The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea

“You’ll not let that damned darkie murder me, stranger?” said the man, in a humbled tone.

“Do you think the scars of your merciless lash have yet disappeared from my shoulders?” said the negro, grinding his teeth. “Can you restore those you tore from me and delivered over to worse than death? Am I to forget the curses, the insults, you have heaped on me?”

He seized the man and shook him, as a savage dog does an animal he has conquered. I dreaded that he was about to throw the overseer – for such I supposed the man to be – into the water.

“Hold, Marcus!” I exclaimed. “I cannot stand by and allow murder to be committed. These men are now in our power, and we may dispose of them as may be necessary for our safety; but we must not take their lives.”

“To kill them will be the only safe way of disposing of them,” he answered, in a hoarse voice. “What else but death can such vermin expect at my hands?”

I was in hopes that he said this to frighten the men, rather than with an intention of murdering them. At the same time I well knew that, even had he not killed their companion, he could expect no mercy at their hands. I remembered, also, that, having participated, as it would be called, in the crime, though my conscience was free from guilt, I should certainly share the consequences. Probably, if caught, we should both of us, and very likely Peter and Ready also, be hung up from the nearest tree. How to dispose of our prisoners was therefore the question. Of course the tempter, ever ready to instigate men to do evil, whispered, “Kill them;” and the cowardice in our hearts added, “It will be the safest course.” But I had been taught some maxims, when I was a boy, which I did not forget. They were, “Do right, whatever comes of it;” “Never do wrong in the hopes of avoiding a possible evil.” Accordingly I entreated Marcus to refrain from injuring the men, and to come into our canoe, and talk the matter over.

Having thrown all the arms overboard, except a rifle which lay loaded at the bottom of the boat, we stepped back into our canoe, followed by Peter and Ready, and paddled away out of earshot of our prisoners. Marcus suggested various plans for their disposal. Although but a few minutes had elapsed since I caught the first glimpse of the other canoe, the dawn had increased so much that we could already see the shore on either hand. Marcus stood up and looked about him.

“I see where we are,” he whispered as he sat down.

“I have a friend who lives not far off. We will blindfold the eyes of the men, and leave them under his charge. He will take good care that they do not escape till we have had time to get out of their reach.”

The plan seemed good; so dropping alongside the canoe, we took the men’s handkerchiefs from their pockets and secured them over their eyes. I observed that Marcus went to the man whose eyes I had bound, and tightened the handkerchief. The man groaned.

“Ah! it is not pleasant, but you might be seeing things you should not, if it slipped,” said the black, between his teeth. “Be silent; we are not going to kill you, as you deserve.”

We now took the smaller canoe in tow, and paddled rapidly on. We had need of haste, for the steamers and other craft might be moving up and down the river, and we might be discovered. We crossed to the opposite or west side of the river, to a spot where a wide stream ran into it. We pulled up a little way, with dark woods on either side of us, till we came to a small island, on which Marcus ran the canoe on shore. Putting his finger to his lips to enjoin silence on Peter and me, he stepped on shore, and disappeared amidst the tangled underwood. I sat watching our captives, and wondering what was to be done with them. One of them was working his head about, evidently with the hopes of loosening the handkerchief. I gave him a touch with the paddle, and Ready, who seemed to consider that he was to keep watch and ward over the vanquished, uttered a fierce growl, which made the man keep perfectly still, though he groaned in his rage and fear. In a short time Marcus returned with a companion, another negro, but very unlike himself. The new-comer was short, and out of all proportion broad; indeed he was a dwarf Hercules, for the appearance of his head and shoulders showed that he possessed immense muscular power. He soon gave proof of his strength, for, looking into the canoe, he stooped down, and lifting one of the men up, he carried him off on his back, with as much ease as if he had been an infant. The man shrieked out with pain, for the cords cut his wrists; but the dwarf only uttered a hoarse peal of laughter and walked on, more than once striking the unfortunate wretch against the trees as he passed. He soon returned for the other, whom he treated in the same way. I observed that Marcus removed everything from the larger canoe into ours. By the time this was done, the dwarf came back again, and, nodding to his companion, lifted the canoe bodily up out of the water, and carried it off on his shoulders among the bushes.

