A Conspiracy, which ends satisfactorily to all Parties—Privateering is abandoned, and Captain Levee and Philip serve the King.
A Conspiracy, which ends satisfactorily to all Parties—Privateering is abandoned, and Captain Levee and Philip serve the King.
The night passed away in attempts at analyzing the real feelings of Miss Trevannion, and also my own towards her; and now that I was to be separated from her, I discovered what I really had not before imagined, that my future happiness was seriously endangered by my sentiments towards her: in short, dear Madam, that I was most seriously in love.
“And now,” thought I, “of what avail is it to have made this discovery now, except it were to convince me, as Miss Trevannion had said, that it were better that I were gone.”
I did not fail to call to mind her observation about my unknown parentage and family, and this I reflected upon with pleasure, as it was the chief objection raised by her, and, at the same time, one that I could proudly remove, from my birth being really more distinguished than her own. Should I make it known? How could I?—we should, probably, never meet again. All this, and much more, was canvassed in my mind during the night, and also another question of more real importance, which was, what I was to do, and where I was to go? On this last point I could not make up my mind, but I determined that I would not leave Liverpool for a day or two, but would takeup my quarters at my old lodgings, where I had lived with Captain Levee.
As the day dawned, I rose from the bed, and, taking my valise on my shoulder, I went softly down-stairs, opened the street door, and shutting it again carefully, I hastened down the street as fast as I could. I met nobody; for it was still early, and arrived at the lodging-house, where I had some trouble to obtain admittance; the old lady at last opening the door in great dishabille.
“Captain Elrington! is it possible,” exclaimed she, “why, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing, Madam,” replied I, “but that I have come to take possession of your lodgings for a few days.”
“And welcome, Sir,” replied she; “will you walk up-stairs while I make myself more fit to be seen. I was in bed and fast asleep when you knocked; I do believe I was dreaming of my good friend, Captain Levee.”
I went up-stairs and threw myself on the old settee which was so familiar to me, and somehow or another, in a few minute’s I was in a sound sleep. How long I might have slept on I cannot tell, but in less than an hour I was waked up by loud talking and laughter, and a few seconds afterwards found myself embraced by my brother Philip and Captain Levee. The Arrow had anchored at break of day, and they had just come on shore. I was delighted to see them, as every one is when he meets with friends when he is in distress. I briefly stated how it was that they found me there, and when breakfast was on the table, I entered into full details of what had passed, with the exception of Miss Trevannion having entered my room—that I considered too sacred to repeat to any one.
“You know, my dear Elrington,” said Captain Levee, “that I have not the scruples which you have relative to privateering, but still I respect the conscientious scruples of others. There is no excuse for Mr. Trevannion’s conduct, and I cannot think but there is something else at the bottom of all this. You haven’t been making love to his daughter, or, what would amount to the same thing, she has not been making advances to you?”
“I have not dared the first, Levee, and you do not know her, to suppose her capable of the latter.”
“Well, if she had done so, there would have been no harm done,” replied he; “but I will say no more as you look so grave. Philip and I will now call upon Mr. Trevannion, and while I engage the old gentleman, Philip shall run alongside of the young maiden, and between the two we shall get our bearings and distance, and know how the land lies—and I will tell you more, Elrington, although I have no objection to be captain of a privateer, I certainly consider the command of a king’s ship more reputable; and if I could manage to get the Arrow hired into the king’s service (I still remaining in command of her), I should prefer it being so. At all events, I’ll side with you, and that will drive the old gentleman on a dead lee-shore. Come along, Philip—we shall be with you in two hours, Elrington.” With these words Captain Levee left the room, followed by my brother.
It was nearly three hours before they returned, and then I received the following narratives: Captain Levee, as he sat down, said, “Now, Philip, we’ll hear your account first.”
“Well, mine is soon told,” replied Philip; “I had made up my mind how to act, and did not tell Captain Levee what I intended to do. When Mr. Trevannion met us in the room behind the counting-house, he appeared very much flurried: he shook hands with Captain Levee, and offered me his hand, which I refused, saying, ‘Mr. Trevannion, I have just seen my brother, and I hardly need say that nothing will induce me to remain in your employ. I will, therefore, thank you for my wages at your convenience.’
“‘Hey-day, young man,’ cried he, ‘you give yourself strange airs. Well, Sir, you shall have your discharge; I can do without such snip-jacks as you are.’
“‘Snip-jacks! Mr. Trevannion,’ replied I; ‘if I must say it, we are better born and better bred than you or any of your connections, and you were honoured by our service.’”
“You said that, Philip?—then you were wrong.”
“I told the truth.”
“Still, you should not have said it; we took his service, and therefore—”
“We are not snip-jacks,” interrupted Philip, “and his calling names brought on the reply.”
“You must admit the provocation, Elrington,” said Captain Levee.
“Well, go on, Philip.”
“‘Indeed,’ said Mr. Trevannion, in a great passion; ‘well, then, I will soon rid myself of the obligation. Call this afternoon, Master Philip, and you shall receive your wages. You may now quit the room.’
“I did so, and put my hat a-cock to annoy him.”
“So far his narrative is quite correct,” said Captain Levee;—“now go on.”
“Well,” said Philip, “instead of turning out of the house, I turned into it, and went to the young lady’s sitting-room. I opened the door softly, and found her with her hand up to her head, looking very sedate and sorrowful. ‘Master Philip,’ said she, ‘you startled me; I am glad to see you—when did you arrive?’
“‘This morning, Miss Trevannion.’
“‘Well, sit down, and bear me company for a time. Have you seen your brother?’
“‘I have, Miss Trevannion,’ replied I, still remaining on my feet, ‘and I have just seen your father. I come now to bid you farewell. I have left the privateer, and shall never join her again; perhaps I may never see you again either, which, believe me, I am truly sorry for.’
“She covered her eyes with her hand, as she leant on the table, and I saw a tear fall as she said—
“‘It is a sad business altogether, and has distressed me very much. I hope your brother does not think that I blame him; tell him that I do not in the least, and that he must forget my behaviour to him when we parted. I did him injustice, and I beg his pardon. Tell him so, Philip.’”
“Did she say those words, Philip?”
“Yes, word for word, and looked like an angel when she saidso. I replied that I would certainly deliver her message, but that I must not remain, for fear of Mr. Trevannion finding me with her, as he ordered me to quit the house.
“‘Indeed,’ said she; ‘what can be the matter with my poor father?’
“‘Why, Miss Trevannion,’ said I, ‘he was very angry, and he had reason, for I was very saucy, and that’s the truth.’
“‘Why, Philip, what did you say to him?’
“‘Oh, I hardly know,’ replied I, ‘but I know that I said more than I ought; for I was very angry at my brother’s dismissal. Good-bye, Miss Trevannion.’
