THE MUTINY AND AFTER.
It must be confessed that during our stay in Demerara the fellows had a
pretty good time of it. Since there were no stores on board of rope,
paint, or canvas, the work was mainly confined to washing decks or
scrubbing paintwork, a good deal of time also being wasted making
sennit, _i.e._ plaiting rope-yarns for chafing-gear. What sailorizing
was undertaken was in the nature of kill-time, and well understood as
such by the men. Nevertheless they were by no means pleased with their
easy times, for they had not yet been able to get any drink; their
displeasure being heightened by the knowledge that the mate had been
ashore and got a skinful. Any one versed in the ways of seamen should
have known that mischief was brewing, even though no definite plan of
action had yet been discussed. It only wanted a bottle or two of rum to
fire the magazine.
At last liberty day drew nigh. The cargo was all out, the ballast all
in, no cargo being obtainable for the crazy old _Arabella_ in Demerara.
I do not now even know whether it be a legal enactment that seamen shall
be allowed twenty-four hours' freedom in foreign ports, with some
portion of the wages due to them to spend, but if not, the custom is so
well established that it has all the force of law. The men were like
schoolboys at breaking-up time, half crazy with delight at the thought
of the joys (?) that awaited them ashore. They received but a few
shillings each, much to their disgust, because there was as yet little
wages due to them, and no amount of begging or bullying could avail to
get them any more. The mate's watch went first, among them my stout
friend Joe, whom I tearfully begged not to get drunk and kick up a row,
for my sake. Looking back I wonder at my temerity, for it must have been
like getting between a tiger and a shin-bone; but he took it very
meekly, and actually promised that he would come aboard sober. During
their absence the ship was strangely quiet, very little work of any kind
was done, and the waiting watch were as sulky as bears. Next morning
about eight o'clock the revellers returned, all except Joe in a
bedraggled, maudlin condition that told eloquently of their enjoyment.
Had it not been for Joe they would have all been in the lock-up, or
"chokey" as sailors invariably call it; but he had worked like a Trojan
to keep them together and out of harm as much as possible. He had quite
a triumphant air of unwonted virtue as I whispered my delight at seeing
him again, and _sober_.
Then the starboard watch, with the doctor, took their innings, with
strict injunctions not to be late the next morning, as we were going to
unmoor and drop down stream a little in readiness for sailing. The day
passed like the previous one, black Jem doing the doctor's work as well
as he could with such assistance as I could give. The next morning at
daylight preparations were made for unmooring, and at eight o'clock a
pilot came on board, a smart-looking, sharp-featured Yankee who looked
around the old hooker with undisguised contempt. Nine, ten o'clock, and
no sign of the liberty men. The old man went ashore on business, leaving
full instructions with the mate about unmooring, which he expected to be
carried on in his absence. He had barely been gone half an hour when the
starboard watch returned; but it was evident at once that they had their
own views upon the unmooring question, which by no means coincided with
the skipper's. They were all half-drunk and quarrelsome, especially the
doctor, who strutted about more like a bloodthirsty pirate than an
elderly spoiler of ships' provisions. Unfortunately, too, each man had
brought with him a plentiful supply of rum, which they at once began to
share with the port watch, all except Joe, who would have none of it.
They even invited Mr. Svensen and Chips to partake, meeting their
courteous refusal with quite gratuitous displays of bad language and
ill-temper.
At last the mate, mindful of the wigging he might certainly expect on
the skipper's return if no work was afoot, ventured to give the order,
"Man the windlass!" the pilot taking up his post on the forecastle. For
all answer there came a howl of derisive laughter from the den, where
all hands, with one exception, were busy "freshening the nip." Mr.
Svensen wisely took no notice; but, in a cajoling tone, said, "Now den
poys, gum along, mage a sdart; ids kedding lade, ju dond vant ter ked me
indo a row, do jer?" Forth strode the truculent doctor, an uncanny
figure, all asway with drunken rage. "Looky hear, yew square-headed son
of a gun, yew ain't agoin' ter horder me about any more, so I tell yer!
