suffering horribly from the undressed sores that
the morning's work had given them, filed in
succession on the deck, and were as quickly
driven down below. During the bustle I took
my bundle in my rnouth, seized an unobserved
moment, and slipped down the cable into a
Kabenda-boat, passing close by, that I had
beckoned to. Down in the bottom of the
boat I threw myself, and we shoved off, and
pulled away. As we did so the Captain just
caught a glimpse of us, and roared out, with
an oath, to the boat to stop—

"Come back, or I'll fire at you!"

"Don't mind him. Pull, pull—give way—
do, do pull! "—cried I, trembling with
excitement. The boat sprang a-head into the
gloom as a bullet splashed into the water,
passing not a foot from the steersman's head.
Now then, sails and oars—let her go. Hark
they are lowering a boat to chase us. No,
they can't spare time! I listened, with held
breath, to the noise of shouting, and oaths;
the sounds of bustle and confusion died
gradually away—I was safe!

I had to bribe the Kabenda boatmen with
all the money in my possession to induce
them, after an hour's pulling, to continue the
search for the man-of-war, or her boat, as I
felt that now my only chance. They had seen
her, as I had, last, at sunset, standing in—she
must have fetched in somewhere where we
now were, and had stood off the land again,
perhaps for a short tack, perhaps for all
night. Praying that the former was the
case, I, at last, persuaded the Kabenda men
to put the boat's head off shore and stand
out in the hope of meeting her. Another
hour passed and still no signs. The land
wind freshened, the water rippled and broke
at the boat's bows as she increased her speed,
and the Kabenda men began to exclaim,
that it was hopeless. I sat with outstretched
neck straining my eyes to look through the
darkness. We were about to give it up for
the night in despair, when I heard a faint
rushing noise over the water.

"'Tis porpoises! " said the steersman.
"No—the sound is too regular for that;"
and in a few minutes we could distinctly
make out the regular beating of the
paddlewheels of a steamer, and her rushing noise
through the water.

In five minutes I was on board, and had
hastily explained everything to the officer of
the watch. The captain was called—steam
got up to full power, and we were soon tearing
along for the anchorage off Ambriz. In
a quarter of the time I had spent in looking
for the steamer, we were there, and examining
the spot—but we found no vessel. The "Lucy
Anne" was gone. A consultation was now
held; I was sent for, and had to repeat all
the particulars of my escape, and was
questioned as to the probable time that must have
elapsed after my leaving, before she could
make a start. The distance she had run since
then was calculated, and opinions taken as
to the course she had steered. At last it was
determined to run directly off the land some
twenty miles, it being supposed she would not
have made more than that with the land-
breeze now blowing, and there wait for
daylight. This was done; and the first thing I
heard on waking in the morning, was, "Sail
ho!" from the look-out man. There was
a sail just visible on the horizon. It was
calm, so that in an hour or so we should
know what she was. No alteration of sails
or course, indicated any attempt on the part
of the stranger of avoidance or escape. In
little more than an hour we could make her
out to be the "Lucy Anne" There was a
bustling about forward, visible as we neared
her, and that alone was the only sign of
consciousness of our presence that she showed.
We approached still nearer, and then was
heard something like the faint echo of a stifled
shriek over the water—no one could say what
it was like. The steamer stops within a few
hundred yards astern of her, and a boat is
sent. Instead of crowds of slaves, not a
vestige of one was to be seen. There was the
"Lucy Anne"—hatches on and decks swept
—just as she was when the boat boarded her
before.

The officer was about leaving when a noise
was heard forward. There was a noise of
cursing and struggling, and a man half bound,
his clothes torn from his back and bleeding
from wounds, rushed up out of the fok'stle.
It was Jack Ayres—"Look," shouted he to
the officer, "Look at the larboard cable," and
fainting from, loss of blood, fell upon deck.
As he said this, the captain coolly walked
below, and a moment after the report of a
pistol told his fate. The officer and boat's
crew rushed forward, and looking over the
bows saw that the brig's larboard anchor was
let go and the cable hanging in the water.
The crew of the brig stood huddled together,
pale and terror-stricken. "Great heaven!"
cried the officer, as an inkling of the truth
flashed upon him.

"Man the windlass—heave in the chain—"
round went the clanking purchase, and the
chain grated and surged, a few fathoms are in,
and all eyes, except those of the men heaving,
are fixed upon it, as link after link emerges
from the blue sea. What dark mass is that
as deep as we can see? No one could speak
for horror, as the chain dragging up shows
the dead bodies of the slaves lashed to it; they
had been let go with the anchor, their bodies
thus prevented from rising to tell the fearful
tale.*

*This is no romance, cases of similar atrocity could be
cited. In 1831, the "Rapids" slaver, chased by H.M.S.
"Fair Rosamond" and "Black Joke," threw overboard two
hundred and fifty slaves shackled together, who were
drowned.

The chain was unloaded, and the bodies of
the poor unfortunates dropped where they
had been murdered.

The crew, whose number had been
increased by a number of Portuguese, two part