“Come, it is time that we were away,” said Marcus.

Once more we all three resumed our seats in our canoe. Ready took his place in the bow, and away we paddled as before. I could scarcely persuade myself that the fierce tragedy in which I had just taken a part had really occurred. All seemed like some dreadful dream. I said nothing; I could not speak. Marcus was silent. We paddled on out of the river, and into the Mississippi, nearly to the middle of it. There he looked around him, and then dropped the articles he had taken out of the other canoe, one after the other, into the water. The rifle and other heavy things sank; the rest floated down the stream.

“If they are seen, so much the better,” observed Marcus. “It will be supposed that the canoe was upset, and the men were drowned.”

“But surely their lives are safe?” I observed, with some doubt in my tone, for I could not help thinking of the ferocious countenance of the man in whose power we had left them.

“Safe enough, but not agreeable,” he answered. “Ah! if you knew all I have suffered from those men, you would own that I have treated them mildly. I spared their lives for your sake, and partly that I did not wish to have more blood on my hands than I have already; and yet, to effect my purpose, how much deeper may I have to dye them! Every man’s hand is against me, and mine must be against every man. Alas, alas! hard is my lot! Oh! stranger, be thankful to Heaven that you have a white skin and are a free man!”

He spoke in a tone of the bitterest anguish. I tried to console him. Too true, every man’s hand in that country would be against him; not because he had killed a fellow-creature, but because he was attempting to escape from bondage and degradation.

We continued paddling on for some time without speaking, till we came in sight of a collection of log-huts and a landing-place. It was a city, he told me – or at least a city that was to be – with a very fine name – the City of Themistocles, if I recollect rightly.

“I’ll put you on shore there, stranger,” he observed. “There is no one on the quay. They are not early-risers in that place. You can expect no better opportunity of being free of me. There, leap on shore. Say that a negro, in a canoe, took you off an island to which you had swum when the steamer went down, and that after he had landed you here he went on his way. Be wise; say nothing more. The boy understands me?”

Peter nodded.

“Farewell!”

Marcus put out his hand. I shook it warmly. We exchanged no other words. I sprang on shore, followed by Peter and Ready, and the canoe glided away down the stream, and was soon out of sight. We sat down on some logs piled up ready for the steamers, and Ready, conceiving that he had for the present done his duty, coiled himself at my feet, and went to sleep. I was too anxious to do the same, though I leaned back against the logs to rest my weary frame. It must be remembered that, since the steamer went down, the only rest I had enjoyed was while sitting over the fire with Marcus. I had had a fatiguing swim, a run from an alligator, a climb up a tree, to the branches of which I had had to hang on for some hours, a desperate struggle for life, a long paddle, a second fierce conflict, and another paddle, not to speak of the anxiety to which I had all the time been subject. I had not rested long, when Ready started up and uttered a warning bark, and I saw a couple of men lazily sauntering down from the huts towards the quay, and rubbing their eyes as if just awoke out of sleep.

“Well, and where do you come from, stranger?” was the very natural question they put to me, and which I willingly answered by telling them of the loss of the Mighty Go-ahead, and of most, if not all, of her crew and passengers.

“Then that’s the shouts we heard last night,” observed one of the men to the other.

The men, I found, were overseers of some gangs of negroes, a number of whom soon appeared, some loaded with bales of merchandise, and others with logs of wood. They came stumbling along, laughing and chattering in spite of their burdens. Several, however, relaxing in their efforts, when their taskmasters’ whips descended on their shoulders, howled with pain, but they were very speedily again shouting and talking as merrily as before. The overseers were evidently not satisfied with my account of myself. I looked anxiously up the river for the steamer coming down on her passage to New Orleans, but I found that she was not expected for another hour. I would have tried to obtain some refreshment, but I knew that if I went to the huts I should be subjected to more inquiries, so I told my companion that we would wait till we got on board the steamer for breakfast. While waiting, I gathered from the conversation of the overseers that Marcus’s pursuers had actually touched there on their way up, and had left a full description of him. I felt thankful that no one had been about when he put us on shore. As it was, I could not help fancying that the overseers associated us in some way with him.