I ain't a goin' ter do another stroke abord the rotten barge-built old
bathin' masheen, so there!" (I suppress the every-other-word profanity
throughout). During the delivery of this speech he was wildly
gesticulating and spluttering right up against the mate's breast,
shaking his withered fists in the big man's face, and otherwise behaving
like a very maniac. The rest of them gathered around, adding to the
clamour; but the burden of all was the same, "No more work, not another
hand's-turn aboard this" (collection of all the abusive sea-epithets
known) "old lobster-pot." Joe, meanwhile, was calmly doing some trifling
job aft, by the break of the poop on the starboard side. To him
sauntered an Irishman, hitherto one of his best friends, now laboriously
polite and anxious to know whether he intended being a sneak, a
white-livered et-cetera and so forth. For all reply, Joe turned his back
on him. I was cleaning knives on the same side forrard by the galley
door, but not making much progress on account of so many distracting
episodes taking place. The babel of abuse around the unfortunate mate
was going strong all the time. A thrill of terror went through me as I
saw the Irishman suddenly lift his hand and strike Joe on the back of
the neck. He turned like a flash, shooting his right fist into Patsy's
face, with a crash that laid him out, sounding horrible to me. Without a
word Joe turned again to resume his work. Patsy gathered himself slowly
up and staggered forward, bleeding profusely, and muttering disjointed
blasphemy as he came. He passed me, going into the fo'lk'sle; but my
attention was suddenly attracted by a yell of laughter from the other
side of the deck. Peeping round the galley, I saw with amazement that
the drunken devils had actually triced the poor mate up spread-eagle
fashion in the main rigging, and were jeering him to their hearts'
content. Then they made a rush for the cabin. Chips was nowhere to be
seen. Presently they returned, bringing the ensign, which they proceeded
to hoist in the rigging, Union down, a sea signal of the most urgent
importance, denoting anything dreadful from fire to mutiny.
A step beside me made me turn, startled, to see who it was, and I just
caught sight of the grim blood-besmeared visage of Patsy, who was
stowing the long cabin carving-knife in the waistband of his pants.
While I stared at him, breathlessly wondering what his little game might
be, he broke suddenly into a run aft to where Joe still pursued his
peaceful task, all undisturbed by the riot around. "Look out, Joe," I
screamed, "he's got the carving-knife!" The warning came only just in
time; for as Joe turned sharply he met the raging Patsy at close
quarters, aiming a savage stab at him. Naturally lifting his arm, he
received the descending blade through the fleshy fore-part of it; but,
with the other, he caught the Irishman by the throat, and jammed him
back against the rail. Kicking the knife, which had dropped from the
wound, far forward as he sprang, he plucked an iron belaying pin from
its socket, and brought it down with a sickening thud upon Patsy's
already battered face. Again he fell, this time to remain until dragged
forward, a limp, disfigured lump.
By this time the inverted ensign had told its tale ashore, and a large
canoe well-manned with negro policemen, under a white sergeant, was
coming off to us at a spanking pace. This sight drew all the mutineers
to the side, whence they could watch her approach, which they hailed
with the liveliest expressions of joy. Chips now put in an appearance,
looking very sheepish, and, assisted by Joe, released the mate from his
undignified suspension in the rigging. He tottered aft, looking very
unwell, and muttering bitter reproaches on the carpenter for having
abandoned him to such a fate. The police-canoe bumped against the side,
her stalwart crew clambering on board like cats. While the officer
hastened aft to hear the news from the mate, his myrmidons were amazed
to find themselves hailed with delight by the excited crew, who
fraternized with them as if they had come to convoy them to a picnic.
The mate's tale being soon told, the sergeant of police gave orders to
his men to arrest the mutineers, and, with joyful outcry, all hands
hurried forward to prepare for their departure.
During the preparations, the pilot, the mate, and the police-officer
foregathered on the poop to indulge in a smoke, and discuss the ways of
seamen in general. But though their palaver lasted a long time, there
was no sign from forrard. At last, his patience exhausted, the sergeant
strode forward to the fo'lk'sle, demanding, with many objurgations, the
reason of this delay. To his rage and dismay he found that the supply of
rum had been so plentiful, and had circulated so freely, that policemen
and sailors were involved in one common debauch. Indeed it was hard to
say which was the most drunken of the two gangs. Uproarious was the din,
nearly every man shouting some fragment of song at the pitch of his
lungs, or laughing insanely at the gorgeous fun of the whole affair.
