daughter accompanied by Hicks and Curtis.

The old trader had been somewhat subdued in spirits during the latter part of the trip across, owing to our loss of gear and the leaky condition of the vessel. Now he spoke with his usual spirits, which rose as the distance between him and the shore lessened.

“Sink me!” said he, “if I don’t try to show these dagoes how to drive a trade for them topmasts.”

“I wouldn’t, if you intend staying ashore,” said Hicks.

“Will I stay ashore?” said Miss Allen.

“Until we can ship you to the Continent,” said her father. “It won’t be long before we put you and Curtis aboard some ship for Havre. Then you’ll both be safe.”

I had realized before this that Mr. Curtis was looked to as the fowl who was laying the golden egg for the enterprise, while Dan was to do the trading. His daughter was the principal tie between them, and she was, doubtless, the innocent lever the trader had used to get the younger man interested in slaving. It looked as if there would soon be a marriage.

The girl had nodded to me as I took the stroke oar, and I will admit I felt interested in her future. Whatever Sir John Hicks felt, he kept it well to himself, for he joined the conversation right merrily, although his behaviour toward Mr. Curtis was unnecessarily polite. We rowed swiftly over the swell of the blue roadstead, and ran the boat’s nose upon the sand, the light surf splashing into the stern-sheets just enough to cause some scrambling for dry places. Then the boat was surrounded by natives, who plunged into the water regardless of their white breeches, and offered to carry the passengers ashore.

Jones and myself, however, placed a short board for Miss Allen to sit upon, and then raised it to the height of our shoulders with her upon it, bearing her aloft, while she gave a bit of a scream and fastened her fingers in our hair for support. Then we strode ashore to the dry beach above high water, with small regard for the scowling dagoes who failed to earn their silver.

The rest were so busily engaged in getting ashore dry that they failed to note that I seized the little hand upon my head and kissed it fervently, much to Big Jones’s delight and the young lady’s embarrassment.

“You know what they’d do to you if they knew you were so rude,” said she, flushing.

“I’ve risked death for less pleasure,” said I, touching my forehead.

“Then the fool-killer surely was not in the neighbourhood. You forget your position,” said she, haughtily.

“I was a mate once,” I answered.

“Well, you’re not now. If it were not that Sir John--I mean, Mr. Curtis would kill you, I should report your insolence.”

“’Tis a small deed to die for,” said I, “and, if I must go, perhaps I had better make my end doubly certain--”

At this moment Yankee Dan’s voice called, and I turned in time to see him approaching.

Jones, who had walked toward the boat, glanced back uneasily at me, but I touched my forelock, having no cap, and left Miss Allen. The big Welshman did not hear all of our conversation, but, lest he retail part of it to the men, I took the trouble to make it plain to him that such a trick would be reckoned as a great discourtesy to the lady and myself, and that a necessary settlement would therefore take place. Jones, in spite of his size, was a man of keen discernment and not without discretion. He was silent.

As the island was well wooded with fine large trees, it was but a short time before we had our topmasts on the beach ready to take aboard and set up. Jorg took charge of the spars, and we floated them alongside and hoisted them on deck, where he at once set to work upon them. Much of the ironwork from the wreck we had saved, and this shortened the job very considerably. Within a week from the day we dropped anchor, gant-lines were rigged and the new spars sent aloft. The backstays were then set up and the t’gallant-masts were sent up, one of these having been saved from the wreck and the other cut ashore.

The work of rigging kept all hands busy day and night, so we saw little of the town of Funchal. We went ashore once to buy a second-hand suit of t’gallantsails and royals, which were to be used as good weather canvas, and have an old maintop-sail recut, but there was little time even for sampling the wines I had heard so much about.

While we lay there, a large American brig came in and anchored near us.

She was evidently a trader by her look, and by her build and rig she appeared very fast and rakish. She flew the American ensign, and I was interested in her. As soon as we had a little respite from rigging, I asked permission to visit the stranger, and, to my surprise, it was granted. Neither Hawkson nor Howard appeared the least interested in the vessel, and had neither received a visit from her captain nor made a visit to him. When Bill, Ernest, Martin, and myself took the small boat that evening and started over to her, Hawkson called me aside.

“Take a peep below hatches if ye get the chance, and see what sort o’ guns she carries. Maybe ye’ll care to change ships,” said he, with his ugly smile.

As something of this nature had really been finding place in my mind, I suppose I flushed a bit. I had intended to desert, should the brig clear first, for slaving was no more to my taste now than formerly. From Richards’s silent behaviour I felt that I would not have to go alone, and I intended to broach the subject to the bos’n that very night.

“All right,” I answered, with a sinking of spirits I tried to conceal. “I’ll search her if I get the chance.”

What Hawkson meant was evident as soon as we came within a half-mile of her to leeward. A most horrible odour, peculiar and penetrating, seemed to come from her. I had never known it before, but Bill stopped rowing at once and turned toward her.

“Niggers,” said he, spitting in disgust.

“Aboard of her?” I asked.

“Not youst now, maybe, but she’s been full of niggers more’n once. There’s youst a smell left behind, and it never leaves.”