A Master of Fortune: Being Further Adventures of Captain KettleHyne, C. J. Cutcliffe
History
A Master of Fortune: Being Further Adventures of Captain Kettle
Hyne, C. J. Cutcliffe
Adventure stories; Congo (Democratic Republic) -- History -- To 1908 -- Fiction; Ship captains -- Fiction
He swam the dug-out through the last drench and backtow of the surf,
rocked her clear from part of her watery load, and then, with a feeling
of relief, clambered gingerly on board and baled the rest over the
gunwale with his hands. It is not good to stay over-long in these seas
which fringe the West African beaches, by reason of the ground shark
which makes them his hunting-ground. And then he manned the paddle,
knelt in the stern, and went the shortest way to the steamer which
perched on the rock.
The moon was still riding in the sky, but burnt with a pale light now,
as dawn had jumped up from behind the shore forests. All things were
shown clearly. Among other matters, Kettle noted from trifles in her
garnishing, which read clear as print to a seaman's eye, that the
steamer was not French or German as he had guessed before, but hailed
from his own native islands. Moreover, her funnel told him that she was
not one of the two regular lines from Liverpool, which do all the
commerce of the coast. But he had no time for fresh speculations just
then as to her business. The scuffling on board had been growing more
and more serious, and it was clear that the blacks of her complement
were giving the whites more than they cared about.
Kettle knew enough of the custom of the Coast to be able to sum the
situation. "Her Krooboys have broken out of hand," he commented. "That's
what's the trouble. You come down here from England with just enough
white men to handle your vessel to Sierra Leone, and then you ship
Krooboys to work cargo and surf-boats, and do everything except steer,
and as long as nothing happens, your Krooboy is a first-class hand. Two
cupfuls of rice and a bit offish is all the grub he wants; he'll work
sixteen hours a day without a grunt; and he'll handle a winch or a steam
crane with any Geordie donkey-man that has been grounded in the shops.
But just put your steamboat on the ground where he thinks she can't get
off, and there's a different tune to play. He's got a notion that the
ship's his, and the cargo's his, to loot as he likes, and if he doesn't
get 'em both, he's equal to making trouble. Seems to me he's making bad
trouble now."
By this time it was plain that the black men had got entire possession
of the lower parts of the ship. The small handful of whites were on the
top of the fiddley, and while most were fighting to keep the Africans
back, a couple were frenziedly working to get a pair of davits swung
outboard, and a lifeboat which hung from them lowered into the water. It
was clear they had given up all hope of standing by the ship; and
presently they got the boat afloat, and slid down to her in hurried
clusters by the davit falls, and then unhooked and rowed away from the
steamer's side in a skelter of haste. Coals and any other missile that
came handy were showered upon them by the Krooboys who manned the rail,
to which they replied with a few vicious revolver shots; and then the
boat drew out of range.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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