Back came the sergeant, almost speechless with anger and apprehension,
for this no doubt meant dire disgrace to him. He was made worse, if
anything, by the unstinted laughter with which the mate and pilot
received the news. Small blame to them, the thing was so ludicrous.
Up went the police-flag again--to the main truck this time. In addition
to this the sergeant hoisted a small weft at the peak, explaining
sulkily that this was an urgent private signal for reinforcements. He
added, "An' all _I_ hope is that the infernal scoundrels 'll fall out
an' kill one another before my boss comes, or else I'm booked for a
reduction in grade that'll dock me of a quarter of pay--none too much as
it is." Before many minutes had passed a large launch was seen
approaching, rowed by fourteen men, who, unlike the first lot, were all
white. With them came our old man, whose face was a study. I just
caught one glimpse of it, and its fury scared me so that I dared not go
near him. There was now no more fooling; in double quick time all the
roysterers, policemen as well as sailors, were collected from the
fo'lk'sle, handcuffs put on them, their effects flung into the launch,
and themselves bundled after with scant ceremony. So rapid was the work
that in less than ten minutes they were all on their way ashore, making
the air resound with their discordant yells.
A painful quiet ensued. Joe and I, sole representatives of the foremast
hands, leisurely cleared up the decks, after which he busied himself
preparing a meal which should do duty for dinner and supper. The captain
went ashore again, much to my relief, for while he was on board I
couldn't get quit of the idea that in some way or other he would bring
me in responsible for his disappointment, and take his consolation out
of my poor little carcass. I had been so used to this vicarious sort of
payment of old, that the idea was a fixed one with me whenever there was
a row. In fact, I often feel the old sensation now. But to-day he seemed
unable to give vent to his feelings, so nothing disturbed the calm of
the afternoon. Joe informed me that he had gone ashore to ship a fresh
crew, and that we should certainly sail in the morning, he having heard
the old man tell the pilot as much when he took the dinner aft.
Sure enough, just before sunset the skipper returned, bringing with him
a fresh crowd in place of the old hands, who had each, we were told,
received summary sentence of two months' hard labour. Quick work,
truly. The new crew were a mixed lot. There was a Newfoundland Irishman
named Flynn, a fat-faced blubber-bodied fellow, who was for ever eating
tobacco; a stalwart fiery-headed ex-man-o'-war's man who could only be
called Ginger; a long, melancholy-looking Englishman, who signed as
George Harris; a Eurasian of gentlemanly appearance, but most foul and
filthy behaviour; a delicate, pretty-faced Liverpool Irishman, with a
fair silky beard, for cook; a broad-shouldered Greek, who had not a word
of English; and, lastly, a precious piece of ornament in the shape of a
Chinaman, pigtail and all, as if he had just come out of Foochow, whom
the captain had shipped as steward for nothing a month. Gloomy Jem, the
unfortunate negro youth, of course, remained of the old crew. In some
misty fashion he went on his melancholy way, the butt of everybody but
myself, his only relaxation an occasional incoherent chatter with me in
some dark corner, when there was no work afoot.
Next morning at daybreak we unmoored, and proceeded down the muddy
river, without hitch of any kind. The new crew worked well, glad enough,
no doubt, to leave such miserable quarters as they had lately been
enduring. You Sing, the Celestial, was a great acquisition. He was made
to understand at once, that whatever work was to be done, he must take a
hand in it, and he certainly toiled like a beaver. Beautiful weather
still favoured us, and with an occasional glimpse of what looked to my
exuberant fancy like fairyland rising out of the sparkling blue sea, we
crept steadily westwards into the great gulf of Mexico. In spite of the
miserable food and swinish forecastle, the fresh crew worked well and
peaceably. What growling they did was indulged in out of hearing, and,
after late experiences, I hardly knew the old ship. Without a single
incident worth recording, we rolled along until we sighted the Mexican
coast, which, as the position of our first calling-place was somewhat
vague, the captain proposed to skirt until he came to it. The weather
now became less settled, squalls of considerable violence being
frequent, making a great deal of sail-handling necessary. One night,
when we were suddenly called upon to shorten sail in a deluge of rain,
it happened that the long Englishman, George Harris, and Ginger, the
quondam man-o'-war's man, found themselves together furling the main
to'-gallant sail. Now, Ginger, though a big fellow, was, as usual with
his class, of very little use at furling sail under merchant-ship
conditions. Where one man is employed in the merchantman, six or seven
crowd in on board of _Andrew_; and the "bluejacket" is consequently
handicapped when he finds himself thus lonely. The sail was stiff with
wet, the wind was high, and George, in trying to make up for Ginger's
deficiency, ruptured himself badly. He got down from aloft somehow, and
took to his bunk, a very sick man. The treatment he received only
aggravated his mishap, while he grew rapidly weaker from his inability
to eat the muck, which even in his case was unchanged. Although never
very friendly with me, I was filled with pity for him, and actually so
far forgot my dread of the terrible "old man," as to creep below and
steal a few cabin biscuits, which were less coarse and whiter than ours.