“Miss Trevannion was taking a ring off her finger as I said good-bye, and I thought she was going to give it me as a keep-sake; but, after a little hesitation, she put it on again, and then held out her hand, saying, ‘Good-bye, Master Philip, let us not part in anger, at all events.’ I took her hand, bowed, and turned away to quit the room; when I was at the door I looked round, and she was sitting with her face in her hands, and I think she was weeping. I went out into the street, and waited for Captain Levee, and there’s an end of my story.”
“Well, now I’ll give you my portion, Elrington:—As soon as Philip went out of the room, Mr. Trevannion said, ‘That’s a most impudent boy, and I am glad that he is gone. You are of course aware that his brother has left me, and the cause of our disagreement.’
“‘Yes, Sir,’ replied I, drily, ‘I have heard the whole particulars.’
“‘Did you ever hear of such ridiculous scruples?’ said he.
“‘Yes, Sir, I heard them before, and so did you, when he gave up the command of the privateer, and I respected them, because I knew that Mr. Elrington was sincere. Indeed, his observations on that head are undeniably true, and have had great weight with me; so much so, that I intend to enter into the king’s service as soon as I possibly can.’
“I wish you had seen the look of Mr. Trevannion when I saidthis—he was stupified. That I, Captain Levee, who had commanded his vessels so long—I, the verybeau idealof a privateer’s-man, a reckless, extravagant dare-devil, should also presume to have scruples, was too much for him. ‘Et tu, Brute,’ he might have exclaimed, but he did not; but he stared at me without speaking for some time; at last he said, ‘Is the golden age arrived, or is this a conspiracy?’
“‘Neither one nor the other, Sir,’ I replied; ‘I follow privateering, because I can do no better; but as soon as I can do better, I shall leave it off.’
“‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Trevannion, ‘you would wish to resign the command at once. If so, I beg you will not make any ceremony.’
“‘I have not wished to put you to any inconvenience, Mr. Trevannion,’ replied I, ‘but as you kindly beg me to use no ceremony, I will take advantage of your offer, and resign the command of the Arrow this day.’”
“Surely, Levee, you have not done so?”
“Yes, I have,” replied Captain Levee, “and I have done so, in the first place, out of friendship to you, and, in the second, because I wish to be employed in the king’s service, and my only chance of obtaining that wish is doing what I have done.”
“How will that effect your purpose?”
“Because the men have sailed so long with me, that they will not sail under any other person, if I tell them not. Mr. Trevannion will find himself in an awkward position, and I think we can force him to hire his vessel to government, who will gladly accept such a one as the Arrow.”
“That I believe, if from her reputation alone,” replied I. “Well, Levee, I thank you very much for this proof of sincere friendship. The plot thickens, and a few days will decide the question.”
“Very true, and now let me finish my story. ‘I am afraid,’ said Mr. Trevannion, in a very sarcastic tone, ‘that I shall not be able to find any one to replace you in this moral age, Captain Levee; but I will try.’
“‘Sir,’ I replied, ‘I will now answer your sarcasm. Thereis some excuse for ignorant seamen before the mast, who enter on board of privateers: they are indifferent to blood and carnage, and their feelings are blunted—there is some excuse even for decayed gentlemen like me, Mr. Trevannion (for I am a gentleman born), who, to obtain a maintenance without labour, risk their lives and shed their blood; but there is no excuse for those who, having already as much wealth and more than they can require, still furnish the means and equip vessels of this description to commit the destruction which they do, for the sake of gain. There is a sermon, Sir, for you from a captain of a privateer, and I now wish you good morning.’ I then got up, and, making a profound bow, I quitted the room before Mr. Trevannion made any reply, and here I am. Now all we have to do is to wait quietly, and see what takes place; but first, I shall go on board the Arrow, and let them know that I have quarrelled with the owner. The men are not very well pleased as it is with their want of success these two last voyages, and it will require but little to blow up the discontent into a mutiny. Come, Philip, I shall want you to assist me. We shall be back to dinner, Elrington.”
When I was again alone, I had time to consider what had passed. What I chiefly dwelt upon was the interview between Philip and Miss Trevannion—her message to me—her hesitation—and keeping the ring. I could not help surmising that our feelings towards each other were reciprocal, and this idea gave me infinite delight, and repaid me for all that had passed. Then my brother’s hasty declaration to her father, that we were better born and bred than he was, would certainly be repeated by him to his daughter, and must make an impression. And what would Mr. Trevannion do? Would he give way to the unanimous opinion against him? I feared not, at least without another struggle. All these questions occupied my thoughts till the return of Captain Levee and Philip from the privateer. They had well managed their business. The crew of the Arrow had come to an unanimous resolution that they would not sail with any other captain but Captain Levee; and that if he did resign the command of the vessel, as soon as their wages were paid, and they received theirshare of prize-money, they would leave, and enter into the king’s service.
That afternoon Mr. Trevannion sent for the officer next in command, to give him the command of the vessel; but as he went over the side, the men expecting that he was sent for, for that purpose, told him that they would serve under no one but Captain Levee, and that he might acquaint the owner with their determination. This put the finishing blow to Mr. Trevannion. As soon as this was communicated to him, he was wild with rage in being thus thwarted in every way. As I afterwards was informed, he went even to his daughter, acquainted her with all that had passed, and gave vent to his indignation, accusing her of being a party in the conspiracy. But this was to be his last effort: the excitement had been too great, and after dinner he felt so unwell that he went to bed. The next morning he was in a raging fever, and at times delirious. The fever was so violent that the doctors had much to do to reduce it, and for ten days Mr. Trevannion was in great danger. At last it was got under, leaving him in a state of great weakness and exhaustion, and his recovery was any thing but rapid. Humphrey, the porter, had brought us this intelligence; as now there was no one to transact the business of the house, and the poor fellow did not know what to do, I desired him to apply to Miss Trevannion for directions, and told him that, although I would not enter the house, I would, if she wished it, see to the more important concerns which could not be neglected. She was then attending her father, and sent me a message, requesting, as a favour to her, that I would assist all I could in the dilemma. I consequently sent for the books, and gave orders, and made the necessary arrangements as I had done before I had been dismissed by Mr. Trevannion.
It was nearly five weeks before Mr. Trevannion had sufficiently recovered to mention any thing about business to him, and then it was that he learnt from his daughter that I had carried it on for him during his illness, and that every thing had gone on as well as if he had acted for himself. Although Miss Trevannion had not expressed a wish that I should call, she had sent Humphrey for my brother Philip, to let us know the dangerous statein which her father was, and after that Philip called every day, and was the bearer of messages to me. As her father recovered, she told Philip that he had expressed himself very strongly as to his conduct towards me, and had acknowledged that I was right in my scruples, and that he was astonished that he had not viewed privateering in the same light that I did. That he felt very grateful for my considerate and kind conduct in conducting the business during his illness, and that as soon as he was well enough he would call upon me, to beg my pardon for his conduct towards me. Miss Trevannion also told him that her father had said that he considered his illness a judgment upon him, and a warning to open his eyes to his sacrifice of principle to the desire of gain, and that he received it accordingly with humility and thankfulness; that it was his intention to offer the privateer vessels to government, and if they did not hire them, he should dispose of them in some other way. This was very agreeable intelligence, and was the source of much conversation between Captain Levee and me.
