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A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship

Gentle Hand

on Her Last African Cruise

Works of

T. JENKINS HAINS

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

New England Building

BOSTON MASS.

“SPRANG WITH THE EASE OF A CAT UPON OUR POOP-RAIL.”
(See page 227)

The
Black Barque

A Tale of the Pirate Slave-Ship

Gentle Hand

on Her Last African Cruise

By

T. JENKINS HAINS

AUTHOR OF

“THE STRIFE OF THE SEA,” “THE WIND-JAMMERS,” ETC.

Illustrated by

W. HERBERT DUNTON

BOSTON

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1905

By L. C. Page & Company

(INCORPORATED)

All rights reserved

Published February, 1905

Fifth Impression, March, 1908.

COLONIAL PRESS

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.

Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

TO THE

MEMORY OF MY GRANDFATHER

Thornton Jenkins

REAR-ADMIRAL UNITED STATES NAVY

AND HIS COUSIN

Sir Robert Jenkins, K.C.B.

VICE-ADMIRAL ROYAL NAVY

WHOSE SERVICES TO THE BLACK MAN SHOULD NOT

BE FORGOTTEN

THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED

CONTENTS

THE SHIP’S COMPANY

OF THE

Gentle Hand

OFFICERS

William Howard, master.

Richard Hawkson, first officer.

John Gull, second officer.

Sherman Henry, third officer.

CREW

Peter Richards, American, boatswain.

John Heywood, American, gunner (who relates the story).

OWNERS AND PASSENGERS

CHAPTER I.
I SEEK A NEW SHIP

When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift upon that port’s dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French privateers and had fought under Napoleon’s eagles. The peace that had followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of support.

I had come over from the States in an old tub of a barque called the Washington, after having served as mate for two years on the schooner General Greene. The war had taught me something, for I had served in the navy in one of the South Pacific cruises, and had fought in the frigate Essex. I was only a boy in years, but the service--and other matters hardly worth mentioning here--had hardened my nature and developed the disagreeable side of my character. I was mate of the old hooker, and could have made out well enough if the captain hadn’t been somewhat down on me, for I never cared especially for women, and I believed my experience justified my opinion of them,--but no matter.

The old man seemed to think I couldn’t be happy without thrashing every day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small experience.

We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my failings.

The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough, so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third mate, who was the captain’s son.

It wasn’t the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me. They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I didn’t care very much.

The only man aboard who seemed interested to any extent was old Richards, the second mate. Richards had served on the frigate Essex in her famous cruise, and after the war he had chosen to try his hand in merchant ships, for the change of the man-o’-war’s man’s life from action to slothful peace had been too much for him. Silent and thoughtful, he had listened to me and was pained at my speech. He was called old Richards because of his quiet manner, although he was not much over thirty-five, and I bore with his sour looks while I went to the quarter-deck to finish my little say with the skipper.

As an American man-o’-war’s man, it was my duty to invite the captain ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and, sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence.

I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it, while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and return.

I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends upon its finding something it is not looking for.

“Bon jaw,” he said.

I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face.

“I’m a Yankee sailor,” said I, “and if you want any business with me you’ll have to speak something I understand. And besides,” I added, edging closer to him, “I don’t allow fellows to talk about me in a foreign language,--unless I’ve got a good reason to think they’re saying something truthful. You savvey? Or I’ll make a handsome monkey of you by changing that figurehead you’ve got there.”

A sudden scowl came over the fellow’s face and went again. “I kin give you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do you a favour.”

“‘Virtue is its own reward,’” I said, reaching into my pocket as though for a piece of money. “Cast loose!”

“It’s on account of that reward I reckon you don’t practise it,” grinned the fellow. “Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “If you are an American or English, let’s have your lay.

“Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that’s your game, you better slant away. Don’t you see I’ve enough ship for the rest of my life, hey?”

The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They were enormous.

“Look a-here now, don’t you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all these here swabs a-looking on? You look like you had sense enough to go below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there’s a ship without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you’ll come go along with me, an’ talk the matter over, there’ll be no harm done except to the spirruts,--an’ they’s free.”

I was very thirsty and could talk no French, so, more to be guided to a place to quench my thirst on good ale than by curiosity, I allowed him to lead me up the dock. I noticed several of the loungers upon the pier-head scowl at me as I went my way, and one tall, fierce-looking fellow, who had been glancing at me frequently, gradually fell away from the group of loafers and strolled up behind us. I paid no further attention to these fellows, but, as I reached the street with its babble of unfamiliar language, a sudden feeling came upon me. I don’t know what it was, but I was only a boy, and the future seemed dark and lonely. I turned and looked back at the Washington. She was the only thing American in sight, and the months I spent aboard her were not to be thrust aside lightly. They had all been too full of work and sorrow.

