I have neither space nor patience to describe in any detail that long
and tedious voyage. For we were months at sea. I saw whales spouting
water into the air, and schools of porpoises; and at one time, for a
whole month on end, we were becalmed, the ship lying idle in the midst
of a vast floating mass of seaweed, where there were all kinds of
jelly-fish and squids. The heat was excessive, and there was a rank,
almost putrid, smell in the air, which came from the decaying seaweed.
That in itself was enough to try the temper of every member of the crew;
but, to make matters worse, much of the tinned meat on board exploded in
the hold. I cannot explain this, but I know that it happened, and am
content to leave the explanation to the scientific reader. These
circumstances, together with the surly nature of James Dagg, the
captain, led from dissatisfaction to open grumbling, and thence to the
mutiny of which I have now to tell.
My own fortunes were, to some extent, involved in that affair; and in
any case, I must describe the incident more or less as it occurred,
since nothing could better serve to illustrate the true character of
Amos Baverstock, who plays as important a part as myself in the
narrative that follows.
I had not been a week at sea, and just recovered from my sickness, when
I was given clearly to understand that I was to hold no intercourse with
any of the crew. I cannot say that I wished to, for they were a
ruffianly lot--half of them, I verily believe, prison-birds, like Joshua
Trust, and the remainder West Indian negroes, Chinamen, and Lascars from
the coast of Malabar.
I had to share a cabin with Amos himself, who seldom let me out of his
sight. Thrown into such close intimacy with the man, I learned much
concerning him, and he more of me. He seldom allowed a day to pass
without questioning me in regard to what I knew of the map; and so
terrible did his threats become that I was filled with fear for the
future.
On that account, I yearned for a friend, someone in whom I could
confide; and it was not long before I found such a man on board that
pestilential ship. Now that I can look back upon my series of
adventures, I can see both men and matters in their true perspective,
and I realise that, had it not been for William Rushby, the boatswain of
the _Mary Greenfield_, the most honest and the whitest man that ever
piped all hands on deck, this tale had never been told.
When I saw him first, I sized him up as the true seaman that he was; but
I dared not speak to him, because of the threats that had been heaped
upon me. I knew also that I could go to none of the ship's officers
with my story, for they were all tarred with the same brush as the
skipper; but Providence before long gave me the chance I wanted.
When we were in mid-ocean Amos tired of the voyage, and required little
persuasion from Mr. Forsyth to take to playing cards. Captain Dagg was
a card-player, too, and Joshua made the fourth; and this was the party
that sat down nightly after supper to gamble, drink and smoke, by the
light of a reeking paraffin lamp in the little stuffy saloon.
I watched them play for many nights, and though I knew nothing of the
game, it was quite clear to me that they were three babes at the
business by the side of Mr. Forsyth. For it was he who always won, no
matter with whom he played or what cards he held, and it was he who
raked in their money.
This was all one to me. I soon tired of watching them; and when I had
once slipped away from them, to breathe the fresh air on deck, and no
questions had been asked, I made it my constant practice to sit of an
evening upon the poop, whence I could look down into the water and see
the phosphorus as if smouldering in the wake of the ship.
And here it was that I talked with William Rushby. At that hour it was
his duty to see that the ship's lamps were lighted, and when he had
hoisted the mast-head lights, and put the red light to port and the
green to starboard, he would come aft, haul in the log, and speak to me
in whispers.
That he took that precaution from the first makes it plain enough that
he guessed some mischief was afoot. He questioned me concerning who I
was and what business I had in such company on board that ship. It was
some time before I dared tell him the truth, for fear of Amos
Baverstock; but I did so in the end, making him swear to keep my secret;
which he did.
"It is all like a fairy tale," said he, when he had heard my story; "and
it's hard to tell the best way to help you. Of this much I am certain:
if you set forth into the back country of Venezuela with a man like
Baverstock, you'll not come back alive."
"But I cannot escape!" I protested. "Even on board this ship, I am
watched at all hours of the night and day."
Rushby thought for a while, stroking his short black beard which was
like that of a Russian Czar.
"Maybe," said he, "at Caracas, I could desert and take you with me. I
have no liking for my shipmates here, as you may well imagine. In the
meantime, many weeks must pass before we sight the mainland, and in that
time much may happen."
