Mr Collinson had expected to hear from Monsieur Mouret, but day after
day passed by and no news reached him. The other lieutenant, Mr Mason,
at length proposed that they should endeavour to make their escape to
the coast.
"I fear that the undertaking is too hazardous to be attempted," answered
Mr Collinson. "Even should we reach the coast, we may find no vessel
to take us on board."
Still, as he thought over the matter, he felt greatly inclined, at all
risks, to make the attempt. He had husbanded the small sum of money he
possessed, in case of dire necessity, either to help them to escape or
to obtain food. Meantime, the rest of the party, who had scarcely
recovered from their previous hardships, were growing thinner and
thinner.
Sunshine Bill was the only one who kept up his spirits. In a
neighbouring cottage, to which the stable belonged, lived an old
negress, the wife of the proprietor. More than once she had caught
sight of Bill, who used to go outside their habitation in the evening,
and amuse the rest of the party, by showing that he had not forgotten
Jack Windy's instructions in dancing the hornpipe. Jack declared that
he had neither strength nor inclination to shake a leg himself, but he
would not mind singing a tune for Bill to dance; and dance Bill did with
great glee. He did his best to try and persuade Tommy to join him, but
Tommy was too weak and ill to do anything of the sort. At length, one
evening, when Bill had just finished his performance, the old black
woman was seen approaching with a steaming bowl in her arms.
"Dare, brave _garcon_," she said, patting Bill on the head, and pointing
to the bowl, and making signs for him to eat.
She then signified that the rest might have what he chose to leave.
Bill was for giving it to them at once, but she snatched the bowl back
again, and squatted herself down upon the ground to see that he took
enough. Whenever he stopped, she insisted upon his going on again, till
at last he put his hands before him, and made signs that he could eat no
more. She then allowed him to give the remainder to his hungry
companions, who very soon finished it.
"Thank you, mammy," said Bill; "but, I say, could you not just bring a
plate for our officer? He is as hungry as we are. He is inside there,
very ill;" and Bill made signs which could scarcely be mistaken.
The old woman caught the word "officer," and she nodded her head. She
soon returned with another dish of meat and vegetables, which Bill took
in to Mr Collinson.
The next day after Bill had danced his hornpipe, old Mammy Otello, as
they called her, came with her usual bowl of food, but on this occasion
she brought a basket with various fruits besides. This she did for two
or three days. One day, however, she came at an earlier hour, and made
signs to Bill that he must come over to her house. The rest of the
party offered to accompany him, but she very significantly showed that
she did not want their society. Bill went on, wondering what she could
require, though from her good-natured looks, he felt sure she intended
him no harm.
As they were going towards the house, he saw a number of black people in
gay dresses coming towards it from various quarters; and when he got
there, he found a large room almost full of negroes in ruffles and shirt
frills, and negresses in the gayest of gay gowns, somewhat scanty over
the shoulder, and fitting rather close to the figure. Bill found that
there was to be a black ball. At one end of the room sat, perched up on
the top of a cask, a fiddler, who began scraping away as he entered.
The guests were beginning to stand up for dancing, but Mammy Otello,
taking Bill by the hand, led him up to the musician, and made him
understand that he was to describe the tune he wanted to have played.
Bill sung out his tune as well as he could, and the fiddler made violent
attempts to imitate it. At length he succeeded to his own satisfaction,
if not to Bill's.
Mammy then led him back into the middle of the room, and made him
understand that he was to commence dancing.
"Well, you have been a kind old soul to us," he observed; "the only one
who has shown us any attention in this place; and I will do my best to
please you."
The musician began to play, and Bill began to dance, and very soon the
former seemed to understand exactly the sort of music required, and off
he went. The guests shouted and shrieked, and clapped their hands; and
the fiddler went on playing, and Bill went on dancing, and it seemed a
great question which would first grow tired.
"I'll do it, that I will," thought Bill to himself; "if it's only to see
these blackamoors grinning, and rolling their eyes, and shrieking, and
clapping their hands in the funny way they do."
At length, so eager did the spectators become, that they pressed closer
and closer upon the dancer, and Mammy Otello had to rush in and shove
them back with her stout arms to prevent him from being overwhelmed.
"Tired yet, old fellow?" shouted Bill, as he went on shuffling away and
kicking his heels; "I am not, let me tell you!"
The fiddler, although he might not have understood the words,
comprehended the gesture, and continued working away till it seemed as
if either his head or his arms and fiddle would part company, flying off
in different directions. Still Bill danced, and the black fiddler
played, roars of applause proceeding from the thick lips of the
dark-skinned audience.
At length, Mammy Otello, fancying that Bill himself would come to
pieces, or that he would fall down exhausted, rushed in, and seizing him
in her arms, carried him to a seat, amid the laughter and shouting and
grinning and stamping of all present; the fiddler, dropping down his
right hand, and letting his instrument slip from his chin, gave vent to
a loud gasp, as if he could not either have continued his exertions many
seconds longer.
