SHE SUPS WITH HER SWEETHEART
I went quickly, that the people might see how smartly I obeyed the
new captain. A few convicts roamed about the cuddy, staring as though
out of curiosity into the plundered berths and at the decorations and
lamps, and needlessly crushing the broken glass into the carpet as
they walked. I stepped warily and got to my berth, unlocked the door,
and found all right within. I could not help reflecting upon what had
passed since I was last here; it seemed a week since I was in this
berth, so violent, hurried, and numerous had been the incidents of that
day.
I made one bundle of my woman’s attire, the other clothes and a few
toilet things, and went to the captain’s cabin. Then, thought I, I
shall want a mattress to lie on, so I fetched the convict’s mattress,
pillow and blanket, and shut the door and sat down to wait for Tom, no
one during these journeys having taken the least notice of me.
It was horribly hot, and I opened the large circular port and leaned
with my head in the orifice. I now heard a noise of the rippling
of water, and saw the sea of a deep shade of blue to about a mile
away, where it then gleamed white and polished, the calm being still
unbrushed there. The ship had caught a little air of wind; ropes were
flung down overhead, the soft patter of naked, the sharp beat of shod
feet actively running about sounded through the planks; the silence
upon the water was now broken by the voices of men singing out as they
hauled, and presently at a pistol-shot distance I saw what might have
been a piece of green timber feathered with weed slowly slide past.
I looked around me, and my heart was full of pity when I thought of
Captain Sutherland. I pitied him, I say, and I grieved for the women
and the little children, but the soldiers and the others did not appeal
to me. I took no interest in the fate of the doctor and Captain
Barrett, and I never could forget that one of the soldiers had shot the
poor madman, and that all would have slaughtered every convict at the
word of command with less compunction than the convicts themselves had
sent them adrift.
The captain’s cabin was wrecked; he had slept in a handsome mahogany
bunk, and its mattress was ripped open as though the beasts who did
it hoped to find money or some sort of booty hidden in the hair. Two
little miniatures had been left to hang upon the bulkhead; one was
the captain, the other a lady, doubtless his wife, a rather pretty,
grave-looking woman. I thought of how Tom and I had sat for our
miniatures, and wondered if the captain’s wife were alive, whether she
would ever see her husband again. Should I ever have seen Tom again but
for my resolution to hide in the ship that was to transport him? This
reflection made me mad.
Whilst I sat or walked about, lost in inflaming thoughts, I heard a
great noise in the cuddy and, peeping out, spied some fifteen or twenty
convicts hard at work brushing and tidying up the interior. Abram just
then came in with a little company of the ringleaders; I may tell you
that there were perhaps twelve to fifteen heads in this uprisal, not
counting Tom, whom I never would name as having had a share in it.
On hearing Abram speak, I held the door open by about an inch. The
prize-fighter and his crew stood close against my cabin, talking and
looking on at the convicts at work. They were arranging for their own
accommodation.
‘Butler takes the captid’s cabid, that’s fair,’ said Abram. ‘His y’u’g
fre’d shares it. That’s Butler’s business. Bates a’d adother wud’s
provided for yodder. You a’d be,’ he continued, addressing one of the
convicts, ‘will take the cabid dext to the captid’s. Right aft don’t
soot be; the botion there bakes be ill. The rest of you will fide
pledty of roob. I recobbe’d that the better order abogst us tosses or
draws for the accommodatiod dowd-stairs. We dote wadt to be suffocated
by dumbers in this part of the ship; the old quarters will be thid
(thinned) by those who cub aft; with the hatch oped, the widsails dowd
and the barricade id shivers, they’ll be airy edough; ad thed there’s
the soldiers’ quarters.’
A few minutes later Tom came in. He shut the door and took me by the
hand and kissed me; sat down, and made me sit beside him, still holding
my hand, whilst he gazed at me with the full affection of his dear,
noble heart. He was pale with the heat. His eyelids dropped with the
weariness that was upon him. He was clad, as throughout the day, in his
convict shirt and trousers.
‘There is a little breeze, and we are under way again,’ said he. ‘I
wish it may hold. There is no telling what ship may fall in with the
boats, and the quicker I can push the vessel out of these parts the
better, though I must keep the tropic latitudes aboard to get away in,’
said he, softening his voice. ‘We shall need smooth water and fine
weather, dear one, and God’s care. It may be done to-night. It may be
done to-morrow night. All must be in readiness.’
