Of the Mysterious Ship in the Midst of the Ocean
Next morning when I came on deck I saw the man we had rescued from
the Algerine vessel. He was lying on a rough couch under the lee of
a cannonade, being too weak to stand. He had received a pistol shot
in the left arm, so that his escape was all the more to be wondered
at, although he asserted that while swimming for his life he knew
nothing of the matter.
He was a man of gigantic stature, broad in frame, and with muscles
that stood out beneath his tanned skin like knots on the trunk of a
forest oak. All this I saw in spite of his distressed condition, and
should he recover, which seemed likely enough, he promised to make a
welcome addition to our crew.
His name was Joe Clemens, and he hailed from East Looe, a small
fishing village in Cornwall somewhere betwixt Plymouth and Fowey, so
that when we picked him up he was almost within sight of his native
place. He had been the mate of the _Surprise_, armed trader, which
had been cast ashore on the Barbary coast, all her crew being
carried into captivity.
He was the only Englishman on board the Algerine galley; and had
laboured at the oar for nearly three years, sleeping and working at
the rowers' bench, to which he was shackled by a chain passed round
his middle.
Our broadside severed the chain, and seizing the opportunity he
sprang overboard, followed by a fellow-slave, a Sardinian. As he
leapt over an Algerine discharged a pistol at him, wounding him in
the arm; but such was his strength and determination that, although
wearing part of the heavy chain and bleeding profusely, he managed
to swim strongly till picked up. His companion had sunk, as I have
already related.
For the next few days nothing happened beyond the ordinary routine
on board; but on the morning of the fifth day at sea I happened to
notice a man who must have previously kept out of my way. His face
was partially hidden by a short, stubbly beard, in spite of which I
felt certain 'twas the same man that had vied with my father in
bidding for Captain Jeremy's picture.
Concealing my agitation, I sought the Captain and communicated my
suspicions.
"Wrong again, lad," he replied. "'Tis Ned Slater, an old shipmate of
mine who has fallen on evil times. Out of charity I shipped him
aboard the _Golden Hope_."
"The same old shipmate who bought a dagger in Lisbon?"
"Aye, Master Clifford----"
"But, sir, you described him as being as thin as a handspike."
"So I did, lad; but he has filled out since then. 'Twas a score of
years ago at least. But rest easy in your mind concerning him, for
he has been to the Indies for the last four years, and only landed
in Chatham a month ago, the sole survivor of the barque
_Enterprise_. I know that, for I saw his papers."
With that there was no more to be said; yet, though I might be
mistaken, I resolved to keep a close watch on the movements of
Master Ned Slater.
Favourable winds bore the _Golden Hope_ to the Azores, where I had
my first impression of foreign parts. Then, after a three days'
stay, we shaped a course for the Bermudas; but, owing to constant
head winds, Captain Jeremy decided to run south, so as to pick up
the north-east Trades.
For several days we sailed over a vast expanse of ocean, with never
a sail to break the regular skyline. The days, too, were rapidly
becoming hotter, while the hours of daylight appreciably diminished,
though the nights were warm and balmy, so that keeping a watch on
deck was robbed of all discomfort.
At length one morning the sun rose red and fiery, betokening a
change in the weather; and barely was it clear of the horizon when
the cry was heard, "Sail, ho!"
"Whither away?" asked Captain Jeremy, as he ascended the poop, glass
in hand.
"A point off our starboard bow, sir," replied the seaman who had
picked up this craft.
With the naked eye we could distinguish the topsails and t'gallants
of a brig, the hull being still below the horizon. Captain Jeremy
clapped the glass to his eye and examined her intently.
"What's amiss with her?" he exclaimed. "She's hove-to."
"Perhaps she has sighted us, and wishes to communicate," suggested
Touchstone.
"Or else she's a buccaneer," added 'Enery, as he swung himself into
the main shrouds in order to get a better view from the topmast
head.
"We are out of the regular cruising ground of those gentlemen,"
remarked Captain Jeremy. "But 'tis no saying what she may prove to
be. Master Touchstone, will you see that the arms are served out?"
Two hours later, for the wind was still light, we were within a mile
of the strange brig. She was a vessel very similar to the _Golden
Hope_ in design, but with what a difference in appearance!
She was still hove-to, moving very slowly through the water. Her
yards were badly squared, while her running gear seemed to be in a
state of neglect, several of the sheets and braces trailing over the
side. She carried four guns abroadside, and these were run out in
apparent preparation to ward off an attack; while her decks were
crowded with men.
"What do they think to do?" asked the master gunner. "'Tis certain
they have no stomach for a fight, or else they would keep way on
her."
"If they do not pay heed to their t'gallants they are lost men,"
said Captain Miles. "See, already the sky is overcast to windward.