“Good-bye, old barkey,” I cried, holding my right hand high up,--“good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you.”

I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man gave a sneer.

“Very sentimental and proper feeling,” said he. “A ship’s like a person, more or less, an’ when one gets used to her he don’t like to give her up.”

“What do you know about sentiment, you swine?” I asked, fiercely. “I’ve a good notion to whang you for your insolence.”

“A very fine spirit,” he commented, as though to himself, as he walked ahead, “a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here’s the ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better.”

CHAPTER II.
CAPTAIN HOWARD

I might as well say in the beginning that, while I have a sailor’s taste for liquor, I’m not especially noted as a drunkard or spirit-wholloper. By the latter I mean given to ruffianism or brawling while under its influence. It is because of a naturally refined and peaceful disposition that I am so constituted, and I take no glory on that account. It is nonsense to suppose all sailors ruffians and all tales of the sea coarse, because some swabs have found that the hand of a knowing mate or skipper lies heavy upon an empty pate. The story of many voyages on American ships is gentle and uneventful as the daily run of a lady’s carriage. For evidence, read their logs. We entered the den of our little ferret-faced companion, and had no sooner sat at a table to order the ale than I was aware of the tall, dour man who had followed us from the pier-head. My second mate was too much taken up with the inmates of the place to notice anything else. I might as well confess Richards was a very pious fellow, and it must have been much against his wish to have been where he was. The tall man paid little attention to him, but looked at me.

He did not come into the room, but stood in the doorway, his fierce eyes fixed upon my face, and his long, drooping moustache hanging below his jowls, giving him a most sinister appearance. Our companion appeared not to perceive his presence at first, and only when he tilted his mug and threw his head back did his weasel eyes seem to fall in with those of the stranger.

“Come in, you terrier!” I cried. “Come in and have a mug to soak your whiskers in. Sink me, but barbers must be scarce around here. Soldier o’ the guard, hey? No one but a Voltigeer-r-r o’ the guard-r-rd would wear such hangers.”

“Young man,” said the stranger, quietly, “your language is rather unseemly, and should not be applied to one of the cloth. Hark ye! I am a man of peace, sir. I am Richard Raymond, chaplain of the Guerrière frigate. I never indulge.” He raised a lean, sinewy hand and shook his head gently at the proffered ale.

“May the devil seize me if you ain’t the holy joe I’m looking for!” I cried. “Sit down, man, sit down.”

“Not in such a place. I but came to plead with you not to fill yourself with that liquid. It is ruinous.” Here he looked across the room where the proprietor was attending to a group of sailors who were about a table. “It is ruinous, I say, and here I implore you not to drink too much. As a man of God, I ask you, and the chaplain of the Guerrière,” and he raised his eyes aloft and clasped his hands as if in prayer. I now noticed his clothes were somewhat clerical in cut, though shabby. At this moment, a buxom maid brought some fresh mugs, foaming full, and I tossed her a piece of money. She looked at me and smiled, saying something I failed to understand. Then casting a look at the tall man in the door, she laughed and went her way.

“And why not on the frigate now?” I asked Mr. Raymond, who still seemed to be absorbed in prayer.

“Lost, man, lost!” said my little companion, taking a fresh mug. “Don’t you know she was lost?”

“Well,” I cried, “what difference? Should a holy man desert his ship any the sooner for being holy, hey? Answer me that. Why didn’t you get lost in her? Sink me, but I like a man who will do something more than talk for the good of a soul. I like a bit o’ sacrifice now and again to show the meaning true. I’d like to see our friend drink this mug of ale to save me from the devil, for, if he’ll drink it, I vow I’ll not buy another for myself.”

“Deliver us from evil,” moaned Raymond. “Oh, Henry, I couldn’t do it,” and his eyes rolled up.

“So your name is Henry, is it?” I asked my little companion.

He looked queerly at me.

“Why didn’t you say so before?” I asked, roughly.

“You never asked me,” said he. “The chaplain has known me many years.”

“Well,” I cried, rising and advancing upon Mr. Raymond, “you’ll either drink this ale or get it in the face, for I’ll not be badgered by every hairy heaven-yelper I run against. Drink!” and I held the mug toward him.

His fierce eyes gleamed curiously, and he reached for the tankard. Then he raised it to his lips, and the long moustache was buried half a foot in the foam. When he let it down it was empty. The next instant something crashed against my head, and I saw many stars. Then came a blank. It must have been some minutes before I came to, and, when I did, I found myself lying upon the floor with my Mr. Henry and the barmaid wiping the blood from my face. The tall man had disappeared, and I struggled to my feet, my head whirling. Upon the floor lay pieces of the mug.

“Did that sky-pilot do it?” I asked, feebly.

