Chapter IV: Part 4

"Rather too warm," observed Collins, the convict. "I don't see why we are to risk our lives for our paltry share of prize-money. I vote for hauling down the colours."

"Not yet," said Newton, "not yet, my lads. Let us try a few shots more."

"Try!--to be sure," rejoined Roberts, "didn't I say before, that a starn chase was a long one."

"That only makes the matter worse," replied Collins; "for while we are to be peppered this way, I think the shorter the chase the better. However, you may do as you please, but I'm not so fond of it;--so here's down below to the fore-peak!"

"Ben, you're a sensible chap, and gives good advice; we'll just follow you," said Hillson.

"Birds of a feather always flock together; so, Ben, I'm of your party," added Thompson.

The convicts then descended forward out of the fire of the musketry, while Newton and Roberts continued to load and fire, and Williams steered the brig. The Frenchman had already found his way below again, before the convicts.

The schooner was within two cables' length, and the fire of the musketry was most galling; each of the English seamen had received slight wounds, when, just as it was dark, one of the shot from the brig proved more effective. The main-boom of the schooner was either cut in two, or so much injured as to oblige them to lower her mainsail, The brig now increased her distance fast, and in a few minutes they lost sight of the schooner in the darkness of the night.

"Huzza!" cried Roberts, "didn't I tell you that a starn chase was a long one?"

Not a star was to be seen; the darkness was intense, and Newton consulted with Williams and Roberts, as to what was their best plan of proceeding. It was agreed to haul up for a quarter of an hour, then furl all, and allow the privateer to pass them. This was put in execution; the convicts, now that there was no more firing, coming to their assistance. The next morning the weather proved hazy, and the schooner, who had evidently crowded sail in pursuit of them, was nowhere to be seen.

Newton and his crew congratulated themselves upon their escape, and again shaped their course for the Channel. The wind would not allow them to keep clear of Ushant, and two days afterwards they made the French coast, near to that island. The next morning they had a slant of wind, which enabled them to lay her head up for Plymouth, and anticipated that in another twenty-four hours they would be in safety. Such, however, was not their good fortune; about noon a schooner hove in sight to leeward, and it was soon ascertained to be the same vessel from which they had previously escaped. Before dusk she was close to them; and Newton, aware of the impossibility of resistance, hove-to, as a signal of surrender.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
SHAKESPEARE.

As the reader may have, before now, occasionally heard comments upon the uncertainty of the moon and of the sea, and also, perhaps, of human life, I shall not venture any farther remarks upon the subject; for were they even new, I should never have the credit of them. This is certain, that instead of finding themselves, as they anticipated to be in the next twenty-four hours, safely moored in the port of Plymouth, Newton and his comrades found themselves before that time had elapsed safely locked up in the prison of Morlaix. But we must not proceed so fast.

Although the Estelle had squared her mainyard as a signal of submission, the privateer's men, as they ranged their vessel alongside, thought it advisable to pour in a volley of musketry: this might have proved serious, had it not been that Newton and his crew were all down below, hoping to secure a few changes of linen, which in a prison, might prove very useful. As it was, their volley only killed the remaining French prisoner, who remained on deck, overjoyed at the recapture, and anticipating an immediate return to his own country; by which it would appear that the "_L'homme propose, mais Dieu dispose_" of France, is quite as sure a proverb as the more homely "Many a slip between the cup and lip" of our own country.

The boat of the privateer was sent on board; a dozen men, with their cutlasses flourishing over their heads, leapt on the deck of the Estelle, and found nobody to exercise their valour upon, except the body of their departed comrade; upon which they shouted for the "Sacre's God dams" to "monter." Newton and the rest obeyed the summons, with their bundles in their hands: the latter they were soon relieved of by their conquerors, who, to prove that it was not out of "_politesse_" that they carried their effects, at the same time saluted them with various blows with their cutlasses upon their backs and shoulders. Newton, who felt that resistance would only be an excuse for farther aggression, bore with philosophy what he could not prevent, and hastened into the boat. The convicts also took their share with patience--they had been accustomed to "many stripes." Roberts and Williams, in spite of the remonstrances of Newton, with all the reckless spirit of English sailors, would not submit so quietly. The first object which attracted Roberts' attention, as he came up the ladder, was the body of the remaining French prisoner.

"What! Johnny, so you're gone! Didn't I tell you that your turn would come next? I say, my hearties, you keep all your bullets for your friends," continued Roberts, addressing the privateer's men.

A few "sacres" and "f---s" was the reply, as one of them attempted to twitch his bundle out of his hand.--"Hold fast there, old chap, don't take what you never paid for."

A scuffle now ensued; which ended in Roberts, who found that he could not retain possession, shying his bundle at the foremost man, with such force as to lay him on the deck.--"Well, if you will have it, take it," cried Roberts.

"The beggars have chopped my fingers," growled Williams. "I say Mounseer, don't make quite so free with that iron of yours; or I'll smash your top-lights."

"I wish I had three on 'em on Point Beach, one up and one down. I'd sarve you out, you damned frog-eating sea-cooks!" said Roberts, squaring at the privateers' men with clenched fists.

