“See it be done, and feast our army, we have store to do it—
And they have earned the waste.”
ANTHONY AND CLEOPATRA.
No sooner had the captain given the order, than the whole schooner echoed
with the deafening sounds of a huge gong, whose noise was sufficient to
rouse the soundest sleeper in the lowest recesses of the schooner.
The sounds seemed to possess the power of transforming the vessel,
where such quiet and silence a little before had reigned, to a scene of
unbounded revelry. No sooner had they fallen on the ears of the grim and
bearded sailors, than shouts of joy and mirth burst forth from the same
men, who, but a short time before seemed pressed by a paralizing power
into discipline, order, and the silence of death.
The deck then suddenly became a scene of the liveliest animation; small
groups of men settled themselves here and there, some to sing, others to
dance, and others again preferring less boisterous amusement, to listen
to the long stories of some weather-beaten son of Neptune.
The jolly songs of all nations, as sung by the different denizens that
formed the motley crew of the schooner, rose upon the bosom of the silent
gulf. The Spaniard sang his animated oroco songs; the Llanero, who had
been seduced away from his native plains to seek as arduous an existence
on the boisterous element, chanted the pastoral ditties with which he was
accustomed to break the monotony of many a live-long night on the lonely
Savanahs of South America; the Frenchman rattled over his lively airs,
and the jolly choruses of merry England, too, were not unheard on board
of the Black Schooner.
The guitar here and there stimulated the Terpsichorean powers of some
heavy sailor, and the schooner rang with the merry laugh of those who
listened to the jokes of some funny old tar. Nor were the joys of
drinking unfelt. Every sailor had his drinking can by his side, and
contentment might have been read on the rigid features of every one as he
quaffed the stimulating liquor.
One of the chief subjects of attraction seemed to be an old sailor, whose
features proclaimed him a son of distant England, while a deep scar on
his forehead, and the brown-baked hue of his face, pointed him out as
one who had seen service. He was entertaining those around him with some
of his adventures, and was, at the same time, speaking in his native
language, which was understood by his hearers. Few, indeed, were the
tongues that those men did not know; the wheel of fortune had turned them
round and round in their day, and had cast them into many a different
place, and there was scarcely a country in the world to which their
pursuits had not taken them.
“Yes, by G—d,” the old sailor was saying, “that ere Llononois was the
very devil. I remember when he took Maracaybo,—a devil of a fight that
was, and no mistake,—three nights in the swamps without bread or grog;
I remember when we took that place, there was a poor sinner that we
suspected had some dibs. The commodore seized him—devil of a man he
was—‘Where have you buried your money?’ Says he—says he—the sinner, I
mean, ‘I have no money,’ says he. Says the commodore, says he, ‘you
lie, you rascal, and I will make you show me the coffers!’ He took the
lubber—by G—d I’ll never forget that day—not I: he took the lubber
and tied a line round his head, just as if he would season his head—as
I would the main-shrouds—he tied the line round his head, and took a
hitch in it with a marlin-spike, and twisted the line until you would
ha’ swore it would cut the lubber’s head in two. The sinner sang out
murder, but the commodore twisted the more, and asked him for the dibs.
He said he had’nt any. ‘Have’nt any, you rascal?’ cried the commodore,
in a fury, and twisted the line tighter and tighter, until the eyeballs
of the lubber swelled like a rat in a barrel of pork. Lord! I never seed
the like—and Jim Splice has seen many things, too, I can tell you—but he
still said he had no money. At last the commodore got angry—a terrible
man he was when he was not, leave alone when he was—‘Where is your
money?’ he cried, more like a devil than a man. ‘I hav’nt any,’ the poor
man cried, but that would’nt do: the commodore took his sword, opened the
poor fellow’s breast, tore out his heart, and bit it, telling the other
Spaniards he would serve them just in the same way if they did not give
him all the money they had. By G—d, I’ll never forget that, anyhow! I
never seed human flesh eaten afore that—Jim Splice never did—it was too
much for me, hearch!” and the old sailor made a hideous grimace. “Yes: I
was’nt much longer with that ere Llononois after that, I know. He was
a brave man, though, after all, but nothing like our captain. There was
a black day for him, however, ay, ay: that ere gentleman aloft keeps a
good watch, I know, and he kept a sharp look out on that ere Llononois
especially, and had the windward of him in no time. The unfortunate man
was cast away afterwards among the same Spaniards, whose hearts he said
he would eat, and had to skulk in the woods where he shortly afterwards
died of starvation: by G—d, yes, of starvation.”