As he said this with some significance, I asked him what he meant.
"Why, just this," he answered; "there's trouble brewing aboard, which
will come to a head before we touch port. The crew are a low-down,
blackguard lot, no better men than sailors; and though they may be held
to blame for that, it's no fault of theirs if they are fed worse than
swine and cursed from dawn to sunset. Dagg I had heard about, though I
never signed on under him before, nor will again, and the mate's even
worse. There's high talk in the fo'c'sle, as it is, where the
ringleader is that nigger cook. Mark my words--and I've sailed the seas
for more than twenty years--a prize-fighting negro in the galley can
cause more mischief aboard a sailing-ship than a monkey and a woman,
both in one."
I laughed, for I was not then accustomed to the talk of sailors.
"And they've run out of lime-juice," he went on; "and that's a serious
thing."
"Lime-juice!" I repeated, thinking he was joking still.
"A man must eat vegetables," he explained to me, "to keep his blood cool
and his liver nicely trimmed. You can't eat green cabbages and
Brussels-sprouts in mid-Atlantic, so you must carry lime-juice aboard;
and we've run out. The men have much to complain of. They are in ill
health, and one or two should be lying up in a sick berth, instead of
being sworn at left and right for not moving quicker. So I see trouble
ahead. It may be a hurricane, or just a summer squall; and if the
first, Heaven help James Dagg and his officers, for they're a tough lot
for'ard, as I know who've listened to their talk."
And Rushby was proved to be in the right. We ran into a great calm as I
have said. The sea was like glass; and though the sun was blotted out
by a steam-like fog, the heat was so intense that we went about the deck
in naught but vests and trousers, with the sweat dripping from our
finger-tips.
Without a doubt, the crew suffered for lack of lime-juice; some broke
out with a horrid skin disease. And then the news came that the tinned
meat had all gone bad, and we were forced to live on salted ling-fish,
so that we went thirsty all day long.
It was Ebenezer Hogg, the negro cook, who started all the trouble. He
was a long, raw-boned Jamaica man, who had cut a figure in the
prize-ring in his younger days. He had never forgiven the skipper for a
blow across the mouth because the cabin potatoes had not been properly
peeled, though this was the work of Ah Chin, the cook's mate, a
half-daft Canton Chinaman, who would fire off crackers at all hours of
the night, in honour (I suppose) of the heathen gods he worshipped.
Hogg told his shipmates he cared not a "dime with a hole in it" for
James Dagg or any man. They had no food fit to eat, so they might as
well help themselves to the ship's grog, to keep--as he described
it--body and soul together.
Rushby--as his duty was--warned the captain of what was coming; but
Dagg, who had been losing heavily at cards to Mr. Forsyth, only abused
the boatswain for his pains, and said that he himself was the best judge
of such matters and would know how to deal with insubordination.
And that night the crew, led by Hogg, the nigger, broke into the
storeroom with a hatchet and broached the rum casks. Within
half-an-hour, they were all roaring drunk; and that was a night that I
shall never live to forget.
The moon came out from the white sea-mist, as if to look down in
scandalised amazement upon a scene of debauchery and violence--a round,
red ball of fire, casting its rays upon the stagnant, reeking seaweed,
illuminating the deck of that floating madhouse with a dull crimson
glare, whereby you might see the whites of men's eyes and the glitter of
the sharp blades they handled.
Dagg appeared on deck, his face livid with passion; and I could see by
his walk that he, too, had been drinking heavily at his card-playing.
"What's all this?" he shouted at the top of his voice. "Understand,
I'll have no monkey-tricks aboard the ship that I command."
Hogg at once squared up to him, his two fists before his face, very
drunk and brazen.
"Come on, James Dagg!" he cried, with his Christy-minstrel accent. "Time
yer and me settled de account."
"This here's mutiny!" exclaimed the captain.
"Dat's de right word, boss," said Hogg. "Mutiny it is."
And at that, he struck the captain with his fist, so that Dagg rolled
over and over upon the deck, groaning loudly.
