‘O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear the billow’s foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home.
These are our realms, no limits to their sway.
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.’
Byron, The Corsair, I. 1-6.
At three o’clock next morning, about an hour and a half before daydawn,
I was roused from my cot by the gruff voice of the boatswain on deck
“All hands up anchor.”
The next moment the gunroom steward entered with a lantern, which he
placed on the table--“Gentlemen, all hands up anchor, if you please.”
“Botheration!” grumbled one.
“Oh dear!” yawned another.
“How merrily we live that sailors be!” sung another in a most doleful
strain, and in all the bitterness of heart consequent on being roused
out of a warm nest so unceremoniously. But no help for it; so up we all
got, and opening the door of my berth, I got out, and sat me down on the
bench that ran along the starboard side of the table.
For the benefit of the uninitiated, let me describe a gunroom on board
of a sloop of war. Everybody knows that the Captain’s cabin occupies
the after part of the ship; next to it, on the same deck, is the
gunroom. In a corvette, such as the Firebrand, it is a room, as, near
as may be, twenty feet long by twelve wide, and lighted by a long
scuttle, or skylight, in the deck above. On each side of this room runs
a row of small chambers, seven feet long by six feet wide, boarded off
from the main saloon, or, in nautical phrase, separated from it by
bulkheads, each with a door and small window opening into the same, and,
generally speaking, with a small scuttle in the side of the ship towards
the sea. These are the officers’ sleeping apartments, in which they
have each a chest of drawers and basin-stand; while overhead is
suspended a cot, or hammock, kept asunder by a wooden frame, six feet
long by about two broad, slung from cleats nailed to the beams above, by
two lanyards fastened to rings, one at the head, and the other at the
foot; from which radiate a number of smaller cords, which are fastened
to the canvass of the cot; while a small strip of canvass runs from head
to foot on each side, so as to prevent the sleeper from rolling out.
The dimensions of the gunroom are, as will be seen, very much
circumscribed by the side berths; and when you take into account, that
the centre is occupied by a long table, running the whole length of the
room, flanked by a wooden bench, with a high back to it, on each side,
and a large clumsy chair at the head, and another at the foot, not
forgetting the sideboard at the head of the table, (full of knives,
forks, spoons, tumblers, glasses &c. &c. &c. stuck into mahogany
sockets,) all of which are made fast to the deck by strong cleats and
staples, and bands of spunyarn, so as to prevent them fetching way, or
moving, when the vessel pitches or rolls, you will understand that there
is no great scope to expatiate upon, free of the table, benches, and
bulkheads of the cabins. While I sat monopolizing the full light of the
lantern, and accoutring myself as decently as the hurry would admit of,
I noticed the officers, in their nightgowns and night-caps, as they
extricated themselves from their coops; and picturesque-looking
subjects enough there were amongst them, in all conscience. At length,
that is in about ten minutes from the time we were called, we were all
at stations--a gun was fired, and we weighed, and then stood out to sea,
running along about four knots, with the land--wind right aft. Having
made an offing of three miles or so, we outran the terral, and got
becalmed in the belt of smooth water between it and the sea-breeze. It
was striking to see the three merchant-ships gradually draw out from
the land, until we were all clustered together in a bunch, with a half a
gale of wind curling the blue waves within musket-shot, while all was
long swell and smooth water with us. At length the breeze reached us,
and we made sail with our convoy to the southward and eastward, the
lumbering merchantmen crowding every inch of canvass, while we could
hardly keep astern, under close-reefed topsails, foresail, jib, and
spanker.
“Pipe to breakfast,” said the Captain to Mr Yerk.
“A sail abeam of us to windward!”
“What is she?” sung out the skipper to the man at the masthead who had
hailed.
“A small schooner, sir; she has fired a gun, and hoisted an ensign and
pennant.”
“How is she steering?”
“She has edged away for us, sir.”
“Very well.--Mr Yerk, make the signal for the convoy to stand on.” Then
to the boatswain--
“Mr Catwell, have the men gone to breakfast?”
“No, sir, but they are just going.”
“Then pipe belay with breakfast for a minute, will you? All hands make
sail!”
“Crack on, Mr Yerk, and let us overhaul this small swaggerer.”
In a trice we had all sail set, and were staggering along on the
larboard tack, close upon a wind. We hauled out from the merchant ships
like smoke, and presently the schooner was seen from the deck.--“Go to
breakfast now.” The crew disappeared, all to the officers, man at the
helm, quartermaster at the conn, and signalman.
The first lieutenant had the book open on the drum of the capstan before
him. “Make our number,” said the Captain. It was done. “What does she
answer?”
The signalman answered from the fore-rigging, where he had perched
himself with his glass--“She makes the signal to telegraph, sir--3, 9,
2, at the fore, sir”--and so on; which translated was simply this--“The
Wave, with despatches from the admiral.”
“Oh, ho,” said Transom; “what is she sent for? Whenever the people have
got their breakfast, tack, and stand towards her, Mr Yerk.”
The little vessel approached.--“Shorten sail, Mr Yerk, and heave the
ship to,” said the Captain to the first lieutenant.
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“All hands, Mr Catwell.”
Presently the boatswain’s whistle rung sharp and clear, while his gruff
voice, to which his mates bore any thing but mellow burdens, echoed
through the ship--“All hands shorten sail-fore and mainsails haul
up-haul down to jib--in topgallant sails--now back the main-topsail.”
By heaving-to, we brought the Wave on our weather bow. She was now
within a cable’s length of the corvette; the captain was standing on the
second foremost, gun, on the larboard side. “Mafame,” to his steward,
“hand me up my trumpet.” He hailed the little vessel “Ho, the Wave,
ahoy!”
Presently the responding “hillo” came down the wind to us from the
officer in command of her, like an echo--“Run under our stern and heave
to, to leeward.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
As the Wave came to the wind, she lowered down her boat, and Mr
Jigmaree, the boatswain of the dockyard in Jamaica, came on board, and,
touching his hat, presented his despatches to the Captain. Presently he
and the skipper retired into the cabin, and all hands were inspecting
the Wave in her new character of one of his Britannic Majesty’s
cruisers. When I had last seen her she was a most beautiful little
craft, both in hull and rigging, as ever delighted the eye of a sailor;
but the dockyard riggers and carpenters had fairly bedeviled her, at
least so far as appearances went. First, they had replaced the light
rail on her gunwale, by heavy solid bulwarks four feet high, surmounted
by hammock nettings, at least another foot, so that the symmetrical
little vessel, that formerly floated on the foam light as a seagull, now
looked like a clumsy dish-shaped Dutch dogger. Her long slender wands
of masts, which used to swig about, as if there were neither shrouds nor
stays to support them, were now as taut and stiff as church steeples,
with four heavy shrouds of a side, and stays and back-stays, and the
Devil knows what all.
“Now,” quoth Tailtackle, “if them heave’em taughts at the yard have not
taken the speed out of the little beauty, I am a Dutchman.” Timotheus, I
may state in the bygoing, was not a Dutchman; he was fundamentally any
thing but a Dutchman; but his opinion was sound, and soon verified to my
cost. Jigmaree now approached.
“The Captain wants you in the cabin, sir,” said he.
I descended, and found the skipper seated at a table with his clerk
beside him, and several open letters lying before him. “Sit down, Mr
Cringle.” I took a chair. “There--read that,” and he threw an open
letter across the table to me, which ran as follows:
SIR,
“The Vice--Admiral, commanding on the Jamaica station, desires me to
say, that the bearer, the boatswain of the dockyard, Mr Luke Jigmaree,
has instructions to cruise for, and if possible to fall in with you,
before you weather Cape Maize, and falling in with you, to deliver up
charge of the vessel to you, as well as of the five negroes, and the
pilot, Peter Mangrove, who are on board of her. The Wave having been
armed and fitted with every thing considered necessary, you are to man
her with thirty-five of your crew, including officers, and to place her
under the command of Lieutenant Thomas Cringle, who is to be furnished
with a copy of this letter authenticated by your signature, and to whom
you will give written instructions, that he is first of all to cruise in
the great Cuba channel, until the 14th proximo, for the prevention of
piracy, and the suppression of the slave-trade carried on between the
island of Cuba and the coast of Africa, and to detain and carry into
Havanna, or Nassau, New Providence, all vessels having slaves on board,
which he may have reason to believe have been shipped beyond the
prescribed limits on the African coast as specified in the margin; and
after the 14th he is to proceed direct to New Providence if
unsuccessful, there to land Mr Jigmaree, and the dockyard negroes, and
await your return from the northward, after having seen the merchantmen
clear of the Caicos passage. When you have rejoined the Wave at Nassau,
you are to proceed with her as your tender to Crooked Island, and there
to await instructions from the Vice-Admiral, which shall be transmitted
by the packet to sail on the 9th proximo, to the care of the
postmaster. I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient servant.”
