Chapter One.

Two Middies and a Monkey.

“We’ve done wrong, Van. There’ll be a jolly row about it.”

“Get out! What’s the good of talking now? You were as ready to have him as I was. Lie still, will you? or I’ll pitch you overboard.”

Two middies talking in the stern-sheets of the cutter belonging to Her Majesty’s fast little cruiser Nautilus, stationed on the west coast of Africa “blackberrying,” so the men called their duty, Tom Fillot, one of their jokers, giving as the reason that the job was “black and berry nasty.” The sun shone as it can shine in the neighbourhood of the equator, and the sea looked like so much glistening oil, as it slowly heaved up and sank with the long ground swell, the light flashing from the surface attacking the eyes with blinding power, bronzing the faces of some, peeling the noses of others.

Setting aside the smart crew of the cutter in their white duck shirts and trousers and straw hats, with faces, necks, and hands of a mahogany brown, the two speakers may be taken as fair samples of what the sun could do with a fresh-coloured English lad of sixteen or seventeen. Mark Vandean, who leaned back and had wrenched himself round to sharply adjure something behind him in the bottom of the boat, was burned of a good warm Russian leather brown, while his companion, Bob Howlett, who held the rudder-lines, displayed in addition to ruddy brown cheeks a nose in a most disreputable state of rag.

The boat went swiftly through the water, as the men bent with regular stroke, and made the tough ash blades of their oars curve ere they rose and scattered the flashing drops, which seemed to brighten the scene where all was flat and monotonous, and the view contracted by a dead silvery haze of heat. Behind them was the low flat shore with a few scattered white houses and factories behind a rough landing-stage. There were palms of different kinds in a straggling line, and on either side of the opening out of a muddy river, a bordering of dingy green mangroves—tree cripples, Mark Vandean called them, because they all looked as if standing up on crutches. A few boats lay in the mouth of the river, a dissolute-looking brig with its yards unsquared was at anchor higher up, and a sharp eye could detect a figure or two about the beach. On either side, as far as eye could reach, there was a line of surf.

That was all shoreward, while out to sea, a couple of miles or so away, smart and business-like, with her tall spars and carefully squared yards and rigging, cobweb-like in texture at that distance, lay at anchor in the open road-stead HMS Nautilus waiting to gather “blackberries” at the first opportunity, and toward which smart little vessel the cutter was being steadily propelled.

The object ordered to lie still under pain of being pitched overboard did not lie, but crouched a little lower, and increased the wrinkles in its deeply lined forehead, above which was a thin fringe of hair, blinked its wondering eyes, and looked piteously at the speaker.

It was the face of an old man with enormous mouth pinched together, and devoid of lips, but giving the idea that it was about to smile; nose there was none, save a little puckering in its place, but as if to make up for the want, the ears were largely developed, rounded, and stood out on either side in a pronounced fashion. For it was the most human of all the apes, being a chimpanzee about as big as a sturdy two-year-old boy.

All at once the stroke oarsman ceased rowing, and began to wipe the perspiration from his open, good-humoured face.

“Hullo!” shouted one of the middies, “what’s that mean? Why are you not pulling?”

“Beg pardon, sir; won’t be none of me left to,” said the man, “I’m trickling all away. Like to put the new hand in my place?”

“New hand?” said the other middy; “what do you mean?”

“Gent as you have behind you there.”

Mark Vandean frowned, and drew himself up, tried to look severe as an officer, but he was confronted by five grinning faces, and the mirth was contagious; he smiled at the idea, and the men roared.

“There, pull away, my lads, and let’s get on board. This is no time for skylarking.”

The men bent to their oars again, and the boat answered to its name, cutting swiftly through the water towards the little man-o’-war.

“But there will be a row about it, old fellow,” whispered Bob Howlett.

“Oh, very well then, they must row,” said Mark Vandean pettishly. “There’s no harm in having a monkey onboard—if we can get it there.”

“Don’t you be uneasy about that, Mr Vandean, sir,” said the stroke oarsman; “me and my mates’ll smuggle the young nigger gent aboard somehow, even if I has to lend him my duds.”

“You leave off cutting jokes, Tom Fillot, and pull hard.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” cried the man, chuckling, and he and his fellows made the boat skim through the glowing water.

“Perhaps the letter is important,” said the first middy, “and may mean business at last.”

