Wolves of the Sea | Page 3

forward to catch
my answer.
"That's all right, mates," I returned cheerfully. "It's across the blue
water, of course, but better than the Indies. We'll fall into the hands of
Englishmen out there, and they'll be decent to us."
"But whar is the bloomin' hole?"
"In America. That is where all the tobacco comes from; likely that will
be our job--raising tobacco."
"Have ever yer bin thar?"
"Ay, twice--and to a land beyond they call Maryland. Tis a country not
so unlike England."

"Good luck that then; tell us about it, matie."
I endeavored to do so, dwelling upon what I remembered of the
settlements, and the habits of the people, but saying little of the great
wilderness of the interior, or how I had seen slaves toiling in the fields.
The group of men within range of my voice leaned forward in
breathless attention, one now and then asking a question, their chains
rattling with each movement of a body. The deep interest shown in
their faces caused me unconsciously to elevate, my voice, and I had
spoken but a moment or two before a hard hand gripped my shoulder.
"Yer better stow that, my man," growled someone above me, and I
looked up into the stern eyes of the captain of the guard "or it may be
the 'cat' for ye. Yer heard the orders."
"Yes, sir; I was only answering questions."
"Questions! What the hell difference does it make to this scum whar
they go? Do yer talkin' aboard, not here. So ye've been ter the Virginia
plantation, hev ye?"
"Twice, sir."
"As a sailor?"
"In command of vessels."
His eyes softened slightly, and a different tone seemed to creep into his
voice.
"Then ye must be Master Carlyle, I take it. I heerd tell about ye at the
trial, but supposed ye ter be an older man."
"I am twenty-six."
"Ye don't look even thet. It's my notion ye got an overly hard dose this
time. The Judge was in ill humor thet day. Still thet's not fer me ter talk
about. It's best fer both of us ter hold our tongues. Ay, they're ready fer
ye now. Fall in there--all of yer. Step along, yer damn rebel scum."

We passed aboard over the narrow gang-plank, four abreast, dragging
our feet, and were halted on the forward deck, while artificers removed
our chains. As these were knocked off, the released prisoners
disappeared one by one down the forward hatch, into the space between
the decks which had been roughly fitted up for their confinement
during the long voyage. As my position was in one of the last files, I
had ample time in which to gaze about, and take note of my
surroundings. Except for the presence of the prisoners the deck
presented no unusual scene. The Romping Betsy was a large, full-rigged
brig, not overly clean, and had evidently been in commission for some
time. Not heavily loaded she rode high, and was a broad-nosed vessel,
with comfortable beam. I knew her at once as a slow sailor, and bound
to develop a decidedly disagreeable roll in any considerable sea. She
was heavily sparred, and to my eye her canvas appeared unduly
weather-beaten and rotten. Indeed there was unnecessary clutter aloft,
and an amount of litter about the deck which evidenced lack of
seamanship; nor did the general appearance of such stray members of
the crew as met my notice add appreciably to my confidence in the
voyage.
I stared aft at the poop deck, seeking to gain glimpse of the skipper, but
was unable to determine his presence among the others. There were a
number of persons gathered along the low rail, attracted by the unusual
spectacle, and curiously watching us being herded aboard, and
dispatched below, but, to judge from their appearance, these were
probably all passengers--some of them adventurers seeking the new
land on their first voyage, although among them I saw others, easily
recognized as Virginians on their way home. Among these I picked out
a planter or two, prosperous and noisy, men who had just disposed of
their tobacco crop, well satisfied with the returns; some artisans sailing
on contract, and a naval officer in uniform. Then my eyes encountered
a strange group foregathered beside the lee rail.
There were four in the little party, but one of these was a negress,
red-turbaned, and black as the ace of spades, a servant evidently,
standing in silence behind the others. Another was clearly enough a
Colonial proprietor, a heavily built man of middle age, purple faced,

and wearing the broad hat with uplifted brim characteristic of
Virginians. I passed these by with a glance, my attention concentrating
upon the other two--a middle-aged young man, and a young woman
standing side by side. The former