About a fortnight afterwards, Mr. Trevannion, who was still weak, sent me a billet, in which he said that he was afraid that his anxiety to see me and his being still confined to his room, rather retarded his recovery, and begged as a favour that I would accept his acknowledgment in writing, and come to see him. That I consented to do, and repaired to his house accordingly. I found him in his room, sitting in his dressing-gown, and he had evidently suffered much.
“Mr. Elrington,” said he, “I trust to your excellent nature to accept my apologies for the very unjust treatment you have received at my hands. I am ashamed of myself, and I can say no more.”
“I beg, Mr. Trevannion, that you will say no more; I accept the return of your friendship with pleasure,” replied I; “I am sorry that you have been so ill.”
“I am not,” replied he; “it is good for us to be chastised at times. My sickness has opened my eyes, and made me, I trust, a better man. May I ask a favour of you?”
“Most certainly, Sir,” replied I.
“It is that you will execute a commission for me, which is to go to London on my account, see the government people who control the naval affairs, and offer the Arrow as a hired vessel. You know all her qualities so well, and have kept her accounts so long, that you will be able to furnish them with all necessary information. I should wish Captain Levee to go with you, and, if you possibly can, make it a condition that he is taken into the king’s service, and appointed the captain of her.”
“I will do so with pleasure,” replied I.
“One more favour I have to beg, Mr. Elrington. When I so foolishly quarrelled with you, you left a bag of money, to which you were fully entitled from your good services, upon the table in the inner room. I trust now that you will not mortify me by refusing it, or I shall think that you have not really forgiven me.”
I bowed assent.
“I thank you, Mr. Elrington—thank you very much. Now I shall soon get well. To-morrow, perhaps, you will have the kindness to come and see me again. I feel rather overcome at present. Remember me kindly to Philip. Good-bye for to-day,” said Mr. Trevannion, holding out his emaciated hand. “God bless you.”
I took his hand and quitted the room, shutting the door softly. Mr. Trevannion was quite alone when I was with him. Humphrey, the porter, had shown me up-stairs to the room.
Anxious as I was to see Miss Trevannion, I did not venture into the sitting-room, but passed the door and went down-stairs; when I was going out of the street door, Humphrey followed me, and said Miss Trevannion wished to see me. I went back again with a beating heart, a sensation I had not felt before, when about to go into her presence. She was standing by the table.
“Mr. Elrington,” said she, as I bowed upon entering, “I did not think that you could carry your resentment against me so far as to leave the house without asking to see me; but if you do not wish to see me, ’tis a duty I owe to myself to wish to see you, if only for a moment, that I may beg your pardon for my conducttowards you when we last parted. I have suffered much since that, Mr. Elrington; do not make me suffer more by continuing your resentment. Recollect I am but a weak woman, and must not be judged so severely as one of your own sex.”
“I have nothing to pardon that I am aware of, Miss Trevannion,” replied I; “I did not intrude upon you just now, because being no longer an inmate of the house, and not having parted with you in complete amity, I thought it would be presumptuous in me so to do.”
“You are very generous, Mr. Elrington,” replied she; “now take my hand, and I promise never to be so hasty again.”
I took the proffered hand, and raised it respectfully to my lips. I had never done so before; but Miss Trevannion showed no signs of displeasure, or attempt to withdraw it.
“Do you think my father looks very ill, Mr. Elrington?” said she.
“From his appearance, I think that he must have suffered much.”
“I am most thankful that you have come to see him, Mr. Elrington. You have no idea how his mind was troubled, and how he longed to be reconciled to you. I trust he has made his peace.”
“I have always had too much respect for your father, and gratitude for his kindness to me, to have made that a work of difficulty.”
“You rejoice me much—make me very happy, Mr. Elrington,” replied Miss Trevannion, as the tears dropped fast from her eyes. “You must excuse me,” said she; “I have become very weak and nervous during my father’s illness—and sitting up with him so much,—but it is over now.”
“You have had much anxiety, I see, Miss Trevannion; you are pale and thin to what you were.”
“Did my father—? but I have no right to ask such questions.”
“You would inquire, Miss Trevannion, whether any thing was said as to future arrangements?”
Miss Trevannion made a sign of assent.
“I have promised to execute a commission for him, and am going to London, accompanied by Captain Levee.”
“To get rid of those wretched privateers, is it not?”
“Yes, it is, and I am to come to-morrow to arrange further; but I think you want to return to your father’s room, so I will now take my leave.”
“You are considerate, Mr. Elrington; I did want to go up-stairs; but before I go I have some property of yours to place in your hands.”
I bowed, thinking that she referred to the ring, which I perceived on her finger, and was annoyed that she was in such haste to return it. But, on the contrary, she went to the buffet and brought out the bag of gold jacobuses, which she laid on the table.
“You are very proud, Mr. Elrington, not to take what was fairly your due,” said Miss Trevannion, smiling.
“It is much more than I have ever earned,” replied I; “but your father made me promise not to refuse it a second time, and of course I shall now take it.”
My heart was much lightened when I found that it was the gold, and not the ring.
“Then good-bye, Mr. Elrington; to-morrow I shall see you, of course.”
Miss Trevannion then left the room and hastened up-stairs to her father, and I went home to my lodgings. I narrated the substance of what had passed between Mr. Trevannion and me to Captain Levee and Philip, and also that I had been kindly received by Miss Trevannion.
“Well, I like the reconciliation and arrangement very much,” said Captain Levee; “and as you have such a bag of gold, and I have not fifty guineas in the world, you shall stand treat in London, Elrington.”
“That I will, with pleasure; it will only be discharging an old debt, Levee. Philip shall go with us.”
“But,” said Captain Levee, “do you not think they will recognize their state prisoner, and be cautious of a Jacobite?”
“They may remember the name,” said I, “but my person was seen but by few. I do, however, think it would be advisable, as I shall have to sign papers, to take another.”
“I think so, too,” replied Captain Levee; “what shall we call you?”
“Let me see; I’ll have a good name. I had a relative of the name of Musgrave; I think I will borrow his name. What say you, Philip. Will you be for the future Philip Musgrave?”
“Yes, brother, with all my heart. The name appears to fit me better than that of Elrington.”
Thus, Madam, did I resume my real name without any suspicion on the part of Captain Levee; but I could not well sign government papers with an assumed one.
