two Manila men were led below, where they swore allegiance to Craven and
joined his crew. In a crisis of this nature a man even of strong mould
is apt to think twice before accepting the inevitable. Time is valuable
when one has but a few moments to live, and to gain it these three
innocent men were glad to accept any terms. They were sent forward with
the men and joined the crew, which now numbered fourteen hands. Here
they learned how Craven and four men had clung to some of the wreck of
his schooner for two days. Then the brig Cristobal picked them up in an
exhausted state. Two days later Craven and his fellows quietly dropped
the skipper overboard and announced to the crew their intention of
taking charge of the brig. All who wished to could join. There were six
unarmed men against five desperadoes armed to the teeth, and in a short
time matters were settled satisfactorily. Craven was in command of a
vessel and crew bound for China from the Philippines, and it was his
humor to keep her on her course and have a look at things in the harbor.
This he did to his satisfaction, and no opportunity offering for him to
revenge himself upon the gunboat there, he took on some supplies and put
to sea. When he met Camp at the break of the poop after the latter had
joined, he became more communicative than usual.
“This color we have will soon wear off, my boy,” said he. “Collins there
thought he knew something about medicine, and he broke open the medicine
chest to get this iodine to paint us with. He’s a clown. The infernal
stuff burned half the skin off, and that accounts for his looks. Where’s
the skipper of this hooker, says you? Well, that depends somewhat on his
morals. I don’t call to mind any island trader as will go to the heaven
some old women pray for. A trader’s life is always a hard one, so I
don’t think we did any harm in helping the fellow to something
different, although he did struggle mighty hard to stay. Some religious
people would call it bad to put yellow-skinned heathen overboard, but we
don’t look at it that way. Most of these junk-men are no better than
animals, and we do them a clean favor by ending their sufferings. Yes,
sir, that’s the way to look at the matter, my son. There isn’t a man
alive who can look back and see anything in his life worth living for
and suffering for. It’s all in his mind’s eye that something will be
better in the future. We know that’s all blamed nonsense, for that
something better never comes, so in helping him to what’s coming to all
of us we just do him a favor. Now, you are a likely chap, Camp, and I
hope you’ll see the reason of things. Go below and tell one of the girls
we got yesterday to give you your grog. Collins has the key. Then you
want to bear a hand and get our little battery in working order. We’ll
raise half a dozen junks before night and we’ve got a little business
with the first one.”
In a short time all hands were hard at work getting the brig’s
twelve-pounders in working order. In the late afternoon a lateen-sail
showed above the horizon, and everything was ready for action. By night
the junk ahead was still out of range, and the watch was set, and half
the men went below to get some rest.
At two in the morning Camp was turned out, and the smudge on the lee bow
showed that the brig would soon have the wind of the unsuspecting
Chinaman. In half an hour Craven had him under his lee, and he paid off
gradually until he brought him fair on his lee broadside, not two
hundred feet distant. Then he swung up his ports and let go his battery,
serving it with remarkable accuracy and rapidity.
The astonished Chinaman let go everything in the way of running gear,
and the junk, which was running free, broached to and lay helpless,
wallowing in the swell, with her deck crowded with screaming men. Craven
then brought the Cristobal to, and taking the boat with four men,
carried a line to the junk, and soon had her alongside.
The Chinamen were bound hand and foot after several who showed fight
were killed. Then Craven had them transferred to the Cristobal, and with
untiring energy went to work to transfer his ammunition and guns to the
junk. It was noon before this was accomplished, and then he told the
Chinaman who was the junk’s captain that he really owed him much for
swapping such a fine Spanish brig for his worthless old hulk. In
consideration of this debt he requested him to keep the brig on her
course to the Peninsula, and crowd on all sail if he saw an English
gunboat in his wake. If he failed, and showed such ingratitude as to
disobey this request during the next twenty-four hours, he hinted in a
mild way that he would overhaul him, and then fry him in whale-oil and
serve him to his shipmates. As Craven was never known to make an idle
threat, the conversation had its desired effect. The Cristobal stood
away on her course with a Chinese crew, and Craven, bracing his
lateen-sail sharp on the wind, headed slowly back again over the course
he had just run.
About eight bells in the afternoon the Sovereign was sighted dead ahead.