--------, Sec.
To the Hon. Captain Transom, etc.
To say sooth, I was by no means amorous of this independent command, as
an idea had, at the time I speak of, gone abroad in the navy, the
lieutenants, commanding small vessels, seldom rose higher, unless
through extraordinary interest, and I took the liberty of stating my
repugnance to my captain.
He smiled, and threw over another letter to me; it was a private one
from the Admiral’s Secretary, and was as follows:(Confidential.)
My DEAR TRANSOM,
“The Vice Admiral has got a hint from Sir----, to kick that wild splice,
young Cringle, about a bit. It seems he is a nephew of Old Blueblazes,
and as he has taken a fancy to the lad, he has promised his mother that
he will do his utmost to give him opportunities of being knocked on the
head, for all of which the old lady has professed herself wonderfully
indebted. As the puppy has peculiar notions, hint, directly or
indirectly, that he is not to be permanently bolted down to the little
and that if half a dozen skippers (you, my darling, among the rest) were
to evaporate during the approaching hot months, he may have some small
chance of t’other swab. Write me, and mind the claret and curacoa. Put
no address on either; and on coming to anchor, send notice to old
Peterkin in the lodge at the Master Attendant’s, and he will relieve you
and the pies de gallo, some calm evening, of all farther trouble
regarding them. Don’t forget the turtle from Crooked Island, and the
cigars.”
“Always, my dear Transom,”
“Yours sincerely,”
“Oh, I forgot. The Admiral begs you will spare him some steady old
hands to act as gunner, boatswain, &c.--elderly men, if you please, who
will shorten sail before the squall strikes him. If you float him away
with a crew of boys, the little scamp will get bothered, or capsized, in
a jiffy. All this for your worship’s government. How do you live with
your passenger--prime follow, an’t he? My love to him. Lady----is
dying to see him again.”
“WELL, MR CRINGLE, what say you?”
“Of course, I must obey, sir;--highly flattered by Mr Secretary’s good
opinion, any how.”
The Captain laughed heartily.
“It is nearly calm, I see. We must set about manning this seventy four
for you, without delay. So, come along, Captain Cringle.”
When we got on deck,--“Hail the Wave to close, Mr Yerk,” said Transom.
“Lower away the boat, and pipe away the yaulers, boatswain’s mate.”
Presently the Captain and I were on the Wave’s deck, where I was much
surprised to find no less personages than Pepperpot Wagtail, and Paul
Gelid, Esquires. Mr Gelid, a conch, or native of the Bahamas, was the
same yawning, drawling, long-legged Creole as ever. He had been ill
with fever, and had asked a passage to Nassau, where his brother was
established. At bottom, however, he was an excellent fellow, warm
hearted, honourable, and upright. As for little Wagtail--oh, he was a
delight!--a small round man, with all the Jamaica Creole irritability of
temper, but also all the Jamaica warmth of heart about him
straightforward, and scrupulously conscientious in his dealings, but
devoted to good cheer in every shape. He had also been ailing, and had
adventured on the cruise in order to recruit. I scarcely know how to
describe his figure better than by comparing his corpus to an egg, with
his little feet stuck through the bottom of the shell; but he was
amazingly active withal.
Both the Captain and myself were rejoiced to see our old friends; and it
was immediately fixed that they should go on board the corvette, and
sling their cots alongside of Mr Bang, so long as the courses--of the
two vessels lay together. This being carried into execution, we set
about our arrangements. Our precious blockheads at the dockyard had
fitted a thirty-two pound carronade on the pivot, and stuck two long
sixes, one on each side of the little vessel. I hate carronades. I had,
before now, seen thirty-two pound shot thrown by them jump off a ship’s
side with a rebound like a football, when a shot from an eighteen--
pounder long gun went crash, at the same range, through both sides of
the ship, whipping off a leg and arm, or aiblins a head or two, in its
transit.
“My dear sir,” said I, “don’t shove me adrift with that old pot there
do lend me one of your long brass eighteen-pounders.”
“Why, Master Cringle, what is your antipathy to carronades?”
“I have no absolute antipathy to them, sir--they are all very well in
their way. For instance, I wish you would fit me with two twelvepound
carronades instead of those two popgun long sixes. These, with thirty
muskets, and thirty-five men or so, would make me very complete.”
“A modest request,” said Captain Transom.
“Now, Tom Cringle, you have overshot your mark, my fine fellow,” thought
I; but it was all right, and that forenoon the cutter was hoisted out
with the guns in her, and the others dismounted and sent back in
exchange; and in fine, after three days’ hard work, I took the command
of H.B.M. schooner, Wave, with Timothy Tailtackle as gunner, the senior
midshipman as master, one of the carpenter’s crew as carpenter, and a
boatswain’s-mate as boatswain, a surgeon’s mate as surgeon, the
captain’s clerk as purser, and thirty foremast-men, besides the
blackies, as the crew. But the sailing of the little beauty had been
regularly spoiled. We could still in light winds weather on’ the
corvette, it is true, but then she was a slow top, unless it blew half a
gale of wind; and as for going any thing free, why a sand barge would
have beaten us.--We kept company with the Firebrand until we weathered
Cape Maize. It was near five o’clock in the afternoon, the corvette was
about half a mile on our lee-bow, when, while walking the deck, after
an early dinner, Tailtackle came up to me.
“The Commodore has hove-to, sir.”
“Very like,” said I; “to allow the merchant-ships to close, I presume.”
“A gun,” said little Reefpoint. “Ah--what signal now?”--It was
the signal to close.
“Put the helm up and run down to him,” said I. It was done--and
presently the comfortable feeling of bowling along before the breeze,
succeeded the sharp yerking digging motion of the little vessel, tearing
and pitching through a head sea, close upon a wind. The water was
buzzing under our bows, and we were once more close under the stern of
the corvette. There was a boat alongside ready manned. The Captain
hailed, “I sent your orders on board, Mr Cringle, to bear up on your
separate cruise.” At the same moment, the Firebrand’s ensign and pennant
were hoisted--we did the same--a gun from the Commodore--ditto from the
tidy little Wave--and lo! Thomas Cringle, esquire, launched for the
first time on his own bottom.
By this time the boat was alongside, with Messieurs Aaron Bang,
Pepperpot Wagtail, and Paul Gelid--the former with his cot, and half a
dozen cases of wine, and some pigs, and some poultry, all under the
charge of his black servant.
“Hillo,” said I--“Mr Wagtail is at home here, you know, Mr Bang, and so
is Mr Gelid; but to what lucky chance am I indebted for your society, my
dear sir?”
“Thank your stars, Tom--Captain Cringle, I beg pardon--and be grateful;
I am sick of rumbling tumbling in company with these heavy tools of
merchantmen, so I entreated Transom to let me go and take a turn with
you, promising to join the Firebrand again at Nassau.”
“Why, I am delighted,”--and so I really was. “But, my dear sir--I may
lead you a dance, and, peradventure into trouble--a small vessel may
catch a Tartar, you know.
“D--n the expense,” rejoined my jovial ally; “why, the hot little
epicurean Wagtail, and Gelid, cold and frozen as he is, have both taken
a fancy to me--and no wonder, knowing my pleasant qualities as they do
ahem; so, for their sakes, I volunteer on this piece of knight-errantry
as much as’--
“Poo--you be starved, Aaron dear,” rapped out little Wagtail; “you came
here, because you thought you should have more fun, and escape the
formality of the big ship, and eke the Captain’s sour claret.”
