THE CONVICT SHIP
VOL. III.
NEW LIBRARY NOVELS.
UNDER SEALED ORDERS. By GRANT ALLEN. 3 vols.
A LONDON LEGEND. By JUSTIN H. MCCARTHY. 3 vols.
THE TREMLETT DIAMONDS. By ALAN ST. AUBYN. 2 vols.
THE DRIFT OF FATE. By DORA RUSSELL. 3 vols.
BEYOND THE DREAMS OF AVARICE. By WALTER BESANT. 1 vol.
THE MINOR CHORD. By J. MITCHELL CHAPPLE. 1 vol.
HIS VANISHED STAR. By C. EGBERT CRADDOCK. 1 vol.
ROMANCES OF THE OLD SERAGLIO. By H. N. CRELLIN. 1 vol.
VILLAGE TALES AND JUNGLE TRAGEDIES. By B. M. CROKER. 1 vol.
MADAME SANS-GÊNE. By E. LEPELLETIER. 1 vol.
MOUNT DESPAIR. By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 1 vol.
THE PHANTOM DEATH. By W. CLARK RUSSELL. 1 vol.
THE PRINCE OF BALKISTAN. By ALLEN UPWARD. 1 vol.
LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
THE CONVICT SHIP
BY
W. CLARK RUSSELL
AUTHOR OF
‘THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR’ ‘MY SHIPMATE LOUISE’
‘THE PHANTOM DEATH’ ETC.
[Illustration]
IN THREE VOLUMES--VOL. III.
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1895
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
CONTENTS
OF
THE THIRD VOLUME
CHAP. PAGE
XXXIV. SHE WITNESSES THE DEPARTURE OF THE OFFICERS AND
SOLDIERS 1
XXXV. SHE LISTENS TO THE CONVICTS DEBATING 32
XXXVI. SHE SUPS WITH HER SWEETHEART 63
XXXVII. SHE DESCRIBES A WILD, DRUNKEN, UPROARIOUS SCENE 82
XXXVIII. SHE ESCAPES FROM THE CONVICT SHIP WITH HER SWEETHEART
AND OTHERS 109
XXXIX. SHE RELATES HOW HER SWEETHEART RESOLVES TO HIDE IN AN
ISLAND 141
XL. SHE HELPS TO KEEP WATCH 160
XLI. SHE VIEWS THE ISLAND OF TRISTAN D’ACUNHA 176
XLII. SHE MEETS THE TRISTAN ISLANDERS 198
XLIII. SHE SEES CAPTAIN ROTCH AND MR. NODDER AGAIN 225
XLIV. SHE WITNESSES NODDER’S CONFESSION 274
XLV. SHE CONCLUDES HER STORY 304
POSTSCRIPT 323
THE CONVICT SHIP
CHAPTER XXXIV
SHE WITNESSES THE DEPARTURE OF THE OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS
By this time the awning had been spread. In the cuddy a crowd of
convicts were roaring out the chorus of some vulgar popular song of
that time. Will said: ‘We have had nothing to eat. Aren’t you hungry?’
‘Here, you!’ exclaimed Tom to the fellow at the helm. ‘Jump below to
the cuddy and bring us some food and wine to breakfast off. I’ll not
trust this young gentleman amongst them. You’re known as a friend.
Johnstone, hold the wheel.’
The man went like a dog to the companion-hatch and disappeared down it.
‘A worthy example of the British sailor,’ said Tom. ‘He’s one of those
fellows who’d swear a man’s life and liberty away for a noggin of rum.
D’ye see that boat, Marian?’ He pointed to a long thin boat, called the
captain’s gig, that hung by davits over the stern, with the line of
her gunwale on a level with the taffrail. ‘She’ll give us our chance.
Johnstone, that’ll be the boat we’ll make off in. The sooner the
better. Hark to them below! Oh, my dear heart, what has your love for
me brought you into? Johnstone, the equipment of that boat will be your
duty. I shall hold you responsible for everything being in its place
when we come to want her.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered the lad, with the habit of a sailor in answer
to an order.
‘Is it true, Tom, that they’d hang you if they found you in command of
this ship?’ said I.
‘There’s been murder and piracy, and the ringleaders would be hanged,
and I, found in command of the ship, would be reckoned a ringleader.
But do not fear. They’re not going to catch me. We’ll be out of the
vessel soon, though heaven help the unhappy ruffians when it comes to
our leaving them.’