She was driving along full speed with a bone in her teeth. That is, with
the bow wave roaring off on either side in a snowy-white smother,
looking like a great white streak against her dark cut-water.
She passed within hailing distance, and Craven kept below the rail and
rubbed his wounded leg while he smiled grimly.
“I’ve a notion to let go at her,” said he to Camp. “We could slap a
couple of twelves into her before she knew what was up. I’d like to see
her skipper with a couple of shot through his teakettle before he knew
where he was at. Jim, suppose you lay the port guns on her.”
But Collins had sense enough not to get the guns trained in time. In ten
minutes the gunboat was a speck on the horizon.
Craven knew she would overhaul the brig in a few hours, but hoped his
merciful attack on the junk’s crew would lessen the heat of the chase.
He might have sunk her and escaped, but his fancy took a different turn,
and he played his game out.
Before sundown he was rapidly nearing the China coast and several junks
were made out ahead. All hands, tired as they were, turned out and stood
by for a fracas. It was not long in coming.
The nearest junk was laid close under Craven’s lee and the Chinamen
could be seen crowding about her decks. He was so close a conversation
could be carried on with the men on the junk, and the rush of the foam
under her forefoot sounded loud upon Camp’s ears.
Craven let go his port broadside into her without warning. In five
minutes he had her alongside. Several of her crew were dead, but he lost
no time in transferring the living to his junk and making them lend a
hand to shift his guns again. Then he sailed away with his battery
transferred for the second time.
Craven fought his way up the coast, shifting his guns and ammunition
from vessel to vessel at every available opportunity. Towns that had
been warned of his approach in a junk, would see a peaceful trading
schooner come quietly into the harbor at dusk. Nothing would be thought
of this until in the early hours of the morning a heavy cannonade would
arouse his victims, and those who survived would see the finest vessel
there standing out to sea in tow of a schooner that fairly disappeared
in the smoke of her own guns. The pirate had ammunition in plenty within
three days’ sail of Hong-Kong, and he dodged everything sent after him
for nearly a year. He kept the sea with remarkable cunning, and his
absolute fearlessness won him many recruits.
Once he was heard from far down the Straits of Malacca, where he engaged
a Malay pirate for several hours whose crew outnumbered his ten to one.
He finally sank her with all hands.
A few months after this he again fell in with the gunboat Sovereign. He
was sailing a huge junk at this time, and under this disguise came near
escaping again. He was recognized, however, and captured with his entire
crew. They were taken to Hong-Kong. Here he was confined for nearly a
year, an object of curiosity, until they were ready to cut off his head.
He and his men were led out every day or two and held in line while the
swordsman walked along them with upraised blade. When this grim
executioner had chosen a man, which he did at random, he would bring the
weapon down suddenly upon the back of his neck. This was trying on the
nerves of those of the crew who had to look on. No one knew just when
his turn would come.
Craven, however, stood it well for a month or two and was apparently
indifferent to the sight of death, but the long strain of hunting his
fellow-men and of being hunted in turn by them had done its work. His
nervous energy had been pretty well used up. One day a trader came into
the harbor and brought a woman to the English consul’s. She claimed to
be Craven’s wife. It took some time before she could get to see her
husband, but through the consul’s influence she finally did. Then came
the break in the man’s nerve.
From that time on he trembled when the sword struck. At the end of a
week he was hysterical, and they had to hold him when they brought him
out. His sole idea now was to live to see the woman who had caused his
ruin. This he struggled and cried for, and the idea of separating from
her again caused him more agony than one can well conceive.
The Chinese are always particular that great criminals of theirs shall
get great punishments. Craven’s sufferings were prolonged as much as
possible. There were forty men of his crew taken with him, and he had
seen the heads of nearly all cut off. When his turn came, and it was
next the last, he screamed shrilly as the swordsman swung up the blade
two or three times over the victim’s head before giving the final
stroke. Craven was trembling all over. He cried and begged for a little
delay. His horror of death was terrible, and he pleaded to see his wife
once more. The idea of separating from her now forever was more than he
could stand, and it caused the greatest possible amusement to the
on-lookers. They laughed and drew their long pigtails upward, meaningly,
in derision. When the sword fell, Craven had gone entirely to pieces and
died the death of a most pitiable coward.
