In another minute the young boy would have been put out of the world by
his savage countrymen, when a loud cry was heard, and a woman was seen
rushing towards the spot. A red cloak was over her shoulders; her long
dark hair streamed in the wind.
"Who is it you are going to kill? Hold, hold, you savages!" she
exclaimed in native Irish. "Why, that is my own boy, the son of my
bosom. What harm could one so young and innocent as he is have done to
you? Which of you will dare to take the widow's only child from her?
Which of you will dare to commit a crime at which the most cruel of
savages would hesitate? Dark curses will rest upon your bodies here,
and on your souls for ever, if you dare to do so foul a deed. Would any
of you wish to bring down the bereaved widow's maledictions on your
heads? Let the boy go; he would never wish to harm one of you; a
true-hearted Irish lad." She rushed forward, no one venturing to stop
her. Like a tigress she flew at the man who held the rope in his hand,
and cast it off the neck of her son. "Now let him go," she exclaimed,
throwing out her arm; "I defy you all. Would any one dare to touch
him?" With frantic gesture she released his arms which had been bound
behind him. "Now let the minister's pony return to its home; he is far
too good a beast to serve any one of you. Come with me, Dermot," she
exclaimed, as the boy threw himself from the animal and stood by her
side. Shielding her son with her cloak, she led him forward, stretching
out her arm as if to drive back any who might venture to stop them, and
unmolested they took their way towards their home.
The same men who appeared thus abashed and confounded in the presence of
a weak woman, now, at the order of O'Higgins, began with all the
ferocity of wild beasts, to assault the castle. Again and again they
fired their field-pieces with no apparent effect. The men with muskets,
however, kept up a hot fire against every part of the building where
they thought a bullet might enter. The besieged, however, did not reply
to their fire. Not a single person in the castle was to be seen; all
apertures were closed, and the shot fell harmlessly against the stone
walls.
This determined silence somewhat disconcerted the rebels, who had
expected resistance, and hoped to find some point which they might more
easily assail. At length one of their leaders, with more military
genius than the rest, proposed bringing the guns down to the front gate.
In vain, however, the shots were fired against it; the gates were of
iron backed by wood, and the shots made no impression on them. It was
then determined to assault the castle by attempting to scale the walls,
and the men eagerly set to work to form ladders out of the neighbouring
woods. This, however, occupied some time, for although there were
plenty of workmen, they had few tools or nails, and after two hours'
labour, scarcely two dozen ill-constructed ladders had been formed.
With these, however, a band of daring men might possibly gain the
battlements.
The object of the assailants was suspected by those within; they
prepared accordingly to repel the attack whenever it might be made.
It appeared to the leader of the rebels that by assaulting the south
side of the castle they were most likely to prove successful. Thither
accordingly he led the main body of his men, while another party
continued to assail the front gate, and the remainder, concealed among
the walls and rough ground outside the castle, kept up a hot fire on the
battlements. At length the assailants, jumping down into the ditch,
placed their ladders against the walls. Up they began to climb with
loud shouts and imprecations on the heads of its defenders.
Unless this last attack should be met by a very determined resistance,
there appeared every probability of their succeeding, for could they
once gain a lodgment on the walls, they might easily drive the small
number of opponents who were likely to be within before them. A
determined band at last led the way, and reached the summit of the
walls. They were there met, however, by a party of the defenders of the
castle, led by the Earl himself. Unaccustomed to the use of swords, the
assailants were ill-able to defend themselves, as they attempted to step
upon the parapet, while the fire which their friends kept up from the
opposite side of the bank, killed several of them, though the bullets
failed to strike the defenders; they were therefore quickly hurled down
again, and the leading men, falling, struck the others who were
attempting to ascend, when all were precipitated into the ditch
together, the ladders being dislodged, and thrown down upon the wounded
and struggling mass. They had, however, too nearly succeeded to abandon
their project. They retreated with their ladders, which were soon
repaired, when with others in the meantime constructed, a still larger
force attempted to scale the walls.
