Chapter One.

A sound through the darkness.

“Phew!” ejaculated Mr Perry, first lieutenant of His Britannic Majesty’s corvette Psyche, as he removed his hat and mopped the perspiration from his streaming forehead with an enormous spotted pocket-handkerchief. “I believe it’s getting hotter instead of cooler; although, by all the laws that are supposed to govern this pestiferous climate, we ought to be close upon the coolest hour of the twenty-four! Just step aft to the skylight, Mr Fortescue, and see what the time is, will ye? It must surely be nearing two bells.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” I dutifully answered; and, moving aft to the skylight, raised the canvas cover which had been placed over it to mask the light of the low-turned lamp which was kept burning all night in the fore cabin, and glanced at the clock which, screwed to the coaming on one side of the tell-tale compass, balanced the barometer which, hung in gimbals, was suspended on the other side. The clock marked the time as two minutes to five a.m., or within two minutes of two bells in the morning watch.

Dropping the canvas screen back into place, I was about to announce the time to my superior officer, when I thought I caught, through the faint creak of the ship’s timbers and the light rustling of the canvas aloft, a slight, far off sound, like the squeak of a sheave on a rusty pin. Therefore, instead of proclaiming the time aloud, I stepped quietly to the side of the first luff, and asked, almost in a whisper—

“Did you hear anything just then, sir?”

“Hear anything?” reiterated Mr Perry, unconsciously lowering his usually stentorian voice in response to the suggestion of secrecy conveyed by my whisper; “no, I can’t say that I did. What d’ye mean, Mr Fortescue?”

“I mean, sir,” I replied, “that I thought I caught, a moment ago, a sound like that of—ah! did you hear that, then, sir?” as a voice, uttering some words of command, apparently in the Spanish language, came floating to us, faint but clear, across the invisible water upon which the Psyche lay rolling almost imperceptibly.

“Ay, I did,” answered Mr Perry, modulating his voice still further. “No mistake about that, eh? There’s a craft of some sort out there, less than a mile distant, I should say. Did you catch the words? They sounded to me like some foreign lingo.”

“No, sir,” I replied, “I did not quite catch them, but, as you say, they appeared to be foreign, and I believe they were Spanish. What about striking two bells, sir? It only wanted two minutes—”

“On no account whatever, Mr Fortescue,” hastily interrupted my companion. “On the contrary, have the kindness to slip for’ard and caution the watch not to sing out, or make the slightest noise, on any account, but to come quietly aft if they happen to have anything to report. And when you have done that, kindly go down and call Captain Harrison.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” I answered; and, kicking off my shoes, lest the sound of them upon the deck should reach the stranger through that still and breathless atmosphere, I proceeded upon my twofold errand.

But it is time to tell the reader where the Psyche was upon this dark and stifling night; what she was doing there; and why the precautions above referred to were deemed necessary.

As has already been mentioned, the Psyche was a British man-o’-war. She was a sloop, armed with fourteen long 18-pounders; and carried a crew which had originally consisted of one hundred and thirty men, but which had now been reduced by sickness and casualties to one hundred and four, all told. She was a unit in the somewhat scanty Slave Squadron which Great Britain had stationed on the West African coast for the suppression of the infamous slave-trade; and when this story opens—namely, about the middle of the year 1822—had been upon the station nearly two years, during the whole of which period I, Richard Fortescue, hailing from the neighbourhood of the good town of Plymouth, had been on board her, and now held the responsible position of senior midshipman; being, at the above date, just turned seventeen years of age.

The Psyche was a fine, stout, roomy, and comfortable craft of her class; but about as unsuitable for the work upon which she was now engaged as could well be, for she was a converted merchant ship, built for the purpose of carrying the biggest possible cargo that could be packed into certain prescribed limits, and consequently, as might be expected, phenomenally slow. To commission such a vessel to chase and capture the nimble craft that were usually employed to transport the unhappy blacks across the Atlantic was simply a ghastly farce, and caused us, her unfortunate crew, to be the laughing-stock of the entire coast. Yet, considering all things, we had not done so very badly; for realising, early in the commission, that we need never hope for success from the speed of our ship, we had invoked the aid of strategy, and by dint of long practice had brought the trapping of slavers almost up to the level of high art. Consequently the Psyche, despite the disabilities arising from her astonishing lack of speed, had acquired a certain reputation among the slave-dealing fraternity, and was as intensely detested by them as any ship on the station.