Presently the sailor came up out of the cuddy. He brought a bottle of
sherry, a broken tumbler, a plate of white biscuit, and some tinned
meat. He said sullenly, as he put the stuff down on the grating, that
it was all he could find. There wasn’t a whole tumbler to be seen.
‘Them convicts is gone mad,’ he said, as he sulkily grasped the wheel.
‘Them as ain’t singing’s fighting. The cabin floor’s a-running with
blood. They’re mostly the young ’uns. I never bargained for the likes
of this raree-show. What’s a-going to befall the fired ship if this
sort of carrying-on’s to last?’
‘It was to be a roasting hot job,’ said I pointing to the injured
topgallantmast.
He gave me an evil look, but, meeting Tom’s eyes, turned his head and
stared away into the white, sultry, stagnant distance. I kept my back
upon the bloodstains; I could not have held them in view and tasted
food. Whilst we ate and drank we heard Mr. Bates calling out orders on
the main-deck. I met Tom’s glance; he faintly smiled; it was the first
time I had seen him smile. But, indeed, the tragedy of the morning
became a kind of burlesque, when you thought of the chief mate of the
ship, dressed as a convict, giving orders under the eye of Barney
Abram, who was himself clothed in the apparel of the captain.
We moved forward a little way to get well into the shelter of the
awning and out of hearing of the fellow at the wheel. The bottle had
been half full. We emptied it and threw it and the broken tumbler
overboard, and talked whilst we watched the motions of the convicts on
the main-deck and listened to the choruses of the brutal revellers in
the cuddy. Some of the mutinous sailors went aloft with tackles on the
main and fore-yards; meanwhile a number of the convicts cleared away
the long-boat, a large, squab fabric which lay stowed forward of the
galley. Tom said she was big enough to safely carry forty souls.
‘I wish you and I and Will there were in her,’ said he, out of sight
of this ship. ‘But she’ll provide us with the opportunity we want,’ he
added, with a sideway motion of his head towards the gig over the stern.
‘What are your plans after we leave the ship?’ said I. ‘The gig’s a
little boat for this vast sea.’
‘My plans,’ he answered, making as if he would take my hand, and
arresting the gesture with a fierce glance at the helmsman, ‘are
first of all to get away. The rest must be our fortune. Anyhow, we’ll
endeavour to keep afloat till we’re picked up.’
‘It might run into weeks before we fall in with a ship just here,’
said Will, ‘and what’s to happen then? It’s very well for Marian and
me--what’s to become of you, sir?’
‘What’s to become of Tom?’ cried I. ‘If you mean that, you must ask
what’s to become of me too.’
Tom stood up and said: ‘The convicts mustn’t see us always together,
and particularly will it not do for them to see us talking earnestly.
They’re felons, with the suspicions and passions of felons. I’m going
to the captain’s cabin.’
He walked briskly to the companion-way, at which he paused to look
steadily round the sea, and then disappeared.
‘Why do you take me up so sharply, Marian?’ said Will.
‘Call me Marlowe. Suppose you should be overheard? Sharply? Why do you
ask what’s to become of Tom? It never could be right with me if it’s to
be wrong with him. And yet you say it’ll be all right for you and me if
we’re picked up.’
‘If we’re picked up he may be carried to England. What then?’
‘We’ll not allow ourselves to be picked up by a ship going to England.’
‘We may be nearly dead with thirst and without provisions. Look what a
sea it is! Do you know where we are? This is the junction of the two
Atlantics. If you are dying of thirst you’ll be glad to be picked up,
though the ship we should fall in with were bound to--to----’ And my
cousin, with an expressive face, pointed downward.
‘Don’t talk to me. Leave it all to Tom. He is an old sailor, and will
he risk the liberty he has got this day? I would sink and drown in his
arms sooner than stay in this detestable ship, or not be by his side
wherever he goes!’
‘Aye, that’s all very well. But I’m to make one in the boat, remember.
I’m very sorry for Butler, and like him greatly, although hang me if I
think his prison experience has improved his manners. But I don’t see
my way to go down hand in hand with him.’
‘Hold your tongue!’ I cried. ‘The darling saved your life, and this is
your gratitude!’
He got up and walked aft, and stood looking at the gig.