This obstreperous conduct produced a shower of blows with the backs of the cutlasses. Williams, in a rage, wrenched a cutlass from one of the Frenchmen, and laid about him; while Roberts, with his fists, rushed within their guards, and laid two of them at his feet. At last they were overpowered and thrown into the boat, bleeding profusely from various cuts which they had received in the unequal scuffle. The privateers' people then shoved off; and rowed on board of the schooner.

As soon as Newton and the other Englishmen were up the side they were pushed aft; their persons were then searched, and every part of their apparel, which appeared to be of good materials or little worn, was taken from them. Collins, the convict, was a good prize; he had put on shirt over shirt, stocking over stocking, and trousers over trousers, that the Frenchmen began to wonder if ever they should arrive at the "inner man." At last, he was uncased, an old pair of trousers thrown to him, and he was left without any other garment, shivering in the cold. Newton, who still retained his waistcoat and shirt, took off the former and gave it to the convict, who whispered as he thanked him, "I don't care a fig, they have left me my old hat." As soon as the recapture was manned, the privateer bore up for the French coast, and before morning anchored in the rocky harbour of Morlaix. At daylight the prisoners, who had received no refreshment, were handed into a boat, and on their landing, conducted by a party of _gens d'armes_ to the prison. During their progress to their place of confinement Collins excited the amusement of the bystanders, and the surprise of his fellow-prisoners, by walking with his hands and arms raised in a certain position. After they had been locked up, he went to the barred window, and continued the same gestures to the people who were crowded about the prison, most of whom continued their mockery. Newton, who came forward to the window to request a little water for Roberts and Williams, who wished to quench their thirst and wash their wounds, which had not been dressed, inquired of Collins his reason for so doing. "It is for your benefit as well as mine," replied Collins: "at least I hope so. There are freemasons in all countries."

A few minutes afterwards, one of the people outside came forward, and pointed out to the sentry that the prisoners were making signs for water. The _gendarme_, who had paid no attention to Newton, listened to the appeal of his countryman, who, upon the grounds of common humanity, persuaded him to allow them such a necessary boon. The water was brought, and as the man walked away a sign unperceived by all but Collins, gave him to understand that his appeal had been understood.

"All's right," said Collins to Newton, as he quitted the grating. "We have friends without, and we have friends within." In about an hour some bread was brought in, and among those who brought it Collins perceived the person who had answered his signal; but no farther recognition took place. At noon the door of the prison was again unbarred, and a surgeon came to dress the wounded men. He was accompanied by two or three others, deputed by the governor of the town to obtain intelligence, and the new acquaintance of Collins appeared as interpreter. While the surgeon dressed the wounds of Roberts and Williams; which, although numerous, were none of any importance, many questions were asked, and taken down when interpreted. Each prisoner was separately interrogated; Collins was one of the first examined. The questions put and answers given were carefully intermixed with more important matter. The person who acted as interpreter spoke English too well for a Frenchman; apparently he was a Dane or Russian, who was domiciliated there. He commenced with:--

"No one understands English but me--but they are suspicious; be careful.--What is your name?"

"John Collins."

"Comment?" said the French amanuensis, "John Co-lin. C'est bien; continuez."

"What is your rank--_and in your Lodge_?"

"Common seaman--master," answered Collins adroitly.

"Comment?" said the party with his pen.

"Matelot," replied the interpreter.

"Demandez-lui le nom du batiment."

"What is the name of your ship?--_how can we assist you_?"

"Terpsichore--_a boat, with provisions_."

"Comment?"

"Fregate croiseur Terpsichore."

"Does she sail well?--_at what time_?"

"_To-night, with a guide_."

"Que dit-il?"

"Elle marche bien avec le vent large."

"Demandez-lui la force."

"What number of guns?--_how can you get out_?"

"Thirty-six guns.--_I have the means_."

"Trente-six canons."

"Trente-six canons," repeated the Frenchman, writing, "c'est bien-- alors, l'equipage."

"How many men?--_I will be here at dark_."

"Two hundred and seventy men; but many away in prizes."

"Deux cents soixante-dix hommes d'equipage; mais il y a beaucoup dans les batimens pris."

Newton and the others were also interrogated, the names taken down, and the parties then quitted the prison.

"Now, if we make a push for it, I think we may get off," said Collins to Newton and the rest, after the door had closed. "I never saw the prison in England which could hold me when I felt inclined to walk out of it; and as for their bars, I reckon them at about an hour's work. I never travel without my little friends;"--and Collins, taking off his old hat, removed the lining, and produced a variety of small saws made from watch-springs, files, and other instruments. "Then," continued he, "with these and this piece of tallow stuck outside my hat, I will be through those bars in no time. French iron ar'nt worth a damn, and the sentry shan't hear me if he lolls against them; although it may be just as well if Thompson tips a stave, as then we may work the faster."

"I say, Bill," observed Hillson, "who is your friend?"

"I don't know--he may be the governor; but this I do know, for the honour of freemasonry, we may trust him and all like him; so just mind your own business, Tom."--"He said he would be here at dark," observed Newton. "Yes,--I must prepare--go to the grating some of you, that they may not look in upon me."