“I hope not,” said the other. “I’m sick of it. Nothing but wild-goose chases after phantom ships. I don’t believe there are any slavers on the coast.”

“Oh, aren’t there, Bob?”

“Don’t seem like it. Where are they, then; and why don’t we catch ’em?”

“I dunno.”

“Fancy going off again to-night sneaking down to another of these rivers all among the mosquitoes and fever mists. Ugh! If I’d known, you wouldn’t have caught me coming to sea.”

“Oh, we shall catch one of ’em yet. A big Yankee schooner full of slaves; and then look at the prize-money.”

“No catchee, no havee, Van. Oh, I say, I am hot. Why, I believe you could fry eggs in the sun.”

“Dare say you might if you could get there, Bob.”

“Oh, my! aren’t we witty this morning! I say, I wonder what old Staples will say to the monkey, Van.”

“So do I,” said the first middy, uneasily. “I half wish we hadn’t bought it. But it seemed such a chance.”

“Well, we’re in for it now. Staples will give it us pretty sharply, and then forget all about it.”

“But then there’s the skipper.”

“Ah,” said the second middy, thoughtfully; “I forgot about him. Bother the monkey! Phew! I am hot. I say, they may well call this Oily Bight. The sea looks just as if it had been greased. Oh, don’t I wish I were in a good wet fog in the Channel. This is a scorcher.”

The lads ceased speaking, and sat back watching the anchored vessel and relieving the tedium of the long row by scratching the monkey’s head and pulling its ears, the animal complacently accepting both operations, and turning its head about so that every portion should receive its share of the scratching, till all at once the boat was run alongside, the coxswain took hold with his boathook, and while the falls were hooked on, an order was given above, and they were run up to the davits.

Directly after, Mark Vandean stepped on deck, touched his cap to a severe-looking officer, and presented a letter.

“Take it in to the captain,” he said; and Mark marched off to the cabin, while the first lieutenant, who had turned toward the boat, out of which the men had sprung, suddenly raised one hand, and pointed at the boat’s side, above which a head had been raised, and its owner was gazing round with wrinkled forehead as if wondering what was going to happen next.

Bob Howlett saw the first lieutenant’s fixed stare and pointing hand, and glancing round, he caught sight of the head with its chin on the gunwale.

“Who’s that?” cried the first lieutenant, sharply; and the men screwed up their faces and looked comically solemn on the instant, but no one spoke.

“Mr Howlett,” cried the officer again, “I asked you who that was in the boat!”

“Beg pardon, sir; didn’t know you were speaking to me. Which, sir?”

The lieutenant’s lips were compressed as he took a couple of strides and brought himself alongside of the middy.

“If you are not careful, sir,” he said severely, “trouble will follow this. You did know I spoke to you, sir. I said, ‘Who is that young black?’ Why, it’s an ape.”

“Yes, sir; chimpanzee, sir.”

“How dare you bring a monkey on board, sir?”

“Only a natural history specimen, sir; and I thought—”

“Oh, there you are, Staples,” said the captain, coming up. “Look, I think this is right at last;” and he handed the letter to his second in command.

“Looks correct, sir,” said the lieutenant, after reading the letter. “Shall you act upon it?”

“Act upon it, man! Of course.”

The monkey was forgotten. The boatswain’s pipe rang out, the men came tumbling up, and as fast as it could be achieved, the anchor was raised, sail after sail hoisted, and an hour after, with every scrap of canvas that could be set, the Nautilus was slowly gliding along right out to sea, with the palm and mangrove-lined shore slowly fading into the haze, while the men collected together in knots and discussed the possibility of catching a slaver that night.

“What’s it to be, Van,” said Bob Howlett, “fun or flam?”

“Tell you to-morrow morning,” was the reply. “I say, I’ve fed the chim’, and he’s asleep.”

“Wish I was too,” said Bob Howlett, “Oh, I say, ain’t it hot?”

Chapter Two.

Blackberrying at Sea.

That night the Nautilus was pretty close inshore, as soon as she could approach without being seen. Every light was out, the sail had been reduced, and they were gliding slowly along, watching the mouth of a river about twenty miles south of Port Goldby. They had been lying off here for days, waiting for the news the British agent had been trying hard to obtain for them, so as to enable the officer in command of her Majesty’s cruiser to strike a severe blow at the horrible traffic being carried on by swift-sailing schooners and barques trading between the West Coast of Africa and the southern ports of the United States.

