Flash For Freedom!

slave deck.

I still didn't know what I was going to do; I remember thinking, as I stood there in an agony of uncertainty, this is what comes of dabbling in politics and playing vingt-et-un with spinsters. I had some frenzied notion of making my way aft through the main bulkhead door, which was open now that the slave-deck was in a wholesome condition, finding Mrs Spring in the main cabin, and appealing to her; I knew it was a lunatic thought, but I found myself scampering through anyway, pulling up by the after companion, swithering this way and that, cursing feebly to myself and racking my brains over what to do next.

Spring's bellowing almost directly overhead had me jumping in alarm; squinting up the companion I could just see his head and shoulders, facing away from me, as he stood at the wheel. He was roaring to the gun crews, urging them to their stations, and by the sound of his voice he was having his work cut out. Like Sullivan, they were ready to strike, and then I heard the mate's voice, shouting at Spring, and suddenly cut off by the crack of a pistol shot.

'Take that, d—n you!' shouts Spring. 'Stand away from him, you there! Get to those tackles, or by G-d you'll get the next round!' His hand came into view, holding a smoking pistol, and thinks I, if he's daft enough to turn a gun on Sullivan there's no stopping him except by the same way.

That was it, of course, as I'd known all along. Here was I, armed, and there was the back of his head not fifteen feet away. And, by G-d, if ever a man needed a bullet in the skull it was J. C. Spring, Fellow of Oriel. But I daren't do it — oh, it wasn't that I shrank from the dirty deed for Christian reasons; I'd killed before, and anyone who stands between me and safety gets whatever I can give him, no holds barred. But only if it's safe-and this wasn't. Suppose I missed? Something told me that Spring wouldn't. Suppose the crew raised objections? Well, if they didn't the Yankee Navy would — they'd be just the kind of idiots to consider it murder. One way and another, I couldn't risk it, and I stood there sweating in panic, torn between my terrors.

Suddenly there was a patter of feet from the main bulkhead, and here came the idiot Looney, trying to buckle on a cutlass as big as himself. And to my amazement he was grinning foolishly to himself as he hurried towards the companion.

'What the blazes are you doing?' cries I.

'I'm goin' to kill them b––-ds!' cries he. 'Them's is firin' on us!'

'You numskull!' And then suddenly a great light dawned, and I saw the safe way out. 'You don't want to kill them! It's the captain that's doing this! That d—-l Spring, up there!'

I pointed to the companion way, down which our skipper's dulcet voice could be clearly heard. 'He's your man, Looney! He's the man to kill!'

He stood gaping at me. 'Whaffor?' says he, bewildered.

'He's just killed Mr Sullivan!' I hissed at him. 'He's gone mad! He's killed Sullivan, your friend!' And some guardian angel prompted my next words. 'He's going to kill you next! I heard him say so! 'I'm going to settle that b––-d Looney'; that's what he said!'

The loose idiot face just stared for a moment, while I shook his arm; from far astern came the boom of a gun, and from overhead there was a crash of breaking timber and shouts and running feet.

'It's him they're trying to kill! Not you! Not me! He's the Devil, remember! He just killed Sullivan! He'll kill you — and all of us'

Suddenly his face changed; I'll swear a light of understanding came into his eyes, and to my consternation he began to weep. He stared at me, choking:

''E killed Mr Sullivan? 'E done that?'

By gum, I know a cue when I hear one. 'Shot him like a dog, Looney. In the back.'

He gave a little whimper of rage. ''E shouldn't 'ave! Why 'e done that?'

'Because he's the Devil — you know that!' I've done some fearful convincing in my time, but this topped everything. 'That's why the Yankees are shooting at us! You've got to kill him, Looney, or we're all done for! If you don't, he'll kill you! He hates You — remember how he flogged you, for nothing! You've got to kill him, Looney — quickly!'

