The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-02-04

IOandO. and had been lucky enough 10
pick up half a cargo of coffee there for
Lisbon She called in at Banana, the sta
ton on the mangrove spit at the mouth of
the Congo. where the river pilots live (and
on occasion die). and where the Dutch fac
tory used to bring trade till the Free State
killed IL with duties; and at Banana she
had further fortune. There were go ne
eroes there, Accra men and Crooboys most
Iy gang that had made their els or EGO
apiece on the railway, and were waiting to
go home
The passenger boys had collected their
chattels. and were gathering in a howl
ing. chattering mob by their surf boats
ready TO go on board, when the first
ton came to me of joining her. 1t was the
Danish harbor master who gave it. He
came UP. under his old white umbrella
with the green lining, to the house whore
j was staying. and told me that the tramp
was going to call in at San Thome and
the Bonny river.
Now, we don't banker to get rid of
you here, Mr.. Calvert" he said: 'but II
you want to climb that mountain in Fer
nando Pc. you're not likely to get so good
a chance for the next three months to
come. Your place is on the road between
San Thome and Bonny, though, of course.
you'll have TO make IL worth the skip
per's while to stop. But that's your pa
laver."
'Can you put a figure on it?'' 1 asked.
81 should take it, said the harbor mas
ter. that you could hustle the man into
Fernando Pc for ten sovereigns. He's
only a Portugee. Come aboard now in my
gig and see him"
The tramp's interior was not inviting.
We went into the charthouse and drank
the inevitable sweet champagne with the
captain; and whilst the bargain was being
made a thousand cockroaches crawled
thoughtfully over the yellow-white paint
at tell you straight" said the harbor
master in English; shes a dirty ship,
and the chop'll be bad enough to poison
spotted dog. But IL you will go to these
Portugee and Spanish places, to sweat up
mountains. that's part of the palaver."
ION, If the grub's good enough for them.
It won't kill me-"
"Then If you will go, I'll send my boy
off in the boat for your boxes one time,
because the Old Mans in a hurry to be
of. He's got a bishop on board below,
very sick with fever, and he wants to be
out of this stew and get to seat again as
quick as IL can be done. Thinks it'll give
the ship bad luck. 1 suppose. If the bishop
pegs out"
The harbor-master's boy was speedy,
and the harbor- master himself piloted
out into the wide gulf Of the river 3
mouth. The beer-colored stream gave up
fits scent of crushed marigolds strongly
enough to pierce through the smells of the
ship and the smells of the crowded chat
te-ing negroes on the fore-deck. and the
old steamer began to groan and creak as
she lifted to the South Atlantic swell.
The sun went down, and night followed
like the turning out of a lamp. The light
house fiickered out on the Portuguese
shore away on the port bow, and above it
hung the Southern Cross. a pale faint
thing. shaped like an il,-made kite.
The humping engines stopped. and the
Dane came down off the upper bridge. He
stood with me for minute on the brown.
greasy deck plenks. and then went down
the ladder into his boat
"Oscar-strasse, tretten. Kjobnhavn." he
shouted. the gig dropped astern- Mind
you come. shall be home In another nine
months
Wanderers Club, London: don't forget;
sorry haven't card left hailed back
and wondered in my mind whether N any
of the worlds turnings should ever meet
that good fellow again. But the steamer
was once more under way. mumb,ing and
complaining, and the storekeeper at that
moment was beginning to open the case
of Dried fsh-baccalhao. as they call 1t on
the coast--tc which we traced back the
hideous plague which in the next few days
swept away her people like the fire from
q battery Of guns.
There were only two other passengers
besides the bishop and myself-a pair of
yellow-faced, acknowledged Portuguese
from down the coast, traders both. with
livers like Strasbourg geese. The skipper
was decent. weak little chap from Lis
bon, who might have been good-iooking
II he had sometimes washed; the CHIEF
engineer was Swede. who spoke English
and quoted Ibsen; and the other officers
never came specially across. There was
only one of my own countrymen on board,
q fireman from Hull, one of the strongest
men 1 ever met, and certainly the most
truculent ruffian. His name was Tordoff
on the ships books. but that was
''purser's name" He spoke pure English.
when he forgot himself. and certainly had
once been a gentleman.
IT was baking hot down below, and the
place was alive with rats and cockroaches.
/ rugged a wind scoop through the port in
my room, got into pyjamas, and lay down
on the top of the bunk But / can't say
I did much business with sleep: the me-
nagerie held cheerful meetings al, round,
and the perspiration tickled as it ran of
my body in little streams; and these things
keep man awake. My room was to star
board. and when through the portfolio I
saw blaze up from behind the low line of
African hills. turned out. rolled cigar
ette and went on deck. I was just in time
to see the first funeral
Four very OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES men and
profane mate were fitting a couple of bis
cult sacks over a twisted figure which lay
on the grimy. greasy deck planks. They
pulled one over the head and another over
the heels and then with a palm and needle
made them fast about the figures middle.
Afterwards they dashed a irebar along the
Sims, and then, with faces screwed up
and turned away. they lifted the body as
though IL had been redhot, and toppled It
over the rail.
The dead man dived through the swell
alongside almost without a splash: but as
though his coming had been signal.