Bill wanted to go back for his friends, to bring them up to see the fun,
but his hostess would not hear of it; and, whenever he got up to beat a
retreat, she ran and brought him back again. Meantime, the room was
occupied by the negroes, who danced away in a fashion Bill had never
seen before.
They bowed and scraped, and set to each other, however, with all the
dignity of high-bred persons. At length Bill watched his opportunity
and while Mammy Otello had gone to another part of the room, he bolted
out of the house, and set off as fast as his legs could carry him to his
companions in captivity.
"I told you, Bill, that hornpipe of yours would gain friends wherever
you go," said Jack. "I wish the old lady would give me a chance,
however. Perhaps she will now be civil to us on your account."
The next day, when Mammy Otello came, she seemed rather inclined to
scold Bill for running away. He got Mr Collinson to explain that he
would not have done so had the rest of the party been invited, as he did
no think it fair to enjoy all the fun by himself.
"Bon garcon; bon garcon!" said Mammy Otello. "The next time, for his
sake, we will invite you all."
Mr Collinson was surprised, after the many promises of assistance made
by Monsieur Mouret, the planter, that he should neither have seen nor
heard anything of him. At length one day, a black, dressed in livery,
rode into the village, inquiring for the English lieutenant who had last
come. On seeing Mr Collinson, he presented a note in a lady's hand.
It contained but a few words. It was from Mademoiselle Mouret.
"The day after you came here," she said, "my father was taken ill, just
as he was about to set off to Point a Petre, to make interest for you.
I watched over him for some days, and I confess that my grief allowed
the promises he had made to escape my memory. Alas! He has been taken
from me, while I myself have barely escaped with life; and only now am I
sufficiently recovered to write. Fearing that you will receive very
uncourteous treatment from my countrymen, and that you may be even
suffering from want of food, I have sent you some provisions by our
faithful servant Pierre, as also a purse, which, I trust, you will
accept from one who, though in affliction, is grateful for the kindness
she has received from your friends."
Mr Collinson felt that he had no right to refuse the gift which the
young lady had so liberally sent. When Jack Windy heard of it, he
exclaimed--
"They're all alike! Never mind whether they're French, or Dons, or
blackamoors, there's a tender place in most women's hearts, unless
they're downright bad, and then stand clear of them, I say, for they're
worse than us men."
The next time Mammy Otello appeared, Mr Collinson placed a gold piece
in her hand.
"Here, madame," he said; "I beg that you will accept this as a mark of
how sensible we are of your kindness; and I beg to assure you, that, if
you can give us better accommodation, we will gladly pay for it."
Mammy Otello's countenance beamed, her mouth grew considerably wider,
and her eyes sparkled, partly at the sight of the money, and partly at
the lieutenant's polite speech. Putting the coin into her pocket, she
hastened away. In a short time she returned.
"Our family is a small one," she said; "and as the authorities here do
not object, my good man and I have arranged to give you two rooms in our
house, while you shall take your meals in our public room."
Mr Collinson's great difficulty was to find paper and pen to write a
suitable reply to Mademoiselle Mouret. His own pocket-book had been
destroyed. Not a particle of paper could he find in the place, not even
the fly-leaf of a book. The other two officers had no paper of any
sort. He was able, therefore, only to return a verbal answer to the
young lady.
"I told you so," said Bill, when these satisfactory arrangements had
been made, "that things would improve with us, and so they have."
"Yes; but we've not had yellow Jack among us yet; and depend upon it he
will be coming before long," answered old Grim.
The good fortune of the Lillys, as the other prisoners called Mr
Collinson and his followers, rather excited their jealousy. It tended,
however, but little to raise his spirits, and he began to fear that he
should never again see his friends.
"Cheer up, sir," said Bill, who had constituted himself his special
attendant, "things have mended, and they will mend still more. It's a
dark day when the sun does not shine out; and depend upon it, though the
clouds seem pretty heavy just now, the sun will come out before long."
One day there was an unusual commotion in the village. The negroes were
running about and talking to each other, and the white people especially
wore anxious countenances. Soon afterwards, drums were heard, and a
regiment of militia marched by. For some time, the prisoners could not
ascertain what was taking place, though it was evident that something of
importance was about to occur. The few regulars in the neighbourhood
were seen hurriedly to march away.
Mr Collinson and the other two officers were talking together.
"Hark!" said the former; "that's the sound of a heavy gun!"
Others followed. Eagerly they listened. Some thought that they were
fired at sea, others on shore. At length the excitement of the people,
who had also heard the firing, greatly increased, and they confessed
that an English force had come off the island, and that the English
troops had landed that morning.
"I wish we could manage to get to the top of some hill to see what is
going forward," exclaimed Jack Windy. "Bill, what do you say? We could
get away from these fellows now."
"If Mr Collinson wishes it, I am ready enough to go," answered Bill.