I was thrusting a pistol at him as though it had been red hot, and suddenly he grabbed it out of my hand, just as our own stem-chasers thundered overhead in reply. His face contorted with rage — wonderful, beatific sight — and he plunged past me to the ladder.

''E killed Mr Sullivan! The b––-d! I'll do for 'im!'

It was splendid. Thank God he was an idiot, and hated Spring like poison. I reckon it had taken me all of sixty seconds to turn him to murder, which was a considerable feat of persuasion; now all I had to do was make sure he didn't flinch from the act.

'Up you go, Looney! Good lad! It's him or you! Quick, man quick!' I thrust at his backside as he swung on to the ladder, 'Jam it into his back and give him both barrels! He killed Sullivan! He's the Devil! Sick 'im, boy!'

I probably could have spared my breath; the thought of Sullivan — the only person Looney cared for — dead at Spring's hand, had probably completed the turning of that idiot brain. He fairly flung himself up the ladder, scrambled half-way through the hatch, mouthing hideous oaths; he thrust out the pistol, and with an incoherent scream let fly with both barrels together.

Before the echo of the shots had died I was tearing down to the main bulkhead, and up the main hatch. As my head came clear I looked aft; Spring was writhing on the deck beside the wheel, his hat gone, his hands beating at the planks. Looney was struggling in the grip of one of the hands, yelling that he'd killed the Devil. Sullivan was sprawled face down in the scuppers, and the after rail was a milling scene of men running every which way, while another shot from the brig's bow-chasers came whistling overhead to tear through the mainsail. She was close up now, and turning to port to show her starboard guns, like grinning teeth; there was a yell of alarm from the men aft, and then hands were hauling at the flag lanyard; with Spring gone, everyone knew what had to be done.

I was not backward, either. I strode over to the men at the rail who were still gripping the chain, and in my parade ground voice ordered them to bring it inboard, smartly. They obeyed without a second's pause, and when I ordered them to free the slaves' ankle-irons they did that, too, falling over each other in their hurry. I lent a hand myself, patting the yellow sluts on the shoulder and assuring them that all was well now, and that I would see they came to no harm. I trusted this would go a little way to ensuring that I came to no harm myself, and as the Yankee brig ran up on our port beam I began to rehearse in my mind the scheme I had formed for getting old Flash safely out from under this time.

6

By and large I'm partial to Americans. They make a great affectation of disliking the English and asserting their equality with us, but I've discovered that underneath they dearly love a lord, and if you're civil and cool and don't play it with too high a hand you can impose on them quite easily. I'm not a lord, of course, but I've got the airs when I want 'em, and know how to use them in moderation. That's the secret, a nice blending of the plain, polite gentleman with just a hint of Norman blood, and they'll eat out of your hand and boast to their friends in Philadelphia that they know a man who's on terms with Queen Victoria and yet, by gosh, is as nice a fellow as they've ever struck,

When they came aboard the Balliot College, raging angry and full of zeal, I bided my time while they herded us all forward, and didn't say a word until the young lieutenant commanding them had ordered us all under hatches. They were pushing us to the companion, and being none to gentle about it, when I stepped smartly out of the line and said to him, very rapidly and civilly, that I wanted to see his commander on a most urgent matter.

He stared down his Yankee nose at me and snaps: 'Goddam your impudence. You'll do your talking in New Orleans — much good may it do you. Now, git below!'

I gave him a cool stare, 'Believe me, sir,' says I, in my best Cherrypicker voice, 'I am in most solemn earnest. Please — do nothing untoward.' I tilted my head slightly towards the Balliol College hands who were being pushed below. 'These people must not know,' I said quietly, 'but I am a British naval officer. I must see your commander without delay.'

He stared at me, but he was sharp. He waited till our last man was down the companion, and then demanded an explanation. I told him I was Lieutenant Comber, Royal Navy, on special service from the Board of Admiralty — which, I assured him, I could prove with ease. That settled it, and when one of his men had collected