I walked to the poop-rail and gazed down at the mass of convicts
who filled the decks. Some of them were throwing the remains of the
barricades overboard. A considerable group stood near the port gangway,
and every one of that gang carried a soldier’s musket, with its bayonet
fixed. Some of those fellows had acted as first and second ‘captains’
under the doctor. They were now less noisy in the cuddy; a few in that
interior did, indeed, continue to drunkenly shout out choruses. Here
and there a felon roamed with lurching steps, and often with a cut
face and blood upon him as though from a savage scuffle; but I soon
noticed that if this sort of fellows got into the people’s way they
were elbowed and kicked without ceremony even to the extent of being
thrown headlong. Most of the noisiest and the wounded people were
young. In truth, already was I sensible of a change in the bearing of
the unhappy men. They stood in bodies watching what was going forward.
The first clamorous, brutal transports, the early delirious passions
which successful rebellion and the possession of freedom had excited,
were sobering. Perhaps they had not met with drink enough yet to make
them all the fierce, wild, shouting, exulting demons some of them had
been changed into by the cuddy drams. Be this as it may, there was less
confusion; the senseless bawling had become rare. On deck, the shouts
broke only from the throats of tipsy scoundrels aimlessly issuing out
of the cuddy into the quarter-deck throng, where, as I have said, they
would be hustled and kicked, and sometimes forced into silence by being
knocked down.
Mr. Bates, no longer distinguishable from the felons who remained
clothed in the convicts’ garb, stood at the gangway, superintending
the hoisting and lowering of the long-boat over the side. Some of
the convicts worked as though they had been sailors in their day.
Close beside the little mass of armed men stood Barney Abram, and
near him were five or six convicts, variously attired in plundered
clothes. These fellows were, without exception, of the better class of
prisoners. Most of them had filled positions of some little trust under
the doctor, such as cook and barber, and I guessed that they were among
the recognised heads of the risen criminals.
Will joined me and began to talk of the gig and the difficulty of
safely lowering a boat hanging athwartships when a vessel was in
motion. I bid him leave everything to Tom and do as he was told--that
is, to see that the gig was furnished ready for getting away in. He
burst into a laugh at sight of Mr. Bates, and for some time could
not recover his composure; in truth, the poor fellow seemed a little
hysterical, and after we had been standing a few minutes drew me away,
saying; ‘Let’s go over to starboard; the sentry was killed just here,
and I keep on seeing his face as they threw him over the side.’
Several of the convicts came out of the cuddy by way of the
companion-hatch and, finding the poop a clear deck, began to play at
leap-frog and to gambol and hop and cut capers with the grace of frisky
cart-horses. Their ugly faces and rowdy behaviour made a slum or back
alley of that white deck. The beauty of the sea, the brilliance of
the blue heavens, the fiery sparkles and lights in the polished brass
and glass about the poop vanished. Those tumbling convicts instantly
brought with them a flavour of London fog. The air resounded with the
cry of the costermonger; an evil odour of decayed vegetables attended
them, and you seemed to hear the music of the barrel-organ.
They came floundering and skylarking and caper-cutting up to where Will
and I were standing; they gathered about us, and Will was for moving
off, but I held my ground; I did not love their language, believe me,
but it would not do to seem shy of them. They were flushed with drink,
and talked rapidly and thickly in the most intolerable, coarse speech
you can imagine; yet they were not so drunk as to be unintelligible.
Seemingly they had been amongst the most successful in plundering the
cabins. One pulled out Captain Sutherland’s gold watch, and, dangling
it on high by its chain as though playing at bob-cherry, roared out:
‘This is the thumble! Here’s the yack for a nob’s gurrell!’ Another
produced a pin, a third a large old-fashioned silver watch, which Will
whispered had belonged to the second mate. Their talk was a compound
of oaths and thieves’ slang, but they took not the least notice of
me or Will; they jabbered hoarsely and thickly and swiftly amongst
themselves, as though on the eve of coming to blows, breaking off
presently, however, to watch the long-boat rising out of her chocks
when the tackles were manned by some score or two of felons.
The great boat was got over as smartly as though all concerned in
lifting and lowering her were sailors. All necessary information
as to where stores, fresh water, and so forth were to be found had
doubtless been obtained from Mr. Bates. Anyhow, no time had been lost,
but soon after the boat had been floated a number of people, under
the superintendence of some of those men whom I had taken to be the
leaders, rolled a cask of fresh water, a tierce or two of beef, two or
three barrels of flour and biscuit, and other matters which my memory
does not carry, to the open gangway, and very rapidly all these things
were stored in the boat alongside.
