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LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.
[Illustration: “_In an agony of apprehension I knelt down at Charlie’s
side._”
_Page 33._]
LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S
LOG
[Illustration: Decoration]
T. NELSON & SONS.
LEAVES FROM A
MIDDY’S LOG
BY
ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT
Author of “Adventures of a Midshipmite,” “The Rajah of Monkey Island,”
“The Cruise of the ‘Cormorant’.”
&c. &c.
[Illustration: Decoration]
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1896
CONTENTS.
I. A STRANGE ADVENTURE, 9
II. WE STORM THE FORT, 26
III. A FIGHT FOR LIFE, 37
IV. WE RETURN ON BOARD, 43
V. THE NAVAL BRIGADE LANDS, 55
VI. “COLD PIG” AND “SLING THE MONKEY,” 62
VII. NED AND THE MULE-DRIVER, 68
VIII. “PREPARE FOR CAVALRY!” 78
IX. WE HEAR STRANGE NEWS, 86
X. A PERILOUS ADVENTURE, 96
XI. JIM BEDDOES’ YARN, 111
XII. TAKEN PRISONER, 124
XIII. NED IS FLOGGED, 137
XIV. IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN, 146
XV. A MARCH TO THE COAST, 162
XVI. IN IRONS, 172
XVII. ON BOARD THE PIRATE BRIG, 177
XVIII. THE PIRATES’ ISLAND, 193
XIX. IN THE CRATER CAVE, 211
XX. THE ESCAPE FROM THE CAVE, 222
XXI. HUNTED BY BLOODHOUNDS, 236
XXII. A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND, 244
XXIII. A RACE FOR LIFE, 255
XXIV. DEATH OF MIGUEL, 263
XXV. WE ESCAPE TO SEA, 271
XXVI. CONCLUSION, 279
LEAVES FROM A MIDDY’S LOG.
CHAPTER I.
A STRANGE ADVENTURE.
At the time when the adventures which I am about to relate took place,
I, Jack Darcy, was serving as a midshipman on board H.M.S. _Rattler_,
a smart frigate of fifty guns, commanded by Captain Graves, who was
a very distinguished officer and much beloved by all who served
under him. Our vessel was attached to the North American squadron,
and consequently we often visited the West Indies and cruised in the
Caribbean Sea. On this particular occasion we were lying at anchor in
the commodious harbour of Havana, the capital of the beautiful and
fertile island of Cuba, which its Spanish masters delight to call “the
pearl of the Antilles.”
A few days after we had come to anchor in the harbour, I, in company
with some of my brother-middies, obtained leave to go ashore and have a
look at the city and its Spanish and Creole inhabitants. As the reader
may suppose, we found plenty to interest and amuse us. The afternoon,
however, turned out so hot that we made up our minds to return on
board the ship earlier than we had intended; and with this in view, we
sauntered down to the wharf under a burning tropical sun to seek for a
shore-boat. In a few minutes, the placid waters of the harbour, glowing
like molten gold under the fierce rays of an almost vertical sun,
opened out before us, crowded with shipping of various nationalities,
amid which our own beautiful, shapely frigate was clearly discernible
with her lofty tapering spars and shining black hull, the latter
relieved by the broad white streak across the portholes, from which the
open-mouthed guns frowned menacingly.
“I say, Jack,” exclaimed one of my messmates, Charlie Balfour, as we
were steering our way through the piles of merchandise that lay strewn
on the wharves, “that looks uncommonly like the officers’ recall flying
at the _Rattler’s_ masthead. What can the meaning of it be?”
We glanced in the direction of our ship, and sure enough there flew
the recall as a signal for every officer to return on board without
delay.
As we gazed a flash issued from one of the forecastle ports, and the
sullen boom of a signal-gun reverberated over the harbour and died away
in multitudinous echoes amongst the hills behind the city.
“Perhaps the flagship is coming in,” I suggested.