Had we followed the widow and her son, Dermot would have been heard
expressing his satisfaction at seeing the white sails of the frigate,
which had so lately quitted the harbour, once more approaching the
shore, aided by a strong breeze from the north, which still continued to
blow. The insurgents were fortunately too much occupied in their attack
on the castle to notice her; she was, however, seen by its defenders,
and this greatly encouraged them in their resistance. Again the rebels
began to climb up their ladders,--this time fully believing they were
sure of success. Already a large number were near the summit
threatening vengeance on the heads of all who opposed them, when there
suddenly arose a cry in their rear, of "the red-coats! the red-coats."
"Ay, and the blue-jackets too!" shouted out a loud voice.
"On lads, and drive the rascals into the sea." At this moment a strong
party of blue-jackets, headed by Captain Falkner, was seen darting
forward, while a body of marines followed with fixed bayonets ready to
charge. The rebels did not stop to encounter them. Those who were on
the ladders leaped hastily down, crushing many below them, and then
attempted to seek safety in flight. The marines and blue-jackets
advanced in double quick-time, clearing all before them. Very few of
the rebels offered resistance, and those who did were immediately cut
down. Many were taken prisoners, O'Higgins among them, and the rest
throwing down their arms, headed by the rest of their chiefs, fled as
fast as their legs could carry them into the country. They were pursued
for some distance, when, unwilling to destroy more of the misguided men,
Captain Falkner ordered the pursuit to cease, and returned with his
followers to the castle. He was received with warm thanks by the Earl.
It was extraordinary that not a single person had been hurt within the
walls of the castle, though the Earl acknowledged had the rebels once
succeeded in gaining the battlements, he could scarcely, with his small
garrison, have hoped to defend it against the numbers which would have
assailed them. Captain Falkner told him that after he had left the bay,
a fishing-boat came alongside with only one man in her, who gave him the
information of the proposed rising. Although he did not believe that
the castle would be attacked, he had in consequence been induced to
return as quickly as possible to an anchorage in the bay, and he was
thankful that he had not come back too late. Part of the marines
remained on shore to strengthen the garrison of the castle, and strong
parties were sent out in all directions, to ascertain what had become of
the rest of the rebels. A considerable number of the misguided men were
captured, but most of their leaders, as is often the case under similar
circumstances, managed to effect their escape. The state of the country
made it dangerous to send the prisoners overland to Cork, they were,
therefore, placed on board the _Cynthia_, to be conveyed there by sea.
O'Higgins had contrived to divest himself of part of his dress before he
was captured, and, owing to this circumstance, he escaped being
recognised as one of the leaders of the rebels. Had Dermot been called
upon to do so, he would, of course, have been able to identify him; but,
fortunately for him, no one thought of summoning the fishwife's young
son to give evidence, and he was, therefore, allowed to remain quietly
at home.
O'Higgins took the name of Higson, and asserted that he was a pedlar
travelling through the country, producing a licence in confirmation of
his statement, but had been compelled by the rebels to join them.
Several of the other prisoners were found ready to swear to the truth of
this statement. He, however, was found guilty; but instead of being
condemned to transportation to Botany Bay, was allowed the privilege of
entering as a seaman on board a man-of-war. He accepted the
alternative, hoping before long to make his escape. He, however, was
too narrowly watched to succeed in his object; and after being sent on
board a receiving ship, was, curiously enough, transferred to the
_Cynthia_, on board which frigate we shall soon again hear of him.
From the information Captain Falkner received he had reason to believe
that this first attempt of the insurgents having so completely failed,
and so many having been made prisoners, or killed, a further rising in
that part of the country would not be attempted. Still the disturbed
state of the district prevented the ladies from riding about the country
as had been their custom, and the Earl would not allow his young son to
go to any distance from the walls, nor even a short way without a strong
escort.
Young Fitz Barry consoled himself, therefore, by frequent visits on
board the frigate, where he soon became a great favourite with the
officers. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "I wish my father would let me become a
midshipman. I would rather go to sea, than follow any other profession
in the world." Those were, perhaps, the most palmy days of England's
navy. It was the time when her greatest heroes were flourishing, and
the profession was looked upon as among the noblest a youth could
follow. The oftener Fitz Barry visited the frigate, the more anxious he
became to belong to her. The midshipmen, at first, encouraged him
rather as a joke than in earnest; but as they loved the profession
themselves, they were somewhat flattered by finding that the Earl's son
wished to join it also. On going on shore one day, he told his father
that he had made up his mind to become a sailor. The Earl at first
laughed at him, but he had never been in the habit of thwarting his son,
and when Fitz Barry assured him that he should pine and perhaps die,
unless he was allowed to have his will, the Earl declared that he was a
very obstinate boy, but would not throw any objection in his way.
