It was my habit to employ at New Sestros a clerk, store-keeper, and four seamen, all of whom were whites of reliable character, competent to aid me efficiently in the control of my barracoons.

One of these sailors died of dropsy while in my service; and, as I write, the memory of his death flashes across my mind so vividly, that I cannot help recording it among the characteristic events of African coast-life.

Sanchez, I think, was by birth a Spaniard; at least his perfect familiarity with the language, as well as name and appearance, induced me to believe that the greater part of his life must have been spent under the shield of Saint Iago. The poor fellow was ill for a long time, but in Africa, existence is so much a long-drawn malady, that we hardly heeded his bloated flesh or cadaverous skin, as he sat, day after day, musket in hand, at the gate of our barracoon. At last, however, his confinement to bed was announced, and every remedy within our knowledge applied for relief. This time, however, the summons was peremptory; the sentence was final; there was no reprieve.

On the morning of his death, the sufferer desired me to be called, and, sending away the African nurse and the two old comrades who watched faithfully at his bedside, explained that he felt his end approaching, yet could not depart without easing his soul by confession!

“Here, Don Teodor,” said he, “are five ounces of gold all I have saved in this world, the lees of my life, which I want you to take care of, and when I am dead send to my sister, who is married to , in Matanzas. Will you promise?”

I promised.

“And now, Don Teodor,” continued he, “I must confess!”

I could not repress a smile as I replied, “But, Jose, I am no padre, you know; a clerigo in no part of a slave factory; I cannot absolve your sins; and, as for my prayers, poor fellow, alas! what can they do for your sins when I fear they will hardly avail for my own!”

“It’s all one, mi capitan” answered the dying man; “it makes not the least difference, Don Teodor, if you are a clergyman or any thing else; it is the law of our church; and when confession is over, a man’s soul is easier under canvas, even if there’s no regular padre at hand to loosen the ropes, and let one’s sins fly to the four winds of heaven. Listen, it will be short.

“It is many years since I sailed from Havana with that notorious slaver, Miguel , whose murder you may have heard of on the coast. Our vessel was in capital order for speed as well as cargo, and we reached Cape Mount after a quick voyage. The place, however, was so bare of slaves, that we coasted the reefs till we learned from a Mesurado Krooman that, in less than a month, the supply at Little Bassa would be abundant. We shipped the savage with his boatman, and next day reached our destination.

“Miguel was welcomed warmly by the chiefs, who offered a choice lot of negroes for a portion of our cargo, inviting the captain to tarry with the rest of his merchandise and establish a factory. He assented; our brig was sent home with a short cargo, while I and two others landed with the captain, to aid in the erection and defence of the requisite buildings.

“It did not take long to set up our bamboo houses and open a trade, for whose supply Miguel began an intercourse with Cape Mesurado, paying in doubloons and receiving his merchandise in vessels manned by American blacks.

“Our captain was no niggard in housekeeping. Bountiful meals every day supplied his friends and factory. No man went from his door hungry or dissatisfied. When the colonists came up in their boats with goods, or walked the beach from the Cape to our settlement, Miguel was always alert with a welcome. A great intimacy, of course, ensued; and, among the whole crowd of traffickers, none were higher in our chief’s estimation than a certain T , who rarely visited the barracoons without a gift from Miguel, in addition to his stipulated pay.

“In due time the brig returned from Havana, with a cargo of rum, tobacco, powder, and a box of doubloons; but she was ordered to the Cape de Verds to change her flag. In the interval, the Mesurado colonists picked a quarrel with the Trade-Town chiefs, and, aided by an American vessel, under Colombian colors, landed a division of colonial troops and destroyed the Spanish barracoons.