This unexpected prospect of deliverance created an anxious joy in the breasts of the prisoners; the day appeared interminable. At last, the shades of night set in, and a clouded sky with mizzling rain raised their hopes. The square in front of the prison was deserted, and the sentinel crouched close against the door, which partially protected him from the weather. In a few minutes a person was heard in conversation with the sentinel. "He must be coming now," observed Collins in a low tone: "that must be one of his assistants who is taking off the attention of the _gens d'arme_."

"Make no noise," said a voice in a whisper, at the outside of the bars.

"I am here," replied Collins softly.

"How can you get out of the prison?"

"Get the sentry out of the way when we leave off singing; the bars will then be removed."

"Every thing is prepared outside. When you get out keep close under the wall to the right. I shall be at the corner, if I am not here."

The freemason then retired from the grating.

"Now, Thompson, not too loud, there's no occasion for it; two of us can work."

Thompson commenced his song; Newton took a small saw from Collins, who directed him how to use it. The iron bars of the prison yielded like wood to the fine-tempered instruments which Collins employed. In an hour and a half three of the bars were removed without noise, and the aperture was wide enough for their escape. The singing of Thompson, whose voice was tolerably good and ear very correct, had not only the effect of preventing their working being heard, but amused the sentinel, who remained with his back to the wall listening to the melody.

Their work was so far accomplished. Thompson ceased, and all was silence and anxiety; in a few minutes the sentinel was again heard in conversation, and the voices receded, as if he had removed to a greater distance.

"Now, brother," said the low voice under the aperture. In a minute the whole of the prisoners were clear of the walls, and followed their guide in silence, until they reached the landing-place.

"There is the boat, and provisions sufficient," said the freemason, in a low tone; "you will have to pass the sentries on the rocks: but we can do no more for you. Farewell, brother; and may you and your companions be fortunate!" So saying, their friendly assistant disappeared.

The night was so dark, that although close to the boat it was with difficulty that its outline could be discerned. Newton, recommending the strictest silence and care in entering, stepped into it, and was followed by the rest. Roberts, whose eyesight was a little affected from the wounds in his head, stumbled over one of the oars.

"_Qui vive_?" cried out one of the sentries on the rock.

No answer was made; they all remained motionless in their seats. The sentry walked to the edge of the rock and looked down; but not distinguishing any thing, and hearing no further noise, returned to his post.

For some little while Newton would not allow them to move: the oars were then carefully lifted over the gunnel, and their clothes laid in the rollocks, to muffle the sound; the boat was pushed from the landing-place into the middle of the narrow inlet. The tide was ebbing, and with their oars raised out of the water, ready to give way if perceived, they allowed the boat to drift out of one of the narrow channels which formed the entrance of the harbour.

The rain now beat down fast, and anxious to be well clear of the coast before daylight, Newton thought they might venture to pull. The oars were taken by him and Collins; but before they had laid them three times in the water one of the sentries, hearing the noise, discharged his musket in the direction.

"Give way, now, as hard as we can," cried Newton; "it's our only chance."

Another and another musket was fired. They heard the guard turned out; lights passing on the batteries close to them, and row-boats manning. They double-banked their oars, and with the assistance of the ebb tide and obscurity they were soon out of gunshot. They then laid in their oars, shipped their mast, and sailed away from the coast.

It was nine o'clock in the evening when they started, and at daylight the French coast was not to be seen. Overjoyed at their escape, they commenced an attack upon the provisions and a small keg of wine; and perhaps a more joyful breakfast never was made. The sun rose in vapour, the sky threatened, but they were free and happy. The wind freshened, and the boat flew before the gale; the running seas topping over her stern, and forcing them continually to bale her out; but all was joy, and freedom turned their "danger to delight." They passed several vessels at a distance, who did not observe them; and before sunset the English coast was in sight. At ten o'clock the double lights on the Lizard were on their starboard bow. They hauled up upon the larboard tack with the ebb tide, and having passed the Lizard, kept away for Mount's Bay, to avoid the chance of falling in with any of the king's vessels, and being again impressed. At daylight they ran in under St. Michael's Mount and once more stepped upon English ground.

Here, as by previous agreement, they divided the provisions, and took farewell of each other.

"Good bye, gentlemen," said Collins; "allow me to observe that, for once, you may think yourselves fortunate in having been placed in my very respectable company!"

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Once more upon the waters.
BYRON.

As Newton had lost his credentials from Captain Northfleet, as well as the vessel confided to his charge, he did not consider it necessary to pay his respects to the port admiral at Plymouth. On the contrary, he set off as fast as his legs could carry him to Liverpool, to ascertain the condition of his father. We shall pass over the difficulties he experienced on his journey. There is no country where travelling is more easy or more rapid, than in England, provided that you have plenty of money; but when you travel _in forma pauperis_, there is no country in which you get on so badly. Parish rates and poor laws have dried up the sources of benevolence; and as Newton did not apply to the overseers for his three-half-pence a mile, he got on how he could, which was badly enough. When at last he did arrive at Liverpool, he found himself a stone or two the lighter, and would have been pronounced by Captain Barclay to have been in excellent training.