"I am afraid he would say no, if we were to ask him," said Jack. "I
would give anything to find out who is winning the day."
However, the nearest hills were some way off, and, even if they had got
to the top of them, they could not at all tell that they would be able
to see what was taking place. The sound of the firing increased, and it
became very certain that a fierce engagement was going on. The people
about them, however, knew no more than they did, so they could gain no
information.
At length a body of men was seen coming over a pass in the distance.
They were watched anxiously. Who could they be--English or French? On
they came, increasing their speed. As they drew nearer, it was evident
that they were black troops--the same regiment, indeed, which had passed
through the village in the morning. It seemed, from the way they
marched, or rather ran, that they thought an enemy was behind them.
They bore among them several wounded men. Not till they had hurried
through the village did they halt.
At first, no one would say what had happened. The hopes of the English
prisoners, however, began to rise, and soon the news spread through the
village that a fierce battle had been fought, and that the English had
been victorious. At length a French officer was seen coming along the
road, who stopped for a few minutes to give his horse some water. Mr
Collinson approached him.
"I am one of the English officers who have been some time prisoners in
the island," he said, addressing him in French.
"Ah!" he answered, "you need consider yourselves prisoners no longer.
Your countrymen have come with an overwhelming force and taken
possession of the island. I am sent with despatches to the other side,
to give notice of the capitulation."
This news rapidly spread throughout the village.
A loud cheer burst from Jack and the boys' throats, in which even
Grimshaw joined.
The other prisoners came hurrying up to hear the news, and three more
hearty cheers were given, in which even many of the negroes for sympathy
could not help joining. There, whites and blacks were shouting
together, and shaking hands cordially.
There was some difficulty in getting conveyances for the whole party.
At length, however, mules and horses sufficient to carry them were
collected. Mammy Otello gave Bill an affectionate embrace, as he wished
her good-bye, an honour she did not bestow on the rest of the party.
She insisted, however, on their taking several delicacies of her own
cooking; and, at length, all hands being under weigh, with repeated
cheers, the sailors set out from the place of their long imprisonment.
Mr Collinson stopped at the house where they had been entertained on
their way. Mademoiselle Mouret entreated him not to thank her for the
trifle she had sent, and begged him to assure his friends that, should
they ever come to the island, it would be her pride and pleasure to
receive them.
On arriving in sight of the sea, a large fleet of men-of-war and
transports were seen below them, while British troops lay encamped on
the side of the hill. Having been delivered over by the French
authorities, in due form, to the English, they once more had the
satisfaction of feeling themselves free men. Among the ships lay a fine
corvette. No sooner did Jack Windy's eye fall on her than he
exclaimed--
"She's the _Lilly_ herself, or I'm a Dutchman!"
Hastening down to the port, they eagerly put off in the first boats they
could find. As they pulled alongside, none on board knew them. Captain
Trevelyan and the other officers were on deck. Besides Mr Barker,
there was another lieutenant.
"Then they must suppose I am lost," thought Mr Collinson, as he stepped
aft. "I am afraid I am not known," he said.
Captain Trevelyan started. A beam of pleasure lighted up his face.
Fortunately, the corvette was immediately despatched with news of the
capture of the island. She had a quick passage to Jamaica, and Mr
Collinson lost not many hours, after his arrival, in hurrying to Uphill
Cottage. The black cook told Bill, who went up with him on his next
visit, that the young lady did not go into hysterics at the sight of
him, but, although she had been somewhat sad and pale before, her colour
returned, and her voice was as cheerful and merry as it used to be. As
Mr Collinson had been superseded, he did not return to the _Lilly_;
indeed, a few days after her arrival, he received his promotion.
"Now he is a commander, I suppose he will be marrying Miss Lydall,"
observed Bill--a remark the sagacity of which was proved a few days
before the _Lilly_ sailed for England, where Mr and Mrs Collinson soon
after arrived in a merchant-vessel.
Although Bill did not bring home as much gold as he had expected, he was
received not the less warmly by widow Sunnyside and his brothers and
sisters. Soon afterwards, Captain Collinson called at the widow's
house, and left with her a roll of gold pieces.
"Here are Bill's wages," he said. "He attended me as my servant, and I
consider them justly his due; indeed," he added, "if it had not been for
his hopeful and cheerful spirit, I believe that I should have sunk under
the hardships we had to go through."
The next time Captain Trevelyan went to sea, he took Sunshine Bill with
him; indeed, for many years he served either with him, or with Captain
Collinson, whose coxswain he became. At that time, finding an honest
girl who reminded him of his happy little mother, he married, and had no
reason to repent his choice. Ultimately, having improved in his
education, he passed as a boatswain, in which capacity he served for
many years, till he was laid up, like many another noble tar, in
ordinary; but to the end of his days he maintained the same cheerful and
hopeful disposition which had carried him through so many trials in his
youth--a disposition which was happily inherited by a numerous
offspring.