I told him what I had just overheard.
‘Let them do what they like,’ said he. ‘This cabin’s ours, and by that
I mean that it’s yours. I can rest anywhere whilst you sleep, and can
take a nap here, if you like, when you are out of it.’
I was about to speak. He smiled, and silenced me with his hand.
‘Don’t you remember the lectures I used to give you? Let all things be
as I wish. Will and poor Bates will be safely lodged. It cannot be for
long. A night or two. Nay a week, if you will. But long it must not
be,’ he added, with a note of passion. ‘Could I keep you in this ship?
What have you already heard and seen? Oh, it is not fit! It is not fit!
Such scum as they are! Such foul-mouthed hogs! When I think of what I
used to suffer at night in the hulk--forced to listen, lying sleepless,
though nearly dead with the awful toil of the day!’
Our talk then softly and swiftly ran on many matters which I shall not
tease you with, such as what we should do if we came off with our lives
in the gig; the surest and yet most convenient places in the world
for Englishmen to hide themselves in; my plans as to the disposal of
my house in London; the drawing of my money secretly, so that the law
should not be able to get at him by finding out where I was. These
things and the like we talked of whilst we sat hand in hand, and
sometimes he would break off to kiss me and thank me for my love and
loyalty and to admire me.
I asked him how the gig was to be secretly provisioned and got ready
for lowering.
‘I have arranged for that,’ said he. ‘I told Abram awhile ago on the
poop, and some dozens besides heard me, that it was my practice at sea
to keep my boats provisioned and watered. I then rattled about our
having but three boats, talked of the big number of souls aboard, and
said that in a day or two, when things had settled down a bit, I’d hunt
out the carpenters and handy workmen amongst the people and put them to
making a number of rafts after a design of my own, so that in case of
foundering no man need lose his life for the want of something to float
on. This sort of talk pleased them mightily. Convicts set a high value
on their lives. The bigger the rogue the bigger the price. And of all
the people in this ship Barney Abram is the man who’d be the least
willing to die, be his spirit what it will when he enters a ring. So
then and there I told Mr. Bates that the boats were to be provisioned
and watered the first thing to-morrow morning, and I turned to Will,
who stood by, and significantly ordered him to take the gig under his
own care and see to her.’
‘That was clever,’ said I, clapping his hand with mine.
‘The difficulty I foresee,’ he went on, ‘is the helmsman. Yet it is to
be managed. I wish there was no moon this week; but, fair or foul, I
must have you out of this ship of devils.’
He then looked about him at the nautical instruments, the charts and
books, peeped here and there, and took a sorrowful survey of the
plundered berth. He put my convict mattress and pillow into the bunk
and said that would be my bed by night--for the night or two we were
to remain on board--that he would lock me up out of harm’s way and
release me in the morning. I dared not expostulate; he was my master
if he was not yet my lord; his least command, nay, his lightest wish,
moved me as a powerful impulse. Where would my dear one himself sleep?
Yet I was afraid to ask.
‘Now,’ said he, ‘I want you to keep clear of the convicts. Get away out
of hearing of them. Lodge yourself here closely; you’ll not be missed.
I’ll lock you in, and no one will dare trouble you. I’ll tell them
you’re helping me in the navigation of the ship and acting as a sort of
captain’s clerk. It’ll be but for a day or two. Meanwhile we must eat
and drink. Come forward and see what’s doing in the galley.’
We were leaving the cabin, when he stopped to exclaim: ‘Do you know
what a slop-chest is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there one in the ship?’
‘I’ve heard Will speak of a slop-chest.’
He nodded, and we then left the berth. They had trimmed up the cuddy,
but the starred and splintered mirrors made a ruin of it. Abram was
gone; a number of convicts lounged about the interior. Some seemed to
be preparing the cabins; others were seated with their legs hoisted
on to the table, others sprawled along the cushioned lockers. Most of
them were smoking. A continuous hoarse, sulky growl of conversation,
frequently broken by a short, deep laugh, rolled through the cuddy.
Tom called out: ‘Do any of you know if they’re preparing a meal for the
people?’