Just then Tom came out of the cuddy by way of the quarter-deck, and
went to Bates and Barney Abram, who stood together, with whom he spoke.
Tom, attended by Bates, returned to the cuddy, and after an interval
reappeared with a sextant-case, a chart or two, and such appliances as
I supposed they would need in the long-boat to enable them to steer a
course for land. These things were handed down to some convicts who
were stowing the provisions in the boat. Tom stood in the gangway and
looked down, and then called out for the oars, sail, and mast of the
boat to be brought along and shipped. When he had seen to this, he
glanced up, and, observing me, ascended the poop-ladder.
‘Hi!’ said he, walking up to the group of convicts, who had been
talking and swearing and boasting of their plunder, but were now
silent. ‘What are you doing here? This is no part of the ship for you!’
he cried, cursing them. ‘Get away down to your quarters! This poop is
for the captain and the mate and Mr. Abram, and the rest of us, who are
responsible for the safety of the vessel, and for landing you where you
may bolt and get hanged at your leisure. Off with ye! Off with ye!’ And
laying hold of the sturdiest he gave him a thrust.
The convicts were used to this sort of usage, and probably would have
recognised no other treatment than that of kicks and curses. They
yielded as submissively as felons to the command of an armed warder,
went in a body down the ladder, and mingled with their fellows on the
main-deck.
‘Those people below must be sent adrift,’ said Tom, coming to my
side and talking as though he thought aloud. ‘It’s a hardship, but I
see the need. If they’re kept, they’ll be murdered. They start well
equipped--I’ve seen to that. It’s odds if they’re not picked up in a
day or two, spite of our friend Will’s misgivings. They’ll take three
boats from the ship. That’ll leave two and the gig. The gig’s for us.
The convicts must see to themselves. It’s not a thing to be debated.
It’s every man for himself at such times as these,’ and his eye went
to the stain at the head of the poop-ladder where the sentry had been
butchered.
‘Tom,’ said I, ‘if the sailors are leaving the ship, who’s to carry on
the work?’
‘Seven or eight rogues stay,’ he answered. ‘Four or five of the
convicts have been to sea. With near two hundred and fifty souls in
the ship, I should be able to manage if I chose to keep by her. How
many of the crew went to your complement?’ said he, turning to Will.
‘Thirty, sir,’ answered the lad.
‘All told?’
‘Thirty ordinary and able seamen and idlers,’ said Will.
‘They looked a ruffianly lot!’ exclaimed Tom. ‘The people counted upon
more help than they got. Abram asked all hands to remain; only seven
or eight chums and acquaintances of the prisoners stick to the ship.
Those were the scoundrels who flung themselves upon the sentries. Yes,
they’ll need two quarter-boats besides the long-boat. A numerous family
to send afloat, and under the line, too, with--how many women and
children?’
Will gave him the number.
Tom made a grimace of pity, folded his arms and stood, with a stern
face, watching what was happening in the gangway.
Mr. Bates was showing the convicts how to rig the accommodation-ladder
over the side. I looked at Tom, and particularly noticed the change in
his face, just as I had felt and witnessed the change in his nature and
bearing. That change I had before observed, but not so clearly. The
light was searching. He stood in repose, forgetting himself and viewing
the proceedings on the main-deck. He was pale and thin and ill and
haggard, yet his manly beauty lacked none of its old charms. Nay, there
was a gain, I thought. He seemed the handsomer because of the severity
of his expression. There was a fierceness that gave his lineaments a
heroic cast. Suffering had deepened and accentuated all that was manly
in his looks by an infusion of sternness that wanted not in scorn and
haughtiness.
When all was ready with the long-boat, the armed convicts formed
themselves into a lane betwixt the open gangway and the hatchway. They
fell in with the precision of soldiers to the cries which commanded
them, and stood erect and orderly, every man letting the butt of his
musket rest upon the deck. A crowd of men, many of them armed with
the small-arms which they had found in the ship, gathered around the
main-hatch and obstructed the view. A fellow, with a fiddle in his
hand, climbed on the bulwark-rail close to the yawn of the gangway,
and putting the fiddle into his neck, screwed out a tune. He was the
convict who used to play the prisoners round the decks at exercise.
When the mass of felons heard this music, they burst into a great
shout of laughter. Such a wild, dreadful shout of merriment has seldom
gone up out of human throats. The few remaining revellers in the cuddy
tumbled drunkenly out on the quarter-deck on hearing the fiddle and the
shouts, and rent the air with another hideous burst of laughter.
