Chapter Two.

The “Chieftain” arrives off the coast of Africa, and we carry on a brisk trade with the natives, who come off to us through the surf.—At length Captain Willis proposes to run up the river Bonny to complete our cargo. Not forgetful of my promise to Mammy, I make inquiries for her son Cheebo.

It was my morning watch. I was indulging in the pleasure particularly enjoyable after sweltering in the close hot atmosphere of the cabin, of paddling about with bare feet on the wet deck, over which I and some of the men were heaving buckets of water, while others were lustily using holy-stones and scrubbing brushes, under the superintendence of Mr Wesbey, the first mate. The black cook was lighting his fire in the caboose, from whence a wreath of smoke ascended almost perpendicularly in the clear atmosphere. The sea was smooth as glass, but every now and then a slowly heaving swell lifted the vessel, and caused her sails, which hung down against the masts, to give a loud flap, while here and there the surface was broken by the fin or snout of some monster of the deep swimming round us. Our monkey, Quako, who had been turned out of his usual resting-place, was exhibiting more than his ordinary agility—springing about the rigging, and chattering loudly, now making his way aloft, whence he looked eastwards, and now returning to the caboose, as if to communicate his ideas to his sable friend.

“What makes Quako so frisky this morning?” I asked of Dick Radforth, the boatswain, a sturdy broad shouldered man of iron frame, who, with trousers tucked up, and bare arms brawny as those of Hercules, was standing, bucket in hand, near me, deluging the deck with water.

“He smells his native land, Harry,” he answered, “and thinks he is going to pay a visit to his kith and kindred. We shall have to keep him moored pretty fast, or he will be off into the woods to find them. I have a notion you will get a sight of it before long, when the sea breeze sets in and sends the old barky through the water.”

“What! the coast of Africa!” I exclaimed, and thoughts of that wonderful region, with its unexplored rivers, its gloomy forests, and its black skinned inhabitants, with their barbarous customs and superstitious rites, rose in my mind.

“Aye, sure and it will be a pleasant day when we take our departure from the land, and see the last of it,” observed Dick. “If those niggers would trade like other people we might make quick work of it, and be away home again in a few weeks, but we may thank our stars if we get a full cargo by this time next year, without leaving some of our number behind.”

“What? I should not fancy that any of our fellows were likely to desert,” I observed.

“No; but they are likely to get pressed by a chap who won’t let go his gripe of them again,” answered Dick.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Yellow-fingered Jack we call him sometimes, the coast fever,” said Dick. “If they would but take better care of themselves and not drink those poisonous spirits and sleep on shore at night, they might keep out of his clutches. I give this as a hint to you, Harry. I have been there a score of times, and am pretty well seasoned, but I have felt his gripe, though I do not fear him now.” I thanked the boatswain for his advice. It was given, I suspected, for others’ benefit as well as mine.

As the bright hot red sun rose in the sky, casting his beams down on our heads, and making the pitch bubble up from the seams in the deck—as it had done not unfrequently during the voyage—a few cats’ paws were seen playing over the mirror-like deep. The sails bulged out occasionally, again to hang down as before; then once more they swelled out with the gentle breeze, and the brigantine glided through the water, gradually increasing her speed. I was eagerly looking out for the coast; at length it came in sight—its distant outline rendered indistinct by the misty pall which hung over it. As we drew nearer, its forest covered heights had a particularly gloomy and sombre appearance, which made me think of the cruelties I had heard were practised on those shores, of the barbarous slave trade, of the fearful idolatries of its dark-skinned children, of its wild beasts, and of its deadly fevers. There was nothing exhilarating, nothing to give promise of pleasure or amusement. As our gallant brigantine glided gaily on, sending the sparkling foam from her bows through the tiny wavelets of the ocean, which glittered in the radiance of a blue and cloudless sky, and her sails filled with the fresh sea breeze, these feelings rapidly wore off. Now, on either side, appeared a fleet of fishing canoes, the wild songs of their naked crews coming across the water, as with rugged sails of matting lolling at their ease, they steered towards the shore. We overtook some of them, and such a loud jabber as they set up, talking to each other, or hailing us, I had never heard.

Being near enough to the dangerous coast, we hove-to, and watched them as they fearlessly made their way to shore on the summits of a succession of rollers which burst in fearful breakers on the beach. With our glasses we could see hundreds of dingy figures like black ants, hurrying down to meet them, and to assist in hauling up their canoes. As I cast my eye along the coast I could see many a bay and headland bordered with a rim of glittering white sand, fringed by an unbroken line of sparkling surf. Now we could make out the mud walls and thatched roofs of the native villages, scattered here and there along the shore, mostly nestling amid groves of graceful cocoa-nut trees, while further inland appeared, at distant intervals, that giant monarch of the tropical forest, the silk cotton tree, stretching its mighty limbs upwards towards the sky, and far and wide around. Such was my first view of the African coast.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Captain Willis.

“It looks better than I expected,” I said. “But I don’t see how we are ever to reach it, much less carry on any trade with the people. How can we possibly send any goods on shore?”

