From Ploughshare to Pulpit by Gordon Stables

How strange it all seemed! And how unreal! Only yesterday bounding along in their own good barque, their home on the ocean wave, filled with hope, and even happiness. To-day, afloat on a derelict ship! There were times when Sandie was not quite sure whether or not he was awake, whether all he saw around him was not merely the phantasm of an ugly dream.

Alas! it was all too real.

The deserted ship was, like the lost _Boo-boo-boo_, a barque, but not of the same dimensions by a long way.

What had been her trade or calling? Well, Captain D'Acre and his mate had not much difficulty in determining this. First and foremost, she was exceedingly light in the water -- almost empty, in fact. It was evident, therefore, that she had not yet taken her cargo on board. Down below in the hold, and 'tween decks, were found large quantities of rice and many barrels of water. There was also ample provision for cooking this rice at the large galley.

"Do you begin to smell a rat, sir? " said the mate.

"I do, my friend, I do."

"And see, sir, what we have in this corner!"

As he spoke he hauled out a long strong iron bar, to which leg irons were attached, and a padlock fastened to the end.

"Now," said the skipper, "we can not only smell the rat, but see it."

"Blackbirders!"

"Blackbirders," repeated D'Acre, "evidently."

For the benefit of the uninitiated, I beg to say that in some parts of Australia -- Queensland, in particular, I think -- black labour is hired from the islands of the South Pacific. The natives -- call them savages, if you please -- who "volunteer," are offered good wages and a free and safe passage back to their own homes. It is almost needless to say that they seldom see those homes again.

But the men engaged in this nefarious trade are called Blackbirders, and as a rule the business resolves itself into one of kidnapping the blacks, oftentimes associated with the most shocking atrocities and cruelties that can be imagined.

As long as Blackbirding is suffered to exist, slavery of the basest sort must be supposed to flourish. I know there are people even now that deny the existence of Blackbirding, or that it ever did flourish in cruelty and tyranny. Proofs are all against these people, and many a burned and blackened island, many a desolated village, and many an ant-cleaned skeleton lying unburied and bleaching in the sun, shall testify to what I say.

"Yes, she is a Blackbirder, right enough, mate. Perish the fiends! But what fools they were to leave their ship!"

"As a rule," said the mate, "the cruel are cowards."

"Well, mate, I don't hold with you altogether there. I have known fiends in human form who were very far indeed from being cowards. But come now, mate, we'll go on deck, and begin making the ship as snug as ever we can."

"Well, sir, there is one thing sure enough, we must make the best of our way towards some island. The ship won't float a week."

"Think not?"

"Sure of it, sir. Collision with us didn't improve her. No, she won't float."