It was a great relief to my mind when I caught sight of the huge steamer afar off, gliding rapidly along over the bosom of the mighty stream, her white paint glistening in the beams of the morning sun, and contrasting with the dark foliage of the trees which lined the bank. The negroes stood marshalled ready with their loads to rush on board. Her tinkling bell gave notice to the engineers to stop. She came alongside the quay. Peter, Ready, and I sprang into her vast interior, among casks and chests and bales, and soon found our way into the saloon above, and on to the platform abaft, where I hoped Ready would be allowed to remain. Once more the bell tinkled. The huge wheels of the Wondrous Highflier began to revolve, and away she glided down the Mississippi.

Chapter Four

Arrive at New Orleans, and off to Galveston in Texas – A Hurricane and worse – The Pirate – A Fight for it – We are lost – An unexpected Friend – The black Fins – Marcus has Charge of the Pirates’ Prize, and lands us at Galveston

The quay was still in sight, and I saw several men rushing along it, waving their hands, and apparently shouting at the top of their voices; but the paddles made too much noise to allow of their being heard, while, as the master and crew of the steamer were looking ahead, they were not seen. I had an idea that they wanted to say something about me, and I was very glad when the Wondrous Highflier had run the City of Themistocles out of sight. We reached New Orleans without any adventure, and I was not sorry to get a shave and to change my clothes, which were not improved by the adventures I had gone through. I took Peter regularly into my service, for, poor fellow, he had no one else on whom to depend, and I thus obtained an attendant on whose fidelity I could perfectly rely.

I had now to consider in which direction I should next bend my steps. It was a question with me whether I should make another attempt to ascend the Mississippi or steer my course to the westward. I was, I found, more knocked up than I had at first supposed, and required some days’ rest. A week or more passed before I again went out. The second or third day after this, I was sauntering along, when I encountered a negro staggering under what seemed a very heavy load. Presently he came directly against me, and as his white eyes rolled round, I heard him say —

“Massa, you Harry Skipwith? Den cut away from here, or you no live to-morrow. You know Marcus. Dat’s ’nough!”

On went the negro, staggering as before under his load, and I soon lost sight of him among the motley crowd of that capital of the South. After all I had heard it would have been madness to have neglected the warning, so on my way to my hotel I inquired at a ship-broker’s if any vessel was ready to sail for Galveston, the chief port of Texas.

“The steamer goes in three days,” was the answer.

“Yes, but I have a fancy to go by a sailing vessel.”

“Oh, if that’s it, there’s a fine brig, the Shaddock, Captain Buckwheat, sails this evening. If you can be ready, I will ask the captain if he can give you a berth.”

I did not wish to appear too eager, so I said I would try to get ready, and, if I succeeded, I would take a passage in the Shaddock.

I had never shrank from danger when I could meet it face to face, but the uncertain character of that which now threatened me made me unusually nervous.

I hurried back to my hotel, and, after packing up my luggage, I ordered some negro porters to convey it down to the wharf where the schooner was lying, telling Peter to accompany them, while Ready and I followed at a distance.

I had a notion that the men whom Marcus and I had encountered on the river had escaped, and in each white man I met I expected to recognise one of them. Of course I knew their features better than they could know mine, for it was still dusk when our struggle took place; but then I had told them that I had escaped from the Mighty Go-ahead. That was a sufficient clue for them to trace me; and that they would attempt to do so, and not rest till they had wreaked a bitter vengeance on my head, I felt very sure.

I was walking leisurely along, when I felt some one brush by. A voice said, “Quick, massa, quick!” It was the same black who had in the morning given me the friendly warning. I hurried on, and reached the Shaddock without interruption.

“You’re just in time; we should have sailed without you, if you hadn’t come,” said Captain Buckwheat, as I stepped on board. “We were all ready ten minutes ago; the wind is fair, and we can’t afford to lose time in this country, whatever’s your fashion in the Old World.”