“You will see presently,” he answered. “We have hoisted our trading signal, and before long we shall have plenty of dealers along side unless some other vessel has been before us; if so, we may have to wait some days till the black merchants can bring more goods down from the interior. The people about here are imbued with the very spirit of commerce. They understand too how to make a sharp bargain. We have to be wide awake, or, naked savages as they are, they will contrive to outwit us.”

Our various assortments of cotton and other goods had been got up from the hold ready for the expected trade. The captain had also taken out from his strong box a supply of sovereigns and Spanish dollars, should coin be demanded, though he relied chiefly on the more advantageous proceeding of barter.

After standing off and on the coast for some hours, we perceived several large canoes about to be launched. On either side of each canoe stood a dozen or fifteen men, holding to the gunwale with one hand, and carrying a paddle in the other. At a signal from their head man the canoe was hurried into the foaming surf; but, instead of getting in, they swam by her side, guiding her course, until the first heavy swell was past, then they threw themselves simultaneously into her, and began to paddle with might and main till they got beyond the outer swell, and on they came, shouting with satisfaction at the success of their enterprise. Two got off without accident; but three others, when in the very midst of the breakers, were swamped, and I thought that their crews, and, at all events, their cargoes, would be lost. But no such thing. As I watched them through the glass I saw that they were all holding on to the gunwale, shoving her from side to side, until the water was thrown out, when in they got again, and began to gather up numerous articles floating around them. This accomplished, off they came as if nothing had happened. As they got alongside I discovered the reason why their effects did not sink—some were casks of palm oil, which naturally floated, while the elephants’ tusks and other pieces of ivory, were fastened to large floats of cork-wood, and several of the men had small light wooden boxes, which contained gold-dust, secured to their waists. Though these were of a weight sufficient greatly to incumber, if not to sink, an ordinary swimmer, so expert were, they in the water that they appeared in no way to be inconvenienced. Several of them recognised Captain Willis, who had frequently before been off the coast, and having been fairly dealt with by him, and aware that he knew the price they would be ready to take, gave him very little trouble. Some, however, tried to outwit him, but he was very firm with them, and let them understand that he was indifferent to trading except on equitable terms. Altogether he was well satisfied with the result of his first day’s business.

We stood off the coast before the sea breeze died away, and returned again on the following morning. This sort of work we continued for several days. It was, however, a very tedious mode of proceeding. At length we found that the amount of produce, brought off from day to day, rapidly diminishing, while the natives began to demand higher prices than at first. We accordingly stood down the coast towards another native town, with the inhabitants of which we began to trade in the same way as before.

From the time we first came into these latitudes we kept a bright look-out night and day. I asked old Radforth what was the use of doing this when we were engaged in a lawful commerce, which must of necessity prove an advantage to the negroes. “Why, you see, Harry, there are other gentry visit this coast with a very different object in view,” he answered. “For the Spaniards and Portuguese, especially, come here to carry off the unfortunate inhabitants as slaves, and sometimes the villainous crews of their craft, if in want of provisions and water, will help themselves, without ceremony, from any merchantman they may fall in with. And should she have a rich cargo on board, they have been known, I have heard say, to make her people walk the plank, and sink or burn her, so that no one may know anything about the matter. Now our skipper has no fancy to be caught in that fashion, and if we were to sight a suspicious looking sail, as the ‘Chieftain’ has got a fast pair of heels of her own, we should do our best to keep out of her way. You see when once fellows take to slaving they go from bad to worse. I have known something of the trade in my time, and it made my heart turn sick to see the way in which they crowd hundreds of their fellow-creatures down on the slave decks of their vessels, packed as close together as herrings in a cask, for their run across the Atlantic to the Brazils or Cuba. It may be, before we leave this coast, you will have the opportunity of seeing for yourself, so I need not tell you more about it now.”

After this I was as vigilant as anyone on board in looking out for suspicious craft,—for I had no fancy to be caught by a piratical slaver, and be made to walk the plank, and have our gallant little “Chieftain” sent to the bottom.

We continued cruising along the coast for some weeks, slowly exchanging our cargo for African products.

At length Captain Willis got tired of this style of doing business. “I am going to run up the river Bonny, Harry, where we are certain in time to get a full cargo of palm oil, though I would rather have filled up without going into harbour at all, for the climate, I own, is not the healthiest possible, and we may chance to have a touch of sickness on board.”

He spoke, however, in so unconcerned a way that I had no serious apprehensions on that score.

I had not forgotten my promise to Mammy, and had asked all the blacks I could manage to speak to if they could tell me anything of Cheebo. I need scarcely say that my question was received with a broad grin by most of them. “Plenty Cheebos,” was the general reply. “Dat black fellow Cheebo; and dat, and dat, and dat Quamino,” was added, when I said that such was the name of the father of the Cheebo of whom I was in search, but none of them answered the description of poor Mammy’s son. At length I felt very much inclined to give up my inquiries as hopeless.

Chapter Three.

We enter a river.—Its scenery described.—Receive a visit from the King, and trade with the natives.—The products of Africa, for which we trade, mentioned, and the curious mode in which trade is conducted.—Fever breaks out on board, and several of the crew die.—Sad end of poor Bob.—The boatswain and mates attacked with fever.—More deaths.—The Captain’s unwillingness, notwithstanding this, to leave the river till his cargo is completed.