I heard a man bawl instructions down the main-hatchway, but could not
catch what he said. Abram and some others roared out an order for
silence, and, tipsy as a number of them were, as great a stillness
fell upon the convicts as ever had been observed in their time of
discipline.
The first to come up was Doctor Russell-Ellice; he was dressed as a
convict, and I did not recognise him until Will cried out. He was
immediately followed by Captain Sutherland, who had also been forced
into the felon’s garb. Next came Captain Barrett, dressed as a convict;
then the sergeant and the soldiers of the guard, most of whom were
habited in the prison apparel, though some were without coats. Neither
the doctor nor the officers looked to right or left. They kept their
eyes fastened upon the deck, and so passed through the rows of armed
criminals to the gangway. Nothing was to be heard but the insulting
squeaking music of the fiddle. The hush upon the great throng of men
made the scene tragically impressive. I felt a deep pity for Captain
Sutherland, and asked Tom in a whisper if his influence could not keep
the poor fellow on board that he might escape with us if we got away;
but Tom, without looking at me, held up his hand to warn me not to
speak.
I went to the side and looked down at the long-boat. She was a large,
roomy fabric, and sat high and buoyant despite her liberal equipment
of food and water. These passed into her: the surgeon, the commander
of the vessel, Captain Barrett, and eighteen soldiers, two of their
number having been killed. They were all, as I have said, habited as
convicts; and now I observed the degrading effect of the prison-dress
upon the person, for the doctor, Captain Barrett, and most of the
soldiers looked as sorry a set of rogues as any that were in the ship,
and needed but irons and the barber to make you suppose them criminals
of the most desperate kind.
A pause in the proceedings happened when the last of the soldiers had
passed down the ladder and entered the boat. Abram shouted to the
fiddler to stop his noise. So great was the silence among the convicts
that everything said clearly reached the ear. The prize-fighter went
into the gangway and looked over, and, turning to some of the people
whom I had taken to be among the chiefs and ringleaders, called out:
‘There is roob for as bady agaid.’
Tom and Will came to the rail and looked down at the boat. The doctor
sat in the stern-sheets with arms folded and head bowed. He exhibited
no signs of life. Captain Sutherland’s posture was that of a crushed
and broken-hearted man. I grieved and could have wept and entreated for
the poor fellow; he was a good, harmless sailor, an excellent seaman,
and his usage was barbarous, seeing that the convicts had no other
cause to punish him and revenge themselves than his being in command of
the ship.
When Abram called out as I have just said, Captain Barrett sprang to
his feet and shouted: ‘Where are my men’s wives and children? You’re
not going to send us adrift without them, are you?’
‘We’ll forward ’eb od to you later!’ exclaimed Abram, turning his head
without turning his body and shouting with his massive hand at the side
of his mouth: ‘Jodsud’--here he addressed a convict named Johnson, one
of several armed men who guarded the entrance of the main-hatch; it
was this Johnson who had bawled down to the doctor and others to come
up--‘there’s roob for twedy bore id the lo’g boat! Call ’eb up!’
Tom made a stride to the head of the poop-ladder, and, in a voice whose
accents rang through the ship like a volley of pistol shots, shouted:
‘Hold! Abram, the next to come up and enter the long-boat are the women
and children!’
The mass of convicts looked up at him; indescribable was the effect of
this universal turning of faces one way.
‘Dot lo’g ago you wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with this busidess!’
shouted Abram savagely. ‘What wasn’t your busidess thed isd’t goi’g to
be your busidess dow!’
‘I’ll have no discussion!’ cried Tom with the utmost ferocity. ‘I’m a
man of my word. Blood has been shed, and now you want to round off the
murders with the most hellish piece of separation ever perpetrated on
the high seas. We have lived together,’ he cried to them all in clear,
fierce, powerful tones, ‘for many months, in the hulk and here, and I
know there are scores amongst you who detest the thought of keeping
poor women and little children from their husbands, whose sole offence
has been their duty. Am I right? You are under the influence of men
who, as your responsible leaders, elected by yourselves, should be the
last to advise you to blacken yet what, God knows, is black enough, by
a fiendish act of brutality and inhumanity!’
‘We don’t want to be jawed,’ bawled a tipsy convict. ‘Better bring the
doctor aboard again if that’s to be the lay.’
