I heard this story from a man who showed me a yellow manuscript, and dry official records of the British Colonial Office to support many of the striking features of his remarkable narrative.
I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness the events which it portrays, but the fact that in the telling of it to you I have taken fictitious names for the principal characters evidences the sincerity of my own belief that it MAY be true.
The pages of the diary of a man long dead, and the records of the Colonial Office fit together perfectly with the narrative of my friend, and so I give you the story as I made it from these several various sources.
If you do not find it credible, you will at least agree with me that it is unique, remarkable, and interesting.
From the records of the Colonial Office and from the dead man's diary we learn that a young English nobleman, whom we will call John Clayton, Lord Greystoke, was commissioned to make an investigation of conditions in a British West Coast African Colony. It was known that another European country was recruiting soldiers from the simple native inhabitants for its native army, used only for the aggressive collection of rubber[1] and ivory from the savage tribes along the Congo and the Aruwimi.
The natives of the British Colony complained that many of their young men were attracted by fair promises, but that few of them returned to their families.
The Englishmen in Africa even said that these poor blacks were held in virtual slavery, since after their terms of recruitment expired, they were told that they had yet several years to serve.
And so the Colonial Office appointed John Clayton to a new post in British West Africa, but his confidential instructions centered on a thorough investigation of the unfair treatment of black British subjects[2] by the officers of a friendly European country.
Clayton was a strong man – mentally, morally, and physically.
He was above the average height; his eyes were gray, his features regular and strong; his good health was influenced by his years of army training.
Political ambition had caused him to seek transference from the army to the Colonial Office and so we find him, still young, with a delicate and important commission in the service of the Queen.
When he received this appointment, he was both excited and appalled. The promotion seemed to him a reward for painstaking and intelligent service; but, on the other hand, he had been married to Alice Rutherford for three months, and the thought of taking this fair young girl into the dangers and isolation of tropical Africa appalled him.
For her sake[3] he was ready to refuse the appointment, but she insisted that he accept it and take her with him.
So on a bright May morning in 1888, John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice sailed from Dover on their way to Africa.
A month later, they arrived at Freetown where they hired a small sailing vessel, the Fuwalda, which was to bear them to their final destination.
And here John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice, his wife, vanished from the eyes and from the knowledge of men.
Two months after they cleared from the port of Freetown, a half dozen British war vessels were looking for trace of them or their little vessel. Almost immediately, the wreckage was found upon the shores of St. Helena which convinced the world that the Fuwalda had gone down with all on board, and therefore the search was stopped.
The Fuwalda was a vessel of the type often seen in coastal trade[4] in the far southern Atlantic. Their crews were composed of unhanged murderers of every race and every nation.
The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. Her officers hated their crew and were hated by their crew.
The captain, while a competent seaman, was a brute in his treatment of his men. So from the second day out from Freetown John Clayton and his young wife witnessed scenes upon the deck of the Fuwalda such as they had believed were only in printed stories of the sea.
On the morning of the second day two sailors were washing down the decks of the Fuwalda, the first mate was on duty, and the captain had stopped to speak with John Clayton and Lady Alice.
The men were working backwards toward the little party who were facing away from the sailors. Closer and closer they came, until one of them was directly behind the captain.
Just that instant the officer turned to leave Lord and Lady Greystoke, and, as he did so, tripped against the sailor and fell upon the deck, overturning the water bucket so that he was drenched in its dirty contents.
For an instant, the scene was comical; but only for an instant.
With awful oaths, the captain regained his feet, and with a terrific blow knocked down the sailor to the deck.
The man was small and rather old, so that the brutality of the act was obvious. The other seaman, however, was neither old nor small – a huge man, with fierce black mustache, and a great bull neck set between massive shoulders.