“Impossible, my dear fellow,” answered Charlie, who was a particular
friend of mine; “the admiral was at Halifax by last advices, and was
likely to remain there.”
“We shall soon solve the mystery, anyhow,” I answered, pointing across
the harbour, “for here comes my boat, the second cutter.”
A few minutes later, the craft in question glided alongside the wharf,
cleverly steered by Ned Burton, the coxswain.
“What’s up now, Ned?” we shouted in chorus; “why has the first
lieutenant hoisted the recall?”
The coxswain touched his hat as he answered, “There is a high old row
up somewhere along the coast, gentlemen; and the long and the short
of it is that the captain has ordered us round to Santiago—leastways
that’s the yarn upon the lower deck.”
At this moment a group of our wardroom officers hurried down to the
landing-stage, and we all sprang into the cutter, which was at once
pushed off into deep water and headed for the ship. The ten lusty
oarsmen gave way with a will, and sent the boat spinning along at an
exhilarating pace, whilst Ned Burton carefully steered her through the
maze of merchant shipping and fishing-craft that thronged the harbour.
In a quarter of an hour we were alongside the _Rattler_, and found
every one full of excitement, and a general preparation for weighing
anchor going forward.
It seemed that the crew of an English merchant vessel, more than half
of whom were foreigners, had mutinied upon the high seas, and after
murdering the captain and the first mate, and pitching their bodies
overboard, had taken charge of the ship, which had a very valuable
general cargo. They had run her into the harbour of Santiago de Cuba,
where, owing to the disturbed state of the island, they imagined that
they could perhaps dispose of the cargo, and then either burn the ship
and join the insurgents, or put to sea again and trust to the hazardous
chance of not falling in with an English cruiser.
Fortunately, however, their diabolical schemes were nipped in the bud
by the successful escape of Mr. Osborne, the surgeon of the vessel,
whom the mutineers had kept in close confinement lest they should
require his services. On the arrival of the ship at Santiago, the
leading desperadoes went on shore to try to dispose of the cargo.
During their absence, the surgeon managed to give the others the
slip, and with considerable pluck swam to a small coasting-steamer
which was anchored not far off. The skipper of this craft had easily
been prevailed upon to steam off at once for Havana on the promise
of a reward; and to the surgeon’s delight he was soon _en route_ for
the capital. On arriving at Havana, he at once reported himself to
Captain Graves, who paid the skipper of the steamer handsomely for his
co-operation; and after consulting with the Captain-General of Cuba,
he ordered the _Rattler_ to hold herself in readiness to proceed to
Santiago.
As the sun sank to rest in a blaze of crimson glory which was reflected
in ruddy hues on city and shipping, and on the tranquil waters of the
harbour, we tripped our anchor and steamed slowly out to sea. At the
same time, the innumerable bells of Havana rang out their confused and
jangling summons to vespers from the church and convent towers, their
tones mellowed by distance as they came sounding over the expansive
bay. They seemed to be ringing out a farewell to us as we faded from
view in the short evanescent twilight, which still glowed with some of
the sunset’s rapidly-dissolving glories.
We middies were of course full of excitement at the idea of fresh
adventures, and were burning to know what plans the captain had laid
for capturing this daring band of mutineers, who had had the effrontery
to murder their officers and seize the vessel on the high seas.
It soon became known that Captain Graves designed to capture these
villains by means of a little strategy. He intended to enter Santiago
de Cuba under easy steam, after nightfall, so as not to arouse
suspicion on board the craft which had been thus cleverly seized, and
which was called the _Flying-fish_. It would then perhaps be possible
to seize the crew in their hammocks before any resistance could be
offered. Mr. Osborne, who accompanied us, gave it as his opinion that,
on learning of his escape, the mutineers would probably be seized with
alarm, and betake themselves elsewhere. It was highly improbable,
indeed, that they could know of the presence of a British man-of-war
in Cuban waters; but still they would not unnaturally conjecture that
some Spanish gunboats might be sent in chase of them, as soon as the
facts of the mutiny and murders reached the ears of the Captain-General
at Havana.