‘Butler,’ shouted Abram, ‘I’b blowed if you’re goi’g to have your way
id everythi’g!’
‘But I’ll have my way in this! I’ll have my way in this!’ cried Tom
with a note of madness in his voice and the look of a madman in his
face. ‘You begged me to take charge. Fifty of you whined and petitioned
me, as the only navigator amongst you, to command this ship if you
seized her. And I consented--on what terms? No cruelty, I said, and
safety for three friends. There’s to be cruelty now--cruelty so hellish
that the vilest heart amongst you must sicken and shrink if it will but
give the intention a thought. You’re playing me false in this, Abram.
I say--don’t do it! Don’t do it!’ he cried, raising his voice and
brandishing his arms at the great mob below.
I glanced at the long-boat at this moment. The doctor had pricked
his ears and was sitting looking up at the ship with a pale face of
astonishment. Captain Barrett, erect in the boat, listened and stared.
Captain Sutherland repeated three or four times: ‘Who is it? Who is
it?’ For Tom was not to be seen by them; indeed, nobody was visible
along the whole line of the ship to those people low-seated save Abram
at the gangway and the fiddler and me and Will at the rail.
Some fellow near the mainmast hoarsely shouted: ‘Butler wants it all
his own way. Let him chuck it and rot! There’s Bates, the mate of the
ship. He’s be’n kep’ to oblige Butler. He’s a navigator. He’ll do the
trick.’
‘No!’ thundered Bates, roaring out as though he were hailing the
fore-topsail in a gale of wind. ‘You’ve forced me into giving orders,
and I’m cursing myself for my cowardice. But so help me, you men, as I
stand here, one and all of you, good and bad, drunk and sober, as you
listen, sooner than that you shall keep the women and children on the
chance of my taking Butler’s place, you may now--now--now,’ he roared,
pointing up, ‘turn to and reeve your yardarm whip and run me aloft.
D’ye hear me! Now--_now_!’ he screamed, in the extremity of his wrath
and resolution, and having spoken he backed from the knot of convicts
out of the thick of whom he had exclaimed, put his shoulders against
the bulwark, folded his arms and settled himself firmly on his legs as
a man prepared for the worst, and at that instant he made as heroic a
figure as Tom.
Silence followed. The hush was extraordinary. The deep stillness that
lay upon the white ocean seemed to come into the ship as a spirit. I
saw that Abram was at a loss. He looked savagely about him and made an
angry step or two as though he would pace the deck. Tom, gripping the
brass rail, kept his eyes, full of fire, upon Abram; his breast rose
and fell violently with the vehemence of his breathing. Resolution
as fearless and magnificent as the chief mate had given expression to
was visible in his posture and looks, and not the grossest and most
ignorant of the unhappy creatures who stared up could have mistaken his
mind.
He seemed to wait for Abram to speak, then cried out, addressing the
mass of men generally: ‘Is it your wish that I should navigate this
ship and carry you to where we shall presently decide?’
Most of the fellows stared at one another like fools, as though they
lacked courage to answer.
‘Answer me, any of you!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t think I care how it
goes. Treat me as you’ve dealt with those whose blood stains these
decks, and I’ll thank you. I’m a convict--the most wretched of the
wretches among you--and broken-hearted as none of you are. Use me as
you will. But if I take charge, I’m captain; and if I’m captain, my
will in what concerns the general safety is law. The general safety
will be imperilled by the detention of the women and children. I,
a fellow-convict and seaman, tell you this. Now answer me: Am I in
command or not?’
‘It was settled!’ howled Abram.
‘Johnson!’ cried Tom. ‘You at the hatchway there! Order the women and
children on deck and pass them into the boat!’
Johnson kept silent.
‘Do what you’re told!’ shouted a voice. Then followed a hoarse,
confused uproar from fifty throats: ‘Get ’em out of the ship!’
‘Butler’s right! Who the plague wants to keep them?’ ‘It’ll lead to
murder, and we want our liberty ashore.’
‘Order the women and children on deck!’ cried Tom; whereupon some
man--but it was not the convict Johnson--bellowed down the main-hatch.
In a few minutes the women came up out of the ’tweendecks one by one,
every woman with a child in her arms, for there were eight and eight,
though every woman was not a mother. The poor creatures’ eyes were red
with weeping, their faces white with fear. The husband of one of them
had been killed that morning. They were dressed in bonnets and shawls.