“Ah,” said Gelid, “my fine fellow,” with his usual Creole drawl, “you
did not wait for my opinion. Ah--oh--why, Captain Cringle, a thousand
pardons. Friend Bang, there, swears that he can’t do without you; and
all he says about me is neither more nor less than humbug--ah.”
“My lovely yellowsnake,” quoth Aaron, “and my amiable dumpling,
gentlemen both, now, do hold your tongues.--Why, Tom, here we are, never
you mind how, after half a quarrel with the skipper--will you take us,
or will you send us back, like rejected addresses?”
“Send you back, my boys! No, no, too happy to get you.” Another gun
from the corvette. “Firebrands, you must shove off. My compliments,
Wiggins, to the Captain, and there’s a trifle for you to drink my
health, when you get into port.” The boat shoved off--the corvette
filled her maintopsail. “Put the helm down--ease off the mainsheet
stand by to run up the squaresail. How is her head, Mr Tailtackle?”
Timothy gave a most extraordinary grin at my bestowing the Mister on him
for the first time.
“North-west, sir.”
“Keep her so”--and having bore up, we rapidly widened our distance from
the Commodore and the fleet.
All men know, or should know, that on board of a man-of-war, there is
never any “yo heave oh’ing.” That is confined to merchant vessels. But
when the crew are having a strong pull of any rope, it is allowable for
the man next the belaying pin, to sing out, in order t@6 give unity to
the drag, “one-two-three,” the strain of the other men increasing with
the figure. The tack of the mainsail had got jammed somehow, and on my
desiring it to be hauled up, the men, whose province it was, were unable
to start it.
“Something foul aloft,” said I.
Tailtackle came up. “What are you fiddling at, men? Give me here-one
two-three.”
Crack went the strands of the rope under the paws of the Titan, whereby
the head of the outermost sailor pitched right into Gelid’s stomach,
knocked him over and capsized him head foremost into the wind sail
which was let down through the skylight into the little well cabin of
the schooner. It so happened that there was a bucket full of Spanish
brown paint standing on the table in the cabin, right below the hoop of
the canvass funnel, and into it plopped the august pate of Paul Gelid,
esquire. Bang had, in the meantime, caught him by the heels, and with
the assistance of Pearl, the handsome negro formerly noticed, who, from
his steadiness, had been spared to me as a quartermaster, the conch was
once more hoisted on deck, with a scalp of red paint, reaching down over
his eyes.
“I say,” quoth Bang, “Gelid, my darling, not quite so smooth as the real
Macassar, eh? Shall I try my hand--can shave beautifully--eh?”
“Ah,” drawled Gelid, “don’t require it--lucky my head was shaved in that
last fever, Aaron dear. Ah--let me think--you tall man--you sailor--
fellow--ah--do me the favour to scrape me with your knife--ah--and pray
call my servant.”
Timothy, to whom he had addressed himself, set to, and scraped the red
paint off his poll; and having called his servant, Chew Chew, handed him
over to the negro, who, giving his arm to him, helped him below, and
with the assistance of Cologne water, contrived to scrub him decently
clean.
As the evening fell, the breeze freshened; and during the night it blew
strong, so that from the time we bore up, and parted company with the
Firebrand, until day-dawn next morning, we had run 130 miles or thereby
to the northward and westward, and were then on the edge of the Great
Bahama Bank. The breeze now failed us, and we lay roasting in the sun
until mid-day, the current sweeping us to the northward, and still
farther on to the bank, until the water shoaled to three fathoms. At
this time the sun was blazing fiercely right overhead; and from the
shallowness of the water, there was not the smallest swell, or
undulation of the surface. The sea, as far as the eye could reach, was
a sparkling light green, from the snow-white sand at the bottom, as if
a level desert had been suddenly submerged under a few feet of crystal
clear water, which formed a cheery spectacle, when compared with the
customary leaden, or dark blue-colour of the rolling fathomless ocean.
It was now dead calm.--“Fishing lines there--Idlers, fishing lines,”
said I; and in a minute there were forty of them down over the side.
In Europe, fish in their shapes partake of the sedate character of the
people who inhabit the coasts of the seas or rivers in which they swim
at least I think so. The salmon, the trout, the cod, and all the other
tribes of the finny people, are reputable in their shapes, and
altogether respectable-looking creatures. But, within the tropics,
Dame Nature plays strange vagaries; and here, on the great Bahama Bank,
every new customer, as he floundered in on deck--no joke to him, poor
fellow--elicited shouts of laughter from the crew. They were in no
respect shaped like fish of our cold climates; some were all head
others all tail-some, so far as shape went, had their heads where, with
submission, I conceived their tails should have been; and then the
colours, the intense brilliancy of the scales of these monstrous
looking animals! We hooked up a lot of bonitos, 10 Lbs apiece, at the
least. But Wagtail took small account of them.
“Here,” said Bang, at this moment, “by all that is wonderful, look
here!” And he drew up a fish about a foot long, with a crop like a
pigeon of the tumbler kind, which began to make a loud snorting noise.
“Ah,” drawled Gelid, “good fish, with claret sauce.”
“Daresay,” rejoined Aaron; “but do your Bahama fish speak, Paul, eh?
Balaam’s ass was a joke to this fellow.”
I have already said that the water was not quite three fathoms deep, and
it was so clear that I could see down to the very sand, and there were
the fish cruising about in great numbers.
“Haul in, Wagtail--you have hooked him,” and up came a beautiful black
grouper, about four pounds weight.
“Ah, there is the regular jiggery-jiggery,” sung out little Reefpoint,
at the same moment, as he in turn began to pull up his line. “Stand by
to land him,” and a red snapper, for all the world like a gigantic gold
fish, was hauled on board; and so we carried on, black snappers, red
snappers, and rock fish, and a vast variety, for all of which, however,
Wagtail had names pat, until at length I caught a most lovely dolphin--a
beauty to look at--but dry, terribly dry to eat. I cast it on the deck,
and the chameleon tints of the dying fish, about which so many lies have
been said and sung, were just beginning to fade, and wax pale, and ashy,
and deathlike, when I felt another strong jiggery jiggery at my line,
which little Reefpoint had, in the meantime, baited afresh. “Zounds! I
have caught a whale--a shark at the very least” and I pulled him in,
hand over hand.
“A most noble Jew fish,” said I.
“A Jew fish!” responded Wagtail.
“A Jew fish!” said Aaron Bang.
“A Jew fish!” said Paul Gelid.
“My dear Cringle,” continued Wagtail, “when do you dine?”
“At three, as usual.”
“Then, Mr Reefpoint, will you have the great kindness to cast off your
sink, and hook that splendid fellow by the tail--only through the
gristle--don’t prick him in the flesh--and let him meander about till
half-past two?”
Reefy was half inclined to be angry at the idea of his Majesty’s officer
being converted into a cook’s mate.
“Why,” said I, “we shall put him in a tub of water, here on deck, Mr
Wagtail, if you please.”
“God bless me, no!” quoth the gastronome. “Why, he is strong as an
eagle, and will smash himself to mummy in half an hour in a tub. No--no
see, he weighs twelve pounds at the very lightest. Lord! Mr Cringle,
I am surprised at you.”
The fish was let overboard again, according to his desire, and hauled in
at the very moment he indicated by his watch, when, having seen him cut
up and cleaned, with his own eyes--I believe I may say with his own
hands--he betook himself to his small crib to dress.
At dinner our Creole friend was very entertaining. Bang drew him out,
and had him to talk on all his favourite topics in a most amusing
manner. All at once Gelid lay back on his chair.
“My God,” said he, “I have broken my tooth with that confounded hard
biscuit--terrible--really: ah!”--and he screwed up his face, as if he
had been eating sourcrout, or had heard of the death of a dear friend.
“Poo,” quoth Aaron, “any comb maker will furnish you forth as good as
new; those grinders you brag of are not your own, Gelid, you know that.”
“Indeed, Aaron, my dear, I know nothing of the kind; but this I know,
that I have broken a most lovely white front tooth, ah!”
“Oh, you be hanged,” said Aaron; “why, you have been bechopped any time
these ten years, I know.”
The time wore on, and it might have been half past seven when we went on
deck.
It was a very dark night--Tailtackle had the watch. “Any thing in
sight, Mr Tailtackle?”
