Summary

Harry Collingwood The Pirate Slaver: A Story of the West African Coast

All was now in an instant noise and confusion on deck; the silence that had held the tongues of the crew was now no longer necessary, and the jabber, the oaths, the shouting, the loud, defiant laughs, the rumbling of the gun-carriages, the creaking of tackle-blocks, the thud of rammers and sponges, the calls for cartridges, all combined to create a hubbub that would not have shamed the builders of Babel; and through all and above all rose Mendouca’s voice in short, sharp sentences of appeal, encouragement, and direction to his men.
Source: Gutenberg

Harry Collingwood The Pirate Slaver: A Story of the West African Coast

There was a bright flash, lighting up the whole cabin as though by a gleam of lightning, and glancing vividly from the rolling eyeballs of my antagonist, a sharp explosion, and the Spaniard went reeling backward with a crash upon one of the sofas as the captain entered the cabin at a bound.
“Hillo!” he exclaimed, as he peered at me in the faint light of the lantern, “who are you, and what is the matter here? Why—bless me!—it is Mr Dugdale, isn’t it? And pray who is that man on the sofa?”
Source: Gutenberg

Harry Collingwood The Pirate Slaver: A Story of the West African Coast

The men on board the Francesca, woke up a little at José’s order, and soon had the last boat unloaded and the decks clear; the slaves were then ordered on deck, the Bangalore’s boats cast adrift, the sweeps rigged out, and, with I think the most fervent emotion of gratitude and delight that I had ever experienced, I at length had the satisfaction of seeing the brigantine stir sluggishly against the background of the star-spangled heavens, turn her bows slightly away from us, and finally glide off, with a quiet, gentle, scarcely-perceptible motion, in a westerly direction.
Source: Gutenberg

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