Standing in towards the coast with the sea breeze we saw before us an opening between two low mangrove covered points, which formed the mouth of the river we were about to ascend. The scarcely ever ceasing rollers, coming across the wide Atlantic, broke on the bar which ran across its entrance with somewhat less violence than on the coast itself. Still there was an ugly looking line of white foam which had to be crossed before we could gain the smooth water within. We hove-to, making the signal for a pilot. A canoe in a short time came off, having on board a burly negro, dressed in a broad brimmed hat, nankeen trousers, and white jacket, with a sash round his waist. He produced several documents to show that he was capable of taking a vessel over the bar.

“Wait bit captain,” he said, “high water soon, and den ship go in smooth—batten down hatches though, case sea break aboard.”

Captain Willis followed this advice; it was well that he did so. “Up helm now captain—bar berry good—plenty breeze.” We stood on with all canvas set; the hands at their stations ready to shorten sail when necessary. Soon we found ourselves mounting to the top of a high roller, then on we glided, till in another instant down we came amid the hissing roaring breakers, their foam-topped summits dancing up on either side, and deluging our decks. I saw our black pilot holding on pretty tightly by the main shrouds—I followed his example, for I expected every moment to feel the vessel’s keel touching the bar, when I knew that if she were to hang there even for the shortest possible time, the following sea might break over her stem, and make a clean sweep of her deck. On she sped though, lifted by another huge roller; downwards we then glided amid the eddying creamy waters on to the calm surface of the river, up which the next minute we were gliding rapidly.

The appearance of the banks on either side was not attractive. As far as the eye could reach was one dense jungle of mangrove bushes, and though we ran on for several miles it in no way improved. The wind died away as we advanced, and the atmosphere became hot and oppressive. I had expected to see pleasant openings, with neat cottages, plantations of maize, rice, and other grain, pepper, palms and palmetos; but instead, a uniform line of the sombre tinted mangrove alone presented itself, the trees just too high to prevent our having a view over them of any more attractive scenery which might have existed beyond.

I asked our black pilot when we should come to the town. “By by den you see,” he answered with a look which denoted that we should in time witness something worth beholding.

The water was as smooth as glass. Here and there coveys of birds might be seen skimming along the surface, while overhead a flight of scarlet winged flamingos swept in wide circles, their plumage flashing in the sun as they prepared to descend on one of the many sandbanks in the stream, to carry on their fishing operations. As we advanced, now and then a canoe would shoot out from among the jungle; the black skinned paddlers coming quickly alongside, to ascertain our character and the objects for which we wished to trade. Sometimes too we could see troops of monkeys making their way among the branches, their small grinning faces peering out at us as we glided by through some channel near the shore. Hour after hour thus passed by, but at length, towards evening, the belt of mangrove bushes diminished in thickness, and other trees of more attractive appearance began to take their place, and openings appeared with a few huts scattered about on the slopes of gently rising ground.

As evening was closing in we caught sight, in the far distance, of a congregation of huts, and the pilot gave the captain the welcome information, that he might shorten sail, and prepare to come to an anchor. By the time we had made everything snug darkness closed down upon us. We could just see a few lights twinkling ahead, while on either side, across the stream, appeared the dark outline of the tall trees which clothed the river’s banks. Silence reigned around us, with the exception of the ripple of the water against the vessel’s bows; but from afar off came a confused mixture of sounds, which appeared like the croaking of frogs, the chirruping of crickets, and other creeping and flying things, the screeching and chattering of monkeys, mingled with the voices of human beings making merry round their huts. The air was damp and heavy and hot; at the same time I felt that I should like to be seated by a roaring drying fire.

We kept a watch on deck as if we were at sea, with arms ready for use, for though our pilot had assured us “that all good people here,” Captain Willis was too well acquainted, both with the character of the natives, and the sort of gentry who might possibly be in the river waiting for a cargo of slaves, to put himself in their power.

I tumbled and tossed about during the night in my berth, unable to sleep, both on account of the heat, and, strange to say, of the perfect quiet which prevailed. Next morning a large canoe was seen coming off from the shore, in which was seated a white headed old negro in a glazed cocked hat, a red hunting coat on his shoulders, a flannel petticoat round his waist, and a pair of worsted slippers on his feet. The pilot, who had remained on board, notified to the captain, with great formality, that he was King Dingo, coming to receive his dash or payment for allowing us to trade with his people. His majesty was received with due ceremony, and conducted into the cabin, when, as soon as he was seated, notwithstanding the early hour of the day, he signified that it was his royal pleasure to be presented with a bottle of rum. Having taken two or three glasses, which seemed to have no other effect on him than sharpening his wits, he handed it to one of his attendants, and then applied himself to the breakfast, which had just been placed on the table, and I dare not say how many cups of coffee, sweetened to the brim with sugar, he swallowed in rapid succession. Having received half a dozen muskets, as many kegs of powder, brass pans, wash basins, plates, gunflints, and various cotton articles, as his accustomed dash, and requested a dozen bottles of rum in addition, he took his departure, promising to come again and do a little trade on his own account.

