DARKNESS.
"The busy deck is hushed, no sounds are waking
But the watch pacing silently and slow;
The waves against the sides incessant breaking,
And rope and canvas swaying to and fro.
The topmost sail, it seems like some dim pinnacle
Cresting a shadowy tower amid the air;
While red and fitful gleams come from the binnacle,
The only light on board to guide us--where?"
On went the "Martha Blunt" with no fears of danger near. The bell struck
eight, the watch had been called, and the captain, taking a satisfactory
look all around the horizon, glanced at the compass, and, with a slight
yawn, said,
"Well, Mr. Binks, I believe I'll turn in for a few hours; keep the brig
on her course, and at daylight call me. It will be time enough then to
bend the cables, for I don't think we shall want the anchors much afore
noon to-morrow. Where's the corvette?"
"There she is, sir, away off on the port beam. She made more sail a few
minutes ago, and now she appears to be edging off the wind, and steering
across our forefoot. I s'pose she's enjoying of herself, sir, and
exercisin' the crowds of chaps they has on board them craft."
"Well, good-night, matey"--pausing a moment, however, as the honest old
skipper stepped down the companion-way, and half communing with himself,
and then, with his head just above the slide, he added, "I say, Mr.
Binks, there's no need, p'r'aps, but you may as well have a lantern
alight and bent on to the ensign halliards there under the taffrail, in
case you want to signalize the corvette. Ah, Banou! that you, old
nigger? Good-night!"
So Captain Blunt went slowly down below, and at the same time the black
went aft, coiled himself down on the deck, and made a pillow of the
brig's ensign.
Mr. Binks wriggled himself upon the weather rail, where, with a short
pipe in his mouth, he kicked his heels against the bulwarks, and while
the old brig plunged doggedly on, he indulged himself with a song, the
air, however, being more like the growl of a bull-dog than a specimen of
music:
"If lubberly landsmen, to gratitude strangers,
Still curse their unfortunate stars;
Why, what would they say did they try but the dangers
Encounter'd by true-hearted tars?
If life's vessel they put 'fore the wind, or they tack her,
Or whether bound here or there,
Give 'em sea-room, good-fellowship, grog, and tobaker,
Well, then, damme if Jack cares where!"
"What d'ye think of that, Ben?" said Mr. Binks, as he finished his
ditty, and sucked away on his pipe.
"Why, Mr. Mate," replied Ben, as he gave the wheel a spoke or two to
windward and glanced at the binnacle, "the words is first-rate, but it
seems to me your singing gear is a bit out o' condition, and I thought
you wos a prayin'; but the fact is," concluded Ben, apologetically,
"that whenever I hears grog and tobaker jined together, I likes to see
them in my fist."
"Oh! you would, eh? Well, shipmate, turn and turn about is fair play; so
here, just take a pull at the pipe, and I'll step to the cuddy for the
bottle, and we'll have a little sniffler all around!"
Saying this, Mr. Binks swung off the rail, handed Ben the pipe, and
after an absence of a few moments, he returned with a square case-bottle
and a pewter mug.
"Now, Ben," said he, "this 'ere is not a practice, as you know, I often
is guilty of; but you bein' a keerful hand and a stiddy helmsman, and
port here close aboard, I've no objections to take a toss with ye." Then
pouring out a moderate quantity of the fluid, the mate handed it to Ben,
who, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and with one hand on the
king-spoke of the wheel and one eye at the compass-card, threw his head
back and pitched the dram down his throat.
"My sarvice to ye, sir!" said Ben, as he smacked his lips and then shut
them tight together, fearful lest a breath of the precious liquid might
escape; "a little of that stuff goes a great ways."
Mr. Binks hereupon measured himself off an allowance, and touching Ben
on the shoulder, raised the pewter to his lips. Before, however,
draining the cup, he tuned his pipes once more, and croaked forth in
this strain:
"While up the shrouds the sailor goes,
Or ventures on the yard,
The landsman, who no better knows,
Believes his lot is hard.
But Jack with smiles each danger meets;
Casts anchor, heaves the log,
Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,
And drink his can of grog!"
"Here comes the corvette, sir!" broke in Ben, as he stood on tiptoe,
holding on to the spokes of the wheel, and taking his eyes off the
binnacle a moment to get a clear view over the rail. "Here she comes,
with her starboard tacks aboard, athwart our bow, and moving like an
albatross!"
