Part 41 (2/2)

”Did I speak rather sharply to you when the boat returned, Mr Anderson?”

”Oh! Well, rather hastily, sir,” said the chief officer drily. ”But that's nothing, sir. I'm afraid I was not very polite to you. I was horribly disappointed, sir.”

”Naturally,” the captain cried excitedly. ”Here we are, getting well within range of the islands where we know this wretched traffic is carried on, where the plantations are cultivated by the unfortunate blacks, and we seem bound to encounter a slaver, and yet the days pa.s.s on and we prove to be hunting a will-o'-the-wisp.”

”Yes, sir, it is maddening,” replied the lieutenant. ”Day after day I have swept the offing, feeling certain that fate would favour us by letting the sloop come up with that Yankee, or with one of his kidney; but disappointment is always the result.”

”Yes, Mr Anderson,” cried the captain; ”always the result. Never mind,” he continued, speaking through his closely set teeth; ”our turn will come one of these days.” And then with his telescope tightly nipped beneath his arm he would tramp up and down the quarter-deck, pausing now and then to focus his gla.s.s, take a peep through, close it again with a snap and renew his march.

”Look at him,” said Roberts, one bright morning, as the two lads stood together well forward, where they fondly hoped that they were quite out of their chief's way.

”No, thank you, d.i.c.k,” was the response; ”it isn't safe. He's just in one of his fits, ready to pounce upon any one who gives him a chance.

Every one is getting afraid of him. I wish to goodness we could overtake something and have a chance of a prize.”

”Well, we must find something to do soon, lad. We're right in amongst the islands, and we shall have to land and hunt out some n.i.g.g.e.r driver's nest.”

”But we can't do anything if we do. We daren't interfere with any plantation where the blacks are employed.”

”No, I suppose not; but it would be a glorious change if we got orders to land at one of the islands and could pick up some news or another.”

”What sort of news?”

”What sort? Why, information that a slaver was expected to land a consignment, and then--”

”Oh yes, and then! Well, we shall see.”

”Yes, we shall see; but I don't believe any of the planters will give us a bit of information.”

”Don't you? I do,” said Murray. ”There are good planters as well as bad planters, and I feel full of hope.”

”I don't,” said Roberts bitterly. ”I think we ought to go back to the West Coast and watch the rivers again. We shall do no good here.”

But Murray proved the more likely to be right, for after touching at the little port of one island, where the _Seafowl_ was visited by the English gentleman who acted as consul, and who had a long interview with the officers in the cabin, it became bruited through the vessel that something important was on the way, and after boats had been sent ash.o.r.e and a plentiful supply of fresh water and vegetables taken in, the sloop set sail again, piloted by a fis.h.i.+ng boat. Under its guidance the _Seafowl_ lay off the sh.o.r.es of what seemed through the gla.s.ses to be an earthly paradise, a perfect scene of verdant beauty, with waving trees and cultivated fields, sheltered by a central mountain the configuration of which suggested that it must at one time have been a volcano, one side of which had been blown away so that a gigantic crater many miles across formed a lake-like harbour. Into this deep water, after careful soundings had been taken, the sloop glided and dropped anchor, the pilot with his two men hoisting sail directly after receiving pay.

”This is something like,” said Roberts, rubbing his hands. ”I wonder how soon we shall go ash.o.r.e.”

”Almost directly, I expect,” replied Murray.

”Why? What do you know?”

”Not much; only what Mr Anderson let drop to me.”

”Let drop to you!” cried Roberts pettishly. ”He never lets things drop to me.”

”Well, what does that matter? I always tell you anything that I hear.”

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