Yet it may be but a trick, so stand to your guns, men."
In obedience to a further order, the red cross of St. George was
shown from our foremast truck, for the course our vessel was taking
prevented the ensign at the peak being seen by the stranger.
No ensign was hoisted in reply, and in perfect silence the others
awaited our approach.
"What ship is that?" hailed Captain Jeremy through his speaking
trumpet. There was still no answer, although the _Golden Hope_ was
passing within fifty yards of the stranger's bows. The hail was
repeated, and to our surprise a lusty voice shouted:
"Can yew give we a hand wi' this boat ov ourn, zurr?"
"If that isn't a Zummerset or Devon yokel, sink me for a
landlubber!" remarked Captain Jeremy; and almost at the same moment
'Enery, who had descended to the main top, shouted, "Bless me,
Cap'n, if it ain't Garge Oddicombe."
"Aye, aye, we'll send a boat," replied Captain Jeremy to the other's
request; and in a very short space of time twenty men, with 'Enery
in charge, were making-towards the forlorn brig, I having obtained
permission to accompany them.
"Look sharp!" shouted our Captain as the boat shoved off. "Make all
snug alow and aloft, and keep us in company."
A strange sight met our eyes as we gained the deck of the brig,
which, by the name painted on her stern, we now knew to be the
_Neptune_ of Topsham.
The confusion on deck was in accordance with the disorder aloft.
Ropes, gun tackles, broken casks and planks, and torn canvas were
lying about in the utmost disorder; while some hundred men,
grotesquely dressed in motley costumes, gazed at us with mingled
expressions of relief, curiosity, and fear. Many still wore the
smocks of their native Somerset and Devon, but gone was the healthy
hue of a country life. Haggard faces, unkempt hair, and beards
showed that these sons of the soil had had a trying time on
shipboard.
Without waiting to question this mixed crew, some of whom recognized
our men as comrades on the fatal field of Sedgemoor, 'Enery took
steps to ensure the safety of the brig, for the wind was piping up
in long-drawn moans, the forerunners of the expected gale; and by
the time everything was snugged down the sea was too high to permit
the boat to return to the _Golden Hope_ for further orders.
Under easy canvas both brigs scudded before the gale, and, thanks to
'Enery's management, and the fact that the _Neptune_ was a seaworthy
craft, we had no fears as to her ability to make good weather of it.
All night we kept the _Golden Hope's_ poop lanterns in view, both
vessels being of about the same turn of speed; nor was it possible
to return to our own craft until late in the afternoon of the
following day.
Nevertheless, long before that time we were acquainted with the
facts that led up to our meeting with the _Neptune_, and a ghastly
story it was.
The _Neptune_, commanded by Captain Jonas Wright, had left the port
of Topsham on the tenth of September, with a living cargo consisting
of one hundred and twenty poor peasants whom the inhuman Judge
Jeffreys had condemned at Exeter Assizes to a lifelong slavery in
Jamaica.
This Captain Jonas Wright was a harsh, tyrannical man, who, far from
alleviating the miseries of his prisoners, had added to their hard
lot, keeping them on low rations of nauseating food, and only
allowing them to come on deck for fresh air at very long intervals,
while he took a savage delight in bestowing the dreaded "cat"
whenever an opportunity occurred. Frequently, through sheer love of
cruelty, he would invent some pretext for whipping the manacled
prisoners, shouting in drunken glee at their appeals for mercy.
At length George Oddicombe, a man of enormous strength, but withal
somewhat dull of understanding, who had fought stubbornly at Sedge
moor till ridden down by the Royals, contrived to free himself from
his gyves and leg irons, and by working heroically for six hours
also managed to release most of his luckless comrades, who in turn
devoted their energies to knocking off the fetters of the remaining
rebels.
That same night, the captain being in drink, as were most of the
seamen, a horde of fierce and resolute peasants poured through the
hatchway and overpowered the crew. What happened to their erstwhile
captors we did not ask, there being little need to imagine their
fate.
Although freed from their oppressors, the ignorant yokels found
themselves helpless, for the brig soon got in irons[1]. Unable to
manoeuvre her, they had slowly drifted in a vessel which, but for
our aid, would ere now be lying on the bed of the Atlantic.
Directly the wind moderated sufficiently, 'Enery and I returned to
the _Golden Hope_, leaving seven of our men still on board the
_Neptune_.
Captain Jeremy listened intently to the bos'n's report, his brow
frequently puckering as if with the perplexity of the situation; but
when at length 'Enery finished his story, the Captain brought his
hand down on the cabin table with a tremendous crash.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I'll risk it. Bring Oddicombe on board."
[1] A vessel is said to be "in irons" when she is head to wind, and
will not tall off on either tack.