The subjects of the sable potentate were now allowed to come on board, and several canoes were seen approaching us from different parts of the shore. One brought a tusk of ivory, others jars of palm oil, several had baskets of India-rubber, or gum-elastic, as it is called. Besides these articles, they had ebony, bees’-wax, tortoise-shell, gold-dust, copper-ore, ground nuts, and others to dispose of.

We soon found that the business of trading with these black merchants was not carried on at the rate we should have desired.

The trader, having hoisted his goods out of his canoe, would place them on deck, and seat himself before them, looking as unconcerned as if he had not the slightest wish to part with them. Some would wait till the captain came forward and made an offer; others would ask a price ten times the known value of the article, extolling its excellence, hinting that very little more was likely to be brought down the river for a long time to come, and that several other traders were soon expected. The captain would then walk away, advising the owner to keep it till he could obtain the price he asked. The trader would sit still till the captain again came near him, then ask a somewhat lower price. On this being refused he would perhaps make a movement as if about to return to his canoe, without having the slightest intention of so doing; and so the game would go on till the captain would offer the former price for the article, when, perhaps, the trader would sit on, time being of no consequence to him, in the hopes that he might still receive a larger amount of goods. On other occasions the captain had to commence bargaining, when he invariably offered considerably below the true mark, when the trader as invariably asked something greatly above it. The captain would then walk aft, and, perhaps, come back and talk about the other ports he intended to visit, where the natives were more reasonable in their demands. Captain Willis was too cool a hand to show any impatience, and he thus generally made very fair bargains, always being ready to give a just value for the articles he wished to purchase. As each jar of oil, each tooth or box of gold-dust, or basket of India-rubber, could alone be procured by this process, some idea may be formed of the time occupied every day in trading.

Palm oil was, however, the chief article we were in search of; but two weeks passed by, and still a considerable number of our casks remained unfilled. Fever too had broken out on board. Three of our men were down with it, and day after day others were added to the number. The two first seized died, and we took them on shore to be buried. This had a depressing effect on the rest.

When we returned on board we found that a third was nearly at his last gasp. Poor fellow, the look of despair and horror on his countenance I can never forget. “Harry,” he exclaimed, seizing my hand as I went to him with a cup of cooling drink, “I am not fit to die, can no one do any thing for me? I dare not die, can’t some of those black fellows on shore try to bring me through—they ought to know how to man handle this fever.”

“I am afraid that they are but bad doctors, Bob,” I answered, “however, take this cooling stuff it may perhaps do you good.”

“A river of it won’t cool the burning within me,” he gasped out. “Oh Harry, and if I die now, that burning will last for ever and ever. I would give all my wages, and ten times as much, for a few days of life. Harry, I once was taught to say my prayers, but I have not said them for long years, and curses, oaths, and foul language have come out of my lips instead. I want to have time to pray, and to recollect what I was taught as a boy.” I tried to cheer him up, as I called it, but alas, I too had forgotten to say my prayers, and had been living without God in the world, and though I did not curse and swear, my heart was capable of doing that and many other things that were bad, and so I could offer the poor fellow no real consolation. I persuaded him to drink the contents of the cup; but I saw as I put it to his lips that he could with difficulty get the liquid down his throat.

“You have had a hard life of it, Bob, and perhaps God will take that into consideration,” I said, making use of one of the false notions Satan suggests to the mind of seamen as well as to others. Bob knew it to be false.

“That won’t undo all the bad things I have been guilty of; it won’t unsay all the blasphemies and obscene words which have flowed from my lips,” he gasped out.

“Then try to pray as you used to do,” I said, “I will try and pray with you, but I am a bad hand at that I am afraid.”

“Oh, I can’t pray now, it’s too late! too late!” he exclaimed in a low despairing voice, as he sank back on his pillow, turning his fast glazing eye away from me. He had been delirious for some time before then, but his senses had lately been restored. He seemed instinctively to feel that I could offer him none of the consolation he needed.

While I was still standing by the side of his bunk, one of the mates came forward to see how the sick were getting on. He spoke a few words to try and comfort the dying man. They had no more effect than mine, he only groaned out, “It’s too late! too late! too late!” His voice rapidly grew weaker—there was a slight convulsive struggle; the mate lifted his hand, it fell down by his side.

“Poor Bob has gone,” he said, “there will be more following before long, I fear. If I was the captain I would get out of this river without waiting for a full cargo, or we shall not have hands enough left to take the vessel home.”

This scene made a deep impression on me; too late! too late! continued sounding in my ears. What if I were to be brought to utter the same expression? Where was poor Bob now? I tried not to think of the matter, but still those fearful words “too late” would come back to me; then I tried to persuade myself that I was young and strong, and as I had led a very different sort of life to most of the men, I was more likely than any one to escape the gripe of the fever.

We had another trip on shore to bury poor Bob. The captain seemed sorry for him. “He was a man of better education than his messmates, though, to be sure, he had been a wild chap,” he observed to me. Bob’s conscience had been awakened; that of the others remained hardened or fast asleep, and they died as they had lived, foul, unwashed, unfit to enter a pure and holy heaven.

