The night we stood in for settlement, there was a bright moon nearly full. We could hear the snore of the surf before midnight, and we shortened the barque down to her topsails in order not to go too fast.

The breeze was fitful and squally off the land as usual, and bringing with it the thick haze of pollen from the rank vegetation on shore. The air being hot, the watch below stayed on deck and lay in the waterway or behind the deck-house, trying to catch the draught blown on the deck from the stretched canvas as it slid under the foot of the main and foresails.

Martin was lying in the shadow of the foremast to keep the moon out of his eyes, and he shifted his position every little while as the bright light followed him around the mast. Beside him lay Anderson, and near by, in the open moonlight, in total disregard for his eyes, was stretched the long skipper, Shannon, prone upon his back, with his shirt open to catch the breeze.

I sat near the fore-hatchway and watched the shadow of the fabric above swing to and fro upon the deck planks, the lines of the rigging standing out sharp and black on the white wood, the dark blots of the canvas moving slowly within a certain radius with each easy roll of the long swell. It was a bright tropic moon, and it was serenely beautiful. I lounged there, enjoying the silvery light, and hated to sleep lest I miss some of the rare beauty of the darker hours.

Gradually the men on watch settled themselves comfortably, and only the steady tramp of the man on lookout upon the forecastle head, and Hawkson’s step upon the poop told of life aboard. Once or twice the mate’s hoarse voice sounded gruffly, asking Holmberg, who was at the wheel, how she headed, and the answer came low and distinct through the quiet night. The musical hiss and twinkle of the side-wash sounded restful upon the ear after the day’s toil and heat, and seemed to tell of cool sprays. I had the right to sleep, but only dozed, thinking of the disagreeable work in store for us. We would probably take on many blacks here, and nearly, if not quite, fill up with them. Those already aboard gave forth an odour that was far from reassuring, coming as it did up the open hatchway, and I dreaded several hundred more creatures jammed below there, where they must of necessity die like vermin in a box.

While I dozed, I became aware of a whispered conversation. Soon I recognized Martin’s voice, though I could not quite hear his words. He seemed to be talking to Shannon, who had now rolled over in the shadow of the mast alongside of the Scot.

I listened again, for the fellow’s voice was eager, as it was when he talked of any deviltry he expected to enjoy, and I noticed the same tone he used to me when we first made our acquaintance, and when we discussed the probability of the barque becoming a rover and preying upon any vessel of smaller size.

“D’ye ken that? I say, ye long man, d’ye ken that?” said he in answer to a question he had evidently asked. “’Tis as easy fer us as not. There’s Anderson waiting to kill the mate, an’ Jorg willin’ to kill any one, and there’s Pat, Gus, Gilbert, an’ the Doctor willin’ to follow. Hoot! we’d make a finish, na fear. Why, ye c’u’d whollop half the crew yerself, ye long cateran. Didn’t ye nigh do it the day ye made yer jump into the hooker? Help ye? Now, now, c’u’d I have helped ye? Na, na, don’t ask mericles. I let fly the jib, but ’twould have been murder an’ sudden death to have gone aft then. All armed, an’ with that gunner man fightin’ like a sack o’ wildcats, an’ the little fox havin’ a death-grip on yer pipe. Talk sense an’ to the p’int.”

“You air a loose-jawed hell-dog, I wanter know,” said Shannon. “D’you suppose it’s fear a-keepin’ me, hey? What’d you know about the coast, anyways? What’d you want to try an’ tell me?” Then in a more friendly tone: “I know you air a navigator. Good sailor, all right, an’ would stick to a job, but there is a right time for business. I’m a-runnin’ this thing, an’ all you’ve got to do is wait till I says the word. I think a whole lot o’ ye, Martin, an’ would hate to see you swing. There ain’t no one I cares as much for, that’s a fact. An’ when a fellow like me cares for a man,--I say a man, Martin, for that’s what you are, hey? When a fellow like me says that, that same thing, it stands fer something. If it don’t, I wanter know.”

This sort of flattery evidently pleased the Scot. He said something in a low tone, and I felt convinced that he was easily within the power of the long countryman of mine. It’s strange, but immediately after hearing this, I must have lost consciousness, for when I awoke it was gray dawn and a chill filled the air. The watch was called, and I turned out by simply standing up and then sitting down again.

In a little while we washed down the damp decks, and I had a chance to get a look to the northeast, when the haze of the surf blotted out the shore-line. By the time the Doctor had his fire started and we had something warm, the sun rose and disclosed the ruinous settlement of Lagos.

The conversation I had heard disturbed me. There was something sinister in its meaning, and, while I had no love for the barque, I did not care to make a bad matter worse. However, I had no chance to talk the matter over until we had run in and dropped our anchor close to the settlement, and there Yankee Dan appeared on deck ready to go ashore for trading. Howard and Curtis also turned out, and Miss Allen appeared at the companion, very much interested in the distant shore, where the houses were just visible in the morning sunshine.