On the following day I called upon Mr. Trevannion, who received me with great affection, and it was arranged that I should set off in three days, which time would be required for preparation, and to make the necessary purchases. To supply funds for the journey, Mr. Trevannion gave me another bag of jacobuses, of the same amount as the former, saying that he wished us to appear bravely when we arrived in London, and that he should require no account of the expenditure, only that if the contents of the bag were not sufficient, he would supply more. This was nothing more but an excuse on his part to be generous; for one quarter of the money would have been sufficient for all needful expenses. I told him that I had taken the name of Musgrave, as that of Elrington might be remembered to the injury of the proposal, and he said that it was well thought of by me. Miss Trevannion had entered the room when I mentioned that to her father, and afterwards had quitted it. After I had taken leave of Mr. Trevannion, I went down to the sitting-room, where I found his daughter waiting for me. We had much friendly discourse, and at one time she said, “I heard you say that you had taken the name of Musgrave for your intended journey. Do you intend to retain that name when you return?”
“Why should I?” replied I.
“Because,” replied she, “perhaps it is your real name. Excuse a lady’s curiosity, but is not that the fact?”
“Miss Trevannion,” replied I, “my real name must at present remain a secret.”
“That is to say, it will no longer be a secret if intrusted to me? I thank you, Sir, for the compliment.”
“I do not intend to imply that, Miss Trevannion; I fully believe that you can keep a secret.”
“If you fully believe so, you might, then, reply to my question; the more so, as I now pledge myself to keep your secret most faithfully.”
“Then, Miss Trevannion, my real name is Musgrave,” replied I.
“I thank you for your confidence, Mr. Musgrave, which shall not be misplaced. I might now follow up my inquiries as to why you changed your name, with many other queries; but I am too discreet for that—the time may come when I shall know all; but I am content with your proof of confidence, and thank you for it.”
Miss Trevannion never was so lively and communicative with me before, as she was this morning; there was a friendliness without any of her usual reserve, and I left her more full of admiration and devotion than ever.
In three days more our preparations were made, and taking leave of Miss Trevannion and her father, who was recovering, and had admitted company to his room, we set off on horseback, as we had done before, and attended by the same two men of Captain Levee’s who had served us on a former journey to London. We had no adventure whatever on this journey which could be worth narrating, and I shall therefore say that we arrived in good health and spirits, and took up our abode at once at our former lodging-house, instead of going to the inn. We were welcomed by the hostess, who had her house almost empty. The following day I made inquiries, and, in consequence, went to the Navy Office, and requesting to see one of the head clerks, informed him of the occasion of my coming up to London. He was very civil, and replied that the government were in want of vessels, and he had no doubt but they would have the Arrow, as she was well known as a strong privateer. I then inquired whether they thought it likely that Captain Levee might be taken intothe service, stating what an excellent crew the Arrow had, and that they would not remain in her, unless they were commanded, by him, in whom they had great confidence.
The clerk replied that it might be done certainly,—“but,” added he—“Sir, you cannot expect people to do such kind offices without they are rewarded.”
I perfectly understood him, and replied, that, of course, I did not expect it; but I was so ignorant as to what ought to be done, that I begged that he would give me his advice, for which I should be most grateful.
“Well, well, you understand me, Mr. Musgrave, and that is sufficient. I will be plain with you. It will cost 100 guineas to obtain what you want for Captain Levee, and of that money I shall not receive a doit.”
“I shall be most happy to give that sum and half as much more, to obtain my wish, Sir, and shall feel much obliged to you in the bargain; and while I am negotiating, I may as well state that I have a brother who sails with Captain Levee, who is most anxious to be with him, and sail as his lieutenant.”
“That will cost another fifty guineas, Mr. Musgrave.”
“I am most willing,” replied I.
“Well, we must first get the vessel hired into the service. You have your tonnage and equipment all on paper?”
“Every thing that is requisite; and, moreover, every cruise she has made, the actions she has fought, and the prizes she has taken under the command of Captain Levee, and with the crew now on board.”
“Furnish all these documents, Mr. Musgrave, and leave it to me. I am to understand that you perfectly agree to the terms I have proposed?”
“Perfectly, Sir; and, if you please, I will sign a memorandum to that effect.”
“No, no,” replied he, “we never put such things down on paper. It is an affair of honour and good faith. You say your money is all ready.”
“At a minute’s warning.”
“That is sufficient, Mr. Musgrave. I will now wish you good morning. Send me the documents.”
“I have them in my pocket, Sir.”
“Better still; then the affair may be arranged this afternoon, and you may call to-morrow at about two in the afternoon; and you may as well bring the money with you, as you can but take it away again if every thing is not to your satisfaction.”
I returned to the lodgings quite delighted with the prospect of such a fortunate issue to my mission, and was in good time for dinner. I did not tell Captain Levee or Philip of what had passed, but merely that I considered that there was a good chance of success, and that I was to call on the following day. That night we went to the theatre, and saw a play performed written by Shakspeare, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and called the “Merry Wives of Windsor.” We were much pleased with the characterFalstaff, a fat knight, full of humour. The next day, at the time appointed, I called upon the head clerk, who told me that every thing was arranged according to my wishes; that the hiring of the vessel was according to her tonnage; and he considered that the price offered by the government was fair and liberal; so did I, and immediately accepted it. He then drew from his desk the articles of agreement between the government and the owner of the vessel, and at the same time, the warrants for Captain Levee and Philip, to act as commander and lieutenant.
“Now, Mr. Musgrave, all you have to do is to sign the first paper, and fulfil the other portion of our agreement.”
I immediately pulled out the bag of money which I had brought with me, and after counting it over, the clerk gave me his pen to sign the document, and handed to me the warrants for Philip and Captain Levee.
“You have behaved liberally in this affair, Mr. Musgrave,” said the gentleman, as he locked up the bag of money in his desk; “if at any time I can be of use to you, you may command me.”
“I thank you, Sir,” replied I, “I may by-and-by have to ask you to exert your influence in behalf of my brother, that he may obtain the command of one of the king’s ships, and if you can help me, I shall be most grateful.”
“Depend upon it I will,” replied he, “and I beg you will use no ceremony on making the application.”
He then shook hands with me, and I went home. Dinner was over when I came back, but the hostess had put away some victuals for me, and while I was eating them, I gave them an account of my success, handing their warrants to Captain Levee and Philip. They could hardly credit me, even when the documents were in their hands, but pledging them to secrecy, I told them by what means I had been so successful. Whereupon they thanked me, and we then went out to procure the uniforms suitable to their respective ranks, and this occupied us till the evening, when we agreed to go to the cockpit and see the fights between the various animals, with which Philip particularly was much delighted. As we had nothing to detain us in London, and it was necessary that the Arrow should immediately run round to the Nore, we determined, as the uniforms were to be ready on the following day, that the day after that we would return to Liverpool.
We return to Liverpool—I have an interview with Miss Trevannion—Plutus interferes with Cupid, and I sail again for the coast of Africa.
We return to Liverpool—I have an interview with Miss Trevannion—Plutus interferes with Cupid, and I sail again for the coast of Africa.