It was comparatively easy to evade the officers, and I chuckled greatly
over my smartness, being richly rewarded by the gratitude of the
invalid, who made quite a hearty meal of my plunder soaked with some
sugar. But I reckoned without You Sing. That slit-eyed pagan in some
unholy fashion found me out, and at once betrayed me to the skipper, of
whom he stood in such awe, that he was ready to jump overboard at a nod
from him. I was called aft, questioned, and found guilty. There and
then, with a bight of the gaff-topsail halliards, he gave me such a
dressing down as I have never forgotten, You Sing standing by with a
face like a door-knocker for expressionless calm. Even amid my sharpest
pangs I rejoice to think I didn't howl. Perhaps I gained little by that.
At last the skipper flung me from him, saying grimly, "Now ye can go an'
thank George Harris for that." And when, twenty years after, I saw that
stern old man, reduced to earning a precarious living as a ship-keeper,
fall from a ship's side in the Millwall Dock, injuring himself so
frightfully that death would have been refreshment, I could not help
thinking of the grist which is ground by the Mills of the Gods. Joe, my
faithful ally, was furious when I went forward quivering with pain. He
was for vengeance, first on the old man, then on the placid pig who had
betrayed me; but I begged so hard that he wouldn't make matters worse
by interfering that at last he yielded. But he never settled down again
satisfactorily.
Just a week afterwards we came to a slight indentation in the coast,
where a Norwegian barque lay at anchor. From her we got the information
that the place was called Tupilco, upon which we anchored, it being our
port of call for orders. The anchor was no sooner down than Harris
crawled aft and implored the captain to take him ashore so that he might
get some medical aid. Desire of life made the poor fellow quite
eloquent, but he might as well have appealed to a bronze joss. When,
exhausted, he paused for breath, the old man said, with bitter emphasis,
"Ef I'd ben a loafin' on my shipmets s'long's _you_ hev', I'd take 'n
heave me useless carcass overboard, ye wuthless sojer. Git forrard 'n
die. It's 'bout the bes' thing you ken do." George crept forrard again
without a word.
We lay at this forsaken-looking spot for four days, holding no
communication with the shore except twice, when a launch came off,
manned by a truculent-looking crew of "dagoes," _i. e._ Greeks,
Italians, Spaniards, and half-bred Mexicans. Soon after their second
visit we weighed again, having received instructions to commence loading
at Sant' Ana, some distance along the same coast. We had an easy run
thither, with a fair wind all the way, and were pleasantly surprised to
find that, although an open roadstead like Tupilco, there was quite a
fleet of ships at anchor there. They were of all sizes and rigs, from
rakish-looking Yankee schooners to huge fullrigged ships, and of
several nationalities--British, American, and Norwegian predominating.
There was a heavy landward swell on when we passed through them to our
anchorage, and it was anything but cheering to see how they rolled and
tumbled about in far more unpleasant fashion than as though they had
been under way. In fact, some of the fore and afters had actually got
staysails set, with the sheets hauled flat aft, so as to counteract in
some measure the dangerous wallowing they were carrying on. I watched
one Baltimore schooner, with tremendously taunt spars, roll until she
scooped up the sea on either side with her bulwarks, the decks being all
in a lather with the foaming seas tearing across them, and I couldn't
help thinking what a heavenly time those Yanks must have been having
down below, for there were none visible on deck.