Ship Ahoy!

To a small craft like mine, a passage by sea on a dark night is ordinarily an adventure full of peril and anxiety, and eye and ear must be constantly strained to catch the gleam of approaching lights or the warning throb of a propeller.

But in the lonely waters of the Gulf of Guinea there is—at any rate at this season of the year—only one great danger—the surf-bound shore; and the navigator who keeps a good offing and attends to the lead, has little to fear.

Hence, as I crouched in the well with my few rags drawn round me for warmth, I steered forward quite confidently, although I could not see a hundred yards ahead, for I had laid my course obliquely off the land, and, even making a liberal allowance for leeway, I must be drawing pretty rapidly out to sea.

I had, indeed, no compass, nor was any star visible in the black vault, but I could feel the wind and the run of the sea, and these I knew to be constant enough to steer by quite safely. So I sailed on, rising and falling easily on the great round swell, enjoying a strange and novel sense of security; for ahead of me were no unknown rapids or cataracts, no sunken rocks or hidden snags, but only a waste of waters on which the morning light might show some friendly sail.

As to my pursuers, I had almost forgotten them. They had certainly put off to follow me, but I had so long a start that I felt no fear of their overtaking me, and thought it probable that they had already given up the pursuit and put back.

When I had been sailing—as I judged—a little over an hour, the moon struggled faintly through the clouds in the west, illuminating the sky around and throwing a broad, unsteady wake of light. And right in the middle of the wake, far away and small, but quite sharp and distinct, I could see the black silhouette of the pursuing canoe, and could even make out the paddles, rising and falling with machine-like regularity.

My confidence was shattered at a blow, for, far away as the canoe appeared, it had shortened considerably the distance that at first separated us. The chase bid fair to be a long one, and I might even tire out my pursuers; but I knew the strength and endurance of the Gold Coast canoe-men, and my hopes declined once more.

The moon soon sank below the horizon, and the pursuing craft was again invisible in the darkness; but I knew she was there and that she was creeping slowly up to me, and I looked often and anxiously into the obscurity astern, although, of course, I could see nothing. I turned over several plans of escape, but rejected them all. I thought of changing my course by going closer to the wind on the chance that the canoe-men might miss me in the darkness, and I even considered lowering my sail to render my vessel still more difficult to see, and then paddling straight out to sea. But I had so often had proof of the amazing keenness of eyesight of African natives—especially of their ability to see in almost complete darkness—that I did not trust either of these plans, and they would both greatly diminish my speed.

On the other hand, if I turned more off the wind I should sail faster, but then I might easily run ashore in the darkness; so, in the end, I decided to hold on as I was going, and trust to tiring out the canoe-men before they could overtake me, or fighting them when they did.

Some little time had elapsed since the setting of the moon had hidden my enemies from my sight, when a faint sound from astern made me prick up my ears. Presently it was repeated, and I now clearly distinguished voices—probably raised in altercation, but too distant to be intelligible. Clearly the canoe was overhauling me, and I listened intently to try if I could make out the thud of the paddles. It was not yet audible, and the voices had now died away; but even as I was listening, I was startled by a new sound that broke out loud and clear in the stillness of the dark sea—a sound that instantly revived my drooping hopes.

It was an accordion, raucously blurting out the rollicking air of “Finnigan’s Wake.”

I peered about me in astonishment, but the darkness around was impenetrable, until I lifted the boom and looked out under the foot of the sail; then my heart bounded with joy, for out of the obscurity shone a bright red light that sent a wavering thread of reflection along the surface of the water.

A sailing vessel was approaching me on the opposite tack and the glimmer of her port light must have been visible for some time (for she was quite near now) but had been hidden from me by my sail; and but for that unmelodious instrument I might not have seen her until she had passed out of hail.

I instantly put up my helm and sheered down towards her, and as the light shone straight over my bows, I raised my voice in a mighty shout.

“Oh! the ship ahoy!”

The accordion stopped abruptly and I listened for an answer, but, as none came, I hailed again.

“Ship ahoy!”

“Hallo!” shouted a voice in return.

“Heave-to and pick us up,” I sang out.

“Who are you?” demanded the invisible speaker.

“Shipwrecked seaman!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.

“Where away?” inquired the other.

“On your port bow,” I replied; and immediately I heard the voice—presumably that of the look-out—repeating my answer to the officer of the watch.

In a few seconds a new voice hailed me.

“Boat ahoy!”

“Hallo!” I roared.

“I’m going to heave-to. Come alongside as sharp as you can.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” I answered, and I certainly felt no temptation to dawdle under the circumstances.

The red light grew rapidly brighter, and soon there loomed above it in the darkness a great shape of deeper shade, which, as I approached, took on the definite outline of the masts and sails of a brig. She was hove-to with the fore-topsail aback, but was moving slowly forward.

I lowered my sail and ran alongside just as a rope ladder was tumbled over about amidships, and to the rope side of this I immediately made fast my painter with a “fisherman’s bend” so that the canoe should not pull adrift.

“He’s alongside, sir,” a voice reported to the officer, who immediately sang out—

“Swing the yards and sheet home the foresail.”