‘Ay,’ answered one of the men, ‘the cooks are at work. Some beef’s been
taken out of the cask, and the officer called Bates has sarved out tea
and sugar--the reg’lar muck-mess, pal.’
‘Where are we to eat?’ exclaimed a heavy-faced, coarse-voiced man, who
sat smoking in a lounge-chair near the mizzen-mast.
‘The chief’ll settle that,’ answered Tom. ‘There’s the whole of the
ship for a dinner-table.’
We walked to the galley. The destruction of the barricades had vastly
improved the look of the vessel. The decks ran in a clear sweep. Some
of the men had scrubbed at the stain where the quarter-deck sentry
fell, but the dye was still red in the plank. The mass of the convicts
aimlessly hung about in groups. Numbers overhung the rail, staring out
to sea and talking. Others crouched in clusters under the bulwarks;
some had half stripped themselves. Many were on the poop, where I
caught sight of Mr. Bates walking with Will.
I called Tom’s attention to the general air of listlessness. He
answered: ‘It’s partly heat, partly reaction. They’ve woke up to the
sense of what’s happened, and the loneliness of the sea is upon them,
though they couldn’t give you a name for their sensations.’
This brought us to the ship’s galley. The convicts had partly
demolished their own kitchen, yet, of the two, it had been more
serviceably furnished for so great a crowd as the ship contained.
The sun was now hanging low over the western ocean. I never before
beheld it so vast and so red. Its wake came straight to the side of
the ship from the edge of the sea. I saw no cloud, yet a soft, gentle
wind blew; all the water was dark with it, and it tenderly swelled the
ship’s canvas. All plain sail was set, saving the main-royal, where the
lightning had left no mast to hoist the yard on. These observations I
made quickly whilst Tom put his head into the galley-door and talked to
the people within.
The men who had cooked for the convicts under the doctor were the
cooks now. There were three of them, dressed in clothes stolen out of
the forecastle. Spite of their cropped crowns and a sort of actor’s
bullet-headed appearance, that might owe something to their blue, shorn
cheeks and chins, they looked, in their seamen’s attire, superior to
most of the fellows who had slept before the mast. Tom questioned them.
A large hook-pot of steaming tea was then handed to him. He gave it to
me with a glance which I perfectly understood. They cut off a piece of
beef and put it into a tin dish. With these things and two or three
ship’s biscuits, which one of the convicts took from a dresser-drawer
two-thirds full of that sort of bread, we made our way aft, I carrying
the tea and the beef and walking after Tom, as though he used me as his
servant.
One of a number of convicts at the break of the poop was Barney Abram.
He called down to know what was that I had. Tom answered that it was
his supper. ‘I can’t wait for you people,’ said he. ‘The mate must be
relieved in a few minutes.’ We then passed into his cabin.
We wanted sugar; a ridiculous, trifling matter I should not mention but
for this, that, with Tom’s leave, I went aft into that small starboard
cabin which Mr. Stiles had made a larder of, and which before the
convicts rose had always been richly stocked, hams and sides of bacon
hanging from the upper deck, fine flour and white biscuits in casks,
various sorts of tinned stuffs, with all such necessaries, not to
mention luxuries, which the cabin table demanded--I say, when I entered
this little room to seek for a parcel of sugar, I witnessed a crueller,
more abominable scene of waste than could be invented: Flour-casks
split and the deck covered with dust; broken bottles of pickles; ham
and cheese, as though they had been jumped upon. Indeed, I want
memory to describe this horrid picture of wanton, senseless waste and
destruction. Yet I found what I sought, and took also some cheese, what
I broke from one that lay already broken upon the deck, filled a tin
with white biscuit out of a gaping cask, and so returned to Tom.
We made a good meal. Neither of us had tasted food for many hours. I
asked Tom after he should have gone on deck to send Will to me, as
the lad, being afraid to seek for food on his own account, might be
half famished for all I knew. Mr. Bates I reckoned old enough and man
enough to look after himself. I then saw that there was oil in the
bracket-lamp at the bulkhead. Indeed, the seeing to such things had
been a part of my work under the steward. When Tom had ended his meal,
he got up and said: ‘I shall turn the key upon you and give it to Will,
who’ll let himself in; but see that he locks you up when he leaves you.’