Still, as he was not certain that his father was in earnest, he went to
Nora and Sophy, to get them to assist in pleading his cause. Lady Sophy
having herself made up her mind to marry a sailor, thought that there
was not a finer profession to be followed, and Nora, who loved Fitz
Barry with all her heart, could not think of doing otherwise than as he
wished. Besides, she confessed that a ship was a very beautiful thing,
and that she thought her dear brother must be happy on board, for little
did the young ladies know of the toils and dangers, the hardships and
the sufferings to which sailors are exposed, whatever their rank. They
had read to be sure of wrecks, of noble ships sinking or being burned,
of men being castaway on desert islands, with little or no food on which
to subsist, of boats long floating on the ocean, till one by one those
on board had died of starvation or thirst, or from the exposure they
were doomed to endure. To them all was bright and attractive, and Fitz
Barry, therefore, by dint of importunity, at length prevailed upon his
easy-going father, to allow him to join Captain Falkner's beautiful
frigate, the _Cynthia_, provided that officer would take him. That
matter he had left in the hands of his cousin, Sophy, and he had no
doubt that she would induce the captain to receive him on board. He was
perfectly right in his conjectures, for the captain, as many other
captains would have been, was very ready to receive an Earl's son among
his midshipmen. It was necessary for the frigate to remain for some
weeks after the late rising, to ascertain that all was quiet before she
could venture to quit the bay.
There was time, therefore, for Barry to be fitted out for sea, and at
length, just before the frigate sailed, he was received on board and
rated as a midshipman. He was good-natured and unaffected, was
intelligent and zealous in his new profession, had, moreover, plenty of
money, and these qualities soon made him a favourite with most of the
officers on board.
Captain Falkner having landed his prisoners at Cork, and remained there
till their trial was concluded, proceeded on to Plymouth, where the
young midshipman was to be provided with the remainder of his outfit.
The _Cynthia_ was employed for some months as one of the Channel fleet,
and during that time had to pay several visits to the coast of Ireland.
Captain Falkner did not fail to look into Kilfinnan Bay, and accompanied
by Fitz Barry, to pay a visit to the castle. Great was his satisfaction
at finding that the family were still there, as he had thus the
opportunity of enjoying the society of Lady Sophy. Alas, they little
thought how long would be the separation they must after this endure.
Barry happened to inquire of his sister what had become of the young
fisher-boy who was so nearly hung instead of himself, and he was told
that he had disappeared from the place, and that no one knew what had
become of him. Such indeed was the case. Not long after the attack of
the rebels on the castle, one evening when the widow expected Dermot to
return, he did not make his appearance. In vain she waited the livelong
night; no Dermot came back to her. She watched and watched, now she
went to the cottage door and stopped to listen; now she hastened down to
the boat, that, however, was still moored in its accustomed place. She
took her way up to the downs. In vain she called on Dermot; no answer
came to her calls. She returned home to mourn and to wonder what had
become of her boy. He would not have left his mother without telling
her. He loved her too well, she was sure of that, and yet who could
have carried him away? Had the rebels done so? That seemed but too
likely, for they were too often wont to wreak their vengeance on the
heads even of those who could do them no further harm. The morning came
and found her still sitting at the open door, waiting for the return of
her boy. The sun rose over the rugged hills and shed his rays down into
the glen, tinging the points of the rocks on either side, and casting a
bright glow over the ocean; still Dermot did not appear. She determined
to go forth and search for him, but whither should she go? He might
have gone to the castle, but they surely would not have detained him
beyond the night, and he must soon then come back. She waited all day,
but when the night came on he had not appeared. Weary and sad she sat
down on the bench by the fireside, and there at length fell asleep. She
awoke by being conscious that some one was present, and looking up saw
by the light of the log which still blazed on the hearth, the figure of
poor mad Kathleen sitting before her.