At the moment when the reader first finds himself a member of her crew the Psyche was lying near the mouth of the Benin river, some two miles off the shore and about twice that distance from the river’s mouth, at which point we had arrived at midnight; having made our way thither in consequence of “information received,” which led us to believe that a large ship was at that moment in the river taking on board a full cargo of blacks. We had drifted down to the position which we then occupied under the impulse of the last of the land-breeze, which had died out and left us becalmed some two miles short of the precise spot for which we were aiming. Still, we were near enough for all practical purposes, or believed that we were; for we thought that if a thoroughly smart look-out were maintained—and we had grown to be adepts at that sort of thing—it would be impossible for a slaver to attempt to slip out of the river without our becoming cognisant of the fact. And now, to return to my story.

Having first stolen forward and warned the watch that a craft of some sort was within hearing distance of us, and that they were therefore carefully to avoid crying out, or making any other sound that might betray our presence, I returned aft, in the same cautious manner, and was on the point of descending the companion ladder to call the captain, when ting-ting came the soft chiming of a ship’s bell, mellowed by distance, from somewhere in the offing, evidencing—or so it seemed to me—the fact that the stranger had not as yet discovered our proximity.

The skipper, accustomed to being disturbed at all hours of the night, awoke at the first touch of my knuckles upon his cabin door.

“Yes!” he called; “what is it?”

“There is a strange craft not far from us, sir,” I answered; “and Mr Perry considered that you should be apprised of the fact. We know nothing whatever about her, except that she is there; for the night is so intensely dark that we have been unable to catch the faintest glimpse of her, but we have just heard them strike two bells aboard her. We have not struck our own bell, sir, thinking—”

“Yes, of course, quite right,” interrupted the skipper, as he landed with a soft thud on the floor of his state-room. “Tell Mr Perry that I’ll be on deck in a brace of shakes.”

He followed close at my heels up the companion ladder, having paused only long enough to slip into his nether garments, and came groping blindly out on deck.

“Phew!” he muttered, as he emerged from the companion; “it’s as dark as the inside of a cow. Where are you, Mr Perry?”

“Here I am, sir; close alongside you,” answered the first luff, stretching out his hand and lightly touching the skipper’s arm. “Yes,” he continued, “it certainly is dark, unusually so; so dark that I am in hopes of keeping our presence a secret from the fellow out yonder until you shall have decided what is to be done.”

“Mr Fortescue tells me that you have not seen anything of him thus far,” remarked the captain. “Whereabout is he, and how far off, do you reckon?”

“Somewhere away in that direction,” indicated the lieutenant, with a flourish of his arm. “As to the distance—well, that is rather difficult to judge. Sound travels far on such a night as this; but I should say that the craft is not more than half a mile distant, or three-quarters, at the utmost.”

“Um!” commented the captain meditatively. “I suppose it is not, by any chance, the craft which we are after, which has slipped out of the river in the darkness, eh?”

“I should scarcely think so, sir,” answered Perry. “A man would literally have to be able to find his way about blindfolded to attempt to run out of the river on such a night as this. No, I am inclined to think that it is some inward-bound craft, becalmed like ourselves. We caught the sound of some order spoken on board her when we first became aware of her presence, and Mr Fortescue here was of opinion that the words used were Spanish, although the distance was too great to enable us to distinguish just what was said.”

“Ay,” responded the skipper; “two out of every three slavers doing business on this coast are either Spaniards or Portuguese. Now, the question is, What are we to do with regard to our unknown friend out yonder? Either she is, or is not, the craft that we are on the look-out for. If she is, we must take her, by hook or by crook, before the sea-breeze sets in and gives her the chance to run away from us; and that means a jaunt in the boats. On the other hand, if she is not the craft that we are after, she is still in all probability a slaver, and in any case will doubtless pay for an overhaul, which again means a boat trip. Therefore, Mr Perry, be good enough to have the hands called, and the boats got into the water as silently as possible. If the men are quick we may be able to get away, and perhaps alongside her, before the dawn breaks. I will take charge of this little pleasure-party myself, and you can stay here and keep house during my absence.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Perry, in tones which clearly betrayed his disappointment at the arrangement come to by the skipper. “I will put matters in hand.”