Newton had written to his father, acquainting him with his impressment; but was doubtful whether the letter had ever been received, as it had been confided to the care of one of the women who left the frigate the evening previous to her sailing. When he arrived at the house he perceived his father at his bench as usual, but doing nothing, and the shop windows were bare.

Newton entered, and his father looked up.

"Why, Newton, my dear boy, is it you?" cried Nicholas; "what a long while you have been away! Well, how is Mr Hilton?--and how is your poor mother?"

"My dear father," replied Newton, taking his hand, "did not you receive my letter?"

"No, I received no letter. What a time you have been away I declare it must be two or three months, or more."

"It is nearly twelve months, my dear father: I was pressed at Bristol, have been on board of a man-of-war; and have just escaped from a French prison."

Newton then entered into a narrative of his adventures, to the astonishment of Nicholas, who heard him with open mouth.

"Dear me! so you've been in a man-of-war, and in France; then you don't know how your poor mother is?"

"Have you not inquired, my dear father?"

"No, I thought you would come home, and tell me all about it," replied Nicholas with a sigh.

"How have you got on here?" said Newton, to change the conversation.

"Very bad indeed, Newton--very bad indeed; I have not had six jobs since you left me."

"I am sorry to hear it, father; have you any thing to eat in the house, for I am very hungry?"

"I am afraid not much," replied Nicholas, going to the cupboard, and producing some bread and cheese. "Can you eat bread and cheese, my dear boy?"

"I could eat a horse, my dear father," replied Newton, who had walked the last twelve hours without sustenance.

Newton attacked the provender, which soon disappeared.

"I have been obliged to sell most of the shop furniture," said Nicholas, observing Newton to cast his eyes at the empty window. "I could not help it. I believe nobody wears spectacles in Liverpool."

"It can't be helped, father; we must hope for better times."

"Yes, we must trust in God, Newton. I sold my watch yesterday, and that will feed us for some time. A sailor came into the shop, and asked if I had any watches to sell: I told him that I only repaired them at present; but that when my improvement in the duplex--" Here Nicholas forgot the thread of his narrative, and was commencing a calculation upon his intended improvement, when Newton interrupted him.

"Well, sir, what did the sailor reply?"

"Oh! I forgot; I told him that I had a watch of my own, that I would part with it, which went very well; and that it would be cheaper to him than a new one; that it cost fifteen pounds; but I was in want of money, and would take five pounds for it. He saw how sorry I was to part with it--and so I was." Here Nicholas thought of his watch, and forgot his story.

"Well, my dear father," said Newton, "what did he give you for it?"

"Oh!--why, he was a kind good creature, and said that he was not the man to take advantage of a poor devil in distress, and that I should have the full value of it. He put the watch in his fob and counted out fifteen pounds on the counter. I wanted to return part: but he walked out of the shop, and before I could get round the counter he had got round the corner of the street."

"'Twas a God-send, my dear father," replied Newton, "for I have not a halfpenny. Do you know what became of my chest, that I left on board of the sloop?"

"Dear me! now I think of it, it came here by the waggon. I put it up stairs. I wondered why you sent it."

Newton having appeased his hunger, went up stairs, and found all his wearing apparel had been forwarded by Mr Hilton, who supposed him dead, and that he was enabled to make a more respectable appearance than what the privateer's people had hitherto permitted him. In a few days he felt quite recovered from his fatigue, and sallied forth in search of employment. On the day after his arrival at Liverpool he had written to the asylum, to inquire the fate of his mother. The answer which he received was, that Mrs Forster had recovered, and remained many months in the establishment as nurse; but that ten days back she had quitted the asylum, and that her address was not known.

Newton, who had no means of prosecuting further inquiry, was obliged to be satisfied with the intelligence that his mother was alive and well. He communicated the information to Nicholas, who observed--

"Poor thing; she's looking for us, depend upon it, Newton, and will be here very soon:" and this expectation was revived whenever Nicholas thought of his wife; and he continued satisfied.

We must allow many months to pass away in one paragraph--months of ineffectual struggle against poverty and want of employment, which Newton made every exertion to obtain as mate of a merchant vessel. The way in which he had been impressed had caused a dread of the king's service, which he could not overcome; and although he had but to choose his ship as a sailor before the mast, he could not prevail upon himself to accept a berth which was not protected from the impress. Without recommendation he could not obtain the situation of mate, and he continued to work as a rigger in the docks, until his hand was unfortunately severely jammed by the heel of a topmast, and he was laid up for many weeks. Each day their fare became scantier, and they were reduced to their last shilling, when Newton was again able to go out and seek employment.