"You are sad, widow--you are sad," exclaimed the mad girl; "it is
waiting for your son you are; and do you think that he will ever return?
It may be he will, but you will have many weary years to wait until
then."
"What do you know of my boy?" exclaimed the widow. "Tell me, Kathleen,
tell me, girl, has any harm happened to him?"
"No; the harm is that he was weary of home, and has gone far away, so I
understand, if my poor brain has not misled me. Here, see, he gave me
this, and told me to bring it to you. It will tell you far more than I
can; it speaks words, though I cannot understand them."
"No more can I," cried the widow in a tone of grief. "Oh, that he
should have gone away and left his poor mother; but maybe in these lines
he will have told me why he has gone and when he will come back. Still
I do not know that I could have borne the parting from him even had he
gone with my consent. But those lines, girl, let me have them; there
are others can read them though I cannot. I wish it were the day, that
I might go forth and find some one to help me."
The widow took the paper which the mad girl gave her; it was a letter of
considerable length. As Dermot knew that his mother could not have read
it herself, he must have trusted to her finding some person to perform
that office for her.
The widow begged Kathleen to rest in her hut that night, hoping that she
might, during the time, gather some more information from her about her
son. All she could learn, however, was, that she had met Dermot on the
way to the south, some distance beyond the castle, and that he had given
her that letter, which he intended otherwise to have sent by the post.
Poor Kathleen then launched out in his praises, and declared that she
had never seen a lord his equal in these parts. The widow's first
impulse was to go and seek for Father O'Rourke, the person to whom the
peasantry, whenever they had any document to be read, generally
resorted. She remembered, however, his dislike to Dermot and the words
of anger with which they had parted from each other, and she therefore
felt a repugnance to let him see what her Dermot might have said to her.
"Then there is the blind lady," she thought to herself; "she cannot see
to read, however. Then there is the sweet young lady who came here from
the castle one day, and the little girl, the Earl's daughter, but they
are too grand to care for what a poor boy like Dermot has to say. I
will go, therefore, to Mr Jamieson, and get him to read the letter. He
is kind and gentle too, and may be he will give me a word of comfort
about my boy. Still I cannot understand why Dermot should have gone
away without saying a word of farewell to his poor old mother."
Kathleen, for a wonder, gladly consented to rest at the widow's cottage
till the next morning. They then together took their way to the
vicarage. The widow found Mr Jamieson about to leave the house, yet he
kindly stopped to hear what she had to say to him. She presented the
letter, and telling him that she had only received it on the previous
evening, begged him to read it to her. He at once recognised the
handwriting of his pupil.
"Ah, Widow O'Neill," he exclaimed, "I find by this that your son is
away, and you must be prepared not to see him for some time. I scarcely
like to say that the lad has acted wrongly in what he has done. He
tells you, Mrs O'Neill, how he loves you, that he would die for you,
and that his great object is to go into the world, and to make a
fortune, and come home and support you. He says that he could not bring
himself to go through the pain of wishing you farewell. He would rather
go away without saying a word about it, or letting you know what were
his intentions, for he is sure you would not have prevented him, and he
would do anything to save you and himself from the agony of the parting
moment. I believe him, widow. I am sure that he has a gentle and a
loving heart, and that he speaks the truth when he gives that as his
reason for going away without seeing you. Yet it was to save you,
rather than himself, for he must have known when he left his home, that
he was gazing his last at you for many a day. Of one thing I am
certain, that his heart will not change, his love will not alter, and
that wherever he goes, you will be the chief person he will always think
of, and that he will look forward to seeing you again, as the greatest
joy which can be allowed him on earth."
The good minister believed that he spoke the truth, when he thus
attempted to comfort the bereaved mother. The widow returned home
feeling more consoled than could have been expected, for the loss of
Dermot. Kind Miss O'Reilly continued to pay her frequent visits, and
while the young ladies remained at the castle, they rode over under an
escort several times to see her. They heard with surprise of Dermot's
departure, and at first were inclined to think him hard-hearted and
ungrateful, but so ably did the widow defend her son, that they soon
agreed with her it was but natural a boy like Dermot should seek to see
more of the world than he could in that remote part of Ireland.
