Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African SlaverCanot, Theodore
History
Captain Canot; Or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver
Canot, Theodore
Slave trade
Now, I confess that my notions had become at this epoch somewhat
relaxed by my traffic on the coast, so that I grew to be no better
than folks of my cloth. I was fond of excitement; my craft was sadly
in want of a cargo; and, as the mate narrated the helmsman's story,
the Quixotic idea naturally got control of my brain that I was
destined to become the _avenger_ of the poisoned captain. I will not
say that I was altogether stimulated by the noble spirit of justice;
for it is quite possible I would never have thought of the dead man
had not the sailor apprised us that his vessel was half full of
negroes!
As we drifted slowly by the mouth of my old river, I slipped over the
bar, and, while I fitted the schooner with a splendid nine-pounder
amidships, I despatched a spy to the Rio Nunez to report the facts
about the poisoning, as well as the armament of the unregistered
slaver. In ten days the runner verified the tale. She was still in the
stream, with one hundred and eighty-five human beings in her hold, but
would soon be off with an entire cargo of two hundred and twenty-five.
The time was extraordinarily propitious. Every thing favored my
enterprise. The number of slaves would exactly fit my schooner. Such a
windfall could not be neglected; and, on the fourth day, I was
entering the Rio Nunez under the Portuguese flag, which I unfurled by
virtue of a pass from Sierra Leone to the Cape de Verd Islands.
I cannot tell whether my spy had been faithless, but when I reached
Furcaria, I perceived that my game had taken wing from her anchorage.
Here was a sad disappointment. The schooner drew too much water to
allow a further ascent, and, moreover, I was unacquainted with the
river.
As it was important that I should keep aloof from strangers, I
anchored in a quiet spot, and seizing the first canoe that passed,
learned, for a small reward, that the object of my search was hidden
in a bend of the river at the king's town of Kakundy, which I could
not reach without the pilotage of a certain mulatto, who was alone fit
for the enterprise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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