Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop. Fenn George Manville
said the American, laughing boisterously again. “Hev another try, cyaptain. Yew’re out this time. Ketch me trying to work a plantation with West Coast niggers! See those boys o’ mine?”
“Yes; I see your men,” replied the lieutenant.
“Them’s the stuff I work with. Pay ’em well and they work well. No work, no pay. Why, one of those fellows’d do more work for me in a day than one of the blacks they come here to buy up could do in a week.”
“Then slave-traders come here to buy, eh?”
“Yes, they do,” replied the man, “but ’tain’t none of my business. They don’t interfere with me, and I don’t interfere with them. Plenty of room here for both. Yew’re after them, then?”
“Yes,” said the lieutenant frankly.
“Phew!” whistled the man, giving his knees a slap. “Why, you’ll be after the schooner that came into this river this morning?”
“Possibly,” said the lieutenant, while Murray felt his blood thrill in his veins with the excitement of the position. “What schooner was it?”
“Smart sailing craft, with long rakish masts?”
“Yes, yes,” said the lieutenant; “I know all about that. A slaver, eh?”
The American half shut his eyes as he peered out of their corners at the British officer, and a queer smile puckered up his countenance.
“Slaving ain’t lawful, is it, mister?” he said.
“You answer my question,” said the lieutenant testily.
“Means confiscation, don’t it?”
“And that is not an answer,” cried the lieutenant angrily.
“Yew making a prize of that theer smart schooner from her top-masts down to her keel, eh?”
“Will you reply to what I say?” cried the lieutenant. “Is she a slaver?”
“Lookye here, mister,” said the American, grinning. “S’pose I say yes, you’ll jest confiscate that there schooner when her skipper and her crew slips over the side into the boats and pulls ashore.”
“Perhaps I may,” said the lieutenant shortly.
“Exackly so, mister. Then you sails away with her for a prize, eh?”
“Possibly,” said the lieutenant coldly.
“And what about me?”
“Well, what about you?”
“I can’t pull back to my rubber plantations and sail them away, can I?”
“I do not understand you, sir,” said the lieutenant sharply.
“No, and you don’t care to understand me, mister. ‘No,’ says you, ‘it’s no business of mine about his pesky injyrubby fields.’”
“Why should it be, sir?” said the lieutenant shortly.
“Exackly so, mister; but it means a deal to me. How shall I look after you’re gone when the slaver’s skipper – ”
“Ah!” cried Murray excitedly. “Then she is a slaver!”
The American’s eyes twinkled as he turned upon the young man.
“Yew’re a sharp ’un, yew are,” he said, showing his yellow teeth. “Did I say she was a slaver?”
“Yes, you did,” cried Murray.
“Slipped out then because your boss began saying slaver, I suppose. That was your word and I give it to yew back again. I want to live peaceable like on my plantation and make my dollahs out of that there elastic and far-stretching projuice of the injyrubbery trees. That’s my business, misters, and I’m not going to take away any man’s crackter.”
“You have given me the clue I want, sir,” said the lieutenant, “and it is of no use for you to shirk any longer from telling me the plain truth about what is going on up this river or creek.”
“Oh, isn’t it, mister officer? Perhaps I know my business better than you can tell me. I dessay yew’re a very smart officer, but I could give you fits over growing rubber, and I’m not going to interfere with my neighbours who may carry on a elastic trade of their own in black rubber or they may not. ’Tain’t my business. As I said afore, or was going to say afore when this here young shaver as hain’t begun to shave yet put his oar in and stopped me, how should I look when yew’d gone and that half-breed black and yaller Portygee schooner skipper comes back with three or four boat-loads of his cut-throats and says to me in his bad language that ain’t nayther English, ’Murrican, nor nothing else but hashed swearing, ‘Look here,’ he says, ‘won’t injyrubber burn like fire, eh?’ ‘Yes,’ I says, civil and smooth, ‘it is rayther rum-combustible.’ ‘So I thought,’ he says. ‘Well, you’ve been letting that tongue of yours go running along and showing those cusses of Britishers where I anchor my boat and load up with plantation stuff for the West Injies; so jes’ look here,’ he sez, ‘I’ve lost thousands o’ dollars threw yew, and so I’m just going to make yew pay for it by burning up your plantations and putting a stop to your trade, same as yew’ve put a stop to mine. I shan’t hurt yew, because I’m a kind-hearted gentle sorter man, but I can’t answer for my crew. I can’t pay them, because yew’ve took my ship and my marchandise, so I shall tell them they must take it outer yew. And they will, stranger. I don’t say as they’ll use their knives over the job, and I don’t say as they won’t, but what I do say is that I shouldn’t like to be yew.’ There, Mister Officer, that’s about what’s the matter with me, and now yew understand why I don’t keer about meddling with my neighbours’ business.”
“Yes, I understand perfectly,” said the lieutenant, “but I want you to see that it is your duty to help to put a stop to this horrible traffic in human beings. Have you no pity for the poor blacks who are made prisoners, and are dragged away from their homes to be taken across the sea and sold like so many cattle?”
“Me? Pity! Mister, I’m full of it. I’m sorry as sorrow for the poor niggers, and whenever I know that yon schooner is loading up with black stuff I shuts my eyes and looks t’other way.”
“Indeed!” cried Murray. “And pray how do you manage to do that?”
“Why, ain’t I telling on you, youngster? I shuts my eyes so as I can’t see.”
“Then how can you look another way?”
The American displayed every tooth in his head and winked at the lieutenant.
“Yew’ve got a sharp ’un here, mister. I should keep him covered up, or shut him up somehow, ’fore he cuts anybody or himself. But yew understand what I mean, mister, and I dessay you can see now why I feel it my business to be very sorry for the black niggers, but more sorry for myself and my people. I don’t want to be knifed by a set o’ hangdog rubbish from all parts o’ the world. I’m a peaceable man, mister, but you’re a cap’en of a man-o’-war, I suppose?”
“Chief officer,” said the lieutenant.
“And what’s him?” said the American, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the midshipman. “Young chief officer?”
“Junior officer.”
“Oh, his he? Well, I tell you what: yew both go and act like men-o’-war. Sail up close to that schooner, fire your big guns, and send her to the bottom of the river.”
“And what about the poor slaves?” said Murray excitedly.
“Eh, the black stuff?” said the American, scratching his chin with his forefinger. “Oh, I forgot all about them. Rather bad for them, eh, mister?”
“Of course,” said the lieutenant. “No, sir, that will not do. I want to take the schooner, and make her captain and crew prisoners.”
“Yew’ll have to look slippery then, mister. But what about the niggers?”
“I