The Nautilus had been for weeks upon the station, and so far all her efforts had proved vain. But now very definite information of the sailing of a large schooner from Palm River had been obtained, and everyone on board was in a most profound state of excitement. The night-glasses were being used, and as the vessel cruised to and fro off the mouth of the river, it did not seem possible for a fishing-boat to get away, leave alone a large schooner. This would be sure not to leave the river till the turn of the tide, two hours after dark, when she was expected to drop down with her cargo of unfortunates, collected at a kind of stockade by a black chief, who was supposed to be working in collusion with a merchant, whose store up the river had been ostensibly started for dealing in palm oil, ivory and gold dust with the above chief, a gentleman rejoicing in the name of Quoshay Dooni.

Captain Maitland’s plan had been well carried out, for the haze had helped him; and after sailing right away, the vessel had crept close in at dark; and as night fell with all the suddenness of the tropics, she had reached the mouth of the river as aforesaid unseen.

After listening impatiently for some time, orders were given, and a couple of boats were lowered, each furnished with lanterns for signalling, of course kept hidden; and the monkey episode being for the time forgotten, Mark Vandean obtained permission to go in the first cutter, Bob Howlett being sent in the second.

“Whether we catch them or no,” thought Mark, as the boat kissed the water, “it will be a bit of a change.” Then, after a few whispered orders given to the second lieutenant, who was in charge, the two boats pushed off, the men dipping their muffled oars gently, and after separating for a couple of hundred yards, both cutters made their way silently through what appeared to be a wall of blackness, while each ear was alert to catch the slightest sound—the object being to make sure that the slaver did not slip down the river in the darkness, and pass the Nautilus unseen.

“Keep that sail well over the lanterns, Dance,” whispered the lieutenant to the coxswain; “don’t show a glimmer, but mind that they are kept burning.”

“Ah, ay, sir.”

“Shall I take them in charge, Mr Russell?” whispered Mark.

“No, my lad; I want you for company. Keep your eyes well skinned, as the Yankees say. If you sight the vessel first I’ll give you a ring.”

“Thankye, sir,” said Mark, and then to himself, “No such luck!”

The next moment he was peering over the heads of the men, and to right and left, straight into the black darkness, as the boat was steered, as nearly as they could guess, right up the river, the only guide they had being the steady rush of the muddy water which they had to stem.

“Seems a Blindman’s Buff sort of game, doesn’t it, Mr Russell?” whispered Mark, at the end of a couple of hours.

“Yes, my lad, it’s all chance work. I only wish, though, that we could blunder on to the abominable craft. They’ll be too sharp for us I’m afraid.”

Another hour passed, and they were still completely shut up in the darkness, with a thick haze overhead; and at last the lieutenant whispered,—“Lucky if we don’t some of us catch fever to-night.”

“Look here, Vandean, if we don’t soon see something I shall signal the ship for a recall. We shall do nothing to-night. Eh? what?”

“I heard voices off to the left,” Mark whispered. “Then it’s the schooner,” said the lieutenant, in a suppressed voice. “Give way, my lads! steady! I shall lay the boat alongside, and you must board her somehow. Coxswain only stay in the boat.”

The men received their orders in silence, but a suppressed sigh told of their eagerness and readiness to act.

A minute later there was a sharp rattling sound, a savage growl, and a loud burst of laughter.

The first cutter had come in contact with the second, and directly after there was a whirring, brushing sound of branches sweeping over the boats, one of which bumped against a root and nearly capsized.

“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated the lieutenant; “back water, my lads! We are doing no good here. It is impossible to see where we are going.”

There was a slight splashing, and the boats began to descend the stream, swept along by the tide for a time, till they lay on their oars again.

“What’s that, Mr Russell?” whispered Mark, all at once.

“What? I heard nothing but one of the oars badly muffled.”

“I didn’t near anything. I meant what’s that I can smell?”

The lieutenant started, and just then there was a peculiarly offensive, sickening odour perceptible.

“No mistaking that,” whispered the lieutenant; and, giving orders, a lantern was taken from beneath the sail, and shown above the gunwale of the boat.

Almost immediately a faint star-like light shone out at a distance on their left, and the lantern was hidden and the star disappeared.

“Why’s that?” whispered Mark.