“Yes, do,” returned the skipper; “and meanwhile I will go and dress. It shall be your turn next time, Perry,” he chuckled, as he turned away to go below again.

“Ay,” grumbled the lieutenant to himself, but audibly enough for me to hear. “Same old yarn—‘your turn next time, Perry.’ This will make the third time running that I have been left behind to ‘keep house,’ but there’s not going to be a fourth, I’ll see to that; it is time that this child stood up for his rights. Now, Mr Fortescue, have the goodness, if you please, to pass the word for all hands to arm and man boats; and to be quiet about it, too, and show no lights.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” I briskly responded, as I turned to hurry away; “I’ll see that our lambs don’t bleat too loudly. And—I suppose—that I may take it for granted that—”

“That you will make one of the ‘pleasure-party’?” interrupted the lieutenant, with a laugh, as he put his disappointment and ill-humour away from him. “Oh, yes, I suppose so. At all events there will be no harm in making your preparations; the captain is pretty certain to take you.”

Still on my bare feet, I hurried forward and found the boatswain.

“That you, Mr Futtock?” I inquired, as I made out his burly form.

“Ay, ay, Mr Fortescue, it’s me, right enough,” was the answer. “I presoom, sir, it’s another boat job, eh? You heard that bell?”

“We did, Mr Futtock; yes, we heard it distinctly, seeing that we don’t ‘caulk’ in our watch on deck,” I retorted. “Yes, it’s another boat affair; so be good enough to have all hands called at once, if you please. And kindly make it your personal business to see that nobody raises his voice, lets anything fall, or otherwise creates row enough to wake the dead. This is going to be a little surprise visit, you understand.”

“Ay, ay, Mr Fortescue, I understands,” answered Futtock, as he moved toward the open hatchway; “I’ll see that the swabs don’t make no noise. The man that raises his voice above a whisper won’t go. That’s all.”

“Just one word more, Mr Futtock,” I hastily interposed, as the boatswain stepped over the coaming to descend the hatchway. “You may do me a favour, if you will. Kindly ask the armourer to pick me out a nice sharp cutlass, if you please. You can bring it on deck with you when you come up.”

To this request the boatswain readily enough assented; and matters being thus far satisfactorily arranged I descended to the cockroach-haunted den wherein we mids. ate and slept, to find that little Tom Copplestone—who shared my watch, and who was a special favourite of mine because of his gentle, genial disposition, and also perhaps because he hailed from the same county as myself—having overheard the conversation between Mr Perry and myself, had already come below and roused the occupants of the place, who, by the smoky rays of a flaring oil lamp that did its best to make the atmosphere quite unendurable, were hastily arraying themselves.

“Murder!” I ejaculated, as I entered the pokey little place and got my first whiff of its close, reeking, smoke-laden atmosphere; “put out that abominable lamp and light a candle or two, somebody, for pity’s sake. How the dickens you fellows can manage to breathe down here I can’t understand. And, boy,” to the messenger outside, “pass the word for Cupid to bring us along some cocoa from the galley.”

“There’s no need,” remarked Nugent, the master’s mate, as he struggled ineffectively to find the left sleeve of his jacket. “The word has already been passed; I passed it myself when Master Cock-robin there,” pointing to Copplestone, “came and roused us out. And, as to candles, I’m afraid we haven’t any; the rats appear to have eaten the last two we had in the locker. However—ah, here comes the cocoa. Put the pot down there, Cupid—never mind if it does soil our beautiful damask table-cloth, we’re going to have it washed next time we go into Sierra Leone. And just see if you can find us a biscuit or two and some butter, will ye, you black angel? Here, avast there,”—as the black was about to retire—“produce our best china breakfast-set before you go, you swab, and pour out the cocoa.”