She smiled somewhat sadly at me as I went aft and loosed the covers from the stern guns, and saw that the priming was in good order. I had begun to think the poor girl out of place long before, and I now felt a sort of hatred for her father, who could expose her to such scenes without any apparent pity. But the trader had become callous from experience in the slaving business, and saw nothing unusual in cooping up a shipful of human beings. They were no more than so many cattle to him, and, as to his daughter’s feelings, he had offered her a chance to stay ashore. If she preferred the scenes of violence, it was no concern of his.

Before I had a chance to see Hawkson, the shore boat was called away. Bill, Jones, Jennings, and myself manned the whale-boat, and we were soon heading in over the swell for the slave factory that was known to exist a short distance inland. Hicks and Gull accompanied the trader ashore, and the latter stood at the steering-oar to pilot us through the surf. In spite of the calm weather in the Bight of Benin, there is sometimes a heavy swell that sets in from many miles offshore, where some passing disturbance of the atmosphere has caused a heavy blow. The swell is long and heaving, and not so easily noticed until it begins to rise in the shoal water. Then its size develops, and it goes up in a wall until the top breaks and the whole mass goes roaring shoreward in a great smother of foam. From the sea side, the height of the breakers is hard to judge, and they are very apt to be underestimated on a calm day.

Mr. Gull stood up as we neared the first line of snoring water, and I could see by his face that he was a bit nervous. This had its effect on me, for no one with any nervousness should attempt to go through a heavy surf. The situation calls for absolute coolness.

“Easy now,” came the order, and we lay waiting for a smooth spell. By some strange freak of nature, seas always roll in sequences. That is, they will run in twos and three or sixes and nines, with a “smooth” between. A surfman will always watch to see how they are running before going in. Gull counted three heavy fellows that roared and thundered in a most appalling manner, and then, grasping the long steering-oar firmly, sung out to give way lively.

We went racing for the beach, and were doing well when, on looking over the stern, I saw an enormous sea rising and coming quickly after us. It rose like a wall astern and towered above the boat. Then instantly it broke with a roar and rush, and we were hurled before it. Gull tried to hold her true, keeping her stern to the surge, but she took a slew and the oar broke. Then she swung sideways and rolled over and over with the rush, and when I came to the surface of the foam, half-strangled by being so quickly rolled out of the boat, she lay bottom up some ten fathoms distant, floating in the smother.

No one was visible, and I struck out for the craft, as there was no bottom and the beach was fifty fathoms distant. Suddenly I saw Bill spattering and struggling, trying to reach the wreck, but showing plainly that he could not swim a stroke. Ernest suddenly appeared alongside of him, and, being able to swim after a fashion, he aided him to reach the gunwale, where both held on firmly, ducking the following seas that flowed over them.

Jennings managed to keep his grip on the boat, and was alongside, holding on, when I noticed a form floating face downward pass me.

I was a fairly good swimmer, although it is a strange fact that few real sailormen can swim at all. I grasped the body and lifted the head clear of the water with my hand just as another sea broke heavily over me, dragging and crushing me down with its weight.

My heart seemed bursting when I arose, still holding the insensible man, and my first intake of breath nearly strangled me. However, I was a powerful fellow, and in a few strokes managed to get started for the upturned boat that now floated some distance nearer shore.

In a few minutes I reached her, and Bill relieved me for a moment while I passed a line over the craft’s bottom. On the other side I found Jones and Yankee Dan both safe and holding on. Together we managed to hold Hicks, whom I now recognized, clear of the water. He had been struck on the head by the boat or an oar and knocked insensible. Gull was nowhere about, and for some time we gave him up for lost, but he had swum in on a broken thwart.

In a little while we heard shouting, and saw him standing on the sand with a couple of black fellows, who, at his direction, plunged in and came toward us. The negroes helped us ashore, and we hauled the boat up clear of the surf. It was a close call, and Hicks still appeared either dead or senseless. We carried him up the beach and laid him under a palm, and set to work chafing his wrists and ankles.

In a little while he opened his eyes and noticed me.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, faintly, trying to sit up. Bill caught his head and held it, while Gull passed his arm under him.

“Trying to quit the expedition,” said Yankee Dan, bluffly. “You were trying to leave us, my boy, but this fellow, Heywood, here, nabbed you in time, and swam in to the boat with you. Otherwise you’d ’a’ been drowned, an’ that’s a fact. You’d ’a’ been drowned sure.”

Hicks looked at me seriously for some moments and then spoke:

“It’s hard to owe one’s life to a fool, but here’s my hand, Heywood,” said he, with a faint smile.

“It’s as hard to acknowledge the favour from one, sir,” I answered, with some little feeling, but then I remembered the time at Funchal, and I smiled and held out my hand, which he grasped firmly, and rose to his feet.

Sir John Hicks was a man of rather unsavoury reputation, but he was not a man who would be gross enough to forget.