Camp, who was the only man left, finally managed to get the English
consul to intercede in his behalf. He was afterwards released, but his
sufferings had been so great during his imprisonment that he died soon
afterwards.
_THE DEATH OF HUATICARA_
We were lying in the stream with the topsails hanging in the buntlines.
Everything was stowed ready for getting under way. The night was very
dark, as the sky was obscured by the lumpy clouds which had been banking
in from the westward all day before the light sea-breeze. Now it was
dead calm, and the water was smooth and streaky as it rippled past the
anchor-chain and cut-water, making a low lapping sound in the gloom
beneath us, which was intensified by the stillness of the quiet bay.
Gantline and I sat on the forecastle-rail, watching the lights of the
city and small craft anchored closer in shore. On the port bow the black
hull of the Blanco Encalada loomed like a monster in the gloom, her
anchor-lights shining like eyes of fire. Her black funnel gave forth a
light vapor which shone for an instant against the dark sky and
vanished. Long tapering shadows cast in the dim light of her turret
ports told plainly that she had her guns ready for emergencies. She lay
there silent and grim in the darkness, and our clipper bark of a
thousand tons appeared like a pilot-fish nestling under the protecting
jaws of some monster shark, as we compared the two vessels in respect to
size and strength.
It was quite late and our last boat had come aboard some time since,
bringing our skipper, Zachary Green, his pretty daughter, and two
passengers. At daylight we would clear with the ebb-tide and land-breeze
of the early morning, and then, with good luck, we would make an offing
and stand away for the States. We were sick of the war-ridden country,
and even the town of Valparaiso itself offered no attraction for us. Our
cargo hardly paid enough freight money to buy the vessel a suit of
sails, and it was with a feeling of great relief that we steved in the
last bale and closed the hatches.
While we sat on the rail we heard a slight rippling in the water ahead
of the vessel. It sounded as if a large fish was making its way slowly
across the bows. We listened in silence for some moments while the
sounds came nearer. I looked aft and saw two figures in the light from
the after companion-way, and I recognized Miss Green and the smaller of
the two passengers standing close to the hatch. The sounds in the water
interested me no longer, and I gazed rather hard at the figures aft. The
two passengers, who were missionaries on their way home, had been aboard
ship several times during the last week, but they had always been so
pious and reserved in manner that I never once thought to see one of
them talking to a young woman alone at such a late hour. But there are
many things a sailor must learn not to see. Memory is not always a
congenial friend of his.
Suddenly I heard a sound of some one breathing, followed by a smothered
oath, coming from the direction of the rippling water which drew more
and more beneath us.
“Ha! Voila, me gay sons, que voules vous--si padrone.--Hace bien tiempo,
manana--hell-fire but the bloody lingo gets crossways of me gullet,”
came a deep voice from the black water.
“Och! stow ye grandsons, ye blathering ijiot, an’ kape yer sinses. If
them’s Dagoes on watch ’twill be all up with us. Whist, then! Ye men on
the fo’c’stle!”
“What’s the matter?” asked Gantline and I in the same breath.
“Faith, an’ if yez have a drap av th’ milk av human pity in yer hearts,
ye’ll give two poor divils a lift out av this haythen country. Say not
er whurd, but let us come on deck quiet like. Ef ye don’t, th’ blood av
two innocent men will be upon yer sowls fer ever an’ ever, amen. Spake
aisy.”
“Now, Lord love ye, what kind of a man is this?” asked Gantline, as a
naked man climbed slowly up the martingale-stays and crouched close to
the starboard bow out of sight of the man-of-war.
“By th’ luck av Lyndon! Is this old Tom Gantline who talks? Gorry, man,
we’ve just escaped from th’ prison on th’ beach. Don’t you remember me?
I’m Mike McManus, own cousin to Reddy O’Toole who used to be mate with
ye an’ owld man Crojack.”
“No, I don’t remember you,” answered Gantline; “but if you had said you
were any one else you would have gone overboard again fast enough. No
one but a chip of that devil’s limb, O’Toole, would have come out here
in this tideway, right under the guns of that man-o’-war. Who’s with
you?” and he peered over at the man who still clung to the bobstays as
if uncertain whether to trust himself on board or again swim for it.