“Let the other boat know the slaver’s dropping down,” was whispered back.

“But is she?” said Mark, excitedly.

“No doubt about that, my lad. Pull steady.”

The men obeyed, and the boat was steered in a zigzag fashion down the river, but there was no sign of the slaver. If she was dropping down it was so silently that her presence was not detected, and at last a fresher feeling in the air warned the occupants of the first cutter that they must be nearing the mouth of the river.

“Light,” whispered Mark, pointing off to his right, where, faintly seen, there was a feeble ray.

“Signal,” whispered the lieutenant. The lantern was shown, and there was an answering light from behind them, proving that the one forward must be at sea.

“It’s a recall,” said the lieutenant, with a sigh of relief; “give way, my lads.” Then to Mark: “The captain must be uneasy about us, or he would never show that light. It’s like letting the slaver know. Bah! what an idiot I am. That’s not our light. Pull, my lads, pull! That must have been shown by the ship we are after.”

As he spoke the light disappeared, and a fresh one appeared from astern.

They showed their own lantern, and their signal was answered, the second cutter running up close to them a few minutes later, while the lieutenant was boiling over with impatience, for he had been compelled to check his own boat’s way.

“What is it?” he said to his second in command.

“See that light ashore, sir?”

“No; I saw one out at sea; it’s the slaver. Follow us at once.”

“But that light was ashore, sir.”

“Mr Ramsay, do you think I’m blind? Mr Howlett, are you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Didn’t you see a light off to sea?”

“No, sir; ashore.”

“I tell you it was at sea, and it is the craft we are after. Now, my lads, give way.”

Crash.

“Why, we’re among the trees again.”

“Yes, sir; shore’s this way,” said the coxswain.

“Then where in the name of wonder is the sea?” said the lieutenant, in an angry whisper, as the tide bore them along, with the men’s oars rattling among the mangrove stems.

“I think we’ve got into a side channel,” said Mark.

“Rubbish! How could we?”

“Beg pardon, Mr Russell, sir,” came from the boat astern; “we’ve got into a sort of canal place with the tide running like a mill stream. Hadn’t we better lie to till daybreak?”

“Better sink ourselves,” growled the lieutenant. “Here are we regularly caught in a maze, and that schooner getting comfortably away to sea.”

“’Fraid so, sir,” said the boatswain. “That there was a light showed ashore to warn ’em that we were in the river; some of ’em must have heard.”

The lieutenant made no answer, but ordered the men to back water, and for the next four hours they were fighting the swift river, trying to extricate themselves from the muddy system of branches into which they had been carried in the darkness, but in vain; and at last, in despair, they made fast to the mangroves, and waited for day.

Light came at last, piercing the white fog in which they lay; and in a short time they were back in the wide river, close to the sea, dejected, weary, and wondering that they could have been so confused in the darkness.

“Nice wigging we shall have, Vandean,” said the lieutenant; “the skipper will sarcastically tell me he had better have sent one of the ship’s boys in command. But there, I did my best. Ugh! how chilly it feels!”

An hour later they were alongside the Nautilus, which lay at the edge of a bank of mist which covered the sea, while shoreward all was now growing clear from a gentle breeze springing up.

The lieutenant was a true prophet, for the captain almost used his officer’s words.

“Then you haven’t seen a sign of the schooner?”

“No, sir; but we smelt it.”

“What!” cried the captain.

“Sail ho!” shouted the man at the look-out, and in a moment all was excitement, for, about a mile away, down what looked like a clear lane through the white fog, was a two-masted vessel, crowded with sail; and as rapidly as possible the boats were hoisted up, and the Nautilus was in pursuit.

But hardly had she careened over under the press of sail than the fog shut the vessel from their sight, and for the next two hours she was invisible, while the captain of the Nautilus had to lie to, for fear of some slippery trick on the part of what was undoubtedly the slaver, since she was more likely to make for the shelter of a creek than to risk safety in flight.

But the wind was not favourable for this manoeuvre, and toward mid-day the sea grew clear, and there was the slaver plainly visible miles away, sailing out west, while the Nautilus crowded on every stitch of canvas in pursuit.

A stern chase is a long one, says the proverb, and night came with the craft still miles away, but the sky was brilliantly clear, and the moon shone forth, showing the white-sailed schooner in a strangely weird fashion far across the flashing sea.