“Why, no, sir; but I have just asked your steward for your night glass,
as, once or twice--but it is so thick--Pray, sir, how far are we off the
Hole in the Wall?”
“Why, sixty miles at the least.”
The Hole in the Wall is a very remarkable rock in the Crooked Island
Passage, greatly resembling, as the name betokens, a wall breached by
the sea, or by battering cannon, which rises abruptly out of the water,
to a height of forty feet.
“Then,” quoth Tailtackle sharply, “there must be a sail close aboard of
us, to windward there.”
“Where?” said I. “Quick, send for my night-glass.”
“I have it here in my hand, sir.”
“Let me see”--and I peered through it until my eyes ached again. I
could see nothing, and resumed my walk on the quarterdeck. Tailtackle,
in the meantime, continued to look through the telescope, and as I
turned from aft to walk forward, a few minutes after this--“Why, sir,”
said he, “it clears a bit, and I see the object that has
puzzled me again.”
“Eh? give me the glass”--in a second I caught it. “By Jupiter, you say
true, Tailtackle! beat to quarters--quick--clear away the long gun
forward there!”
All was bustle for a minute. I kept my eye on the object, but I could
not make out more, than that it was a strange sail; I could neither
judge of her size nor her rig, from the distance, and the extreme
darkness of the night. At length I handed the glass to Tailtackle
again. We were at this time standing in towards the Cuba shore, with a
fine breeze, and going along seven knots, as near as could be.
“Give the glass to Mr Jigmaree, Mr Tailtackle, and come forward here,
and see all snug.”
The long gun was slewed round--both carronades were run out, all three
being loaded, double shotted, and carefully primed--the whole crew, with
our black supernumeraries, being at quarters.
“I see her quite distinct now, sir,” sung out Timotheus.
“Well, what looks she like?”
“A large brig, sir, by the wind on the same tack--you can see her now
without the glass--there--with the naked eye.”
I looked, and certainly fancied I saw some towering object rising high
and dark to windward, like some mighty spectre walking the deep, but I
could discern nothing more.
“She is a large vessel, sure enough, sir,” said Timothy once more “now
she is hauling up her courses, sir--she takes in topgallant sails why,
she is bearing up across our bows, sir--mind she don’t rake us.”
“The deuce!” said I. I now saw the chase very distinctly bear up. “Put
the helm up--keep her away a bit--steady at that will do--fire a shot
across her bows, Mr Tailtackle--and, Mr Reefpoint, show the private
signal.” The gun was fired, and the lights shown, but our spectral
friend was all darkness and silence. “Mr Scarfemwell,” said I to the
carpenter, “stand by the long gun. Tailtackle, I don’t like that chap
open the magazine.” By this time the strange sail was on our quarter, we
shortened sail, while he, finding that his manoeuvre of crossing our
bows had been foiled by our bearing up also, got the foretack on board
again, and set his topgallant sails, all very cleverly. He was not far
out of pistol-shot. Tailtackle, in his shirt and trowsers, and felt
shoes, now stuck his head up the main hatchway.
“I would recommend your getting the hatches on, sir--that fellow is not
honest, sir, take my word for it.”
“Never mind, Mr Tailtackle, never mind. Forward, there; Mr Jigmaree,
slap a round shot into him, since he won’t speak, or heave-to--right
between his masts, do you hear--are you ready?”
“All ready, sir.”
“Fire.” The gun was fired, and simultaneously we heard a crash on board
the strange sail, followed by a piercing yell, similar to what the
negroes raise over a dead comrade, and then a long melancholy howl.
“A slaver, and the shot has told, sir,” said Mr Handlead, the master.
“Then we shall have some fun for it,” thought I. I had scarcely spoken,
when the brig once more shortened sail; and the instant that the
foresail rose, he let fly his bow gun at us--then another, another, and
another.
“Nine guns of a side, as I am a sinner,” quoth jigmaree; and three of
the shot struck us, mortally wounded one poor fellow, and damaged poor
little Reefy by a splinter in the side.
“Stand by, men--take good aim--fire”--and we again let drive the long
gun and carronade; but our friend was too quick for us, for by this time
he had once more hauled his wind, and made sail as close to it as he
could stagger. We crowded every thing in chase, but he had the heels of
us, and in an hour he was once more nearly out of sight in the dark
night, right to windward.
“Keep, at him, Mr Jigmaree;” and as I feared he was running us in under
the land, I dived to consult the chart. There, in the cabin, I found
Wagtail, Gelid, and Bang, sitting smoking on each side of the small
table, with some brandy and water before them.
“Ah,” quoth Gelid, “ah! fighting a little? Not pleasant in the evening,
certainly.”
“Confound you,” said Aaron, “why will you bother at this awkward
moment?”
Meanwhile Wagtail was a good deal discomposed.
“My dear fellow, hand me over that deviled biscuit.”
Bang handed him over the dish, slipping into it some fragments of ship
biscuit, as hard as flint. All this time I was busy poring over the
chart. Wagtail took up a piece and popt it into his mouth.
“Zounds, Bang--my dear Aaron, what dentist are you in league with?
Gelid first breaks his pet fang, and now you”--
“Poo, poo,” quoth his friend, “don’t bother now--hillo--what the deuce
I say, Wagtail--Gelid, my lad, look there”--as one of the seamen, with
another following him, brought down on his back the poor fellow who had
been wounded, and laid his bloody load on the table.
To those who are unacquainted with these matters, it may be right to
say, that the captain’s cabin, in a small vessel like the Wave, is often
in an emergency used as a cockpit--and so it was in the present
instance.
“Beg pardon, Captain and gentlemen,” said the surgeon, “but I must, I
fear, perform an ugly operation on this poor fellow. I fancy you had
better go on deck, gentlemen.”
Now I had an opportunity to see of what sterling metal my friends were
at bottom made. Mr Bang in a twinkling had his coat off.
“Doctor, I can be of use, I know it--no skill, but steady nerves,”
although he had reckoned a leetle without his host here,--“And I can
swathe a bandage too, although no surgeon,” said Wagtail.
Gelid said nothing, but he was in the end the best surgeon’s mate
amongst them. The poor fellow, Wiggins, one of the captain’s gigs, and
a most excellent man, in quarterdeck parlance, was now laid on the table
a fine handsome young fellow, faint and pale, very pale, but courageous
as a lion, even in his extremity. It appeared that a round shot had
shattered his leg above the knee. A tourniquet had been applied on his
thigh, and there was not much bleeding.
“Captain,” said the poor fellow, while Bang supported him in his arms,
“I shall do yet, sir; indeed I have no great pain.”
All this time the surgeon was cutting off his trowsers, and then, to be
sure, a terrible spectacle presented itself. The foot and leg, blue and
shrunk, were connected with the thigh by a band of muscle about two
inches wide, and an inch thick; that fined away to a bunch of white
tendons or sinews at the knee, which again swelled out as they melted
into the muscles of the calf of the leg; but as for the knee bone, it
was smashed to pieces, leaving white spikes protruding from the
shattered limb above, as well as from the shank beneath. The doctor
gave the poor fellow a large dose of laudanum in a glass of brandy, and
then proceeded to amputate the limb, high up on the thigh. Bang stood
the knife part of it very steadily, but the instant the saw rasped
against the shattered bone he shuddered.
“I am going, Cringle--can’t stand that--sick as a dog”--and he was so
faint that I had to relieve him in supporting the poor fellow. Wagtail
had also to go on deck, but Paul Gelid remained firm as a rock. The
limb was cut off, the arteries taken up very cleverly, and the surgeon
was in the act of slacking the tourniquet a little, when the thread that
fastened the largest, or femoral artery, suddenly gave way and a gush
like the jet from a fire-engine took place. The poor fellow had just
time to cry out, “Take that cold hand off my heart!” when his chest
collapsed, his jaw fell, and in an instant his pulse stopped.
“Dead as Julius Caesar, Captain,” said Gelid, with his usual
deliberation. Dead enough, thought I; and I was leaving the cabin to
resume my post on deck, when I stumbled against something at the ladder
foot.
“My, what is that?” grumbled I.
“It is me, sir,” said a small faint voice.
“You!--who are you?”
“Reefpoint, sir.”