Fortunately for our scheme, there was no moon, though the stars shone
down with the sparkling brilliancy so remarkable in tropical climes.
The night, however, was sufficiently dark for our purpose; and toward
the end of the middle watch, the _Rattler_, like a giant phantom-ship,
glided almost imperceptibly into Santiago harbour, with forecastlemen
stationed at the small bower anchor, and armed boats’ crews ready to go
on any service at a moment’s notice.
The captain knew the Santiago de Cuba anchorage well, besides being
provided with excellent charts; so the frigate was taken in at the dead
of night without the slightest hesitation. Mr. Osborne declared that
he distinguished the _Flying-fish_ in about the same position in which
he had left her; consequently we anchored as quietly as possible a few
lengths distant from her, and at once proceeded to put our plan into
execution.
The second cutter, the boat of which I was midshipman, was one of
those told off for the enterprise, so I hurriedly got my side-arms,
and mustered my crew preparatory to manning the boat. Mr. Giles,
the master-at-arms, supported by some ship’s corporals and marines,
was to go with me, taking handcuffs with him. Mr. Thompson, the
gunnery lieutenant, was to command the party, and, in company with
Mr. Osborne—who had provided himself with a revolver—was to go in the
first cutter with my chum, Charlie Balfour. These two boats the captain
considered quite sufficient for the duty, especially as a complete
surprise was intended, and it was known that the mutineers were very
imperfectly supplied with arms.
With muffled oars, and long steady strokes, we pulled away over the
star-begemmed waters for the long low vessel, which with her clear-cut
spars and rigging, and somewhat rakish appearance, more nearly
resembled a pirate than a peaceful merchantman.
All seemed silent as death. Not a voice broke the stillness that
reigned fore-and-aft. The crew were apparently wrapped in slumber.
The first cutter hooked on at the vessel’s starboard gangway, whilst
we made fast to port, and quickly scrambled on board. The deck was
deserted, and a deathlike stillness reigned throughout the ship.
I met Mr. Thompson and his party at the main-hatchway, and we proceeded
to light some dark lanterns we had brought with us, and get our
revolvers ready for use.
“Mr. Osborne has sprained his ankle in getting out of the boat,”
whispered the gunnery lieutenant, “and he is in such pain that we left
him in the cutter in charge of the bowmen. We can manage all right
without him. Have you got the handcuffs ready, Mr. Giles?”
“All right, sir,” replied that officer in the same undertone, and he
held up to view the instruments in question, and chuckled audibly.
“Now, men, keep perfect silence,” continued Mr. Thompson, “and we’ll
surprise these fellows in their berths, and bundle them into the boats
before they can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ Follow me down the main hatchway,
and in the first place we’ll overhaul the cabins, for it’s there the
rascals are sleeping, I expect.”
With cautious and stealthy steps—having divested ourselves of our
shoes—we followed our leader below. At this moment we almost betrayed
ourselves through a clumsy marine knocking his head against the ship’s
bell, which hung at the foot of the ladder, and gave out a metallic
ring that could have been distinctly heard by any wakeful person on the
main-deck or in the cabins.
“Confound that bullet-headed lobster!” whispered Mr. Thompson fiercely.
“I’ll crack his skull in earnest for him if he doesn’t look out.”
The man, who had overheard this remark, and was ruefully rubbing his
head, slunk to the rear, and sheltered himself behind the stalwart form
of the master-at-arms.
“There are several men asleep in hammocks,” continued the gunnery
lieutenant, flashing his lantern as he spoke on the after part of
the deck.—“Mr. Darcy, you must take some of your crew and seize the
men that are in them. One of the corporals will go with you, and two
marines to handcuff them. I’ll push on with Mr. Balfour and capture the
mutineers that may be in the stateroom and the cabins, and you can join
me there as soon as possible.”