It was a rough day, blowing hard from the South East, when Newton, who had tried his fortune on board of every vessel (crowded as they were in the docks) without success, walked in a melancholy and disappointed mood along the splendid pier which lines the river-side. Few people were out, for the gusts of wind were accompanied by smart driving showers of rain. Here and there was to be seen a boat pulling up in shore to fetch the shipping in the stream, who with a heavy strain on their cables were riding to the South East gale, and a strong ebb tide. Newton had made up his mind to enter on board of one of these vessels about to, sail, provided they would advance him a part of his wages for his father's support; when, as a heavy squall cleared away, he perceived that a boat had broken adrift from the outermost vessel (a large brig), with only one man in it, who was carried away by the rapid current, assisted by the gale blowing down the river, so as to place him in considerable risk. The man in the boat tossed out his oar, and pulling first on one side, and then on the other, tried to make for the shore; but in vain. He was swept away with a rapidity which threatened in less than an hour to carry him out to sea, unless assistance were afforded him.

Another heavy squall again hid the boat from the sight of Newton, who had been anxiously watching to ascertain if any relief was sent from the shipping, and who was now convinced that the disaster had not been perceived. He therefore ran down the bank of the river, waiting until the squall should blow over, and enable him to discover the boat.

In about ten minutes the squall passed over, and the boat was again presented to his sight; she was still in the centre of the stream, about three hundred yards from the shore. The man who was in her, finding all his attempts futile, had lain on his oar, and was kneeling in the stern sheets, apparently in supplication. Newton could not resist the appeal; it appeared to point out to him that he was summoned to answer the call made upon Providence. The boat was now a quarter of a mile farther down the river than where he stood, and about three miles from the town and shipping, both of which were no longer discernible from the thickness of the weather. Newton threw off his coat, and plunging into the agitated water, the cold of which nearly checked his respiration, swam off into the stream in a direction so as to allow himself to fetch to windward of the boat. He was soon carried down to it by the rapidity of the tide, and, as he approached, he shouted to announce his presence. The man in the boat started up at the sound of a human voice, and perceiving Newton close to the bows, lent over and extended his hand towards, him. Newton seized hold of it, and then was whirled round by the tide fore and aft with the side of the boat, with such violence as nearly to drag the other man out, and half fill the boat with water. It was with great difficulty, although assisted by the occupant, that Newton contrived at last to get in; when, exhausted with the efforts he had made, he remained a few seconds without motion; the man, whom he had thus risked his life to save, perceiving his condition, and not speaking to him.

"We have no time to lose," said Newton, at last: "take an oar, and let us pull in for the shore. If once we are swept down to the narrows there will be little chance for us."

The other complied, without speaking; and, after a few minutes exertion the boat was safely landed on the Liverpool side of the river.

"The Lord be praised!" ejaculated Newton's companion, as he laid on his oar. "I did not call upon _Him_ in vain; your accident has been the means of my preservation."

"How do you mean?" inquired Newton.

"Why, did you not fall overboard?" replied the other.

Newton then explained to his companion what we have already related to the reader, ending his narrative with the observation, that when he perceived him praying for assistance in his peril, he could not resist the appeal.

"God will reward you, young man," continued he: "and now I will explain to you how it was that I was adrift, like a bear in a washing-tub. My first-mate was below. I had just relieved the deck, for in this blowing weather we must keep watch in harbour. The men were all at their dinner, when I heard the boat thumping under the main channels. I got into her to ease off a fathom or two of the painter; but as I hauled her ahead to get at the bend, it appears that the monkey of a boy who made her fast, and has been but a few months at sea, had made a `_slippery hitch_;' so away it went, and I was adrift. I hailed them on board; but they did not hear me, although the first-mate might have, for he was in the cabin, and the stern window was up; but hailing to windward is hard work, such weather as this; the words are blown back again down your own throat. And now, let me know a little about you, my lad, and see whether I cannot in return be of some use to you."

Newton's history was soon told; and, at the conclusion, he had the satisfaction of finding that he had obtained the very situation which he had been in search of.

"I have no second mate on board," observed the captain of the brig; "but I intended to have shipped one to-morrow. I was only divided between which to take of two who have offered themselves, with equally good recommendations. Fortunately, I would promise neither; and, as I think your own recommendation stronger than theirs, the berth is at your service. I only wish, for your sake, that it was that of first-mate. I am sure you would prove yourself fit for the situation; and I cannot say that I am very partial to the one that I have at present; but he is a relation of the owner's."

The arrangements were soon made. Mr Berecroft, the master of the vessel, advanced Newton a sum to fit himself out, and agreed with the owner at Liverpool, that one half of Newton's wages should be allotted monthly to his father. The next morning (as the vessel had a pilot on board, and the weather had moderated,) Newton took leave of his father, and with a light heart accompanied his new acquaintance on board of the vessel.

It was early in the morning when they embarked in a hired boat, the one belonging to the brig still remaining down the river, where they had landed. The first-mate, as it appeared, was in the cabin shaving himself, previous to his going on shore to the owner to report the supposed loss of his superior. The sailors were either busy or down below, so that no notice was taken of the boat coming alongside; and Newton, with the master, were both on the deck before the circumstance was known to the first-mate. It so happened, that at the very same moment that they came on board, the first-mate was ascending the companion hatch, to order a boat to be lowered down, and manned. When he perceived Mr Berecroft, he fell back with astonishment, and turned pale.

"I thought you were gone," said he: "why, what could have saved you? did you not drift out to sea?"

"It appears, then, Mr Jackson, that you knew that I was adrift," replied the master seriously, looking him steadfastly in the face.