“And serve him right, too,” the sailors unanimously cried, “what was the
use of killing a poor brute when he could get nothing out of him?”
With such anecdotes as this Jim Splice diverted his companions. But there
was on board of the schooner that day another subject, which contributed
largely to the merriment of the sailors. This was no less a personage
than Jack Jimmy. After the examination of the master fisherman, he,
together with his companions, had been released from the custody under
which they had at first been placed on their arrival on board of the
schooner, and after having been admonished that if he threw himself
overboard again, as he had once done from the fishing-boat, he would be
quietly permitted to be drowned, he was left at full liberty to range the
deck at large. When, however, the revelry began, still feeling strange,
and fearing lest he should be in the way of the men, he had carefully
rolled himself up at the foot of the mainmast, with his head supported
by both his hands; and his eyes, the white parts of which could be seen
at an extraordinary distance, eagerly fixed on the movements of the
sailors. He had sat for a considerable time quiet and unobserved, merely
giving vent now and then to his wonder, when that was heightened by any
astonishing event in the day’s amusement, by a laconic—“Awh! wha dish ya
Baccra debble foo true—Garamighty! look pan dem!”
When, however, the other things which had afforded amusement to the
sailors, began to pall; when the dancing had become fatiguing, the songs
had been exhausted, and Jim Splice’s stories had lost part of their
attraction, the sailors began to look about for other excitement. It
was at this moment, an unhappy one for him, that their eyes fell on
the unfortunate Jack Jimmy: he was observed in his crouching position,
where it was difficult to distinguish him from the ideal of a rolled up
ouran-outan.
Struck with the peculiar comicality of the exhibition, the first sailor
that remarked him burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter, and then
touched his neighbour and pointed him out; the next did the same to his
companion, until all eyes were fixed on Jack Jimmy.
“What have we here?” cried a maudlin young sailor, as he stood up and ran
towards the object of attraction the others immediately followed.
“Let us see what is in that fellow, mates.”
“Ho, the little prisoner!” rang among the merry men.
Three or four of them immediately tapped him on the head jocosely, and
asked him to sing: Jack Jimmy trembling with fear, opened his eyes and
mouth at once, “Massa, me no sabee sing,” he replied.
“Come, old boy! stand up—you must sing,” said one of them, and they
pulled up poor Jack Jimmy from his recumbent position.
If the appearance of the little man was calculated to raise laughter when
he was crouching, it was much more so when he was standing up; and really
there was something in him peculiarly comical. He was a little man of
about four feet and a half, thickly set, and strong; his face was rounded
at the mouth, and his long bony jaws projected to an extraordinary length
in front. He seemed to have no brow, there was no distinction between
his face and forehead; his huge large eyes looked like balls inserted
into two large holes, bored on an even surface, while what was intended
for a nose, was miserably abbreviated and flat, added the culminating
point to an ugliness which was almost unique. To crown this extraordinary
combination, a short crop of scattered hair grew on the top of his head,
while the other parts were bare and shining, and now stained a dirty
white with water.
Nature did not seem to have been generous enough to accord to him one
single redeeming point; his head was joined by a short neck to square
heavy shoulders, that rose about the ears of the little man; his legs
were of the same shapeless proportions, and terminated at the base in
large lumps of flesh, which seen unconnectedly with their appurtenant
limbs, would scarcely have been taken for feet, if the short, chubby, and
creasing toes, that were fixed to them, had not indicated their nature.
To add more to this already ridiculous figure, the circumstance of dress
was called in requisition. Jack Jimmy was clad in a dirty, ragged,
checked shirt; with lower coverings that were once brown, but which were
now of an obscure tawny color, acquired from the many incrustations of
dirt that had been permitted to be formed upon them. The sleeves of the
shirt were tucked up in a roll which seemed to have become perpetual from
the smooth waxing which friction had imparted to it. The tawny trousers
were done up in like manner; and on the lower exposed parts of the limbs,
might be traced on the black skin, the embedded salt which had settled
there while the water trickled down after the plunge of the preceding day.
All these peculiarities, set forth in active prominence by the fear and
excitement of the present moment, were quite sufficient to overcome the
gravity of more serious men than those who happened, at that time, to be
at the height of their merriment.