“Bless me, boy, what are you doing here? Not hurt, I hope?”
“A little, sir--a graze from a splinter, sir--the same shot that struck
poor Wiggins knocked it off, sir.”
“Why did you not go to the doctor, then, Mr Reefpoint?”
“I waited till he was done with Wiggins, sir; but now, since it is all
over with him, I will go and be dressed.”
His voice grew fainter and fainter, until I could scarcely hear him. I
got him in my arms, and helped him into the cabin, where, on stripping
the poor little fellow, it was found that he was much hurt on the right
side, just above the hip. Bang’s kind heart, for by this time a glass
of water had cured him of his faintness, shone conspicuous on this
occasion.
“Why, Reefy--little Reefy--you are not hurt, my man--Surely you are not
wounded--such a little fellow,--I should have as soon thought of firing
at a musquitto.”
“Indeed, sir, but I am; see here.”--Bang looked at the hurt, as he
supported the wounded midshipman in his arms.
“God help me,” said the excellent fellow, “you seem to me fitter for
your mother’s nursery, my poor dear boy, than to be knocked about in
this coarse way here.”
Reefy, at this moment, fell over into his arms, in a dead faint.
“You must take my berth, with the Captain’s permission,” said Aaron,
while he and Wagtail undressed him with the greatest care, and placed
him in the narrow crib.
“Thank you, my dear sir,” moaned little Reefpoint; “were my mother here,
sir she would thank you too.”
Stern duty now called me on deck, and I heard no more. The night was
still very dark, and I could see nothing of the chase, but I made all
the sail I could in the direction which I calculated she would steer,
trusting that, before morning, we might get another glimpse of her. In
a little while Bang came on deck.
“I say, Tom, now since little Reefy is asleep--what think you big craft
that--nearly caught a Tartar--not very sorry he has escaped, eh?”
“Why, my dear sir, I trust he has not escaped; I hope, when the day
breaks, now since we have less wind, that we may have a tussle with him
yet.”
“No, you don’t wish it, do you, really and truly?”
“Indeed, I do, sir; and the only thing which bothers me is the peril
that you and your friends must necessarily encounter.”
“Poo, poo, don’t mind us, Tom, don’t mind us; but an’t he too big for
you, Tom?”
He said this in such a comical way, that, for the life of me, I could
not help laughing.
“Why, we shall see; but attack him I must, and shall, if I can get at
him. However, we shall wait till morning; so I recommend your turning
in, now since they have cleared away the cockpit out of the cabin; so
good-night, my dear sir--I must stay here, I fear.”
“Good-night, Tom; God bless you. I shall go and comfort Wagtail and
Paul.”
I was at this time standing well aft on the larboard side of the deck,
close abaft of the tiller-rope, so that, with no earthly disposition to
be an eavesdropper, I could neither help seeing nor hearing what was
going on in the cabin, as the small open skylight was close to my All
vestiges of the cockpit had been cleared away, and the table was laid
for supper. Wagtail and Gelid were sitting on the side I stood on, so
that I could not see them, although I heard every word they said.
Presently Bang entered, and sat down opposite his allies. He crossed
his arms, and leant down over the table, looking at them steadily.
“My dear Aaron,” I could hear little Wagtail say, “speak, man, don’t
frighten a body so.”
“Ah, Bang,” drawled out Paul, “jests are good, being well-timed; what
can you mean by that face of yours now, since the fighting is all over?”
My curiosity fairly overcame my good manners, and I moved round more
amidships, so as to command a view of both parties, as they sat opposite
each other at the narrow table.
Bang still held his peace for another minute; at length, in a very
solemn tone, he said, “Gentlemen, do you ever say your prayers?” I don’t
know if I mentioned it before, but Aaron had a most musical deep mellow
voice, and now it absolutely thrilled to my very soul.
Wagtail and Paul looked at him, and then at each other, with a most
absurd expression--between fear and jest--between crying and laughing
but gave him no answer.
“Are you, my lads, such blockheads as to be ashamed to acknowledge that
you say your prayers?”
“Ah,” aid Gelid, “why, ah no--not--that is”
“Oh, you Catholics are all so bigoted,--I suppose we should cross
ourselves, eh?” said Wagtail hastily.
“I am a Catholic, Master Wagtail,” rejoined Bang--“better that than
nothing. Before sunrise, we may both have proved the truth of our
creeds, if you have one; but if you mean it as a taunt, Wagtail, it does
discredit to your judgment to select such a moment, to say nothing of
your heart. However, you cannot make me angry with you, Pepperpot, you
little Creole wasp, do as you will.” A slight smile here curled Aaron’s
lip for an instant, although he immediately resumed the solemn tone in
which he had previously spoken.--“But I had hoped that two such old
friends, as you both have been to me, would not altogether have made up
their minds in cold blood, if advertised of their danger, to run the
chance of dying like dogs in a ditch, without one preparatory thought
towards that tremendous Being, before whom we may all stand before
morning.”
“Murder!” quoth Wagtail, fairly frightened; “are you really serious,
Aaron? I did not--would not, for the world, hurt your feelings in
earnest, my dear; why do you desire so earnestly to know whether or not
I ever say my prayers?”
“Oh, don’t bother, man,” rejoined Bang, resuming his usual friendly
tone; “you had better say boldly that you do not, without any
roundaboutation.”
“But why, my dear Bang, why do you ask the question?” persisted Wagtail,
in a deuced quandary.
“Simply,”--and here our friend’s voice once more fell to the low deep
serious tone in which he had opened the conference,--“simply because, in
my humble estimation, if you don’t say your prayers tonight, it is three
to one you shall never pray again.”
“The deuce!” said Pepperpot, twisting himself in all directions, as if
his inexpressibles had been nailed to his seat, and he was trying to
escape from them. “What, in the devil’s name, mean you, man?”
“I mean neither more nor less than what I say. I speak English, don’t I?
I say, that that pestilent young fellow Cringle told me half an hour
ago, that he was determined, as he words it, to stick to this Guineaman,
who is three times his size, has eighteen guns, while Master Tommy has
only three; and whose crew, I will venture to say, triples our number;
and the snipe, from what I know of him, is the very man to keep his word
so what say you, my darling, eh?”
“Ah, very inconvenient, ah,--I shall stay below,” said Paul.
“So shall I,” quoth Pepperpot; “won’t stick my nose on deck, Aaron
dear, no, not for the whole world.”
“Why,” said Bang, in the same steady low tone, “you shall do as you
please, ah,”--and here he very successfully imitated our amigo Gelid’s
drawl--“and as best suits you, ah; but I have consulted the gunner, an
old ally of mine, who, to be plain with you--ah--says that the danger
from splinter wounds below, is much greater than from their musketry on
deck--ah--the risk from the round shot being pretty equal--ah--in either
situation.” At this announcement you could have jumped down either
Wagtail’s or Gelid’s throat,--Wagtail’s for choice--without touching
their teeth. “Farther, the aforesaid Timothy, and be hanged to him,
deponeth, that the only place in a small vessel where we could have had
a moderate chance of safety was the Run,--so called, I presume, from
people running to it for safety; but where the deuce this sanctuary is
situated I know not, nor does it signify greatly, for it is now
converted into a spare powder magazine, and of course sealed to us. So
here we are, my lads, in as neat a taking as ever three unfortunate
gentlemen were in, in this weary world. However, now since I have
comforted you, let us go to bed-time enough to think on all this in the
morning, and I am consumedly tired.”
I heard no more, and resumed my solitary walk on deck, peering every now
and then through the night-glass, until my eyes ached again. The
tedious night at length wore away, and the grey dawn found me sound
asleep, leaning out at the gangway. They had scarcely begun to wash
down the decks, when we discerned our friend of the preceding night,
about four miles to windward, close hauled on the same tack, apparently
running in for the Cuba shore, as fast as canvass could carry him. If
this was his object, we had proved too quick for him, as by casting off
stays, and slacking shrouds, and, in every way we could think of,
loosening the rigid trim of the little vessel, we had in a great measure
recovered her sailing; so when he found he was cut off from the land, he
resolutely bore up, took in his top-gallant sails, hauled up his
courses, fired a gun, and hoisted his large Spanish ensign, all in
regular man-of-war fashion. By this time it was broad daylight, and
Wagtail, Gelid, and Bang, were all three on deck, performing their
morning ablutions. As for myself, I was well forward, near the long
gun. Pegtop, Mr Bang’s black valet, came up to me.