“The ruin of a Spanish factory could not be regarded by our captain with any other feeling than that of resentment. Still, he manifested his sensibility by coolness towards the colonists, or by refraining from that profitable welcome to which they had hitherto been accustomed. But the Monrovians were not to be rebuffed by disdain. They had heard, I suppose, of the box of doubloons, and Miguel was ’a good fellow,’ in spite of his frigidity. They were his friends for ever, and all the harm that had been done his countrymen was attributable alone to their Colombian foes, and not to the colonists. Such were the constant declarations of the Monrovians, as they came, singly and in squads, to visit us after the Trade-Town plunder. T , in particular, was loud in his protestations of regard; and such was the earnestness of his manner, that Miguel, by degrees, restored him to confidence.

“Thus, for a while, all things went smoothly, till T reached our anchorage, with several passengers in his craft, bound, as they said, to Grand Bassa. As usual on such visits, the whole party dined with Miguel at four in the afternoon, and, at six, retired towards their vessel, with a gift of provisions and liquor for their voyage.

“About eight o’clock, a knocking at our gates closed invariably at dark, according to custom gave notice that our recent guests had returned. They craved hospitality for the night. They had dallied a couple of hours on the beach, with the hope of getting off, but the surf was so perilous that no Kroomen would venture to convey them through the breakers.

“Such an appeal was, of course, enough for the heart of a courteous Spaniard, and, on the coast, you know, it is imperative. Miguel opened the door, and, in an instant, fell dead on the threshold, with a ball in his skull. Several guns were discharged, and the house filled with colonists. At the moment of attack I was busy in the barracoon; but, as soon as I came forth, the assailants approached in such numbers that I leaped the barriers and hid myself in the forest till discovered by some friendly natives.

“I remained with these Africans several weeks, while a canoe was summoned from Gallinas for my rescue. From thence I sailed to Cuba, and was the first to apprise our owners of the piratical onslaught by which the factory had been destroyed.

“After this, I made several successful voyages to the coast; and, at last, sauntering one evening along the paseo at Havana, I met Don Miguel’s brother, who, after a sorrowful chat about the tragedy, offered me a quarter-master’s berth in a brig he was fitting out for Africa. It was accepted on the spot.

“In a month we were off Mesurado, and cruised for several days from the cape to Grand Bassa, avoiding every square-rigged vessel that loomed above the horizon. At length, we espied a small craft beating down the coast. We bore the stranger company for several hours, till, suddenly taking advantage of her long tack out to sea, we gave chase and cut off her return towards land.

“It was a fine afternoon, and the sun was yet an hour in the sky when we intercepted the schooner. As we ran alongside, I thought I recognized the faces of several who, in days of old, wore familiar in our factory, but what was my surprise, when T himself came to the gangway, and hailed us in Spanish!

“I pointed out the miscreant to my comrade, and, in an instant, he was in our clutches. We let the sun go down before we contrived a proper death for the felon. His five companions, double-ironed, were nailed beneath the hatches in the hold. After this, we riveted the murderer, in chains, to the mainmast, and, for better security, fastened his spread arms to the deck by spikes through his hands. Every sail was then set on the craft, two barrels of tar were poured over the planks, and a brand was thrown in the midst of the combustible materials. For a while, the schooner was held by a hawser till we saw the flames spread from stern to cut-water, and then, with a cheer, adios! It was a beautiful sight, that auto-da-fe, on the sea, in the darkness!

“My confession, Don Teodor, is over. From that day, I have never been within a church or alongside a padre; but I could not die without sending the gold to my sister, and begging a mass in some parish for the rest of my soul!”

I felt very conscious that I was by no means the person to afford ghostly consolation to a dying man under such circumstances, but while I promised to fulfil his request carefully, I could not help inquiring whether he sincerely repented these atrocious deeds?

“Ah! yes, Don Teodor, a thousand times! Many a night, when alone on my watch at sea, or in yonder stockade, marching up and down before the barracoon, I have wept like a child for the innocent crew of that little schooner; but, as for the murderer of Don Miguel!” He stared wildly for a minute into my eyes shuddered fell back was dead!

I have no doubt the outlaw’s story contained exaggerations, or fell from a wrecked mind that was drifting into eternity on the current of delirium. I cannot credit his charge against the Monrovian colonists; yet I recount the narrative as an illustration of many a bloody scene that has stained the borders of Africa.