With a rush Ned Burton and my cutter’s crew surrounded the unconscious
sleepers, and hauled them with little ceremony out of their hammocks;
and thus before the men could recover from their surprise, they were
cleverly thrown down and handcuffed. Being half dressed, they were
all ready to be taken on board the _Rattler;_ and I was on the point
of leaving them in charge of the marines, and pushing on after Mr.
Thompson, when one of them, who appeared from his accent to be an
American, broke out with an angry demand as to the reason why he and
his comrades had been taken prisoners. I answered laconically that it
was for murder and piracy upon the high seas; and without paying any
attention to a furious rejoinder made by the fellow—who had a very
unprepossessing appearance—I hurried aft with Ned Burton and the rest
of the blue-jackets.
Having pushed open a door, I found myself in a very elegant stateroom
dimly lighted by two swinging lamps, which hung over a table covered
with the _débris_ of what had apparently been a sumptuous meal.
Decanters and glasses sparkled in the rich dim light, and fruit and
sweetmeats were scattered about in profusion over a snowy cloth of
remarkably fine linen. Casting a hurried glance around, I saw that the
stateroom was handsomely and even luxuriously furnished; everywhere
signs of elegant taste were visible. The bulkheads were painted grey
and gold, and had a handsome moulding running around them. The ports
were draped with dainty curtains, and pictures were suspended in every
available space. A rich carpet covered the deck, and was dotted with
gipsy tables covered with fancy china, stands for photographs, bowls of
flowers, and _bric-à-brac_.
“A curious place for mutineers this,” said I audibly, not a little
surprised at what I saw before me.
“Ay, they live like fighting-cocks, sir, there’s no question about
that, and they seem to have had a good tuck-in last night,” observed my
coxswain in a jocular tone. “Perhaps the gunnery lootenant will let us
finish up the scraps by-and-by.”
I was on the point of replying to Ned Burton, when a tremendous hubbub
and uproar commenced in the after-cabins opening from the stateroom,
to which Mr. Thompson had evidently penetrated with his men. Angry
shouts and furious oaths were heard, followed by the sound of blows,
the crashing of glass and furniture, and, more appalling than anything
else, the shrill screams of frightened women.
Recovering from our surprise, we were on the point of rushing to
our chief’s aid, when to our dismay the doors were burst open,
and the lieutenant and his men, with horror-struck countenances,
tumbled pell-mell into the stateroom, closely followed by a number
of excited-looking individuals arrayed only in their nightshirts,
and wielding chairs, walking-sticks, and any weapons that had come
conveniently to hand. In the distance, we caught a hasty glance of two
female forms retiring to the recesses of their sleeping-cabins. From
the hurried glance I had at their faces, they seemed pale with alarm
and dissolved in tears.
Directly my eye rested on the men who were following our party out,
I saw that some egregious mistake had been made; for they were
gentlemanly and superior-looking men, and were evidently as much
astonished at our appearance as we were at theirs.
Mr. Thompson immediately recovered his self-possession, and ordered all
the blue-jackets to leave the cabin, and wait for him outside. He then
advanced with every mark of concern to the man who appeared to be the
captain of the vessel, and offered the most profuse apologies for the
extraordinary blunder that had been made.
“As you can see, sir, by our uniforms,” he began, “we are British
naval officers. Acting on information which we had every reason to
believe genuine, we boarded your ship, imagining her to be an English
merchant vessel brought in here a few days ago by a mutinous crew who
had murdered their captain and the chief officer. I can only say that
I regret exceedingly the inconvenience and annoyance you have been put
to, and you must convey our most heartfelt apologies to the ladies,
who, I trust, will be none the worse for their fright. Captain Graves
will himself come on board and personally make his excuses to-morrow;
and of course any damage that has been done will be paid for by our
Government.”