The _Cynthia_ had been stationed for some months on the Irish coast,
when she stood for the last time into the bay, before taking her
departure.
As Captain Falkner had had an opportunity of letting the Earl know his
purpose, a large party were collected at the castle, to bid him and the
young hero farewell. Those were the days of profuse Irish hospitality;
the gentlemen with their wives and families for many miles around had
assembled.
The morning was spent in all sorts of sports, and the evening in
conviviality. Frequently a stag was turned out from a neighbouring
thicket, when a long run, sometimes across rivers, up and down hills, by
the borders of lakes, and over the roughest imaginable ground, took
place. Many falls were the consequence, in spite of the sturdy
character of the horses, and the admirable riding of the men, but few
were present who had not seen a companion dislocate his shoulder, and
not unfrequently terminate his career with a broken neck. It was not
unusual to see a hundred horses stabled in the castle at a time, some of
them belonging to the Earl, but a considerable number to his guests, and
the profuse hospitality of those days demanded that all the attendants
should be well cared for within the walls of the castle. The dinner
hour was somewhat early, that a longer period might be devoted to the
after carousal. The cellars usually contained numerous hogsheads of
claret, whilst stronger wines and whisky were on hand for those of less
refined tastes. But the Irish gentleman rather prided himself on the
quantity of claret he could imbibe, and yet be able to retire with
steady steps to bed, or if necessary to mount his horse and return home
by cross roads without breaking his neck, or finding himself at sunrise
just waking out of sleep in a dry ditch.
Although the Earl himself did not over indulge in the pleasures of the
table, he had been too long habituated to the custom to discourage it in
others, and thus his legitimate income was inadequate to supply the
expenses of the profuse hospitality he kept up.
The ladies retired early from the table, when the slight restraint their
presence imposed being removed, the bottle began to circulate even more
freely than before. Songs were sung, toasts were given, and the health
of the young heir of Kilfinnan was drunk with uproarious cheers. "May
he be as fine a man as his father, and an honour to the noble profession
he has chosen, though faith! I'd rather he followed it than I myself,"
exclaimed a red-nosed squire from the lower end of the table, "May he
live to see his grandchildren around him, and may the old castle stand
as long as the round world endures."
"Sure a finer young sailor never placed foot on the deck of a
man-of-war," echoed another landowner of the same stamp. "May he come
back a captain at the least, and take the lead in the field in many a
hard day's run." Similar compliments were uttered in succession for
some time. Fitz Barry took them very quietly, indeed he at length
became utterly weary of the proceedings. In truth also, the thoughts of
leaving home and his sweet young sister and his cousin Sophy, whom he
loved like one, made him somewhat sad, and little able to enter into the
conversation going forward. He did not, however, allow either Sophy or
Nora to discover how much he felt.
The next morning, farewells over, he went on board the frigate, without
much prospect of returning home for three years or more. As she under
all sail stood out of the bay, he cast many a lingering glance at the
old castle, and the well-known bold outlines of the shore. At Plymouth,
to which port the frigate had been ordered to proceed, several fresh
hands were entered to make up the complement of her proper crew. They
were of all descriptions, but Captain Falkner soon discovered that there
was scarcely a seaman among them. Officers in those days, when men were
scarce, had to form their crews out of the most heterogeneous materials.
He was receiving a report of them from his first lieutenant. "Here is
a fellow, sir. He has been sent to us from the tender, and has entered
under the name Higson, and says he is an Englishman, though he is
evidently Irish by his tongue, and the cut of his features and general
appearance from head to foot. He knows little enough of a seaman's
duties, but is a stout, strong fellow, and we may in time lick him into
shape. I am advised to keep an eye on him while we remain in harbour,
lest he should take French leave, and forget to return on board."
"We must keep him," answered the captain; "we are bound for the West
Indies, you know, and shall require every man we can lay hold of."
This settled the point--O'Higgins the rebel leader, or rather Higson, as
he called himself, was regularly entered on the books of the _Cynthia_.
He, in vain, made several efforts to escape; once he narrowly escaped,
being shot in the attempt. He had jumped into a boat at night, and was
pulling away from the ship when he was overtaken, and being brought back
was put into irons till the frigate sailed. Had he been in Cork
harbour, he would have had little difficulty in effecting his purpose.