"That is,"--replied the mate, confused--"I thought--of course, seeing the boat was not alongside--that you had drifted away in her; how it happened--of course, I know not."

"I should trust, for your conscience sake, Mr Jackson, that you did not; however, here I am again, as you see, by the blessing of Providence, and the exertions of this young man, whom I must introduce to you as our second-mate."

Jackson cast an angry glance at Newton upon the conclusion of this speech. The master had truly observed that it was strange the first-mate did not hear him when he had hailed the brig for assistance. The fact was, that Jackson had both heard him and seen him; but he was a wretch devoid of all feeling, who consulted nothing except his own interest. He had made sure that the master would be carried out to sea, there to perish by a most miserable death, and that he would succeed in command of the vessel. He was then going on shore to report the supposed "_falling overboard_" of the master: which as the brig was to sail as the weather moderated, would have secured to him the command, and, at the same time, have put an end to the search which (should he have reported the truth) would immediately have taken place for the boat in which the master had been adrift. Foiled in his hopes, by the courage of Newton, Jackson had already formed towards him a deadly hatred and determination of revenge.

That evening the wind abated, and the vessel sailed. The ensuing morning she was clear of the sands, and a pilot vessel off Holyhead having received the pilot, she steered down the Irish Channel to join a convoy for the West Indies, collecting at Falmouth.

Mr Berecroft, the master of the vessel, who has not hitherto been described, was a spare, light-built person, of about sixty years of age, still active, and a thorough seaman. He had crossed the ocean for forty-five years, and his occasional narratives, as he walked the deck, or sat over his evening glass of grog, proved that his life must have been one of no ordinary variety and interest. He was serious and rationally devout. He checked all swearing from the men under his command, and rebuked it, although he could not prevent it, in the first-mate; who, to annoy him, seldom made his appearance on deck without making use of some execration or another. It was Mr Berecroft's custom to call down the seamen into his cabin every evening, and read to them a short prayer; and, although this unusual ceremony often caused a leer in some of the newly-entered men, and was not only unattended but ridiculed by Jackson, still the whole conduct of Berecroft was so completely in unison, that even the most idle and thoughtless acknowledged that he was a good man, and quitted the ship with regret. Such was Mr Berecroft; and we have little further to add, except that he was very superior to the generality of masters of merchant vessels. His family, it was reported, were strict quakers.

Jackson, the first-mate, was a bull-headed, sandy-haired Northumbrian; as we before stated, a relation of the owner's, or he never would have been permitted to remain in the ship. The reader has already had some insight into his diabolical character. It will be sufficient to add, that he was coarse and blustering in his manners; that he never forgot and never forgave an injury; gratitude was not in his composition; and, to gratify his revenge, he would stop at nothing.

On the third day, the brig, which was named the Eliza and Jane, after the two daughters of the owner, arrived at Falmouth, where she anchored in the outer roads, in company with thirty or forty more, who had assembled at the appointed rendezvous. On the second day after their arrival, a fifty-gun ship, frigate, and two corvettes, made their appearance off the mouth of the harbour; and after a due proportion of guns, some shotted and some not, the whole convoy were under weigh, and hove-to round their protectors. The first step taken by the latter was to disembarrass their _proteges_ of one-third of their crews, leaving them as defenceless as possible, that they might not confide in their own strength, but put their whole trust in the men-of-war, and keep as close to them as possible. Having taken out every unprotected man, they distributed convoy signals in lieu, and half a dozen more guns announced that they were to make sail--an order immediately complied with: the merchant vessels, loaded with canvass below and aloft, while the men-of-war, with their topsails on the caps, sailed round and round them, firing shot at every unfortunate vessel which was not able to sail as well as the rest.

The convoy left Falmouth, seventy-five in number; but in a few days there were but forty in sight. Those who remained behind either made their voyage how they could, or were taken by the enemy's privateers, who followed in the wake of the convoy. Some few were carried into the French ports; and the underwriters of the policy eat but little dinner on the day which brought the intelligence of their capture. Others were retaken by the English blockading squadrons, who received then one eighth for salvage. At last the men-of-war were fairly running down the traders, with about twenty-five of the best sailors in company; and the commodore deemed it advisable to take particular care of the few which remained, lest he should be "_hauled over the coals_" by the Admiralty. Nothing worth comment occurred during the remainder of the passage. They all arrived safe at Barbadoes, when the commodore brought in his returns to the admiral, and complained bitterly of the obstinacy of the masters of merchant vessels, who would part company with him, in defiance of all his injunctions, and in spite of all the powder which he fired away to enforce his signals. There certainly was a fault somewhere.

During the passage, which lasted seven weeks, Newton had ample opportunity of ascertaining his situation. The master invariably treated him with kindness and consideration; and before the voyage was completed, he treated him as if he were his own son. Jackson lost no opportunity of annoying or insulting him; but the support of his patron indemnified Newton for the conduct of the first-mate, and he resolved to take no notice of that which could not well be prevented. On their arrival at Barbadoes, Mr Berecroft went on shore to the house of the consignee; and then it was that the malignity of Jackson broke out in all its violence.