I am drawing a sad and painful picture, but it is a true one. I did not then understand how full of horror it was, though I thought it very sad to lose so many of our crew.

We continued to carry on trade as before, and the captain sent messengers urging the natives to hasten in bringing palm oil on board, but they showed no inclination to hurry themselves; and as to quitting the river till he had a full cargo on board, he had no intention of doing that.

Hitherto the officers had escaped; but one morning the second mate reported that the first mate was unable to leave his berth, though he believed that it was nothing particular; but Dick Radforth, who was considered to be the strongest man on board, when he had tried to get up that morning, had been unable to rise. The captain sent me forward to see him.

Some hours must have passed since he was attacked. He was fearfully changed, but still conscious.

“Black Jack has got hold of me at last, Harry, but I’ll grapple with him pretty tightly before I let him get the victory, do you see,” he observed, when I told him that the captain had sent me to see him. “I’m obliged to him, but if he wishes to give me a longer spell of life, and to save the others on board, he will put to sea without loss of time, while the land breeze lasts. A few mouthfuls of sea air would set me up in a trice. If we don’t get that there will be more of us down with fever before night.”

The boatswain had scarcely said this when he began to rave and tumble and toss about in his berth, and I had to call two of the men to assist me in keeping him quiet. When I got back to the cabin, I told the captain what Radforth had said. “Oh, that’s only the poor fellow’s raving. It will never do to leave the river without our cargo, for if we do some other trader will sure to be in directly afterwards and take advantage of what has been collected for us. However, I have had notice that lots of oil will be brought on board in a few days, and when we get that, we will put to sea even though we are not quite full.”

The captain shortly afterwards paid Radforth a visit; but the boatswain was raving at the time, and never again spoke while in his senses. The following day we carried him to his grave on shore. The death of one who was looked upon as the most seasoned and strongest man, had, as may be supposed, a most depressing effect among the crew. It was soon also evident that the first mate was ill with the fever, and indeed more than half our number were now down with it.

Still the captain could not bring himself to quit the river. “In a few days very possibly we shall have a full cargo Harry,” he said to me. “In the meantime, I daresay, the rest will hold out. Radforth overworked himself, or he would not have caught the fever. Take care Harry you don’t expose yourself to the sun, and you will keep all to rights my boy,—I am very careful about that—though I am so well seasoned that nothing is likely to hurt me.”

“I wish we were out of the river, Captain Willis,” I could not help replying. “The mates and the men are always talking about it, and they say the season is unusually sickly or this would not have happened.”

“They must mind their own business, and stay by the ship, wherever I choose to take her,” he exclaimed, in an angry tone, and I saw that I should have acted more wisely in not making the observation I had just let fall. Still, to do him justice, Captain Willis was as kind and attentive as he possibly could be to the sick men; he constantly visited the first mate, and treated him as if he had been a brother.

All this time not a word about religion was spoken on board; I had, it is true, a Bible in my chest, put there by my sisters, but I had forgotten all about it, and there was not another in the ship.

Except in the instance I have mentioned, and in one or two others, not even the sick men seemed concerned about their souls. The only consolation which those in health could offer to them, was the hope that they might recover. “Cheer up Dick,” or, “cheer up Tom, you’ll struggle through it, never say die—you will be right again before long old boy,” and such like expressions were uttered over and over again, often to those at their last gasp, and so the poor fellows went out of the world believing that they were going to recover and enjoy once more the base pursuits and unholy pleasures in which their souls’ delighted. Alas, I have often though what a fearful waking up there must have been of those I had thus seen taking their departure from this world, yet the rest of us remained as hardened, and in most cases as fearless, of consequences as before.

The death of the first mate, which very soon occurred, made the second mate, I perceived, somewhat more anxious than before about himself. The first mate had been a strong healthy man, and had often before been out on the coast, while the second mate was always rather sickly, and this was his first visit to the shores of Africa. Whether or not his fears had an effect upon him, I cannot say, but he began to look very ill, and became every day more anxious about himself. The captain tried to arouse him, telling him that we should be at sea enjoying the fresh breeze in a few days, and that he must hold out till then. “Still it is of no use, Harry,” he said to me, as I was walking the deck with him one evening, trying to get a few mouthfuls of air. “I know I shall never leave this horrible place alive unless the captain would give the order at once to trip the anchor, then perhaps the thought of being free of it would set me up again.”

I told the captain when I went into the cabin what the poor mate had said, for I really thought our going away might be the means of saving his life, as well as that of others aboard. He took what I said in very good part, but was as obstinately bent in remaining as before. “Those are all fancies, Harry,” he answered. “He has taken it into his head that he is to die, and that is as likely to kill him as the fever itself.”

“But then he fancies that he would get well if we were at sea,” I replied. “Perhaps that really would set him up again.”

“Well, well, just tell him that you heard me ay I hoped to get away in two or three days, perhaps that will put him to rights,” answered the captain, laughing. “Now, Harry, don’t let me hear any more of this sort of thing; I have bother enough with these black traders without having to listen to the fancies of my own people.”