“Garamighty, massa! me tell you me no sabee sing.”
“Well, you can dance, then;” and one of the sailors took a sword, and
made so dexterously at the short legs of the little man, that, to protect
those members, he began to jump about like a dancing puppet—to the
infinite gratification of the sailors, who roared with laughter. This
sport, however, soon ended.
“Hark ye!” said a sailor: “Sambo, if you can’t sing, you must submit to a
penalty—bring up the old jib, Domingo,” he added to one of his mates, “or
a blanket.”
“Yes, blanket him, ha! ha! ha!” cried all the men, “blanket him, ha! ha!
ha!”
With the alacrity that sport alone can give, the sailors immediately
brought a sail, into which they lifted the unfortunate Jack Jimmy, who,
stupid with fear, all the while was crying—“Tap, massa—Garamighty!—you
go kill me,—oh, Lard!—my mamee, oh!”
They raised him on the sail, and began to balance him about, but Jack
Jimmy, in the extremity of his fear, apprehending that they were going to
do something dreadful to him, took a leap to get out of the sail, and in
doing so, was pitched flat on the deck.
He stretched himself out two or three times, feigning the last
convulsions of death, and lay at his length with his eyes tightly closed.
The sailors laughed; and, seeing clearly, from the heavings of his
chest, that he was not so dead as he pretended to be, began to roll him
violently about, as they said, in keeping with his own feint, to bring
back life. But Jack Jimmy played his part well, and would neither open
his eyes, nor show any other sign of existence.
At last, one of the sailors said, aloud—“I know what will bring back the
poor fellow: yes, it would be a pity to let him die so; Jack, lend me
your cigar.” Jack lent his cigar, and the sailor applied the lighted part
to the thick great toe of the would-be defunct. He, however, would not
move, but the sailor was persevering; Jack Jimmy remained quiet until
the fire had fairly burnt through the thick skin, and had touched the
more tender parts; when he felt it he was no longer dead; he sprang
up briskly, on his resting part, and, catching hold of the toe, rubbed
it with all his might, while he cried out—“Gad, Lard! me dead foo
true;—wy—ee bun me foo true—Garamighty!”
The merriment of the sailors was extreme; the schooner rang with their
protracted peals of laughter. But while they were thus at the height
of their pleasure, the shrill sounds of a fife pierced the vessel; and
as if it were the death time of mirth and joviality; it was succeeded
by a silence, which can be imagined only, where pestilence has ravaged
a population, and has left its gloom, even on the sickly trees and
rocks that lay in its devastating traces. It settled itself like a
fear-inspiring genius where, but a moment before, was naught but
boisterous mirth; the hour of pleasure was passed, that of discipline and
order had returned. One by one the sailors retired to their quarters,
lifting bodily, along with them, such of their companions as had indulged
too extravagantly in the delights of drinking.
To a stranger, the change was extraordinary. It would have been hard
to believe, unless one had been convinced by the testimony of his own
eyes, that there was a power so infinitely strong, as to control those,
apparently lawless men, in the height of their self-willed pleasure;
especially, when their spirits were heated with strong drinks, and the
fierce propensities of their nature, were roused to a point when it was
difficult to restrain them; but such there appeared to be. What was the
spring, what the source, what the origin of that extraordinary power?
What had the man done, young, as he seemed to be; and solitary, as he
appeared, among so many stronger men, to enable him thus powerfully to
impose the bonds of discipline, to recall and to sway a number of such
men in the midst of their boisterous enjoyment? Was it the recollection
of some dreadful deed of firmness, still fresh in the minds and hearts
of those stern weather-beaten sailors, that sustained this fear of their
youthful captain, or was it the mysterious influence of a curbing and
omnipotent mind that chained them to its volition, it is not our part to
inquire; suffice it to say, whatever the power, or however acquired, it
existed, and that it was strong enough to drive back the sailors of the
black schooner to the habitual discipline and order that reigned on its
board.
The night was far advanced when the boat, which had been sent on the
watching trip, returned.
Lorenzo was immediately informed that a large ship, deeply laden, had
passed the “Boca del Drago.”
“Well,” said the officer, to the man who reported these tidings, “you
have done your duty faithfully, but you have lost this day’s pleasure;
mark it down and the captain will not forget it. Get you to your
quarters, and to-morrow be early in my cabin—you may have to appear
before his excellency.”
The man made a bow and retired.