The fat was now in the fire. If discipline could be restored, Hogg
would be hanged at the yard-arm and his body cast into the sea; and
drunk as he was, the nigger knew it.
"I'm de captain of dis ship," he bellowed, "an' James Dagg's de cook."
He showed his white teeth in a grin, and then gave orders as if he had
been accustomed all his life to a position of authority; and the wonder
was he was instantly obeyed. Five minutes later, both Dagg and his mate
were bound hand and foot; and the second mate had been locked in his
cabin, where he was fast asleep. The negro went staggering backwards
and forwards, from the forecastle to the poop, crying out that he it was
who was Captain and his name was Admiral Hogg.
There were two spectators of this comedy, who could not be considered as
partisans; and the one was William Rushby and the other was myself. The
boatswain's sense of duty would have held him to the captain, had it not
been for me; for, though I had no liking for any of the crew, and a
feeling of positive loathing for a great brute like Hogg, I saw in the
discomfiture of James Dagg and his officers some chance of my own
ultimate deliverance. So that when the cook turned upon me, and caught
me by the scruff of the neck, I played the card that I thought safest at
the time, but which certainly lost me the trick that meant the game.
"And now, boy," said Hogg, "which way de wind blow wid you? Will you
sign on to serve as cabin-steward under Admiral Hogg?"
"Why, sure," said I, having picked up something of the man's own way of
speaking. "I was never a friend of Captain Dagg's, as you may have seen
for yourself."
And thereupon, I looked away from the negro's grinning countenance, and
straight in the black, pig-like eyes of Amos Baverstock.
If I had feared him before, I was well-nigh terrified of him then; for
there was black murder in the look he gave me, and his mouth was working
horribly.
For all that, he straightened his face in half a second, and turned to
Hogg as calm as the sea itself.
"I'll settle with you in a moment," said he. "I've not lived more than
half my life without learning how to deal with a buck nigger who's three
parts tipsy. Bo's'n," said he to Rushby, pointing straight at me, "put
that boy in irons."
Rushby never moved.
"Did you hear my orders?" rapped out Amos.
"I heard right enough," said the boatswain. "But I'm not here to take
orders from you."
At that, the crew, who had gathered round, thinking that Rushby was with
them, became bolder than ever. Knives were drawn from belts, and one of
these was flourished in the face of the captain who still lay upon the
deck, bound hand and foot.
"Ho!" cried Amos. "So that's your tune, is it? I see you must all be
taught a lesson."
He talked with all the confidence in the world, though--with the
exception of Mr. Gilbert Forsyth, who had just strolled on deck with
both hands in his trouser pockets--there was no one at his back, and he
faced a crowd of angry, drunken seamen who would not then have stopped
short of murder.
From Rushby he turned once more to Hogg. "And so," said he, "you claim
to be the captain of this ship?"
The negro glanced in his direction, but would not meet those cruel,
steadfast eyes.
"If I'm not," he blurted out, "then who is de captain? Tell me dat?"
"Why, I am," roared Amos. "And what have you to say to it?"
Hogg realised he was challenged. Perhaps, under the influence of rum,
he had already gone further than he meant to; but, in any case, so far
as he was concerned there was no question of retreat.
"Put up your fists!" he shouted. "We fight for it and let de best man
win."
He grinned from ear to ear, as, standing in front of Amos--above whom he
towered by a good clear head and shoulders--he lifted his great, black
fists to the level of his face. I thought that he would kill Amos with
a single blow; for the one was so big and bony, and the other so frail
and shrivelled up. But I did not then know Amos Baverstock.
"Come on!" cried Hogg, still grinning.
I looked at Amos, thinking to find him alarmed; but never upon the face
of any man have I beheld an expression of such complete contempt.
"You black dog!" said he, with an oath.
He drew back his right hand, as if about to strike, and immediately I
caught the glint of a revolver barrel in the moonlight.
There was a flash, a single loud report, and then a dull, heavy thud as
the negro's great ungainly body came down upon the deck. And there he
lay, full in the red moonshine, upon that tropic night, huddled and
stone-dead--the black, bragging fool who had claimed to be our captain.
"And now, then," said Amos, as cool as ever, turning to the crew, "is
there any man else who would like to command this ship?"