We set off and arrived at Liverpool, without accident, late on the sixth night, when we repaired to our usual lodgings. The next day I called to tell Mr. Trevannion that I had returned, and was informed by Humphrey that he was quite strong again, and very anxious to see me, although he had no idea that I should return so soon. Humphrey went up to announce my arrival, and Mr. Trevannion admitted me immediately, although he was not yet out of bed.
“I fear that you have not been successful,” said he, as he took my hand.
“On the contrary, Sir, I have succeeded in every thing,” and I then gave him an account of what had happened.
“Well,” replied he, “I am very glad of it, and recollect I must be at the expense, as, without you had incurred it, theschooner would not, in all probability, have been hired. And now I want to consult with you about something else. Here is a letter from Captain Irving, of the Amy, brought home by the Chester Lass.”
These were two vessels employed on the Gold Coast, which belonged to Mr. Trevannion.
“Read it,” said Mr. Trevannion, “and give me your opinion.”
I did so: Captain Irving stated that he had pushed the two vessels up a small river on the coast, which he had not known of before, and had fallen in with a black ruler, who had never yet treated with the English; but only with the Spaniards, for slaves. That his English commodities were quite new to the natives, and that, in consequence, he had made a most fortunate traffic with them, and had loaded a vessel with ivory, wax, and gold-dust to the amount of 1,000 pounds, and that he had sent the Chester Lass, remaining himself, to continue the barter before it was known to the other ships on the coast, which it would soon be. He continued, that he had not sufficient of the articles which were most valued by the natives, and requested that Mr. Trevannion would immediately despatch another vessel with various goods enumerated, and that then he should be able to fill his own vessel as well as the one that he had despatched home; that the river was in such a latitude, and the mouth difficult to discover; that he sent a little sketch of the coast, which would facilitate the discovery—but that no time was to be lost, as the sickly season was coming on, and it was very unhealthy at that time.
As I folded up the letter, Mr. Trevannion said,
“Now, here is an invoice of the whole cargo sent home by the Chester Lass. I reckon it worth about 7,000l.”
I looked over the invoice, and agreed with Mr. Trevannion, that it was well worth that, if not more.
“This is most important, you will acknowledge, Musgrave,” said Mr. Trevannion; “but before I go any further, I trust that, now the only difficulty is got over, you will not refuse to be my partner; the only difference I intend to make is, that I now offeryou one-fourth instead of one-eighth. Silence gives consent,” continued Mr. Trevannion, as I did not immediately reply.
“I was so astonished at your munificent offer, Sir, that I could not well speak.”
“Then it’s agreed; so say no more about it,” said Mr. Trevannion, taking me by the hand, and pressing it warmly—“and now to business. My idea is, to sent out the Sparrow-Hawk, being so fast a sailer. Of course, as a privateer, she has done her work; and as the government wish the complement of the Arrow to be increased, I think we cannot do better than to fill her up with some of the Sparrow-Hawk’s men, leaving about twenty-five on board of her, and sending her out as soon as possible to the coast, with the articles which Captain Irving requests.”
“I agree with you, Sir, that it will be the best plan.”
“But whom to send is the difficulty,” said Mr. Trevannion. “Captain Paul, of the Chester Lass, is very ill, and not likely to be out of bed for some time; and even if he were well, I have no opinion of him in an affair of this moment. If, as Captain Irving says, he can fill the Amy, her cargo will be worth three times that of the Chester Lass; but, of course, the destination of the Sparrow-Hawk must be a secret, and I do not know whom to intrust her to. We require some one in whom we can put confidence.”
“I agree with you, Sir,” replied I; “and, if you have no objection, I think that the best plan will be for me to go myself; I shall be back again in ten weeks at the furthest.”
“Well, as you will now have a strong interest in it, I really think so too. In fact, I don’t know whom else we can trust.”
“I agree with you, Sir, and I will go myself, and I think the sooner the better; but I do not know whether we can obtain all the goods requisite immediately.”
“We can have them in five or six days,” replied Mr. Trevannion; “I sent Humphrey out to make inquiry.”
“At all events, I must look to them myself; and there are many other things to manage, so I had better wish you a good morning now, Mr. Trevannion, and in the evening I will call again, and let you know what I have done.”
“Do so,” said he, and I then took my leave.
I certainly was very much astonished as well as much pleased at Mr. Trevannion’s liberality relative to the partnership, and I could now look forward to competency in a few years at the furthest. Certainly, if Mr. Trevannion had been hasty in his conduct towards me, he had made most noble reparation. I first returned to the lodgings and told Captain Levee and Philip what had passed; they immediately proposed that we should all go together on board the Sparrow-Hawk, that I might make my arrangements, and that they might persuade some of the men to join the Arrow. I first picked out the men I wished to sail with me; and then they talked over the rest, who that evening went on shore for their wages, and the next morning joined the Arrow, as Captain Levee was anxious to get round to the Nore. The day after the men joined, the Arrow sailed, which I was not sorry for, as it left me more at leisure to expedite my own affairs. Philip promised to be my correspondent, and I bade them both farewell with regret. I called in the evening, as I had promised, upon Mr. Trevannion, and he then gave me the deed of partnership, signed and dated the day when he first made the offer, and we had quarrelled; but I did not see Miss Trevannion; much to my regret, her father said that she was ailing. The business I had to transact, and fitting out the Sparrow-Hawk, so completely occupied me, that it was now three days that I had been at Liverpool without having seen her, and I was much annoyed at it, as I had called every day. My feelings towards her were now stronger than before. She was never out of my thoughts, and I hardly know how it was that I transacted business as I did. This evening I was determined, if possible, that I would see her, and find out why she avoided me, as it appeared to me that she did. When I called, therefore, I did not ask to see her father, but told Humphrey to find out where Miss Trevannion was, and say that I requested to speak with her. Humphrey returned, and said that she was in the sitting-room, to which I instantly repaired.
“I am fearful, that I have given you some unintentional cause of displeasure, Miss Trevannion,” said I, as I entered, “for you have appeared to avoid me since my return.”
“Indeed, Mr. Musgrave, I have not,” replied she; “I was most anxious to see you, and have thought it very unpolite, I may add, unkind, on your part not to have come to me.”
“I have been in the house every day, and sometimes twice a-day, with your father, Miss Trevannion, and have never met you. Once I inquired for you, and your father told me you were unwell, whereas Humphrey had but five minutes before told me that you were well and in good spirits.”
“Humphrey told the truth, and so did my father. I was in good health and spirits, and in five minutes afterwards I was ill and unhappy.”
“I trust I was no party to it, Miss Trevannion.”
“You were a party to it, but not the great offender, who was my father. He had told me that upon your return he had installed you as his partner, and had done you the justice you had deserved; and then he told me that you were going out to the coast of Africa in the Sparrow-Hawk.”