The brig had discharged her cargo, and was lying in Carlisle Bay, waiting for the sugars which were to be shipped for Liverpool. One morning, when Newton, who for some time had submitted to the tyranny of Jackson without complaint, was standing at the main hatchway, giving directions to the men below, who were arranging the dunnage at the bottom of the vessel, the first-mate came on deck, and, watching his opportunity, staggered, with a rope in his hand, against Newton, as if by accident, so as to throw him over the coombings. Newton, who would have immediately fallen to the bottom of the hold upon the ballast, at the risk of his life suddenly seized hold of the first-mate, not in sufficient time to recover his own balance, but so firmly as to drag Jackson with him; and down they were both precipitated together. The first-mate, having hold of one of the ropes leading down the main-mast, clung fast to save himself, and in so doing also broke the fall of Newton; but the weight of their bodies dragged the rope through Jackson's hands, which were lacerated to the bone. Neither party were much hurt by the fall; so that the treachery of Jackson recoiled upon himself.

After this specimen of animosity, which was duly reported to Mr Berecroft, on his return on board, by the seamen, who detested Jackson, and any thing like foul play, his protector determined that Newton should no longer be subjected to further violence. At the request of Mr Berecroft, Newton was invited to stay at the house of Mr Kingston, the gentleman to whom the vessel had been consigned--an offer which was gladly accepted.

Newton had not been many days on shore, when Mr Kingston, who had taken a strong interest in him, proposed, in answer to his many questions relative to the slave trade, that they should make a party to visit a plantation, the proprietor of which had been a resident since his youth, and judge for himself as to the truth of the reports so industriously circulated by those who were so inimical to the employment of a slave population.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"_Aboan_.
The innocent.
_Oronoko_.
These men are so, whom you would rise against.
If we are slaves, they did not make us slaves,
But bought us in the honest way of trade,
As we have done before 'em, bought and sold
Many a wretch, and never thought it wrong.
They paid our price for us, and we are now
Their property, a part of their estate,
To manage as they please."

At an early hour the party, consisting of Mr Kingston, the master of the brig, and Newton, set off upon mules for the habitation of the planter. The sun had illumined the sky, but had not yet made its appearance, although the golden fringes upon the clouds which floated in broad belts in the horizon, indicated his glorious yet withering approach. The dew moistened each leaf, or hung in glittering pendant drops upon the thorn of the prickly pears which lined the roads. The web of the silver-banded spider was extended between the bushes, and, saturated with moisture, reflected the beams of the rising orb, as the animals danced in the centre, to dazzle their expected prey. The mist still hovered on the valleys, and concealed a part of the landscape from their view; and the occasional sound of the fall of water was mingled with the twittering and chirping of the birds, as they flew from spray to spray. The air was fresh, even to keenness, and any one suddenly wafted to the scene would little have imagined that he was under the torrid zone.

"How different this is from the ideas generally formed of the climate in the West Indies!" observed Newton. "In England, we couple it with insufferable heat and the yellow fever."

"Your reports are from those who seldom leave the harbours or towns, where such indeed prevail," replied Kingston. "There is no island in the Caribbean sea where the early riser may not enjoy this delightful bracing atmosphere. At Jamaica, in particular, where they collect as much snow as they please in the mountains; yet, at the same time, there is not a more fatal and unhealthy spot than Port Royal harbour, in the same island."

"Is the plantation we are going to situated as high above the level of the sea as we are now?"

"No; most plantations are in the ravines, between the hills. The sugar-cane requires heat. As soon as we are on the summit of this next hill we shall descend to it."

In half an hour they arrived at the end of their journey, when they stopped at an extensive range of low buildings, situated at the head of the valley, which descended to the sea, now for the first time presented to their view since they had quitted Bridgetown. The owner of the estate was at the door to receive them. He was a tall, spare man, dressed in nankeen jacket and trousers, with a large-brimmed straw-hat upon his head. "Welcome, gentlemen, welcome. Kingston, how are you?" said he, as they stopped. "Now dismount, gentlemen; the boys will take the mules. Boy Jack, where are you? Where's Baby and where's Bulky? Come here you lazy rascals and take the mules. Now then, gentlemen, I'll show you the way. I ordered breakfast on the table, as I saw you coming down the hill."

So saying, the old gentleman led the way through a portico. At the sight of strangers the windows underneath were crowded with faces of various degrees of colour--eyes and mouths wide open, the latter displaying rows of teeth so even and so brilliantly white, that they might cause a sensation of envy to many an English belle.

The party were ushered into a spacious and cool apartment on the ground-floor, where a table was covered with all the varieties of a tropical breakfast, consisting of fried fish, curries, devilled poultry, salt meats, and every thing which could tend to stimulate an enfeebled appetite.

"Now, gentlemen, let me recommend you to take a white jacket; you'll be more at your ease, and there is no ceremony here. Boy Jack, where's the sangoree? This is a fine climate, Captain Berecroft; all you have to attend to is--to be temperate, and not to check the perspiration."