Henry grinned.

“Ah, ah, pauvre garçon, pauvre, pauvre--what eet is, boy? Pauvre boy. C’est poar boy, poar boy,” said the stout girl, wiping my clothes gently and laying a hand on my shoulder.

The effect of a little sympathy was strange, especially from a woman.

“Never mind,” I said, taking her hand from my shoulder and holding it a moment. “Get some fresh ale. There is no damage done. If that fellow was a man of peace, I should not like to come across his breed as man of war. Sit down, you son of a fox,” I continued to Henry, “and let’s have your yarn, and if I see you so much as grin, this shop will be unlucky.” We drew up again to the table.

“I should think,” said Richards, “you have had your say long enough now, and would listen to reason. Steady yourself and get back into some ship before you get in jail. I don’t care any more for the hooker you just left than you do, and wouldn’t go back in her if there was any other vessel wanting hands.”

“I feel flattered at your attentions, my dear Peter,” said I. “It is good of you to follow me to take care of one so young. My morals are pretty bad, and I need a nurse.”

“That is certain,” said the sailor, with conviction that angered me not a little.

Richards’s manner was a bit trying to me at all times when I wanted to have a say, and this time I lost patience. Yet, when I thought of it afterward, I saw a steady head would have kept me out of much trouble. He was a perfectly balanced man. He would neither lose his head with joy, nor sink with despair at some seeming desperate trouble. He had learned this by experience, and his steady eyes were not those of a dullard. He felt as much as any one, as I soon learned when I gave him the sharp edge of my tongue. He was not a large man, but rather small and wiry. His size, I often thought, had governed his actions, for aboard ship a small man cannot talk too loud. Since he had served with me, I had reason to believe his body had little to do with his mind.

“Peter,” I said, acidly, “I’m looking for a ship. Will you go along in her with me?”

“That I will,” he said, but I thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time.

“Then, my weasel,” said I, turning to Mr. Henry, “you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, I’ll hold my mate to his word if I ship in nothing better than a West Indian sugar-boat. Sail in, my bully. Let’s have the old tune I’ve heard so often.”

Henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. We were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. I have always had this happen when there were others around, but I take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that I was a well-put-up man. I had nothing whatever to do with my birth.

“You see,” said he, “I don’t make any bones wot I’m up to. I’m after men sech as you an’ me. My father were a Yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as I have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time I think of her.”

“You can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue,” I growled.

“Perhaps so,” he assented; “maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that’s why I’m lookin’ out fer men wot’s men. I get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an’ I stands in with the crowd. No shanghai business with me. It don’t pay. Why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? A matter o’ a pound or two an’ a good name fer fair dealin’ gone. Oh, no! I don’t run fer bad ships. I only takes the clippers, an’ I give handsome.”

“What’s the hooker’s name?” I asked.

“That’s just what I’m coming to if you’ll only say the word to go in her. They want a mate, and they’ll pay a big whack for a good man.”

“Name, you wolf,” I repeated, draining my mug. “Give the name, or pay for this ale and clear.”

“I’ll take you to her--”

He was interrupted by the entrance of a small man who strode quickly into the room and sat at once in an empty chair near the door. As the newcomer entered, Henry half-rose and saluted, receiving a slight nod of recognition in return.

“Who’s your friend?” I asked, gruffly.

“Sh-h! not so loud,” and he scowled at me. “That’s Captain Howard.”

“Who the saints is Captain Howard? Can he drink ale?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t ask him if I were you. He’s not a man of peace,” and he looked at me slantwise.

“I see,” I answered, and I looked the stranger over carefully. He was quite small in stature and his face was pale. His hands were soft, white, and effeminate-looking. Upon one finger a huge diamond sparkled. Just then he turned his gaze to meet mine, and I must admit his eyes gave me quite a turn. They were as glassy and expressionless as those of a fish. His whole smooth face, in fact, seemed to express nothing but vacancy. I had never seen a human face so devoid of expression. There was hardly a line in it save about the drooping corners of his mouth.

“He don’t look dangerous,” I said, with a chuckle. “However, I’m not hunting trouble, and, if you think he’ll be offended at my acquaintance, he can go without it.”

“He’s related to the great English house,--them--them ar’stocrats, ye know. That’s the way he’s got the king’s pardon.”

“Pardon for what?” I asked.

He glanced sidewise at me with that ferret look upon his face. “You’ve heard, sure? No? Well, then, that’s the skipper that held up the Indian Prince.”

Then I remembered well enough. He was the little fellow with the pirate crew that had held up the big East-Indianman in the China Sea some years back. It was he who took the treasure and squandered it in mad riot in the streets of Singapore, and defied the authorities. Here, indeed, was the man feared by both whites and savages of the Eastern seas, sitting in this little ale-house as unconcerned as though nothing unusual had happened to excite curiosity. I was so taken up looking at him and wondering at his foul crimes that he had received and drunk off his liquor before I realized what had happened. As he left, I seized my mug and drank it.