“It is very true, Miss Trevannion; but where is the offence?”
“The offence is this: my father no sooner does you justice than he wants more ivory and gold-dust, having more than enough already; but I told him it was as bad as privateering, for in either case he sends people out to sacrifice their lives, that he may gain more money. I have no patience with this foolish pursuit of wealth.”
“After all your father’s kindness to me, Miss Trevannion, I could do no less than accept the offer.”
“You would have been more wise and more just to yourself to have refused it, Mr. Musgrave. I read the letters to my father when they arrived, and you know what Captain Irving says about the unhealthiness of the climate. You have been my father’s best friend, and he should not have treated you thus.”
“I never did value life, Miss Trevannion; but really the kind interest you have expressed on this occasion makes me feel as if my poor life was of some value. To one who has been such a football of fortune as I have been, and who has hardly, known a kind feeling towards him ever expressed, it is a gratification that I really appreciate, and coming from one whom I respect andesteem more than any other person in the world, it quite overpowers me. Indeed, Miss Trevannion, I am truly grateful.”
I was correct when I said that it overpowered me, for it did completely, and I was so oppressed by my feelings, that I reeled to a chair, and covered up my face with my hands. What would I have given to have dared to state what I felt!
“You are ill, Mr. Musgrave,” said Miss Trevannion, coming to me. “Can I offer you any thing?”
I made no reply; I could not speak.
“Mr. Musgrave,” said Miss Trevannion, taking my hand, “you frighten me. What is the matter? Shall I call Humphrey?”
I felt her hand tremble in mine, and, uncertain what to think, I came to the resolution to make the avowal.
“Miss Trevannion,” said I, after a pause, and rising from my chair, “I feel that this internal conflict is too great for me, and if it lasts it must kill me. I give you my honour that I have for months tried every thing in my power to curb my desires and to persuade myself of my folly and rash ambition, but I cannot do so any longer. It were better that I knew my fate at once, even if my sentence should be my death. You will ridicule my folly, be surprised at my presumption, and, in all probability, spurn me for the avowal, but make it I must. Miss Trevannion, I have dared—to love you; I have but one excuse to offer, which is, that I have been more than a year in your company, and it is impossible for any one not to love one so pure, so beautiful, and so good. I would have postponed this avowal till I was able to resume my position in society, by the means which industry might have afforded me; but my departure upon this business, and the kind of presentiment which I have, that I may not see you again, has forced it from me. In a few days I leave you—be gentle with me for my involuntary offence—pity me while you condemn, and I will return no more.”
Miss Trevannion did not reply; she breathed quick, and stood motionless. I gathered courage; I looked in her face, there was no displeasure—I approached her, she was half-fainting, and put her hand upon my shoulder to steady herself. I put myarm round her waist; and led her to the sofa, and knelt at her feet, watching every change in her beautiful countenance. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips; by degrees I became more bold, and got by her side, and pressed her to my heart. She burst into tears, and wept with her head on my bosom.
“Do not be angry with me,” said I, after a time.
“Do I appear as if I was angry with you?” replied she, raising her head.
“Oh, no; but I cannot believe my happiness to be real. It must be a dream.”
“What is life but a dream?” replied she mournfully. “Oh, the coast of Africa! How I dread it!”
And so I confess did I from that moment; I had a presentiment, as I had told her, that something would go wrong, and I could not get over the feeling.
I shall no longer dwell upon what took place on that delightful evening, Madam; suffice to say, that Miss Trevannion and I were mutually pledged, and, after an exchange of thought and feeling, we parted, and when we did part I pressed those dear lips to mine. I went home reeling with excitement, and hastened to bed, that I might have unrestrained freedom of thought. I enacted the scene of the evening over and over again; recalled each motion, each look, every word which had passed, and, defying fever and presentiment of evil, imagined also our happy meeting to part no more. It was long before I could compose myself to sleep, and when I did, I need not say who it was who occupied my dreams. I called as soon as I could venture so to do on the following day, and had a long interview with my dear Amy. Before I went up to her father, I tried to soothe her anxiety upon my approaching voyage, and to persuade her that there was little or no danger to be apprehended in so short a stay. Willingly would I have given it up, but Mr. Trevannion had so set his mind upon it, and I had, by my consent, rendered it so impossible for him to find a substitute in time, that I could not do so, and I persuaded Miss Trevannion that I was right in acting to my promise. One question that came forward was, whether we should make known our engagement to her father at once, andthis was decided in the negative. Much as he liked me, he was not yet prepared to receive me so suddenly as a son-in-law, and Amy was of opinion that the communication had better be postponed. To this, of course, I gave a willing assent. I was satisfied with the knowledge of her affection, which I felt would never change. As I was talking with her father, after my interview with Amy, he said:
“Really, Elrington, or Musgrave, I hardly know which to call you.”
“Musgrave is my real name, Sir,” replied I.
“Musgrave—Musgrave—where did I know a Musgrave?”
“We are from the north,” replied I.
“Well,” said he, “I was going to say, that I really wish I could find some one else to take your place in this voyage, for I do not much like your going.”
“Do, my dear father,” said Miss Trevannion, who was standing by him.
“Hey! Miss Amy, what have you to do with it, I should like to know, and how can it concern you whether Mr. Musgrave goes or not?”
“I said so, Sir, because I know how you will feel his loss for so long a period. You know how you did feel his loss before, and I do not wish to see you working so hard, as you will have to do it without his assistance.”
“Well, that’s kindly thought, Amy, at all events; but still I fear that Mr. Musgrave must go, and I must work by myself till he comes back; so it’s no use saying any more about it.”
Amy sighed and made no reply. On the third day after this interview, every thing was ready, and on the following morning I was to sail. Mr. Trevannion had so many directions to give, and kept me so wholly with him, that I could hardly find time to speak to his daughter. However, it was agreed that as I was to sail at daylight, that she would see me after her father had gone to bed. Our meeting took place—need I say that it was a tender one. We renewed our vows over and over again, and it was not till past midnight that I tore myself away. Old Humphrey looked very knowingly at me when he let me out of the street-door. Islipped a guinea in his hand and wished him good-bye. I hastened on board of the Sparrow-Hawk, and desiring to be called before daylight, went down into the cabin. There I remained sitting at the table, and thinking of Amy so long, that when the mate came down to wake me, he found that I was still sitting there, having never been to bed during the whole of the night.
I started from my reverie and hastened on deck to get the schooner under weigh. It was soon done, although we were, comparatively speaking, short-handed. There was a fine breeze, and lightened as she now was, the little vessel flew through the water. Liverpool was soon out of sight, and we were dashing down the Irish Channel.
“She sails well, now,” said I to the second mate, a very clever man, and much better educated than most seamen, for he could navigate, as well as being a first-rate seaman.
“Yes, Sir,” replied Olivarez, “she walks fast. She is not too deep now,” replied he; “what a slaver she would make.”