‘Shan’t I see you again to-night, Tom?’
‘Oh, yes. I’ll look in--say at nine. You can reckon your time by one
of the chronometers. ’Tis Greenwich time, and our time will be about
----,’ and he named it.
He kissed me, and held me by the hands and looked at me as though his
overflowing heart sought in vain to vent itself; then cutting the air
with his clenched fist as if maddened by a sudden memory, he stepped
out, turned and withdrew the key.
I waited for Will, but he did not quickly come. By this time it was
nearly dark; some while earlier, however, I had thoroughly searched
the cabin for means of making fire, and almost at the minute of giving
up found a tinder-box and flint and matches in a little white box on a
shelf. This apparatus was so like mine that I might have supposed Mr.
Balls had presented it to the captain.
I lighted the lamp and sat listening to the noises in the cuddy.
There was a constant tumult of voices and a clatter of metal dishes;
I guessed that a crowd of the convicts were eating at the table, and,
not easily finding fresh crockery, were employing the prison utensils.
More than an hour had passed since Tom left, when the key was turned,
and Will entered holding a pannikin of tea. When the door opened, the
noise in the cuddy came in very strong and rudely; the wretches seemed
to have gone off their heads again, and were bawling and singing as
though something stronger than tea had filled their pannikins. They had
managed to trim and light the cuddy lamps.
‘It’s time we were out of it,’ said Will, pulling off his coat and
flinging down his cap with a shake of the head that drove the sweat
drops in a little shower from his brow. ‘I’d rather take my chance on a
bare plank than stick another week in this hell--and a hell it is, and
a worse hell it is likely to become, though I hate strong words.’
‘Fall to your supper,’ said I, ‘and give me the news as you eat.’
He went to work and ate heartily. We had left plenty for him. Whilst
he supped, he said that Abram had made Bates show him where the rum
casks were kept. Bates told Tom of this, and Will, standing near,
heard Tom ask Abram what the people intended to do. ‘“Why,” says
the prize-fighter, “they’re going to brew a few bowls to drink one
another’s health in. They mean to make a night of it. Don’t they
deserve a little pleasure? You’ll take the head of the table, Butler,
and give us a song.” “No,” says Tom, “I’m in charge of the ship----”
“There’s Bates,” says Abram. “I’m in charge of the ship,” answered Tom
savagely. “Don’t look to me to countenance this sort of thing. I should
have hoped you and the other leaders valued your safety too highly
to broach a rum-cask for the people.” A number of convicts,’ said
Will, ‘who had drawn near, told Tom that if he interfered with their
pleasures and liberty, they knew their remedy. Tom cursed them, and I
thought would have spat at them,’ continued Will. ‘He grasped one of
the strongest by the arm and, pointing to the boats, asked the man if
he could count. The fellow fell back a step as though Butler had gone
mad, and raised his arm to cover his face. “Count!” roared Tom. “One,
two, three; good to hold about thirty men, leaving about two hundred
and twenty to be roasted alive if the ship takes fire! Thirty to be
picked up and hanged for this job!” he cried, with a laugh that had a
real note of madness in it: “and the rest to be left here to fry or
leap overboard, shrieking like the rats that’ll show them the road!”
His manner, instead of further enraging, seemed to subdue the beasts.
“There’ll be no fire,” said Abram; “why do’t you keep your tepper?”’
‘What followed?’ said I.
‘Butler walked away. Some of the convicts abused him when his back
was turned. Barney Abram stood up for him. He said that Butler meant
well, and that his anxiety for the ship’s safety proved his honesty.
He was bad-tempered and a little mad; he was mad because he was being
transported for what he had never done. Then, fearing I might be
noticed as a listener, I slunk away, and Butler gave me the key, and
told me to go to you and get some supper.’
He stayed until he had had time to make a good meal. We talked in
murmurs, and nearly all our talk concerned our getting away from the
ship. He told me that Bates thought that Tom would have ventured it
this night had the gig been provisioned. Bates, he said, was wild to
get out of the ship. He feared for his life.
Will went on deck after sitting with me for half an hour. He locked me
in as he had been bidden, and when he was gone I felt afraid, for I
thought to myself: What shall I do, locked up below here, if the felons
set the ship on fire?