I told the mate what the captain had said. “If the vessel does get away at the time he mentioned, I hope that I may be able to help in taking her to sea, if not, mark my words Harry, there will be a good many more of us down with the fever.” He spoke too truly. The traders continued to arrive but slowly, as before, with their oil. The captain waited and waited like an angler anxious to catch more fish. Before the week was over the second mate was dead, and we had only two men fit for duty on board.

Chapter Four.

More victims to the fever.—The captain himself attacked.—We ship some Krumen and other blacks, among whom is a Christian, Paul Balingo.—Paul instructs the captain and me in the truth.—Captain Willis gets somewhat better, and we prepare for sea.

The ship was almost full, and we had a few more empty casks, and were expecting some traders on board during the day with oil which would fill them up. When I turned out of my berth, just as morning broke, I found the captain seated in his cabin, with his head resting on his hands. He felt a little ill, he acknowledged, but said he was sure it was nothing. “We will get under weigh at daylight to-morrow morning, when the tide makes down, and I shall soon be all to rights,” he observed. Still, I could not help remarking that he looked pale, and moved with difficulty. “I have agreed to ship half-a-dozen Krumen, and two or three other black seamen, who are knocking about here,” he added. “This fever has made us terribly short-handed; but I hope the fellows who are sick will come round when we are in blue water again. Harry, go forward and see how they are getting on, and send Tom Raven to me.” Raven was one of the two men who had hitherto escaped the lever, and being a good seaman, had been promoted to the rank of mate.

I went on deck, but saw neither him nor Grinham, the other man. I made my way forward to where the crew were berthed, under the topgallant forecastle, expecting to find them there. Grinham was in his berth; he and two other poor fellows were groaning and tossing with fever, but the rest were perfectly quiet. I thought they were asleep. What was my horror, on looking into their berths, to find that their sleep was that of death!

“Water, water,” murmured Grinham. I ran and fetched some, and as I gave it to him I asked where Raven was. “I don’t know,” he answered, somewhat revived by the cool draught. “It’s his watch on deck. He said he felt a little ill when he relieved me.”

Having done what I could for the other man, I went to look for Raven. I found him in the second mate’s berth. He too was ill with fever, and seemed to have forgotten that he ought to have been on deck, and that the vessel had been left without anyone to look-out. I told him that the captain had resolved to put to sea the next day. “Had he gone a week ago the lives of some of us might have been saved, but it is too late now,” he answered with a groan.

Sick at heart, after attending to him, I returned to the cabin, to make my report to the captain.

“What, all! everyone of them sick!” he exclaimed, sighing deeply. “Then God have mercy upon us. You must not fall ill, Harry.”

“Not if I can help it, sir,” I replied.

“I must keep up,” he said, and if I can get these Krumen on board we will still put to sea. They are trustworthy fellows, and, Harry, you must be my mate. You are somewhat young; but you have got a head on your shoulders. You must keep your wits alive.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” I answered, feeling not a little proud of the rank to which I thus was raised. I had, indeed, for some time past been performing the duties of mate, supercargo, steward, and not unfrequently helping the black cook, Sambo, and, indeed, lending a hand to everything which required to be done. Now Sambo and I were literally the only two people capable of working on board. The captain himself I feared greatly had got the fever, notwithstanding his assertions to the contrary. It was surprising that I, the youngest in the ship, and least inured to the climate, should have escaped. I had always been very healthy; had never done anything to hurt my constitution, and had followed the captain’s advice in keeping out of the sun, and was inclined to feel somewhat self-satisfied on that account—not considering that it was owing to God’s mercy and loving-kindness that I had been preserved.

The captain said he would go and see Raven; but having got up, after moving a few paces, he sat down again with a groan, and a deadly pallor came over his countenance. He felt that he, too, had got the fever. I advised him to lie down again and rest, but to that he would not consent. He was determined to carry on the trade as usual during the day, and to get ready for sea as soon as the black seamen, whom he expected every hour on board, arrived. He sent me up frequently to see whether they were coming off, and now, when too late, he seemed as anxious as anyone had been to get the vessel out of the river.

I was thankful when at length I found two canoes alongside with the expected blacks. The Krumen were fine athletic fellows, neatly dressed in shirts and trousers, and having all served on board men-of-war or in merchant vessels, spoke a little English. They had been hired by the captain’s agent on shore; and as their wages had been settled, and they knew the duties they were required to perform, they went to work at once under their head man, who had been appointed to act as boatswain, and seemed inclined to be orderly and obedient. Besides the Krumen there were, as I have before said, several other black seamen engaged, who had been mostly recaptured slaves, and had afterwards entered on board men-of-war or merchant vessels touching at Sierra Leone. I was struck with the manner of one of them, a fine active man, as I, now the only representative of the “Chieftain’s” officers and crew, stood near the gangway to receive them. Touching his hat in a respectful manner, he asked after Captain Willis. “He know me, Paul Balingo. I sail once with him some time ago. He kind man, so I come again.” I told him that the captain was rather unwell. He had charged me not to let the blacks fancy that he had the fever. I added, that I was sure he would be glad to see him in the cabin.