I heartily agreed with my friend in this instance, and was not sorry to see that the last warp was being cast off, and that the topsails were loosed. I recognised the friendly negro watching the brig at a distance, as she slowly glided out from among the other vessels. Once free of them, aided by the current, we made rapid progress down the river. I could not help frequently looking astern, to ascertain if we were followed; and though I had done nothing of which my conscience accused me, I had a pretty vivid notion of the feelings which must animate a culprit endeavouring to escape from the hands of justice. When clear of the yellow-mouthed Mississippi, the wind fell, and the brig lay rolling on, the glassy yet undulating surface of the ocean. The sun, casting a blood-red hue on the water, was just sinking behind a dark mound of vapour to the west, while in the east vast masses of ensanguined clouds floated slowly across the sky. I had never felt the air so hot and oppressive. Even Ready lay gasping at my feet, looking up inquiringly into my countenance, with his tongue out.

“There’s something coming,” observed the skipper, and he ordered every stitch of canvas to be furled, and the topmasts to be struck. There was indeed something coming. Scarcely was the vessel made snug, than down came the hurricane on us with terrific violence. Away we drove helplessly before it, like a mere straw on the water. Happily it was from the westward, or we should have driven on shore. Away we scudded, out of our course, but that could not be helped. When the hurricane ceased, we found that we had been whisked off some two or three hundred miles nearer Cuba than we were when it began. The wind subsided towards evening, and though the little vessel tumbled about a good deal, we were once more able to make sail. Two days after that, I was awoke soon after daybreak, by a loud exclamation uttered by the captain, who had entered the cabin. I saw him busily employed in stowing away some papers and bags, which he had taken out of a chest, in a hole under his bed-place.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“Matter! why that a pirate is close aboard us, and that the chances are we all have our throats cut before ten minutes are over. That’s something the matter, I guess.”

I agreed with him, and slipping into my clothes, hurried on deck. There, about two hundred yards off, on our quarter, coming fast up with us, was a long, low, black schooner, the very beau-ideal of a pirate. Her decks were crowded with men, all black, and a very villainous-looking crew they appeared to be. At that moment, that we might have no doubt as to her character, up went a black flag at her peak, and a shot from a gun in her bows came whizzing between our masts.

While the black schooner approached, the crew of the Shaddock were employed in making sail, but I saw at a glance that we had not the slightest chance of escaping; still I have always held that while there is life we should never despair, so I lent a hand with all my might at pulling and hauling. Peter followed my example. Ready took the end of the ropes in his mouth and hauled too, but I cannot say that he did much good.

“Will those black chaps aboard there really cut all our throats, as the captain says?” asked Peter, looking up at me. “We’ll stand up and fight them before we give in, I hope, sir!”

“I hope so too, Peter,” I answered. “But our two guns cannot do much against the six or eight they carry, besides that long fellow amidships.”

“Hip, hurrah! there is the captain casting loose our little barkers – we are not to yield without a blow.”

By this time all sail was set – the guns were manned, and the captain now served out arms to all on board.

The pirates, however, on seeing that notwithstanding all our efforts we could not escape them, did not again fire. Our two guns could do very little harm to them till they got nearer. They were run over on the starboard side, on which the schooner was approaching.

“Aim high, lads,” said the captain to his two mates who had charge of them. “Our best chance will be to knock away some of his spars.”

“Ay, aye, sir,” was the answer, given in a cheerful voice, which, at all events, betrayed no fear.

It was satisfactory to feel that we were to have a stroke for life, and yet, as the schooner drew near, and I observed through my glass the villainous-looking, well-armed fellows who crowded her decks, and saw the size of her guns, I felt that we had but little chance of escaping.

“Now, lads, see what you can do,” cried the captain, who was narrowly watching the schooner.

Our two pop-guns gave out their puffs of smoke, and a couple of holes in the enemy’s sails showed that the aim had not been bad, but no other damage was done.

Still the schooner did not fire, but came silently and stealthily gliding on in a way which was much more calculated to try our courage than if her crew had been shouting and gesticulating. It showed that they had perfect confidence in their own power. The mates loaded and fired their guns again. An after mainbrace aboard the schooner was shot away, and it made her head incline a little more towards us.