“Come along,” I said. “Show me your ship,” and Mr. Henry paid the score and started for the door, while I followed. As I reached it, I turned to see what Richards would do, but he was game.

“Here comes your nourse, sonny,” he said. “I was paid off yesterday, and don’t mind a change if it’s for better,” and he looked so serious that I burst out laughing.

CHAPTER III.
THE BARQUE

Henry led the way through the streets until we came to the anchorage basin beyond the docks. He was talkative enough, but my head ached from the blow I had received from the man of peace, and I paid little attention to the fellow’s words.

We passed a large American ship that had been captured by the English during the war and sold. She loomed up grandly from the small craft lying near, her long, tapering masts still showing the unmistakable Yankee rigging, and her yards having yet a vestige of the white American cloth which has since been a pleasant feature of all our craft. Her paint was worn off, however, and upon her decks a mongrel crew chattered away like a pack of monkeys. I halted a moment and looked at her in disgust.

“What ship is that?” I asked.

“The Independence of Boston. She were taken by the English line ship St. Marys off Cape St. Roque. She were stove up some. See that big piece spliced into her stern where she was shot away. Her mainyard’s fished in two places. Took two whole broadsides to fetch her to, they say. That trim-lookin’ craft beyond her is the one we’re headin’ fer,--the one laying head on with the foreyards cockbilled.”

We went toward the vessel indicated, and I soon saw what indeed appeared to be a fine craft. She was large, probably five hundred tons, but she was barque rigged, with her mainmast stepped well aft. Her foreyards were lifted to starboard and her main were braced to all angles, giving her the appearance of having been suddenly deserted by her crew after making port. Upon the spars the white canvas lay bent and furled, the clews standing out a foot or two clear of the bunt, and the gaskets hove in taut as brass bands. Her black sides showed a good freeboard, but I thought little of this, as nearly all vessels bound to the westward were going pretty light at that time. She was coppered, and the top band was a good half-fathom clear of the water. She was pierced for six guns on a side, and had several more ports painted along the bulwarks on the main-deck, as was the custom of the day. At a distance she might have been taken for a vessel of twenty or more guns. Her build was English, but her rig was Scandinavian, and I noticed her poop was painted white everywhere except on deck, after the Yankee fashion.

Three heavy boats were slung amidships on booms. Forward of these a galley was built or lashed upon the deck, and from its window appeared the black head of an African. We went close to the water’s edge and Henry hailed.

“Th-war-bull-yah! Ahoy!” he bellowed.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Ha-Yah-Wah, ahoy!” he bellowed again in answer, and the nigger in the galley waved a white rag in reply.

“May the sharks eat me, you dock wrastler, but that’s a queer name for a fine ship! How do you call her?” I asked.

“He’s comin’ now,” said Henry, with a grin. “Names is mostly just sounds, an’ furrin sounds is just like others, only different. We’ll go aboard her, and you can see the old man an’ settle with him. Don’t be afraid o’ high pay. He’ll give it.”

In a few minutes a boat left the barque from the side opposite us, where it had been out of sight. It rounded under her stern and came toward us, with the nigger standing aft sculling with the peculiar swing of the Bahama conch. He landed almost at our feet, and Henry motioned me to jump aboard.

“Ole man aboard, hey?” asked Henry, stepping in after me.

“Yassir, disha boat just done taken him abo’d. He’s done expected mos’ all han’s afo’ dis.”

“Well, take us over,” said Henry, and he settled himself heavily upon a thwart.

In a short time we were alongside. We clambered up a long hanging ladder amidships, and then over the rail to the main-deck.

As we did so a venerable, white-haired old fellow stepped out of the cabin door and greeted us.

Henry took off his cap and bowed with uncommon civility.

“Captain Watkins, allow me to make known Mr.--Mr.--”

“Heywood,” I suggested.

“Mr. Heywood,” continued Henry. “He is the best mate in Havre, an’ is just off the American ship Washington. I knowed you wanted a good mate, so I brought you the best in town.”

The old fellow held out his hand gravely, and said how glad he was to make my acquaintance.

“I am just looking for a good navigator, and if you’ll come at my terms, I’ll reckon we’ll deal.”

I suggested that the terms be made known.

“Well, I reckon on thirty pound a month is all I allow just now. Will you consider that?”

As this was five times as much as any mate I had ever heard of received, I told him I would consider the matter closed.

“An’ your friend, here. I take it he is an American, too,--an’ a sailorman from clew to earring.”

Richards looked at him steadily.