“I go when you tell I come on board,” answered Paul. “Sorry to hear him ill.”

“Oh, he says its nothing,” I observed, “and as soon as the tide serves we are to go down the river, and put to sea.”

I made this remark in obedience to the captain’s instructions. I now gave directions to the black boatswain to get the cargo stowed without delay.

The captain was much pleased to hear that Paul Balingo had joined the vessel, and said he would see him at once. “I remember him well,” he observed, “a good steady fellow.”

I told Paul to come down, and he received a friendly welcome. I then reminded the captain that there was another duty to be performed. It was to bury the men who had died during the night. This was beyond the strength of those who still survived.

“I see to it, sir,” said Paul.

“The sooner the better then,” observed the captain. “And when you return we will trip the anchor, if there is wind enough to help us along.”

Four bodies were lowered into the canoe, and Paul and some of his companions took them on shore. He had fastened them up in canvas, for there was no time to make coffins; indeed, the carpenter was among them. I should like to have accompanied him to pay the last mark of respect I could to the poor fellows, but there were too many duties to be performed on board to allow of this. I watched them, however, through the glass as they stood on the beach, which formed our burial place. To my surprise, after the graves were dug, I observed Paul Balingo take off his hat—his companions imitating his example—when he seemed to be lifting up his hands in prayer. Then he addressed a number of natives who were standing round, and the bodies were carefully lowered into the graves, and covered up.

When he returned on board I told him that the captain was very much obliged to him for what he had done. “And I saw too,” I observed, “that you were praying for the poor fellows.”

“No, massa; I no pray for dem,” he answered. “If when dey died dey loved Jesus Christ, den dey no want my prayers; if dey no love Him, den He no love dem. No, massa, me pray for dose that stand round, and for dose still alive. I pray dat God’s Holy Spirit would come into dere hearts, and told dem to love Jesus, and dat He died for sinners. I prayed dat dey would hear His Word, and love Him and serve Him. Den I tell dem that Jesus Christ came down on earth, and become man, and be obedient to God, and do all dat good child should do who lub him parents, and dat He pure and holy like lamb widout spot or blemish, and dat He died on de cross, and be punished instead of wicked man, and dat God den say dat one who not deserve punishment being punished He will forgive all dose His dear Son present to Him, who lub Him and serve Him. Den I tell dem dat Jesus Christ died for dem, and dat if dey trust to Him He put away all dere sins, and God not look at dere sins any more. Den I turn de matter about, and I say dat you and all men are poor and naked and covered with dirt and sores, and not fit to go into de presence of pure and holy God; but if you love Christ and trust dat He died and was punished instead of you, den He put on you a white robe, cover you wid His righteousness, and den when you go to God He longer see that you are poor and naked, but He only see the white robe, and He say, ‘Now you may come into dis pure and bright heaven, and live wid Me.’ Then once more I say again, look here, God put you into this world, and you owe God everything. You ought to obey Him and serve Him, and give Him all your strength and health, and to try and please Him in all things every moment of your life. Next I remind dem dat none of us do it, so we owe God a debt, and the longer we live the greater is the debt. It is not den all the things that we do dat God reckon, but the many things that we ought to do and which we leave undone. We receive all the good things from God, and we give Him nothing in return. Then we have no means to pay this debt, so Jesus Christ, because He love us, say He pay it, and God say He accept His payment and set us free. Den I say to the people, Do you believe dis? If you do, and try to love God, and serve God, and do what Jesus Christ did when He was on earth, den you have living faith, and you are free, and God no say longer that you owe Him debt, but He call you His dear children, and when you leave this world He receive you in heaven.”

“Why, Paul,” I exclaimed, after listening with astonishment to what he had said, “I little expected to hear such things come out of a—” (I was going to say negro’s mouth, but changed it to) “African sailor’s mouth. You ought to be a missionary.”

“Every Christian man ought to be a missionary,” he answered. “If he love the Lord Jesus, and know that the Lord Jesus love him, then he ought to tell that love to others, and if he knows the value of his own soul then he values the souls of others, and try to win those souls for Christ. The truth is, massa, I do want to be missionary, and I seek to go to England to learn more. I there learn to preach the gospel, and when I come back I carry the glad tidings of salvation to my ignorant countrymen.”

I was very much struck with Paul’s earnestness and zeal, though at that time I could scarcely comprehend all he said—I myself knew nothing experimentally of the great love of Jesus of which he spoke. The poor black Christian was far more enlightened than I was. Still I felt a satisfaction at having him on board. He at once showed that he was not a mere theoretical Christian, for as soon as his duty on board the ship was over, he devoted himself to attending on the sick men. All the hours he could snatch from sleep he spent by the side of their bunks, urging them to trust to Jesus, and to repent of their sins while yet there was time.

The poor second mate grew worse and worse. Paul visited him, and he heard from the lips of the black seaman, perhaps for the first time, the full and free message of salvation; and, I believe, from what Paul told me, and from the remarks the mate made to me before he died, that he had fully accepted God’s gracious offer of reconciliation.