This man was not an Englishman, but a Brazilian Portuguese by birth, although he had long been out of his country. Having set her course, I went down below, that I might indulge in my castle-building more at my ease. The wind increased to a gale, but as it was from the northward, and bore us to our destination, it was welcomed. We soon crossed the Bay of Biscay, and were in more genial latitudes; and, after a rapid run of about four weeks, I found myself nearly in the latitude given to us of the river where the Amy was at anchor. I then hauled in for the shore, which was very low, and required being approached with caution. We saw some towering palmtrees at sunset, and then we hove to; the next day we again stood in, and having ascertained our exact latitude at noon, we found ourselves about four miles to the northward of the river’s mouth. We shaped a course, and in two hours I made out the marks given for our guidance in the rough sketch of Captain Irving, and thus satisfied that I was right, ran directly for the mouth of the river. Captain Irving was correct in saying it was difficult, for it was not until we were within a mile that we could find any opening; but at last we did, and at the same time perceived the mast of two vessels at somedistance up the river. We stood in, and found that there was no bar at the river mouth, which was a very unusual circumstance on this coast. The soundings were gradual, and in an hour afterwards we anchored between the Amy and a fine schooner under British colours. Captain Irving recognized the Sparrow-Hawk, and immediately came on board. After the usual salutations, he told me that his vessel was half-laden, but that he waited for the articles he had sent for to enable him to complete his cargo. I told him that I had them on board, and he should have them as soon as he sent his boats. He stated that no vessels, except those engaged in the slave-trade, had ever come into this river, and that they only brought the cloth and other articles usual in the trade; but that his assorted cargo had astonished the people, and they were wild to possess things which they had never before seen. They had offered slaves in quantities, but finding that he would not take them in exchange, they had now brought down ivory and gold-dust. He told me how glad he was that I had come, as the river was very sickly, and was becoming more and more so every day; that out of twelve men he had already four down with fever.
I inquired of him what that vessel was on the other side of us. He replied it was a Liverpool slave-trader, and that the captain appeared to be a very good sort of man; that he never indulged in liquor, nor was given to profane language.
A few minutes afterwards the captain of the slaver came on board to pay his respects, and I asked him down in the cabin, and gave him beer and cheese, the two greatest luxuries in those climes. He appeared, as Captain Irving stated, a very quiet, well-behaved, serious person, which I was rather surprised at. When we repaired on deck, I observed, as the vessel was close to us, that there were two very large dogs on board, who, at the sight of the captain, bayed furiously. He told me that they were Cuba bloodhounds, and that he never went on shore without them, as they were the most faithful and courageous animals, and he considered that he was safer with them than with half a dozen armed men. Shortly afterwards Captain Irving and he both took leave. As there were still some hours of daylight,Captain Irving sent his boats for the goods, and after that, as the evening fell, I went down below, as Captain Irving requested I would do, and by no means remain on deck after sun-down, as it was extremely unhealthy.
On the following day Captain Irving went on shore with his goods and trafficked most favourably. Indeed, as we afterwards found out, he had procured in exchange more ivory than his vessel would hold, besides much gold-dust. The day after I went on shore with Captain Irving to call upon the king, as he called himself. He was seated in front of a hut made of palmetto leaves, with a lace coat on, but no other garment whatever, so that he made a curious appearance. After a little conversation, I went away, and hearing that the slaver was taking her cargo on board, about a hundred yards further up, I walked in that direction. The slaves were brought down in about twenty at a time, all of them fastened by the neck to a long bamboo pole, which confined them all together. One string of them had been sent down and put in the boat, and another was standing ready for embarkation; when as I cast my eyes over them and commiserated their misery, I observed a female whom I thought I had seen before. I looked again, and behold! is was Whyna, the princess who had been so kind to me in my captivity. I went up to her and touched her on the shoulder. She turned round, as well as the lashing to the pole would permit her, and on seeing me gave a faint scream. Without ceremony I took out my knife and released her, and led her away. She fell down at my feet and kissed them. The black man who had charge of the delivery of the slaves was very angry, and ran up to me, brandishing his long stick; but the captain of the schooner, who was on shore, and who had witnessed what I had done, saluted him with a kick in the stomach, which made him quiet enough. In few words I told the captain of the slaver that I was once in captivity, and this woman had befriended me, requesting him to name his price and I would willingly pay it.
“It’s not worth mentioning, Sir,” replied he; “women are as cheap as dirt; take her and welcome.”
“Not so,” replied I; “I must pay her ransom.”
“Well then, Sir,” said he, “I am in great want of a telescope; you have one on board, will you let me have it?”
“Most certainly,” replied I, “and many thanks into the bargain.”
I lifted up the poor creature, who was sadly emaciated and weak, and led her to the boat of the Amy and put her in. Captain Irving came down, and we returned on board. It was with great difficulty that, after I had given the poor creature some refreshment, which she was really in need of, I could recollect sufficient of her language to make myself understood by her; but by degrees words came to my memory, and as she spoke I recovered more. As well as I could make her out, the warriors had risen against the king on account of his barbarity, and had cut him to pieces; and that all his wives and servants had been sold as slaves. I promised her that she should not be a slave, but should come to my country and be taken care of.
She kissed my hands, and as she smiled her thanks, she reminded me of the Whyna of former times. I did not, however, think it advisable that she should come on board of the schooner, and I requested Captain Irving to take charge of her, and let her want for nothing, telling him that I intended that she should go home in his vessel. He willingly consented, and I hailed the schooner for a boat and went on deck. Whyna followed, but I told her I was obliged to go on board of the schooner, and that she had better go and lie down. As she probably thought that the Amy was my vessel, and that I was going away on a visit, she complied with my request, and went down with Captain Irving, who led her into a state-room which was not occupied.
As soon as I arrived on board the schooner, I sent the telescope which the captain of the slaver had begged for. Whyna had said to me, “I shall be your slave now,” evidently expecting that she was to remain with me, but that I could not consent to. Miss Trevannion had heard from me my adventures when in captivity, and I would not on that account allow Whyna to be in the same vessel with me. The next day Captain Irving came on board to tell me that he had two more men down with the fever, and that he wished I could give them some assistance in getting his cargoon board, which I did, and before night the Amy was loaded up to the hatchways, and there still remained a considerate number of elephants’ teeth on shore in the hut where he received them. I therefore determined, as his crew were evidently sickening fast, that he should sail immediately, and that I would take the remainder of the ivory on board of the schooner and follow him, giving him a rendezvous to wait at until I joined him, that we might proceed home in company. That night three of my men were ill.