“You are a right smart of a guesser, Mr. Watkins,” said he. “I was second in the Washington, but I’ve been in better ships.”

The insolence of old Peter calling the captain mister was almost too much for me. Here was a chance of a lifetime. I turned upon him.

“If you are going to act foolish with one drink of ale, just for a chance to back down, you better get ashore,” I snapped.

“I’ve seen many men more sensible drunk than you are sober, Heywood,” said he, looking calmly at me, “but I’ll not back down.”

“Will you accept the same terms?” asked the old man, kindly.

Richards looked at him in scorn. Then he spat on the white deck.

“I’ll go,” said he, and Captain Watkins turned to me.

“There is no grog served aboard, and no swearing on this ship, Mr. Heywood,” said he. “I am an old man, as you see, and wish my crew orderly and quiet. Do you wish to stay aboard at once?”

I said I would just as soon turn to at once. The rate of pay fairly frightened me, and I was afraid if I went ashore he might get some one else in my place. The appearance of the barque was much in her favour. Her decks were as white as holystone could make them, and her gear was all new and carefully selected. Such lines seldom found place upon any ships save men-of-war, and her blocks, with polished brass pins and sheaves, were marvels to me. I stood idly pulling a topsail brace with one hand and looking up at the fine rigging, while Henry talked of his tip for bringing me. Even the sheer-poles were polished brass. The old fellow finally led us below, and handed Henry a small gold piece, and then offered me a few pounds in advance, requesting me to sign a receipt for the same. This I did, and then Henry left, shaking me heartily by the hand as he went over the side. I returned his grip, for I felt he had indeed been my friend.

“You may take the port room there, Mr. Heywood, and put your things shipshape as soon as Henry gets them off your vessel. If the second or third mate comes aft to see me, don’t fail to call me,--er--er, you know I’m quite without officers, sir, but will probably have both them and a crew aboard soon. The papers have not been made out yet, but I believe I have your receipt for your advance. Witnessed by Henry, it will do, I suppose, but I am not afraid of you, Mr. Heywood. You don’t look like a man to take advantage of a ship’s generosity.” Then he went aft, and I went to the port room. It meant that I was first mate, and I opened the door with a high heart.

There was nothing at all in the stateroom save an old clay pipe and a twist of tobacco. The bunk was bare, and I sat upon the edge of it speculating upon my good fortune. Finally I lit the pipe and smoked. The smoke wreaths rolled upward, and, as I watched them, I built many pleasant things in the future.

How long I dreamed I don’t know, but it was quite late in the afternoon when I heard a hail from the shore that sounded like Henry’s. I went on deck and met the nigger coming from the galley to the boat. I noticed what a strapping buck the fellow was, and he saw me watching him.

“Disha hooker’ll have er crew soon. Yassir, she will dat,” said he, grinning and showing a row of teeth almost as pointed and white as those of a shark. Then he climbed over the rail, and was soon sculling to the shore, where I saw Henry and two men waiting.

They came aboard and were ushered into the cabin by the venerable skipper, whom I had awakened.

“This is Mr. Martin,” said Henry, introducing the first one with the air of a man presenting a lord. The fellow pulled off his hat and squared his shoulders, and then looked somewhat disturbed by this mark of respect. He was clean shaven, with a great broad head set upon an enormous pair of shoulders. He was short but powerfully built, and his bright eyes were restless. He was no drunken ship-rat, but a strong, healthy sailor.

“Mr. Martin, it gives me pleasure to meet you, sir. As I understand you wish to sign as second mate, I present you to Mr. Heywood, the first officer,” and he nodded to me with a graceful sweep of the hand. He had evidently forgotten Richards, but I did not feel inclined to remind him at that moment.

The fellow looked at me and scowled, at the same time nodding. This sort of thing was more than he had expected. Then he broke forth in broad Scotch that he would sign or go ashore.

“Would twenty pound a month do you?” asked the skipper, wistfully.

The fellow did not understand. The amount probably dazed him. Captain Watkins repeated the offer.

“Weel an’ guid! weel an’ guid!” he cried, slapping his stout leg. “Let’s have a squint o’ th’ goold.”

“I shall be glad to hand you a few pounds at once in advance,” said the old skipper. “Please sign this receipt for four pounds,” and so saying, he produced the money.

The fellow put it in his clothes and signed the paper at once.

His companion stepped up. He was a Swede and blond. His blue eyes were bleary with liquor, and the old man looked at him and shook his head sadly.

“No drinkin’ and no swearin’ aboard here, my friend--er--er--”

“Anderson,” said Henry.

“No drinking here, Mr. Anderson. If you’ll accept fifteen pounds a month and three pounds in advance, just scratch off a receipt and we’ll finish up and have dinner.”