My heart was cold as I watched them. They went to the side and passed
one by one down the gangway ladder; the great crowd of convicts looked
on. Not a word was uttered whilst the women walked through the lane of
armed men. As they entered the boat, their husbands eagerly clasped
and kissed them and kissed the children; it was like a meeting of the
survivors of some terrible disaster, and the tears stood in my eyes.
The boat seemed crowded when the women were in her, though, at a pinch,
another ten or twelve persons might have found space.
‘Off with you dow and bake roob for the other boats!’ shouted Abram.
‘Head right away and be th’kful you’ve falled idto the ’a’ds of hubade
people! If you ha’g about dear us, s’elp be Peter, we’ll fire idto you!’
A soldier seized an oar and shoved the boat off. When she had gone
clear by her own length, the soldiers threw over the remaining oars
and began to row. It was about one o’clock in the afternoon; a long
morning had been spent in getting that big boat out, storing, crowding,
and sending her adrift. I looked around the sea; not the least breath
of air anywhere dyed the molten resplendent surface that brimmed in
a breast of delicate blue silver light into the morning distances.
The soldiers rowed vigorously, as though all in the boat feared the
convicts would play them some murderous trick if they hung within reach.
A number of people got on the line of bulwark-rail and watched the boat
as she drew away. I had thought to hear a hundred vile, blasphemous
insults flung after her, but nothing was said in that way. The fellows
laughed and talked and pointed, but no man called out.
Barney Abram came on the poop, followed by Mr. Bates, as though the
mate had been ordered to attend. The sweat was running from the
prize-fighter’s face, and the scars about his brow and forehead
were knitted into a scowl. My heart beat fast. I dreaded a quarrel
between him and Tom, for Abram swung the deadliest fist of any man in
England. Greatly to my relief, however, spite of his dark and sweating
face, which seemed to give the lie to his behaviour, his manner was
conciliatory.
‘You shouldn’t lose your tepper so easily, Butler,’ said he. ‘What’s
the good of exciti’g yourself? You start this gentlebud off’--here he
motioned to Mr. Bates--‘who talks a lot of rot to the people about
yardarbs. I walked hib rou’d the deck to oblige you, that the people
bight see he’s by fr’e’d; and thed, excited by you, he jaws theb
about yardarbs. If they had taken hib at his word!’ He looked up, and
pointing, exclaimed with his extraordinary smirking grin: ‘That’s what
I thi’k you gentlebud of the sea call a yardarb. Gallus high, ain’t it,
by rosebud?’ And he turned his fiery black eyes upon me.
‘The women are safe, and I’m satisfied,’ answered Tom. ‘Abram, I had
looked for more humanity at your hands. You--a man of your reputation,’
he added, with an angry, sarcastic smile that instantly faded, ‘to
truckle to such beasts as we’ve had to live amongst ever since
we’ve found ourselves together in irons; but the matter’s ended,’ he
exclaimed, with a sort of sudden bustle and hurry in his manner. ‘Let’s
get the other boats away. There’s a destination to be settled and
arrangements for working the ship to be made. This weather is good for
talk, but it may change in an hour.’
‘Right,’ exclaimed Abram. ‘Bates, call up your bed and give your
orders.’
‘Captain Butler,’ exclaimed the poor mate, ‘let me leave this ship with
the crew.’
Abram fiercely rounded upon him. ‘Is this your gratitude?’ he exclaimed
in his thick stunted accents. ‘Didn’t I tell you, Butler, he wasn’t to
be trusted? Wolves tear hib! Why don’t the flat-catcher dow whed he’s
well off?’
‘You’re here and you’ll remain here, Bates,’ said Tom, giving the
unfortunate man an expressive look. ‘Get those two quarter-boats
alongside and have them provisioned, and let me advise you to take a
sheepshank in your tongue.’
Mr. Bates went to the rail and called to the men. Some seamen and
convicts came tumbling on to the poop.
‘We’ve got hib and we’ll keep hib,’ said Abram, pulling off
the captain’s cap and wiping his brow with the captain’s
pocket-handkerchief, and straddling in front of Tom, a massive,
terrible figure. ‘Butler, you was right. I’ve beed turdi’g it over. You
card’t be singleadded. Suppose you should die. We’d let hib understa’d
what betrayal ’ud cost. But what’s the good of getti’g excited? Dever
lose your tepper. If I couldn’t keep by tepper’--and here he spoke with
his eyes fixed on me--‘what ’u’d be by reputatiod as a public bad?’