“That’s a man called Collins, a ’Frisco man, who got taken along with
me, when we was smugglin’ in th’ rifles, up to th’ north’ard. Whist!
below there; come up and make yerself known amongst friends. We’re
safe.”
“I ain’t so almighty certain about that,” growled Gantline; “what am I
to do with you but put you ashore? I can’t run the risk of having the
vessel overhauled for such fellows as you. You may be some bloody
cutthroats for all I know. What do you mean by smuggling rifles? Ain’t
there enough on shore without bringing any more into this infernal
country? I reckon a rifle won’t look as if it was worth so much when
they stand you up against a wall and let you peep into the muzzle of a
dozen or two.”
“Ah, shipmate, ye haven’t the heart to turn us over fer that, when all
we’ve done was to try an’ land a few fer thim poor fellows, an’ this
Dago with his ironclad overhauled us. Oh, me boy, ye haven’t seen th’
inside av one av thim black iron holes on th’ beach, to talk av puttin’
us ashore again. Gord! men, to sit ther fer six whole months behind them
steel walls and never see th’ sun rise or set, an’ do nothing but kill
lice and chintz-bugs all day long, an’ all night. No, ye may be in
sympathy with Chilly, but ye have th’ look av a sailor-man for all that”
As he spoke he climbed to the catheads and drew himself gently onto the
top of the top-gallant-forecastle. He was followed by the man Collins.
They crouched shivering behind the capstan, and I saw they were in a bad
condition. They were wasted and gaunt, and their flesh had a soft,
sickly look, as if they had spent a long time in close confinement. The
hair of their heads was long and matted. How they swam so far in that
tideway was strange, and told plainly of their desperate courage in
attempting to escape from the terrors of the beach.
Gantline stood irresolute a moment, looking at their shivering forms.
Then he glanced sharply at the man on watch, who walked in the port
gangway. It was too dark to see him distinctly, so trusting that he in
turn had seen nothing of what had occurred forward, he started aft. The
two figures I had noticed a few minutes before had now disappeared.
“Keep quiet,” I said to the naked men, whose teeth chattered in the cool
night air. “Lie flat on deck until he comes back and perhaps we can do
something. Haste! Not a word!”
The man Mike was about to make some reply, but at that moment the fellow
on watch came close to the edge of the forecastle. I stepped quickly in
front of the man, and in doing so trod on a projecting foot which
cracked horribly, and, twisting, brought me down in a heap upon them. A
deep groan told of the damage done, but I instantly regained myself and
began to hum a song in a low bass voice.
The man on the main-deck stopped a moment and looked hard at me, but it
was so dark he could see but little and my singing reassured him, so he
turned again and went off.
In a short time Gantline returned with a bundle.
“Now, bear a hand there, you men, and put these clothes on in a quarter
less no time,” he whispered. “Come, hurry up,” and he passed a shirt and
a pair of dungaree trousers to each.
“Och! he has broken me toe clane off,” groaned Mike, slipping on the
garments. His companion dressed rapidly in silence.
“Now then, up you go, both of you, into the foretop, and lie out of
sight till we get to sea, and if I see a hair of your heads inside the
next twenty-four hours I’ll turn you both over on the beach. Here, take
a nip apiece before you go,” and he passed a small bottle to the man
Collins.
The poor fellow’s eyes sparkled as he thrust the neck of it into his
thick beard and tilted his head back in order to let the liquor have
free way down his throat. Gantline suddenly jerked it out of his hand
and passed it to the Irishman, who put it to his lips, gave a grunt of
disgust, and threw the empty bottle over the side.
“Now wait till you see me go aft with the watch, and then aloft with
you,” said Gantline, as he left us.
When he reached the man he started off with him to the quarter-deck, and
as they disappeared together over the break of the poop the men crawled
for the rigging. They were so weak from their exertions that it seemed
as if they would never get over the futtock-shrouds, but finally the man
Collins gained the top, and dragged his companion after him. Then I went
into the forward cabin and took what salt-junk was left and carried it
aloft before Gantline returned. By the time I reached the deck he had
started forward again and joined me on the forecastle. His seamed and
lined face wore an anxious look as he took his place beside me and acted
as if nothing had happened to seriously interrupt our former
conversation. We sat a few moments discussing our stowaways and then
went aft to get a little sleep before clearing.