“Please, Massa Captain, can you spare me any muskets?”
“Any muskets?” said I; “why, half a dozen if you choose.”
“De wery number my massa told me to hax for. Tank you, Massa Captain.”
And forthwith he and the other two black servants in attendance on
Wagtail and Gelid, each seized his two muskets out of the arm-chest,
with the corresponding ammunition, and, like so many sable Robinson
Crusoes, were stumping aft, when I again accosted the aforesaid Pegtop.
“I say, my man, now since you have got the muskets, does your master
really intend to fight?” The negro stopped short, and faced right round,
his countenance expressing very great surprise and wonderment. “Massa
Bang fight? Massa Aaron Bang fight?” and he looked up in my face with
the most seriocomic expression that could be imagined. “Ah, massa,”
continued the poor fellow,--“you is joking--surely you is joking--my
Massa Aaron Bang fight? Oh, massa, surely you can’t know he--surely you
never see him shoot snipe, and wild-duck--oh dear, why him kill wild
duck on de wing--ah, me often see him knock down teal wid single ball,
one hundred--ah, one hundred and fifty yards--and man surely more big
mark den teal?”
“Granted,” I said; “but a teal has not a loaded musket in its claws, a
Spanish buccaneer may have a small difference, Master Pegtop, that?”
“None at all, master,” chimed in Pegtop, “very energetically myshef,
Gabriel Pegtop, Christian man as me is, am one of de Falmouth black
shot. Ah, I have been in de woods wid Massa Aaron, one time particular,
when dem wery debils, Sambo Moses, Corromantee Tom, and Eboe Peter,
took to de bush, at Crabyaw estate--after breakfast--ten black shot
me was one, go out along wid our good massa, Massa Aaron. Oh Lord, we
walk troo de cool wood, and over de hot cleared ground, six hour, when
every body say,--No use dis, Massa Bang--all we tired too much--must
stop here--kindle fire--cook wittal. Ah, top dem who hab white liver,
said Massa Aaron; you, Pegtop, take you fusee and cutlass, and follow
me, my shild--Massa Aaron alway call me him shild, and troo enough, as
parson Calaloo say, him family wery much like Joseph coat--many colour
among dem, massa--though none quite so deep as mine eider”--and here the
negro grinned at his own jest. “Well, I was follow him, or rader was go
before him, opening up de pass wid me cutlass, troo de wery tangle
underwood. We walk four hour--see no one, all still and quiet--no breeze
shake de tree--oh, I sweat too much--dem hot, massa, sun shine right down,
when we could catch glimpse of him--yet no trace of de runaways. At
length, on turning corner, perched on small platform of rock,
overshadowed by plumes of bamboos, like ostrich feather lady wear at de
ball, who shall we see but dem wery dividual d----rascail I was mention,
standing all tree, each wid one carabine pointed at us, at him shoulder,
and cutlass at him side? Pegtop, my boy, said Massa Aaron, we is in
for it--follow me, but don’t fire. So him pick off Sambo Moses--oh!
cool as one cucumber. Now, say he, man to man,--and wid dat him tro
him gun on de ground, and drawing him cutlass, we push up--in one moment
him and Corromantee Tom close. Tom put up him hand to fend him head
whip--ah--massa cutlass shred de hand at de wrist, like one carrot
down Tom go--atop of him jump Massa Aaron. I master de leetle one, Eboe
Peter, and we carry dem both prisoners into Falmouth.--Massa Aaron
fight? Ah, massa, no hax dat question again.”
“Well, but will Mr Gelid fight?” said I.
“I tink him will too--great friend of Massa Bang--good duck--shot too
oh yes, fink Massa Paul will fight.”
“Why,” said I, “your friends are all heroes, Pegtop--will Mr Wagtail
fight also?” He stole close up to me, and exchanged his smart Creole
gibberish for a quiet sedate accent, as he whispered.
“Not so sure of he--nice little fat man, but too fond of him belly.
When I wait behind Massa Aaron chair, Pegtop sometime hear funny ting.
One gentleman say--Ah, dat month we hear Lord Wellington take Saint
Sebastian--when dat is, what time we hear dat news, Massa Wagtail? him
say.--Eh, say Massa Wagtail--oh, we hear of dem news, dat wery day de
first of de ringtail pigeon come to market. Den again, Dat big fight
dem had at soch anoder place, when we hear of dat, Massa Wagtail?--say
somebody else. Oh, oh, de wery day we hab dat beautiful grouper wid
claret sauce at Massa Whiffie’s. Oh, make me laugh to hear white
gentleman mark great fight in him memory by what him eat de day de news
come; so, Massa Captain Cringle, me no quite sure weder Massa Wagtail
will fight or no.”
So saying, Pegtop, Chew Chew, and Yampea, each shouldered two muskets
apiece, and betook themselves to the after part of the schooner, where
they forthwith set themselves to scour, and oil, and clean the same, in
a most skilful manner. I expected the breeze would have freshened as
the day broke, but I was disappointed; it fell, towards six o’clock,
nearly calm. Come, thought I, we may as well go to breakfast; and my
guests and I forthwith sat down to our morning meal. Soon after, the
wind died away altogether--and “out sweeps” was the word; but I soon saw
we had no chance with the chase at this game, and as to attacking him
with the boats, it was entirely out of the question; neither could I, in
the prospect of a battle, afford to murder the people, by pulling all
day under a roasting sun, against one who could man his sweeps with
relays of slaves, without one of his crew putting a finger to them; so I
reluctantly laid them in, and there I stood looking at him the whole
forenoon, as he gradually drew ahead of us. At length I piped to
dinner, and the men having finished theirs, were again on deck; but the
calm still continued; and seeing no chance of it freshening, about four
in the afternoon we sat down to ours in the cabin. There was little
said; my friends, although brave and resolute men, were naturally happy
to see the brig creeping away from us, as fighting could only bring them
danger; and my own feelings were of that mixed quality, that while I
determined to do all I could to bring him to action, it would not have
broken my heart had he escaped. We had scarcely finished dinner,
however, when the rushing of the water past the run of the little
vessel, and the steadiness with which she skimmed along, shewed that the
light air had freshened.
Presently Tailtackle came down. “The breeze has set down, sir; the
strange sail has got it strong to windward, and brings it along with him
cheerily.”
“Beat to quarters, then, Tailtackle; all hands stand by to shorten sail.
How is she standing?”
“Right down for us, sir.”
I went on deck, and there was the Guineaman about two miles to windward,
evidently cleared for action, with her decks crowded with men, bowling
along steadily under her single-reefed topsails.
I saw all clear. Wagtail and Gelid had followed me on deck, and were
now busy with their black servants inspecting the muskets. But Bang
still remained in the cabin. I went down. He was gobbling his last
plantain, and forking up along with it most respectable slices of
cheese, when I entered.
I had seen before I left the deck that an action was now unavoidable,
and judging from the disparity of force, I had my own doubts as to the
issue. I need scarcely say that I was greatly excited. It was my first
command: My future standing in the service depended on my conduct now,
and, God help me, I was all this while a mere lad, not more than twenty
one years old. A strange indescribable feeling had come over me, and
an irresistible desire to disburden my mind to the excellent man before
me. I sat down.
“Hey day,” quoth Bang, as he laid down his coffee cup; “why, Tom, what
ails you? You look deuced pale, my boy.”
“Up all night, sir, and bothered all day,” said I; “wearied enough, I
can tell you.”
I felt a strong tremor pervade my whole frame at this moment; and I was
impelled to speak by some unknown impulse, which I could not account for
nor analyze.
“Mr Bang, you are the only friend whom I could count on in these
countries; you know all about me and mine, and, I believe, would
willingly do a kind action to my father’s son.”
“What are you at, Tom, my dear boy? come to the point, man.”
“I will. I am distressed beyond measure at having led you and your
excellent friends, Wagtail and Gelid, into this danger; but I could not
help it, and I have satisfied my conscience on that point; so I have
only to entreat that you will stay below, and not unnecessarily expose
yourselves. And if I should fall--may I take this liberty, my dear
sir,” and I involuntarily took his hand,--“if I should fall, and I doubt
if I shall ever see the sun set again, as we are fearfully overmatched”
Bang struck in.