This was done and the two men saw Henry over the side, giving him, as I had done, a good tip for his kind interest in getting them such fine berths. Then the big nigger cleared the table and brought in a very substantial[substantial] meal, at which the captain and we mates fell to.

I was not a little astonished at the appearance of Richards. He was all cleaned up and wore a scarf tied under his newly shaved chin. He was always neat in appearance, but here he was, without anything apparently to tog out with, all rigged as fine as though he were going ashore. His smooth face, sunburned and lined as it was from exposure, seemed to tell of much hardship in the past. He was a solemn-looking fellow at best, and to see him togged out in this shape, with his hands washed and old clothes brushed, was strange. He took his place at the table without a word.

“You see,” said Captain Watkins, looking at me with his sharp eyes, “I believe in the equality of all men.”

I nodded, for it was not often the mates and sailors of a ship had a chance to eat in the forward cabin of a vessel, especially together. The Scotchman, Martin, eyed the old fellow narrowly. We could not all be mates.

“One man’s as good as another, and sometimes even better,” said Richards, softly.

“That’s it. Even a black man is as good as a white one. Some people don’t think so, but I know it’s so,” said the skipper.

“I’ve seen some I thought better,” said Richards, helping himself to a piece of boiled meat, “but it don’t keep people from jerking them up for slaves when they get a chance.”

“I have known slavers,” said the old man, gently, “but they are a rough set and capable of any crime. On our last voyage one of those fellows wanted to visit me during a calm, but I was afraid of him and warned him away. A desperate-looking set they were.”

“Must have frightened you badly,” sneered Richards.

The old skipper looked at the sailor. There was something like sadness in his voice as he answered.

“I’m of a somewhat timid nature, but cannot help it. I cannot stand seeing poor coloured folk made to suffer. You will know me better after you have sailed with me for a voyage.”

I thought I saw just the glimmer of a smile around the corners of his mouth as he said this, and looked for some reply from my talkative mate. Richards made no further remark, and the conversation turned to more sailor-like topics.

We talked rather late, as the skipper was most fatherly in his manner, and, when the fellow Martin suggested he would go ashore and get his dunnage, it was found that Henry had taken the boat without the nigger, and had not sent it back aboard.

“It is of no great consequence, I hope,” said Watkins. “You two, Mr. Heywood and Richards, may turn in the port room; you, Mr. Martin and Mr. Anderson, to starboard, and perhaps in the morning I can let you have the day ashore.”

Then we separated. Richards and I tossed a coin to see who would get the bunk, and I won. I arranged my coat for a pillow and soon fell asleep, leaving my roommate to shift for himself on the deck.

Once or twice during the night I thought I heard stealthy footsteps overhead, and once it seemed to me that the barque was heeling over a bit. Finally I was awakened by a loud banging at my door, and, springing up, found it was broad day. Then it suddenly dawned upon me that the barque was under way.

Opening the door, I found a strange fellow scowling at me. He was dressed as a common sailor and was a bit drunk.

It is just as well to start discipline right aboard a ship, thought I, so I hitched my trousers’ belt the tighter before sailing in to show how an American mate whangs the deviltry and liquor out of a foreign skin when aroused from pleasant dreams. I noticed the absence of Richards, but thought he had already turned out for duty. Then I accosted the fellow and asked softly what he wanted.

“What cher doin’ in my room, yer bloomin’ swine?” he howled. “Git out an’--”

I had stopped him with a right swing on the jaw, and the next instant we were loping about that cabin in fine style. In a moment there was a rush of feet, and something crashed on my head. Then followed stars and darkness.

CHAPTER IV.
SHANGHAIED

When I came again into this world, I found myself lying in a dark, dirty hole of a forecastle. There was not a man there, but, as I looked over the empty berths, I saw plenty of clothes and bedding, which gave evidence of a full crew.

Getting to my feet, I found my head sorely cut and bruised, and wondered what had happened. A throbbing pain across the eyes did little to aid my thoughts, and, while I stood holding to the ladder down which I had been flung, the scuttle above me was thrust back and the fellow Martin started down.

“Aha!” he said when he saw me, “’twas a guid wan ye got ain yer haid. A clout will do ye na harm, ye thievin’ trixter, ye deceivin’ rascal. Now I’ll give you one for ald lang syne, an’ teach ye better to deceive a honest mon ag’in.”

While talking, he turned back the sleeves of his jumper and made ready to carry out his threat. He saw I made no movement, however, and hesitated.

“Defend yairself, mon, defend yairself. Do not let me whollop yer like a babe,” and he advanced toward me with his hands before him in some very fair style.

“See here,” I said, “what the mischief has happened? What are you driving at? I’ve played no trick, but it looks like some one has played a trick on me.”