The black, a herculean Krooboy, picked up when we first arrived on the Coast, and promptly christened “Cupid” by the master’s mate, who, possibly because of sundry disappointments, had developed a somewhat sardonic turn of humour, grinned appreciatively at Nugent’s sorry jest respecting “our best china breakfast-set,” and proceeded to rout out the heterogeneous assortment of delf and tin cups, basins, and plates that constituted the table-equipage of the midshipmen’s berth, poured out a generous allowance of cocoa for each of us, and then departed, with the empty bread-barge, in quest of a supply of ship’s biscuit. By the time that Cupid returned with this, we had gulped down our cocoa and were ready to go on deck. I therefore helped myself to a couple of biscuits which, breaking into pieces of convenient size by the simple process of dashing them against my elbow, I crammed into my jacket pocket, and then rushed up the ladder to the deck, leaving my companions to follow after they had snatched a hasty bite or two of food; for there was now no knowing when we might get breakfast.

Upon my arrival on deck I found the hands already mustering under the supervision of the first lieutenant, and a moment later I encountered the boatswain, who handed over to me a good serviceable ship’s cutlass—worth a dozen of the ridiculous little dirks which were considered suitable weapons for midshipmen—which I promptly girded about my waist. At this moment all was bustle and animation throughout the ship, yet so sedulously had we been trained to act in perfect silence that I am certain the stealthy footfalls of the men hurrying to their stations, and the whispered words of command, were quite inaudible at a distance of twenty yards from the ship. Within a minute or two, however, even these faint sounds had subsided, the crew were all mustered, and the first lieutenant, assisted by a quartermaster who carried a carefully masked lantern, was carefully, yet rapidly, inspecting each man’s weapons and equipment, scrutinising the flints in the locks of the pistols, and otherwise satisfying himself of the efficiency of our hurried preparations. While the inspection was still in progress the captain came on deck, with his sword girded to his side and a brace of pistols thrust into his belt, and stood quietly looking on until the inspection was completed and Mr Perry had reported that everything was in order.

Then the skipper announced that he would personally lead the attack in his own gig, manned by eight oarsmen, a coxswain, and a midshipman—myself; while the first cutter, manned by sixteen oarsmen, a coxswain, and a midshipman—Jack Keene—was to be commanded by Mr Purchase, the second lieutenant; and the second cutter, with twelve oarsmen, a coxswain, and Nugent, the master’s mate, was to be under the command of the boatswain. Thus the attacking party was to consist of forty-five persons, all told, which was as many, I suppose, as the skipper felt justified in taking out of the ship under the circumstances.

Then ensued a busy five minutes, during which the boats were being noiselessly lowered and manned, the oars muffled, and every possible precaution observed to enable us to take our unseen but doubtless vigilant enemy unawares. This was just then regarded as of especial importance, for at the time of which I am now writing the traffic in slaves was regarded as piracy, and rendered its perpetrators liable to capital punishment, in consequence of which almost every slaver went heavily armed, and her crew, knowing that the halter was already about their necks, resisted capture by every means which their ingenuity could devise, whenever they had the chance, and often fought with desperate valour.

As I hurried aft to attend to the lowering of the gig, which hung from davits over the stern, a hand was suddenly laid upon my arm, and, turning, I found myself confronted by Cupid, the Krooboy servant who “did for us” in the midshipmen’s berth. His eyes were aglow with excitement, he carried a short-handled hatchet, with a head somewhat bigger and heavier than that of a ship’s tomahawk, in his hand, and he was naked, save for a pair of dungaree trousers, the legs of which were rolled up above his knees.

“Mr Fortescue, sar, I fit for go in dem boat wid you, sar,” he whispered eagerly.

“Yes, I quite believe it, Cupid,” I replied. “But you know perfectly well that I cannot give you permission to join the gig’s crew. If the captain had been anxious to have the pleasure of your company I feel sure that he would have mentioned the fact. Besides, if you should happen to be killed, what would become of us poor midshipmen?”

A suppressed chuckle, and a gleam of white teeth through the darkness, betrayed Cupid’s appreciation of the compliment subtly conveyed in the suggestion that the budding admirals inhabiting the midshipmen’s berth aboard H.M.S. Psyche would suffer, should he unhappily be slain in the impending conflict, but he hastened to reassure me.