I was on board of the Amy, and had been talking with Whyna, who wanted to know why I did not sleep on board of the vessel. I told her that I could not, but that we were to go to England directly, and that I was living on board of the schooner. Captain Irving weighed at daybreak, and in an hour was out of the river, and as I was as anxious to be clear of such an unhealthy spot, I manned my boats and went on shore for the ivory that was left. I found that it would take the whole of the day to embark it, as we had to go two miles further up the river than the depth of water would permit the vessel to do; for the ivory was in a hut close to the king’s house. I had sent off four boat-loads, and it being then noon, I went off with the fifth myself, that I might get my dinner, leaving the second mate to attend on shore, and taking with me the first mate who messed in the cabin. As we were in the middle of the stream, the boat struck against a stump of a tree, as we supposed, and knocked so large a hole in the bow that she began to fill. I immediately ordered the men to pull for the nearest point, which was on the opposite side of the river, that we might ground the boat to prevent her sinking.
The first mate, who was a very active man, finding that the elephants’ teeth prevented his reaching the bow of the boat, and stuffing into it some oakum which he had found in the stern sheets, sounded with the boat-hook, and finding that there was not more than three feet of water where we were pulling, jumped over the bows to push the oakum into the hole; but the poor fellow had not been a few seconds in the water, when he gave a shriek, and we perceived that a large shark had snapped him in two.This was a sad mishap, and the men, terrified, pulled as hard as they could, while two of them baled out the boat, to gain the shore, for we knew what fate awaited us if we sunk in the river. With great exertion we succeeded, running her up among the canes, with grew on that side of the river so thick that it was difficult to force your way through them.
We landed up to our knees in mud, and, throwing out the ivory, we found that a whole plank was rent out, and that it was impossible to repair our boat; and we were hidden by the canes from those who could have assisted us, had they known that we required their assistance, and we had no possible means of communication. At last I thought that if I could force my way through the canes to the point down the river, I could hail and make signals for assistance; and, desiring the men to remain by the boat, I set off upon my expedition. At first I got on pretty well, as there were little paths through the canes, made, as I imagined, by the natives; and, although I was often up to my knees in thick black mud, I continued to get on pretty fast; but at last the canes grew so thick that I could hardly force my way through them, and it was a work of excessive labour. Still I persevered, expecting each second that I should arrive at the banks of the river, and be rewarded for my fatigue; but the more I laboured the worse it appeared to be, and at last I became worn out with fatigue, and quite bewildered. I then tried to find my way back, and was equally unsuccessful, and I sat down with any thing but pleasant thoughts in my mind. I calculated that I had been two hours in making this attempt, and was now quite puzzled how to proceed. I bitterly lamented my rashness, now that it was too late.
Having reposed a little, I resumed my toil, and was again, after an hour’s exertion, compelled, from fatigue, to sit down in the deep black mud. Another respite from toil, and another hour or more of exertion, and I gave myself up for lost. The day was evidently fast closing in—the light overhead was not near so bright as it had been; and I knew that a night passed in the miasma of the cane was death. At last it became darker and darker. There could not be an hour of daylight remaining. Idetermined upon one more struggle, and, reeking as I was with perspiration and faint with fatigue, I rose again, and was forcing my way through the thickest of the canes, when I heard a deep growl, and perceived a large panther not twenty yards from me. It was on the move as well as I was, attempting to force his way through the canes, so as to come to me. I retreated from him as fast as I could, but he gained slowly on me, and my strength was fast exhausting. I thought I heard sounds at a distance, and they became more and more distinct, but what they were, my fear and my struggles probably prevented me from making out. My eyes were fixed upon the fierce animal which was in pursuit of me, and I now thanked God that the canes were so thick and impassable; still the animal evidently gained ground—until it was not more than five yards from me, dashing and springing at the canes, and tearing them aside with his teeth.
The sounds were now nearer, and I made them out to be the howling of other animals. A moment’s pause, and I thought it was the baying of dogs; and I then thought that I must have arrived close to where the schooner was, and that I heard the baying of the bloodhounds. At last I could do no more, and I dropped, exhausted and almost senseless, in the mud. I recollect hearing the crashing of the canes, and then a savage roar, and then yells, and growls, and struggles, and fierce contention—but I had fainted.
I must now inform the reader that about an hour after I had left the boat the captain of the slaver was pulling up the river, and was hailed by our men in our long-boat. Perceiving them on shore on that side of the river, and that they were in distress, he pulled towards them, and they told him what had happened, and that an hour previous I had left the boat to force my way through the cane-brakes, and they had heard nothing of me since.
“Madness!” cried he. “He is a lost man. Stay till I come back from the schooner.”
He went back to the schooner, and taking two of his crew, who were negroes, and his two bloodhounds, into the boat, he returned immediately, and as soon as he landed he put thebloodhounds on my track, and sent the negroes on with them. They had followed me in all my windings, for it appeared that I had travelled in every direction, and had come up with me just as I had sunk with exhaustion, and the panther was so close upon me. The bloodhounds had attacked the panther, and this was the noise which sounded in my ears, as I lay stupified and at the mercy of the wild beast. The panther was not easily, although eventually, overcome, and the black men coming up, had found me and borne me in a state of insensibility on board of the Sparrow-Hawk. The fever had come on me, and it was not till three weeks afterwards that I recovered my senses, when I learnt what I have now told the reader, and much more, with which I am about to make him acquainted.
When I recovered my senses, I found myself in the cabin of the Sparrow-Hawk. For some hours I was confused and wandering, but I rallied from time to time, till I could at last recognize the beams and carlines over my head. I was too weak to move, and I continued to lie on my back till I again fell asleep; how long I do not know, but it must have been for many hours, and then when I awoke I found myself much stronger.
I could now turn on my bed, and doing so I perceived a young man of the name of Ingram by my side in a doze, with his eyes shut. I called him in a faint voice, and he started up.
“I have been very ill,” said I, “have I not?”
“Yes, Sir, indeed you have.”
“I have been trying to recollect all about it, but I cannot as yet.”
“It’s not worth remembering, Sir,” replied he. “Do you wish any thing to drink?”
“No,” replied I.
“Then you had better go to sleep again.”
“I cannot do that. I feel as if I should like to get up. Where is Mr. Thompson? I must see him.”
“Mr. Thompson, Sir,” replied he; “don’t you recollect?”
“What?”
“Why, Sir, he was bitten in two by a shark.”
“Shark!” this was the key-note required, and my memoryreturned. “Yes, yes, I recollect now all, all. I recollect the panther and the cane-brakes. How was I preserved?”
“The bloodhounds killed the panther, and you were brought on board insensible, and have been in a raging fever ever since.”
“It must be so,” replied I, collecting my senses after a few moments of thought. “It must be so. How long have I been ill?”
“This is the twenty-first day.”
“The twenty-first day!” cried I. “Is it possible? Are none of the men ill?”
“No, Sir, they are all well.”
“But I hear the water against the bends. Are we not still at anchor?”
“No, Sir, the second mate got the schooner under weigh as he found you were so ill.”
“And I have been ill twenty-one days. Why we must be near home?”
“We expect to make the land in a few days, Sir,” replied Ingram.