“Ah, na backslidin’, ye corward, na backslidin’! Yer can’t fool a canny sailormaun that way. Put yer hands before yer ugly face, or I’ll whollop ye like er babe.”

“I’m not afraid of your wholloping, Scotty. Let me get a turn about my head a bit, and pull this ragged shirt off. Wonderful clean fo’castle this. No drunks, no filthy dunnage overhauled, no--what infernal ship is this, anyway?”

He saw I was not joking. Indeed, my appearance, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, put joking aside, and my last remark about the vessel was true.

He dropped his hands and stared at me.

“Ware ye sure rung in like the rest? Waren’t ye in the game?” Then he burst into a hoarse laugh and held out his hand. At that minute the tramp of feet sounded overhead, and a half-score of men came clattering down the companion-ladder.

It was a mixed crew,--Norwegians, Swedes, dagoes, and Dutchmen,--but all with the unmistakable swing of the deep-water sailor. They stared at me, and then started a gabble of language that in my disturbed condition I failed to understand. They crowded around me and asked questions, and I noticed Anderson eyeing me suspiciously. Then Martin, with a sweep of his hand, cut them off, and began telling how I came aboard. When he was through with his flowery description of Henry, I noticed several men shake their clenched hands aft.

“Well,” said I, “I’m the mate, and I guess I’ll go aft and find out who rapped me over the head. Some fellows in the other watch, I suppose.”

They burst into derisive laughter.

“We’re all mates and captains here,” sung out a big Norwegian addressed as Bill. “You better turn in while you may, friend Heywood. You’re in Henry’s watch, an’ the captain ain’t turned out yet.”

“Who’s the old man?” I asked, bewildered, and thinking I must still be daffy from the crack on the head.

“Ain’t seen him yet,” said several at once.

“Well, what infernal hooker am I in, anyway?” I asked Martin.

“They call her The Gentle Hand, but there ain’t na name painted on her. Some says she’s the Fly-by-Night, Howard’s old pirate barque, but that canna weel be. She’s light. Not a hundred ton below decks, an’ that’s mostly stores.”

“The Fly-by-Night was a cruising brig before the first war with England,” I said. “It can’t possibly be that old hooker. Besides, she was used against the French by your General Braddock.”

“Well, when you find out just what we’ve gotten into, coom an’ tell us,” said Martin.

It had been slowly dawning upon me that I had been the victim of a trick, and I felt in my pocket for the advance I had received the day before. The barque was under way, that was certain, but no one seemed to know where she was bound, and, as I fumbled through my clothes, Martin laughed.

“’Twas guid money, Heywood, but ’tis gone. I missed mine this morning. Maybe Anderson can tell where it is,” and he grinned.

The money was gone. That was certain. Yet it was no dream. I had received it fair enough. Feeling anger and hatred for the trick upon me, I bound up my head and went up the ladder to the deck to have a look around. Several men called out to me to have a care of the mate, but most of them were busy arranging their belongings, quarrelling and fighting among themselves over the possession of what clothes happened to be common to the crowd. I saw Martin steal a pair of tarpaulin trousers from a fellow who was wrestling with the sailor Bill for the possession of a bag of straw bedding. Then I stepped on deck.

The cool air did me good. I went to the rail and looked over. The barque was going steadily to the southward with every rag set. She was heeling but gently, and there was little wind or sea. She was braced a bit to starboard, her port tack aboard, and by her trimming I saw she was under English officers. Every yard just in line with its fellow, from the big main to the little royal that crossed a good hundred and seventy feet above the sea. Far away to the eastward showed the even outline of the French coast, and between us many sails strung along the band of blue, their hulls either just below or rising above the horizon’s line. The day was fine and the easterly breeze gentle, and the barque was swinging easily along.

I looked aft and saw men of the mate’s watch at work setting up the backstays in the main-rigging, and some on the mizzen topsail-yard, apparently under the direction of Richards, serving a worn foot-rope. The canvas covers were off the guns, and a dozen bright twelve-pounders of polished brass shone in the sunlight. The white deck beneath and the varnished spars above made a pretty picture, and I grew warm to think that I was not indeed the mate of such a craft. They had played a fine trick on me to get me aboard sober and without compulsion, signing a receipt for an advance equal to a couple of months’ ordinary wages. There were plenty of sailors about the pier-heads, for the war had turned many adrift without means of getting a ship, and there seemed to be no reason why these fellows should try their land-shark game in getting a crew.

As I looked aft it dawned upon me that these men were much better than the ordinary run of common sailors. There was something in the fellow’s walk I now saw crossing the deck that spoke of the war-ship. Even the watch I had just seen below were remarkably rough and tough specimens of a rugged humanity.

While I stood there taking in the scene, I saw a man come from aft and walk to the break of the poop. He looked over the barque carefully, and as his gaze came down the fore-rigging it stopped upon me.