Boy Jack, who, par parenthese, was a stout, well-looking negro, of about forty years of age, now made his appearance with the sangoree. This was a beverage composed of half a bottle of brandy, and two bottles of Madeira, to which were added a proportion of sugar, lime-juice, and nutmeg, with water _ad lib_. It was contained in a glass bowl, capable of holding two gallons, standing upon a single stalk, and bearing the appearance of a Brobdignag rummer. Boy Jack brought it with both hands, and placed it before his master.

"Now, sir, will you drink?" said the planter, addressing Mr Berecroft.

"Thank you," replied Mr Berecroft, "I never drink so early in the morning."

"Drink! why this is nothing but _swizzle_. Here's your health, sir, I'll show you the way."

The large goblet was fixed to his lips for upwards of a minute: at last they unwillingly separated, and the old planter recovered his respiration with a deep sigh. "Now then, gentlemen, do you take a little, don't be afraid; there's nothing you mayn't do in this climate, only be temperate and don't check the perspiration." At this moment Newton was startled, and looked under the table.

"I thought it was a dog, but it's a little black child."

"Oh! there's one out, is there? Why, Boy Jack, did I not tell you to shut them all in?"

"Yes, sar, so I did," said the black man, looking under the table. "Eh!--it's that damned little nigger--two year old Sambo--no possible keep him in, sar.--Come out, Sambo."

The child crawled out to his master, and climbed up by his knee: the old planter patted his woolly head, and gave him a piece of grilled turkey, with which he immediately dived again under the table.

"The fact is, captain, they are accustomed to come in at breakfast time; they are only shut out to-day because I have company. That door behind me leads into the nursery yard."

"The nursery yard!"

"Yes, I'll show it you by-and-bye; there's plenty of them there."

"Oh, pray let us have them in--I wish to see them, and should be sorry to be the cause of their being disappointed."

"Open the door, Boy Jack." As soon as it was open, about twenty black children from seven to three years old, most of them naked, with their ivory skins like a polished table, and quite pot-bellied from good living, tumbled into the room, to the great amusement of Newton and the party. They were followed by seven or eight more, who were not yet old enough to walk; but they crawled upon all-fours almost as fast as the others, who could walk erect after the image of their Maker.

The company amused themselves with distributing to the children the contents of the dishes on the table--the elder ones nestling alongside of the planter and his friends with the greatest familiarity, while the youngest sat upright on the floor, laughing as they devoured their respective portions.

"Of course, these are all slaves?" observed Mr Berecroft.

"Yes, bred them all myself," replied the planter "indeed, out of two hundred and fifteen which I have on the estate, I think that there are not more than twelve who were not born on this property, during my father's time or mine. Perhaps, as breakfast is over, you will like to inspect my nursery."

The planter led the way into the yard from which the children had entered. It was a square, of about two roods of ground, three sides of which were enclosed by rows of small houses, of two rooms each; and most of them were occupied by female slaves, either nursing children at the breast, or expecting very soon to have that duty to perform. They received their master with a smiling face, as he addressed a question to each of them when he entered their abode.

"Now these are all my _breeding_ women; they do no work, only take care of the children, who remain here until they are eight or nine years old. We have a surgeon on the estate, who attends them as well as the other slaves when they are sick. Now, if you feel inclined, we will go round the works."

The old planter, in a few minutes' walk, brought them to an extensive row of detached cottages, each centred in a piece of garden-ground, well stocked with yams, sweet potatoes, bananas, and other tropical productions. Poultry of all descriptions were scattered in profusion about the place, and pigs appeared to be abundant.

"Now, captain, these are the cottages of the working slaves. The garden-ground is allowed to them; and whatever they can make by its produce, or by their pigs and their poultry, is all their own."

"But how are they subsisted?"

"By rations, as regularly served out as yours are on board of your vessel, and they have as much as they can consume."

"Are they all single men?"

"No, mostly married to slave girls on the estate: their wives live with them, unless they breed, and then they are removed up to the nurseries."

"And what work do you exact from them?"

"Eight hours a day--except in cropt-time, and then we are very busy; so that they have plenty of leisure to look after their own interests if they choose."

"Do they ever lay up much money?"

"Very often enough to purchase their freedom, if they wished it."

"If they wished it!" replied Mr Berecroft, with surprise.

"Yes; without explanation, that may appear strange to you, and still more strange, the fact, that freedom offered has often been refused. A man who is a clever workman as a carpenter, or any other trade, will purchase his freedom if he can, because artisans can obtain very high wages here; but a slave who, if I may use the term, is only a common labourer, would hardly support himself, and lay by nothing for his old age. They are aware of it. I have offered emancipation to one or two who have grown old, and they have refused it, and now remain as heirlooms on the estate, provided with every thing, and doing little or no work, if they please. You saw that old man sweeping under the portico? Well, he does that every day; and it is all he has done for these five years. Now, if you please, we will go through the plantations, and visit the sugar-mills."

They passed the slaves, who were at work hoeing between the canes; and certainly, if an estimate of their condition was to be taken by the noise and laughter with which they beguiled their labour, they were far from demanding pity.

"But, I must confess, that there is something in that cart-whip which I do not like," observed Newton.