Hearing, however, that a son of the Earl of Kilfinnan was on board, he
consoled, himself with the reflection that he should have an opportunity
of wreaking his vengeance on the head of the midshipman. How the lad
had in any way given him cause of offence, none but a distorted
imagination could have supposed. He had certainly attempted for a very
indefinite object of his own to burn down the Earl's residence and to
murder the inhabitants, and because he had been foiled in the attempt,
captured and punished, he persuaded himself that he was fully justified
in desiring to kill or injure the Earl's unoffending son. Such,
however, was the style of reasoning in which so-called Irish patriots of
those days, and, perhaps, in later times, were apt to indulge.
At length, powder and stores having been received on board, and two or
three gun-room officers and several passed midshipmen having joined, the
_Cynthia_ made sail, and standing out of the harbour, a course was
shaped for the West Indies, her destined station.
The frigate had been for some time at sea, and during a light wind she
fell in with a homeward bound merchantman. These were the days of the
press-gang, and under such circumstances every merchantman was visited,
that the seamen on board who had not a protection might be carried off
to serve in the Royal Navy. This was a cruel regulation, but, at the
same time, it seemed the only feasible one to our forefathers for
manning the king's ships. Often good men were thus picked up, but more
frequently bad and discontented ones. The merchant ship was ordered to
heave to, and the second lieutenant, with a boat's crew armed to the
teeth, went on board. The whole of the crew were directed to come upon
deck. Their names were called over, and three able seamen were found
who did not possess a protection. They were immediately ordered to go
over the side into the boat.
"Are there any others who wish to volunteer on board?" asked the
lieutenant. There was some hesitation among them, when two youngsters
stepped forward in front of the rest. The master endeavoured to prevent
them from speaking; but the lieutenant telling them to say what they
wished, they at once begged that they might be allowed to join the
frigate. They were both fine active-looking lads, and seemed cut out to
make first-rate seamen. The lieutenant eyed them with approbation.
"You will do, my lads," he observed. "In a couple of years or less, you
will make active top-men."
The master was very indignant at being thus deprived of part of his
crew; but he had no remedy, and was obliged to submit.
"A pleasant voyage to you, Captain Dobson," said the lieutenant. "You
will manage to find your way up Channel without these few men I have
taken from you, and depend upon it they will be better off than they
would have been spending their time at Wapping until all their money was
gone;" a truth which even the master could not deny.
The merchantman sailed on her way, and the boat having returned on board
the frigate, was hoisted up again, when her sails being trimmed, the
_Cynthia_ once more stood on her course. The new-comers soon made
themselves at home with the crew. Those who watched the lads might have
seen an expression of astonishment pass over the countenance of one of
them when he found himself on board the _Cynthia_. Soon after this they
were brought up before the first lieutenant, to undergo the usual
examination. He soon finished with the men, who had the ordinary
account to give of themselves. One of the young lads said he belonged
to Dartmouth in England, and that having run away from home he had
joined the merchantman, from which he had volunteered, and he was
entered by the name of Ned Davis.
"And what is your name, my lad?" he asked, turning to the youngest of
the two.
"Charles Denham, sir," he answered.
"That is an English name, and you speak with an Irish accent."
"My mother was an Irish woman," answered the lad, with a blush on his
face.
"And who was your father, then?" asked the lieutenant.
"Sir, I came on board to serve his Majesty, and I hope to do so
faithfully," replied the lad, as if he had not heard the question put to
him.
"There is some of the true metal in that boy," observed the first
lieutenant, turning to an officer near him. "I must keep an eye upon
him. He will make a smart seaman in a short time. He is just one after
the captain's own heart."
The young volunteer did not hear these observations, or they would have
given him the encouragement of which, he somewhat felt the want. The
lads were told their numbers and the mess to which they would belong.