He was dressed something after the manner of a preacher, with black cloth coat and stock, and his hair was cut short. As I took his figure in, there was little difficulty in recognizing Richard Raymond, the man of peace. He beckoned me to come aft, and, as I did so, he removed the huge drooping moustache he had been wearing and tossed it over the side.

“I reckon you know me now, Heywood,” said he, “though it’s been over six years since we parted. I wanted you on this voyage, and took some pains to get ye. That was the old man who welted ye over the head. I’m sorry for it.”

It was Hawkson, sure enough. I recognized him easily now in spite of his gray hair and older look. How I failed to recognize him at first even in his disguise puzzled me. We had made the cruise in the Petrel together, and had served on the man-of-war.

“Well, you’ve got me fast enough, though you played a mean trick getting me. Now what’s the game?” said I.

The old privateersman smiled, and his jaws worked as though muttering to himself. His face creased into ugly lines about his large mouth, and he showed his teeth.

“I’m first officer here. That fellow Gull you fouled this morning is second. Remember this first and the rest’ll come easy. Henry is third mate, and I hear them say that you’re to be made gunner. How’s that?”

“Who’s them?” I asked, somewhat nettled.

“Them’s us, sonny. The old man, the two gentlemen aft, myself, and the rest.”

“Where are we bound for, and what’s the hooker’s name? It’s all well enough to be cribbed aboard a ship, but I’m going to find out what’s the game.”

“We’re bound for the South Pacific; that’s all clear as mud, an’ we’ve got a picked crew because the business in hand needs honest men.”

“I bow to myself,” I answered. “It’s well to know.”

“What more do you want, hey? Go forrads an’ turn in, an’ I’ll square ye with the fellow Gull. Don’t let them see me talkin’ too much with ye, sonny, or I’ll have to forget the past for the needs o’ the present. You’re aboard a fine ship.”

“Well,” I answered, “that’s all good enough, but I would like to know her name and who’s her skipper,--and what’s more, I’m going to find out right away.”

Hawkson’s eyes glinted with that light I knew so well meant danger, and his ugly mouth worked nervously.

“Perhaps you’d care to go aft and interview the captain about it,” said he, with his drawl. “He’s a gentleman every inch, and will be a revelation to ye after them packets you’ve sailed in. Suppose you lay aft and make out your own case. You were always an obstinate youngster, but I reckon since you’ve been mate your head’s swelled worse’n ever.”

I knew Hawkson to be one of the most dangerous men afloat when aroused, but about this time I was not exactly a lambkin myself. A man does not become mate of a western ocean packet with anything lamblike in his make-up, unless it is by accident for one voyage. I was not quarrelsome, but resented with righteous indignation the manner in which I had been kidnapped in broad daylight without even being under the influence of liquor. The simplicity of the whole affair maddened me, and not even the fellowship of Martin and Anderson or others in the list of victims detracted one jot from the implied lack of ordinary precautions and common sense. I started up the weather side of the poop to go aft, and I noticed several fellows to leeward looking at me.

“Go to lor’ard,” growled Hawkson, fiercely.

But I paid no attention, and was half-way up the steps when a man came up the after companion and walked toward me. As he reached the deck and turned before I had gotten up, I stopped short, looking at him. It was Captain Howard, the pirate.

CHAPTER V.
IN THE FO’C’SLE

I will admit my zeal abated a trifle when I met the captain’s gaze, but I was not much afraid of any man, so up the ladder I went and toward him.

He saw me approaching and stopped. Then he demanded in a high voice from Hawkson what I wanted and why I was allowed up the weather side of the quarter-deck.

“He’s a bit daffy, sir,” said Hawkson, touching his cap. “That crack on the pate you gave him has turned his burgoo case. He’ll be all right soon, sir.”

“Daffy or not,” said I, “I want to know what ship I’m in and where she’s bound,--and I’m going to find out.”

The ugly face of Captain Howard was inscrutable. His glassy eyes like those of some reptile were fixed upon me. His thin, hooked nose appeared like the beak of an albatross. He took off his hat and bowed to me politely, saying:

“It will give me great pleasure to listen to you, sir.” I noticed his poll was as smooth and hairless as the sole of my foot, only a red seam that stretched from the crown to his left ear wrinkled its bronzed roundness.

“Well,” I said, more mildly, “I would like to find out what ship I’m in and where she’s going.”

“Were you drunk, sir, when you came aboard her?” he asked, calmly.

“I was not,” I answered, warmly.

“Were you blind?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, you have permission to look about you, and, if you’re the sailor you claim to be, you will perceive this is a barque. She is called the Gentle Hand. She is bound for the South Atlantic.”

“But I shipped as mate of her,” I stammered.