I am going ahead though too fast in my narrative. Before the morning came that we were to have left our anchorage Captain Willis himself was laid prostrate with the fever, and having now no one on board to navigate the vessel, we could not venture to sea. I would have done my best to find our way to Sierra Leone, but the black boatswain refused to leave the harbour without an officer capable of taking charge of the brigantine. We were compelled, therefore, to wait till Captain Willis should recover sufficiently, or till the arrival of another English vessel which could spare one of her mates to take charge of the “Chieftain.”

Before many days were over Captain Willis, and Sambo, the black cook, and I, were the only persons of those who had come into the river, still alive on board. Had the Krumen been badly disposed, they might, without difficulty, have taken possession of the vessel, and made off with her rich cargo; but they appeared, as far I could judge, to intend to act faithfully, and perform their various duties as well as if the captain’s eye had been constantly upon them. About Paul I had no doubt. Little as I knew of vital religion myself, I was sure that he was a true man, and that he acted according to his professions. Nothing could exceed his attention to the captain; he or I were constantly at his bedside; and Paul showed considerable skill in treating the disease. I believe that it was mainly owing to him, through God’s mercy, that the captain did not succumb to it, as the rest of the crew had done.

“Paul,” said the captain one morning, when he felt himself getting a little better, “I owe you my life, I will try not to forget you.”

“Oh, no, no captain, poor fellow like me not able to do you good; give God de praise,” he answered solemnly, looking upwards. “Oh, if you did but know how God loves you, how He takes care of you, and gives you all the good things of life, and saves you from danger, and wishes you to come and live with Him, and be happy for ever and ever, you would try to love Him and serve Him, and obey Him in all things.”

“I don’t think that God can care for one who has cared so little for Him,” answered the captain. “I don’t mean to say that I call myself a bad man, or that I have many great sins on my conscience, and so, I suppose, if I died He would hot shut me out of heaven altogether.”

“Captain,” said Paul, fixing his eyes steadily on him, “the debil told you dat; he a liar from the beginning. God says, ‘There is none that doeth good, no not one,’ ‘The soul that sinneth shall surely die.’ What does dat mean? Not, surely, that if you sinner He let you get into heaven. I ask you, captain, whether you are a sinner, or whether you pure and holy, and trust to Christ, and love Christ, and fit to go and live for ever and ever in the pure and holy heaven with Him? Understand, I do not ask whether you are a great sinner in your own sight, but whether you have ever committed any sins; and remember, God says, ‘the soul that sinneth,’ not only the soul that is a great sinner.”

The captain looked much annoyed. “Yes, of course, I have committed some sins; but I don’t see why God has any right to charge them against me.”

“God made this world, and all things that are therein. God rules this world, and God made His laws, and He says they are just and right, and God says, ‘The soul that sinneth shall surely die,’” answered Paul, solemnly. “Captain understand, it is not I who say that. God says it. But though God is a God of justice He is full of love and mercy, and He has therefore formed a plan for the benefit of sinning men, by which man’s sins can be washed away, by which His justice will be satisfied, His love and mercy shown. He has allowed another to be punished instead of the sinner,” Paul continued, explaining to the captain God’s plan of salvation much in the same terms as he had already explained it to me.

“I never understood that matter before,” said the captain. “But still I do not see how God can expect us to be as good as you say.”

“Massa Captain, I do not say dat God expect us to be good; but still He has a right to demand that we should be good. He made man pure and holy and upright, and He gave him free will to act as he chose; but man disobeyed God and went away from Him, and forgot Him, and so God has the right to punish man. But den God is full of love and mercy, and He does not want to punish him, but wants him to come back to Him, and so He has sent His message to man to tell him how he may do that. Now as man cannot be good and pure and holy and do nothing but good, but, on the contrary, does much harm, he must either accept God’s plan of salvation, or be punished. You have heard, captain, about the thief on the cross, even when he was dying he put faith in Jesus, and Jesus told him that he should be that night with Him in paradise. So you see, captain, there is hope for the sinner, even at the last, and this shows that God does not expect us to do anything good in order to be saved, but only just to put faith in the sacrifice of His dear Son—that is to say, to believe that He was punished instead of us. But then remember, captain, that only one thief was saved; and that shows to us that we must not put off turning to Jesus to the last, and, therefore, I pray you, captain, go to Him at once; trust to Him now, and you will not feel unhappy; and if this fever takes you away, as it has taken away so many people on board this ship, you will hab no fear of death, for you will go to live with Jesus, and be happy with Him for ever and ever.”

Captain Willis groaned. “I’ll pray wid you, captain,” said Paul, and he knelt down by the side of the bed, and lifted up his voice in prayer, and earnestly besought God to send His Holy Spirit to soften the captain’s heart, and to enlighten his mind.

I had listened attentively to all that Paul had said, and I prayed that the blessing which he asked for the captain might descend on me also; for I had begun to discover that my heart was very hard, and prone to evil, and that I had no love for Jesus, no desire to obey His law. Thus the truths of the gospel, as they fell from the lips of the black sailor, first came home to my heart.

Several days passed by—the “Chieftain” was got ready for sea, and the captain considered himself well enough to take the command.