“Why, if our friend be too big--why not be off then? Pull foot, man,
eh?--Havannah under your lee?”
“A thousand reasons against it, my dear sir. I am a young man and a
young officer, my character is to make in the service--No, no, it is
impossible--an older and more tried hand might have bore up, but I must
fight it out. If any stray shot carries me off, my dear sir, will you
take”--Mary, I would have said, but I could not pronounce her name for
the soul of me--“will you take charge of her miniature, and say I died
as I have”--a choking lump rose in my throat, and I could not proceed for
a second; “and will you send my writing desk to my poor mother, there
are letters in”--the lump grew bigger, the hot tears streamed from my
eyes in torrents. I trembled like an aspen leaf, and grasping my
excellent friend’s hand more firmly, I sunk down on my knees in a
passion of tears, and wept like a woman, and fervently prayed to that
great God, in whose almighty hand I stood, that I might that day do my
duty as an English seaman. Bang knelt by me. Presently the passion was
quelled. I rose, and so did he.
“Before you, my dear sir, I am not ashamed to have....”
“Don’t mention it my good boy--don’t mention it; neither of us, as the
old general said, will fight a bit the worse.”
I looked at him. “Do you then mean to fight?” said I.
“To be sure I do--why not? I have no wife,”--he did not say he had no
children--“Fight? To be sure I do.”
“Another gun, sir,” said Tailtackle, through the open skylight. Now all
was bustle, and we hastened on deck. Our antagonist was a large brig,
three hundred tons at the least, a long low vessel, painted black, out
and in, and her sides round as an apple, with immensely square yards.
She was apparently full of men. The sun was getting low, and she was
coming down fast on us, on the verge of the dark blue water of the sea
breeze. I could make out ten ports and nine guns of a side. I inwardly
prayed they might not be long ones, but I was not a little startled to
see through the glass that there were crowds of naked negroes at
quarters, and on the forecastle and poop. That she was a contraband
Guineaman, I had already made up my mind to believe; and that she had
some fifty hands of a crew, I also considered likely; but that her
captain should have resorted to such a perilous measure, perilous to
themselves as well as to us, as arming the captive slaves, was quite
unexpected, and not a little alarming, as it evinced his determination
to make the most desperate resistance.
Tailtackle was standing beside me at this time, with his jacket off, his
cutlass girded on his thigh, and the belt drawn very tight. All the
rest of the crew were armed in a similar fashion; the small-arm-men
with muskets in their hands, and the rest at quarters at the guns; while
the pikes were cast loose from the spars round which they had been
stopped, with tubs of wadding, and boxes of grape, all ready ranged, and
every thing clear for action.
“Mr Tailtackle” said I, “you are gunner here, and should be in the
magazine. Cast off that cutlass; it is not your province to lead the
boarders.” The poor fellow blushed, having, in the excitement of the
moment, forgotten that he was any thing more than captain of the
Firebrand’s maintop.
“Mr Timotheus,” said Bang, “have you one of these bodkins to spare?”
Timothy laughed. “Certainly, sir; but you don’t mean to head the
boarders, sir--do you?”
“Who knows, now since I have learned to walk on this dancing cork of a
craft?” rejoined Aaron, with a grim smile, while he pulled off his coat,
braced on his cutlass, and tied a large red cotton shawl round his head.
He then took off his neckerchief and fastened it round his waist, as
tight as he could draw.
“Strange that all men in peril--on the uneasiness, like,” said he,
“should always gird themselves as tightly as they can.”
The slaver was now within musket-shot, when he put his helm to port,
with the view of passing under our stem. To prevent being raked, we had
to luff up sharp in the wind, and fire a broadside. I noticed the white
splinters glance from his black wales; and once more the same sharp yell
rung in our ears, followed by the long melancholy howl, already
described.
“We have pinned some of the poor blacks again,” said Tailtackle, who
still lingered on the deck; small space for remark, for the slaver again
fired his broadside at us, with the same cool precision as before.
“Down with the helm, and let her come round,” said I; “that will do
master, run across his stern--Out sweeps forward, and keep her there
get the other carronade over to leeward--that is it--now, blaze away
while he is becalmed--fire, small-arm-men, and take good aim.”
We were now right across his stern, with his spanker boom within ten
yards of us; and although he worked his two stem chasers with great
determination, and poured whole showers of musketry from his rigging,
and poop, and cabin-windows, yet, from the cleverness with which our
sweeps were pulled, and the accuracy with which we were kept in our
position, right athwart his stern, our fire, both from the cannon and
musketry, the former loaded with round and grape, was telling, I could
see, with fearful effect.
Crash--“There, my lads, down goes his main-topmast--pepper him well,
while they are blinded and confused among the wreck. Fire away--there
goes the peak, shot away cleverly, close by the throat. Don’t cease
firing, although his flag be down--it was none of his doing. There, my
lads, there he has it again; you have shot away the weather fore
topsail sheet, and he cannot get from under you.”
Two men at this moment lay out on his larboard foreyard-arm, apparently
with the intention of splicing the sheet, and getting the clew of the
fore-topsail once more down to the yard; if they had succeeded in this,
the vessel would again have fetched way, and drawn out from under our
fire. Mr Bang and Paul Gelid had all this time been firing with
murderous precision, from where they had ensconced themselves under the
shelter of the larboard bulwark, close to the taffrail, with their three
black servants in the cabin, loading the six muskets, and little
Wagtail, who was no great shot, sitting on the deck, handing them up and
down.
“Now, Mr Bang,” cried I, “for the love of Heaven”--and may Heaven
forgive me for the ill-placed exclamation--“mark these two men--down
with them?”
Bang turned towards me with all the coolness in the world “What, those
chaps on the end of the long stick?”
“Yes--yes,” (I here spoke of the larboard foreyard-arm,) “yes, down
with them.”
He lifted his piece as steadily as if he had really been duck shooting.
“I say, Gelid, my lad, take you the innermost.”
“Ah!” quoth Paul. They fired--and down dropped both men, and squattered
for a moment in the water, like wounded waterfowl, and then sank for
ever, leaving two small puddles of blood on the surface.
“Now, master,” shouted I, “put the helm up and lay him alongside--there
stand by with the grapplings--one round the backstay the other through
the chainplate there--so,--you have it.” As we ranged under his counter
“Mainchains are your chance, men--boarders, follow me.” And in the
enthusiasm of the moment I jumped into the slaver’s main channel,
followed by twenty-eight men. We were in the act of getting over the
netting when the enemy rallied, and fired a volley of small arms, which
sent four out of the twenty-eight to their account, and wounded three
more. We gained the quarterdeck, where the Spanish captain, and about
forty of his crew, shewed a determined front, cutlass and pistol in hand
we charged them--they stood their ground. Tailtackle (who, the moment
he heard the boarders called, had jumped out of the magazine, and
followed me) at a blow clove the Spanish captain to the chine; the
lieutenant, or second in command, was my bird, and I had disabled him by
a sabre-cut on the sword-arm, when he drew his pistol, and shot me
through the left shoulder. I felt no pain, but a sharp pinch, and then a
cold sensation, as if water had been poured down my neck.
Jigmaree was close by me with a boarding-pike, and our fellows were
fighting with all the gallantry inherent in British sailors. For a
moment the battle was poised in equal scales. At length our antagonists
gave way, when about fifteen of the slaves, naked barbarians, who had
been ranged with muskets in their hands on the forecastle, suddenly
jumped down into the waist with a yell, and came to the rescue of the
Spanish part of the crew.