The American captain—for such he was—could not forbear smiling as he
listened to Mr. Thompson’s narration.
“Stranger, I forgive you for this night’s work,” said he, “though I
must say it _is_ rather uncomfortable to be roused out of a deep sleep
and arrested by a lot of fire-eaters like you and your men. I calculate
if the President heard of it, there’d be some dispatches passing
between the White House and St. James’s that wouldn’t be quite civil in
tone.”
Mr. Thompson again tendered his excuses, and prepared to withdraw;
but the American skipper and his friends, who had hastily arrayed
themselves in dressing-gowns, insisted on our taking a glass of wine
with them to show there was no ill-feeling, which we did, though the
gunnery lieutenant, I could see, was burning to retire from a scene in
which he had played so ridiculous a part.
“I calculate I can give you a hint as to the craft you’re looking for,”
remarked the skipper, as he quaffed his wine. “If I’m not mistaken,
she left this anchorage yesterday morning and steered in a southerly
direction. She is uncommonly like us in build, and much the same rig
aloft, but I’d lay a wager of a thousand dollars we could knock her
into fits, either running on a wind or close-hauled. If you capture
her, lieutenant, just bring the old hooker in here and we’ll have a
racing match.”
Mr. Thompson smiled and said he’d see about it, and we then made our
adieus and retired.
“Now, Mr. Darcy,” exclaimed my superior, as soon as we were out of
earshot, “what shall we do to that rascal Osborne, who misled us so?
I vote we string him up to the mainyard-arm as a terrible warning to
other crack-brained _medicos_. By the powers, there might have been
a pretty kettle of fish to fry if those Americans hadn’t turned up
trumps. I was just on the point of spitting that skipper on the end of
my sword when the fray began, and it was only when the master-at-arms
rushed into the cabin of one of the ladies, with a couple of marines,
and the handcuffs ready for slipping on, that her loud shrieks proved
to me that there was something wrong. The whole lot of them then turned
out, women and all, and attacked us like a lot of furies. I believe one
of my little fingers is broken.”
We found that Mr. Osborne had been conveyed on board the _Rattler_
again, so for the present he escaped the storm of resentment that was
brewing in the gallant gunnery lieutenant’s breast.
As I passed under the merchantman’s stern on the way back, I deciphered
her name by the aid of a lantern, and read, “_Snapping Turtle_, of
Boston;” so there was no doubt about her nationality.
Ned Burton told me that the Yankee sailors had been in an ungovernable
rage till Mr. Giles had come out and released them. Even then they had
poured out volleys of invective, and threats of what their Government
would do to avenge the insult they had received. At last Ned, stung by
their remarks, offered to fight the biggest man amongst them with his
fists. This offer they declined, and immediately grew more amicable,
exchanging tobacco and compliments before our blue-jackets were ordered
off to man the boats.
So ended a truly ludicrous adventure, in which we all cut a sorry
figure, and from which we retired, as it were, with our tails between
our legs.
Long and loud were the peals of laughter that greeted us when we
regained the _Rattler’s_ quarter-deck, where we found most of the
officers assembled to await our return, to whom we had to narrate the
whole of the incidents of the night’s adventure. Our surgeon announced
that Mr. Osborne was in his cot, and was suffering much from his
sprained ankle; so Mr. Thompson mercifully left him alone, vowing he
would have his revenge at a more suitable opportunity.
The next morning the American captain, his wife, and the rest of the
party came off and breakfasted with Captain Graves by the latter’s
express invitation; and from the peals of laughter that issued from
within, it was evident that host and guests were in the highest
good-humour. Afterwards the Americans briefly inspected the ship,
and then rowed back to the _Snapping Turtle_; while we made every
preparation for departing in search of the _Flying-fish_ and her
piratical crew.
After the ship’s company had had their dinner, the boatswain piped “Up
anchor!” and half an hour later we were standing out to sea under a
full head of steam.