I turned in and lay awake thinking of the men in the foretop, hoping
nothing would occur to make it necessary for more than one man to go
aloft there. The sails were all loosed except the foreroyal, and this I
would go aloft for myself.
It was past midnight before I lost consciousness, and it seemed almost
instantly afterwards Gantline poked his head in my doorway and
announced, “Eight bells, sir.” I turned out and found it was still dark,
but a faint light in the east told of the approaching day. The men were
getting their coffee from the galley, and the steward was on his way to
the cabin with three large steaming cups for the skipper and passengers.
A light air was ruffling the water and the tide was setting seaward, so
if nothing unusual happened we would soon be standing out. The dark
outlines of the Blanco Encalada began to take more definite shape, but
all was quiet on board of her.
By the time the men finished their coffee Zachary Green came on deck,
and then he gave the order to “heave short.”
In a few moments all was noise and bustle on the forecastle-head. The
clanking of the windlass mingling with the hoarse cries of “Ho! the
roarin’ river!” and “Heave down, Bullies,” broke the stillness of the
quiet harbor.
“Anchor’s short, sir!” roared Gantline’s stentorian voice from the
starboard cathead. This was followed by an order to sheet home the
topsails. In a few minutes we broke clear and swung off to starboard
with the fore-and main-yards aback. Then we came around and stood out
with the ebb-tide, the light breeze sending us along with good steering
way.
In a short time we hauled our wind around the point, and, with
everything drawing fore and aft to the puffs that came over the
highlands, we started to make our offing, leaving the Blanco Encalada
with her brass-work shining in the first rays of the rising sun. We had
gone clear without mishap, but although we were making six knots an hour
off the land, we knew the breeze would not hold after the sun rose. As
we expected, it fell before the men had finished breakfast, and we lay
becalmed a few miles off shore on a sea of oily smoothness.
The passengers came on deck to take a last look at the harbor astern,
and their voices sounded pleasant to the ear as they held forth on the
beauties of a morning in the South Pacific.
These passengers were both clerical-looking men, and were fair types of
the missionaries who live on the islands of the South Sea. They had
engaged passage to the States more than a week before we sailed, and
since then were almost inseparable. Their clothes were of some dark
material, much alike in cut, but their faces and head-gear were in
marked contrast.
The younger one had a smooth, sallow face, without a sign of beard, and
wore a low black hat with a broad rim. The other looked to be ten years
older, apparently a little over fifty. His face was as brown as a
sailor’s and an enormous beard covered it almost to the eyes, which
sparkled merrily from under an old slouch hat. His hair was also long,
and his figure was of gigantic build.
“I was speaking to those poor fellows in the prison there only
yesterday,” the younger one was saying, as I came aft, “and I did my
best to cheer them, but they were both much set against spiritual
consolation; and the one, McManus, stole my pocket-knife with its saw
blade, which I used to carry to cut cocoanuts.”
“How do you know it was he who took it? Might not you have lost it?”
asked the big man, with a smile.
“Do you suppose I would bear false witness against any man?” replied
the younger, in a tone of reproach. “I noticed he came close to me while
I was praying for him, and felt his hand touch me, but did not know my
loss until after I left the prison. It will do him little good, however,
as he and his companion in crime are to be shot this morning. It is
probably just as well, for I know that those sailor men are a wicked lot
and much given to wine, women, and desperate deeds.”
“Ah!” said the big man in a deep voice, “it is probably true; but you
are rather severe on sailor-men, for all that. These sailors are an
intelligent lot for the most part. And think you, dear friend, that
there is probably not one who would not rather marry a sweet, good woman
and live a pleasant and pious life, even as we ourselves do. We do this
because we have money to maintain our positions; but the sailor has our
feelings and longings without the means to gratify them, and, as he is
intelligent enough to see that his life is hopeless, he gets as much
pleasure out of it as possible and hesitates not at a desperate deed for
gain.”
“Charity is very good and noble, but it gives me great pain to hear you
express such unsound views as that. If it were not for the many noble
deeds you have done for the islanders, I should be tempted to shun you
as a recreant I trust you only jest, but it is even ill to jest on such
subjects,” answered the younger, with a flushed face and a voice
vibrating with suppressed feeling.