I thought we were lost. Our people, all but Tailtackle, poor Handlead,
and Jigmaree, held back. The Spaniards rallied, and fought with renewed
courage, and it was now, not for glory, but for dear life, as all
retreat was cut off by the parting of the grapplings and warps, that had
lashed the schooner alongside of the slaver, for the Wave had by this
time forged a-head, and lay across the brig’s bows, in place of being
on her quarter, with her foremast jammed against the slaver’s bowsprit,
whose spritsail-yard crossed our deck between the masts. We could not
therefore retreat to our own vessel if we had wished it, as the
Spaniards had possession of the waist and forecastle; all at once,
however, a discharge of round and grape crashed through the bridleport
of the brig, and swept off three of the black auxiliaries before
mentioned, and wounded as many more, and the next moment an unexpected
ally appeared on the field. When we boarded, the Wave had been left
with only Peter Mangrove; the five dockyard negroes; Pearl, one of the
Captain’s gigs, the handsome black already introduced on the scene; poor
little Reefpoint, who, as already stated, was badly hurt; Aaron Bang,
Paul Gelid, and Wagtail. But this Pearl without price, at the very
moment of time when I thought the game was up, jumped on deck through
the bowport, cutlass in hand, followed by the five black carpenters and
Peter Mangrove, after whom appeared no less a personage than Aaron Bang
himself and the three blackamoor valets, armed with boarding-pikes.
Bang flourished his cutlass for an instant.
“Now, Pearl, my darling, shout to them in Coromantee--shout;” and
forthwith the black quartermaster sung out, “Coromantee Sheik Cocoloo,
kockemony populorum fiz;” which, as I afterwards learned, being
interpreted, is, “Behold the Sultan Cocoloo, the great ostrich, with a
feather in his tail like a palm branch; fight for him, you sons of
female dogs.” In an instant the black Spanish auxiliaries sided with
Pearl, and Bang, and the negroes, and joined in charging the white
Spaniards, who were speedily driven down the main hatchway, leaving one
half of their number dead, or badly wounded, on the blood slippery deck.
But they still made a desperate defence, by firing up the hatchway. I
hailed them to surrender.
“Zounds,” cried Jigmaree, “there’s the clink of hammers they are
knocking off the fetters of the slaves.”
“If you let the blacks loose,” I sung out in Spanish, “by the Heaven
above us, I will blow you up, although I should go with you! Hold your
hands, Spaniards! Mind what you do, madmen!”
“On with the hatches, men,” shouted Tailtackle.
They had been thrown overboard, or put out of the way, they could
nowhere be seen. The firing from below continued.
“Cast loose that carronade there; clap in a canister of grape, so now run
it forward, and fire down the hatchway.” It was done, and taking effect
amongst the pent-up slaves, such a yell arose--oh God! oh God!--I never
can forget it. Still the maniacs continued firing up the hatchway.
“Load and fire again.” My people were now furious, and fought more like
incarnate fiends broke loose from hell than human beings.
“Run the gun up to the hatchway once more.” They ran the carronade so
furiously forward, that the coaming, or ledge, was split off, and down
went the gun, carriage and all, with a crash into the hold. Presently
smoke appeared rising up the fore-hatchway.
“They have set fire to the brig; overboard!--regain the schooner, or we
shall all be blown into the air like peels of onions!” sung out little
Jigmaree.
But where was the Wave? She had broke away, and was now a cable’s
length ahead, apparently fast leaving us, with Paul Gelid and Wagtail,
and poor little Reefpoint, who, badly wounded as he was, had left his
hammock, and come on deck in the emergency, making signs of their
inability to cut away the halyards; and the tiller being shot away, the
schooner had become utterly unmanageable.
“UP,--and let fall the foresail, men--down with the fore tack cheerily
now--get way on the brig, and overhaul the Wave promptly, or we are
lost,” cried I. It was done with all the coolness of desperate men. I
took the helm, and presently we were once more alongside of our own
vessel. Time we were so, for about one hundred and fifty of the slaves,
whose shackles had been knocked off, now scrambled up the fore hatchway,
and we had only time to jump overboard, when they made a rush aft; and
no doubt, exhausted as we were, they would have massacred us on the
spot, frantic and furious as they evidently were from the murderous fire
of grape that had been directed down the hatchway.
But the fire was quicker than they. The smouldering smoke that was
rising like a pillar of cloud from the fore hatchway, was now streaked
with tongues of red flame, which, licking the masts and spars, ran up
and caught the sails and rigging. In an instant, the fire spread to
every part of the gear aloft, while the other element, the sea, was also
striving for the mastery in the destruction of the doomed vessel; for
our shot, or the fall of the carronade into the hold, had started some
of the bottom planks, and she was fast settling down by the head. We
could hear the water rushing in like a mill stream. The fire increased
her guns went off as they became heated--she gave a sudden heel--and
while five hundred human beings, pent up in her noisome hold, split the
heavens with their piercing death-yells, down she went with a heavy
lurch, head foremost, right in the wake of the setting sun, whose level
rays made the thick dun wreaths that burst from her as she disappeared,
glow with the hue of the amethyst; and while the whirling clouds, gilded
by his dying radiance, curled up into the blue sky, in rolling masses,
growing thinner and thinner, until they vanished away, even like the
wreck whereout they arose,--and the circling eddies, created by her
sinking, no longer sparkled and flashed in the red light--and the
stilled waters where she had gone down, as if oil had been cast on them,
were spread out like polished silver, shining like a mirror, while all
around was dark blue ripple,--a puff of fat black smoke, denser than any
we had yet seen, suddenly emerged with a loud gurgling noise, from out
the deep bosom of the calmed sea, and rose like a balloon, rolling
slowly upwards, until it reached a little way above our mastheads, where
it melted and spread out into a dark pall, that overhung the scene of
death, as if the incense of such a horrible and polluted sacrifice could
not ascend into the pure heaven, but had been again crushed back upon
our devoted heads, as a palpable manifestation of the wrath of Him who
hath said--“Thou shalt not kill.”
For a few moments all was silent as the grave, and I felt as if the air
had become too thick for breathing, while I looked up like another Cain.
Presently, about one hundred and fifty of the slaves, men, women, and
children, who had been drawn down by the vortex, rose amidst numberless
pieces of smoking wreck, to the surface of the sea; the strongest
yelling like fiends in their despair, while the weaker, the women, and
the helpless gasping little ones, were choking, and gurgling, and
sinking all around. Yea, the small thin expiring cry of the innocent
sucking infant tom from its sinking mother’s breast, as she held it for
a brief moment above the waters, which had already for ever closed over
herself, was there. But we could not perceive one single individual of
her white crew; like desperate men, they had all gone down with the
brig. We picked up about one half of the miserable Africans, and--my
pen trembles as I write it--fell necessity compelled us to fire on the
remainder, as it was utterly impossible for us to take them on board.
Oh that I could erase such a scene for ever from my memory! One
incident I cannot help relating. We had saved a woman, a handsome clear
skinned girl, of about sixteen years of age. She was very faint when
we got her in, and was lying with her head over a port--sill, when a
strong athletic young negro swam to the part of the schooner where she
was. She held down her hand to him; he was in the act of grasping it,
when he was shot through the heart from above. She instantly jumped
overboard, and, clasping him in her arms, they sank, and disappeared
together. “Oh, woman, whatever may be the colour of your skin, your
heart is of one only!” said Aaron.
Soon all was quiet; a wounded black here and there was shrieking in his
great agony, and struggling for a moment before he sank into his watery
grave for ever; a few pieces of wreck were floating and sparkling on the
surface of the deep in the blood red sunbeams, which streamed in a flood
of glorious light on the bloody deck, shattered hull, and torn rigging
of the Wave, and on the dead bodies and mangled limbs of those who had
fallen; while some heavy scattering drops of rain fell sparkling from a
passing cloud, as if Nature had wept in pity over the dismal scene; or
as if they had been blessed tears, shed by an angel, in his heavenward
course, as he hovered for a moment, and looked down in pity on the
fantastic tricks played by the worm of a day--by weak man, in his little
moment of power and ferocity. I said something--ill and hastily. Aaron
was close beside me, sitting on a carronade slide, while the surgeon was
dressing a pike wound in his neck. He looked up solemnly in my face,
and then pointed to the blessed luminary, that was now sinking in the
sea, and blazing up into the resplendent heavens--“Cringle, for shame
for shame--your impatience is blasphemous. Remember this morning and
thank Him”--here he looked up and crossed himself--“thank Him who, while
he has called poor Mr Handlead, and so many brave fellows to their last
awful reckoning, has mercifully brought us to the end of this fearful
day;--oh, thank Him, Tom, that you have seen the sun set once more!”