Ned Davis and Charles Denham returned together to the lower deck. They
found, after they had been some time below, that the crew were far from
satisfied with their officers. They discovered that the ringleader was
a certain John Higson, who was ready to find fault with everything that
took place. He was what is generally called at sea, "a king's hard
bargain," or in other words, not worth his salt. He was one of those
men who do a great deal of mischief on board a ship, and are generally
known by the name of "a sea lawyer." The two lads, however, seemed
resolved to do their duty in spite of anything that might occur. They
had before, it appeared, heard Captain Falkner spoken of, and knew he
had the character of being a just officer, though somewhat strict. It
soon appeared, indeed, that he had a very unruly ship's company to deal
with, and one that required a good deal of management to bring into
order. Had it not been for Higson, and other men like him, this might
easily have been accomplished; but whatever was done Higson was sure to
put a wrong interpretation upon it. Still, the best men found
themselves well treated, and spoken kindly to by their officers. By
degrees flogging decreased, though occasionally some were brought up to
suffer that punishment. In those days an officer might order it to be
inflicted on any one of the crew, and sometimes this was done for slight
offences. Captain Falkner, however, reserved it for those who seemed
determined to neglect their duty, or to get drunk, or act
disrespectfully to their officers. Higson was himself too clever ever
to get punished, though more than once he was the cause of others
becoming sufferers. At length the West Indies were reached, and the
frigate brought up in Kingston Harbour, Jamaica.
Unfortunately, Captain Falkner was taken ill, and it became necessary
for him to go and reside on shore. The first lieutenant, though a kind
officer, had not the talent of his superior, and thus the ship once more
fell into the condition in which it had previously been. It being found
that Captain Falkner did not recover, the admiral of the station ordered
the _Cynthia_ to put to sea under the command of the first lieutenant.
She cruised for some time in search of an enemy, but none was to be
found, and sickness breaking out on board, a good many of the men were
laid up in their hammocks. Meantime, young Lord Fitz Barry had become a
great favourite with his brother officers on board. Indeed, from his
youth he was somewhat of a pet among them. He was not a little made of
by the first lieutenant and the other officers, not so much because he
was a lord, but because he was a kind-hearted, generous little fellow.
He had, however, been imbued by his captain with very strict notions of
duty, and, young as he was, when sent away with a boat's crew he kept
them in as strict order as any of the older midshipmen could have done.
On one occasion when sent on shore to bring off wood and water from an
uninhabited part of the southern shore of Saint Domingo, some of his
boat's crew insisted on going up into the interior. His orders had been
not to allow them to go out of sight of the boat, and should any person
appear from the shore, immediately to shove off and return to the ship.
When, however, they were told by Fitz Barry to remain where they were,
they laughed at him, and began to move off into the country. He
instantly drew a pistol from his belt, and hastened after them,
threatening to shoot the nearest man if they did not instantly return.
Still they persevered, and according to his threat, the young lord fired
his pistol, and hit one of the mutineers in the arm, and immediately
drawing a second pistol, he threatened to treat another in the same way.
This brought the mutineers to reason, and turning round they sulkily
followed him towards the boat. Here the wounded man insisted on having
his revenge, and tried to persuade the rest of the boat's crew to throw
the young lord overboard. The two lads who had come on board from the
merchantman had been appointed to the boat, both of them by this time
being strong enough to pull an oar. They, however, instead of siding
with the rest of the crew, had remained in the boat, and declared that
if a hand was laid upon Lord Fitz Barry, they would denounce the rest to
their commander.
"And we will heave you youngsters overboard with him," exclaimed the
men, enraged at being thus opposed.
"At your peril," answered Charles Denham; "I am not one to be cowed by
your threats. The man who was shot only got his deserts, and it will
serve you all right if Lord Fitz Barry reports you when he gets on
board."
This plain speaking still further enraged the rest of the boat's crew.
At the same time, unless they had been prepared to kill their young
officer and the two lads, they had no resource but to submit. They had
pulled off some little distance from the shore when they again
threatened to throw all three overboard, unless they would promise not
to report them. This Lord Fitz Barry refused to do.
"No," he said, keeping the other pistol in his hand. "It is for me to
command you. You disobeyed orders and now must take the consequences."
He reflected that if he returned and let their conduct go unpunished, it
might lead to still more serious disobedience. He, therefore, as soon
as he got on board, reported the whole affair to the commanding officer,
at the same time taking care to praise the two lads who had so bravely
stood by him. The consequence was, that the whole of the boat's crew
were brought to the gangway and severely flogged.