We were now almost within pistol-shot of each other, when I saw some thirty muskets levelled at us, and the next instant a rattling shower of bullets came whistling round our heads. Several of our poor fellows fell: the rest fired in return, but before the smoke cleared away, with a loud crash the pirate ran us aboard, and fifty fierce-looking desperadoes sprang shouting on our deck.

I had armed myself with a cutlass, resolving to fight to the last, though fully expecting to be cut to pieces. Ready stood barking furiously on one side of me; Peter kept on the other. Captain Buckwheat proved that he was a man, but he was cut down by a pirate’s sword, as was one of the mates close to me, and in less than a minute half our crew lay bleeding on the deck. Our opponents were mostly blacks – though there were brown fellows also – and as they were shouting in English, I concluded that they were either runaway American slaves or vagabond negroes from the West India Islands. Not that I thought much about what they were at the time; indeed, the grinding of the two vessels together, the cries and shrieks of the combatants, the smoke and rattle of firearms, and the fall of spars and blocks from aloft completely bewildered me, besides which all my energies were required for my own defence.

Scarcely an instant after the pirates had reached our decks, I found myself set on by a huge brown fellow, who had led the boarders, and was apparently an officer among them. He was a good swordsman, and had not Ready flown at his legs, and Peter kept poking at him with a boarding-pike, he would soon have put me hors de combat. With their aid I managed to defend myself till several other fellows set upon me, and, overmatched, the big pirate had his sword uplifted to cut me down, when a black man sprang forward and interposed his own weapon between it and my head, shouting at the same time —

“Back, all of you. That man’s life is sacred, and the lad’s too. You’ll own it when I tell you.”

It was a thoroughly melodramatic position. Though he was now dressed as an officer, I instantly recognised in my deliverer, Marcus, the slave, whose life I had assisted to save.

The pirates, who were about to hack me to pieces, now surrounded me with friendly gestures, and I felt that I was safe. When, however, I looked about me, I saw with regret that not a single man of the crew had escaped: a few were gasping out their heart’s blood on deck; the rest were dead. I should by that time have been in the same condition had not Marcus interposed to save me. Ready recognised him immediately, but he snapped and growled at the other blacks as they passed. Poor Peter kept close to my side; though so ready at first to fight, he was unaccustomed to scenes of slaughter, and was terror-stricken with the horrors he had witnessed.

Marcus kept near us, sword in hand, evidently uncertain how the pirates might treat us, and prepared, if necessary, to do battle in our cause. I wished to address him – I scarcely knew how.

“Marcus,” I said at length, “I am grateful to you for saving my life, but I little expected to find you in such company.”

“‘Misfortune introduces us to strange bedfellows’ is an old saying,” he answered. “And most decidedly my misfortunes have given me some roughish companions; but you see I have already gained some influence over them; and of one thing be assured, your life and that of the lad are safe. When I tell them what you have done for me, there is not a man of all this lawless band who would not be ready to die for you. One hideous monster, slavery, has made them all what they are; and when they know how you hate it, they will love you.”

While Marcus was speaking, the pirates were unceremoniously pitching the dead bodies of my shipmates overboard – all of them yet warm – some who had scarcely ceased to breathe. Two or three, though badly wounded, were yet fully capable of comprehending their position. They begged – they entreated for life.

“What are you – Englishmen or Americans?”

Two owned that they were Americans from the Northern States.

“Then overboard with them,” shouted the captain. “We’ll not deprive the sharks of their share of the booty.”

One man declared that he was an Englishman, but a tin case was found on him, containing a certificate of his being a citizen of the United States. I was certain, from some remarks which he had let fall, that the man had run from a British man-of-war. In vain he protested that he hated slavery and the people of the States, that he was a true-born Briton – in vain he shrieked out and entreated for mercy. In spite of his desperate struggles, he was lifted up and thrown among the shoal of black-finned monsters which surrounded the vessel. I cannot dwell longer on these horrors – I would gladly shut them out from my thoughts as I would then have done from my sight.