The man-of-war had for an hour or more crept well to windward, and then,
wearing round, she came down close upon the wind under royals, and her
three jibs and spanker as flat as boards. As she whirled on across the
brig's bow, a few cables' length ahead, the sharp ring of the whistles
was again heard, and the moment after the head-sails fluttered and shook
in the wind, the sheets and blocks rattled, and with a clear order of
"Main-sail haul!" the after-yards swung round like magic, the sails
filled, and without losing headway the head-yards were swung, and she
gathered way on the other tack. On she came, with the spray flying up
into the weather leech of her fore-sail, the dark mazes of her rigging
marked out in clear lines against her white canvas, and the watch
noiselessly coiling up the ropes on her decks. As she pushed her sharp
snout through the water, and grazed along the brig's lee quarter, an
officer on the poop gave a rapid and searching glance around, peered
sharply along the brig's deck, waved his trumpet to the mate, and
resumed his rapid tramp to windward. In ten minutes after she had passed
the brig's wake nothing was seen of her save a dark, dim outline; a
light halo reflected on the water from her white streak, and an
occasional luminous flash of foam as it bounded away from her lean
bows.
Half an hour went by. The mate was sitting on the weather rail droning
out an old sea-song to himself, and the four or five men of the watch
were dozing away along the bulwarks. Presently, however, Ben, the
helmsman, happened to let his eyes wander away from the compass-card for
a moment, as he steadied the wheel by his legs and bit a quid from his
plug of niggerhead to last him to suck for the remainder of the watch,
when, glancing beneath the bulging folds of the lee clew of the
main-sail, he clapped both hands again on the steering spokes, and
shouted,
"Mr. Mate, here's a sail close under our lee beam!"
"Where?" said Binks. But, before he had fairly time to run over to the
other side of the vessel and take a look for himself, a quick rattle of
oars was heard as a boat grated against the brig's side, and, before you
could think, a swarm of fellows started up like so many shadows above
the rail. In five seconds they had jumped on the deck, Ben fell like a
bullock from a blow from the butt-end of a pistol, the helm was jammed
hard down, the lee braces let fly, and, as the old brig gave a lurching
yaw in bringing her nose to windward, the weather leeches shivered
violently in the wind, and, taking flat aback, the studding-sail booms
snapped short off at the irons, and, with the sails, fell slamming and
thumping below.
[Illustration: THE PIRATES BOARDING THE BRIG.]
Meanwhile the mate had barely time to spring to the companion-way and
sing out, "We're boarded by pirates, Captain Blunt!" when he, too,
received an ugly overhand lick from a cutlass on his skull, and went
senseless and bleeding down the hatchway like a scuttle of coals.
At the first noise, however, the black Banou sprang to his feet, and, as
he caught a glimpse of the fellows swarming over the side, he snatched
hold of the ensign halliards where the signal lantern had been bent on,
and in an instant it was dancing away up to the gaff, shrouded from view
to leeward of the vessel by the spread of the spanker. In another moment
the black leaped to the deck cabin and darted through the door. But in
less time than it has taken to tell it, the "Martha Blunt" had changed
hands.
There, on the quarter-deck, stood in groups some sixteen barefooted
villains, in coarse striped gingham shirts, loose trowsers, and
skull-caps, and all with glittering, naked knives or cutlasses, and
pistols in their belts and hands. In the midst of this cluster of
swarthy wretches, near the companion-way, stood a burly, square-built
ruffian, with a pistol in his right hand, and his dexter paw pushing up
a brown straw hat as he ran his fingers across his dripping forehead and
a tangled mass of carroty, unshorn locks. There was a wisp of a red silk
kerchief tied in a single knot around his bare bull neck; the shirt was
thrown back, and exposed a tawny, hairy chest, as a ray of light flashed
up from the binnacle. He looked--as indeed he was--the lowest type of a
sailor scoundrel. His companions were of lighter build, and their dress,
complexion, and manner--to say nothing of their black hair and rings in
their ears--indicated a birth and breeding in other and hotter climes.
"Well, my lads," said the big fellow, who seemed to be in command, "the
barkey is ours, and we've cheated that infarnal cruiser handsomely. Go
forward, Pedro, and gag them lubbers, and then tell the boys to trim aft
them jib sheets; and round in them after-braces, some of you, so we can
keep way with the schooner and take things easy."
Here he laughed in a husky, spirituous, low chuckle, and then went on:
"This will make up for lost time, _amigos_! _Christo!_ there may be some
ounces on board. But who's left in the boat, Gomez?" This was addressed
to a bow-legged, beetle-browed individual, with a hare-lip, which kept
his face in a perpetual and skeleton-like grin, who hissed out from
between his decayed front tusks,
"_El Doctor Senor, con tres de nosotros._" "_Bueno!_ all right; three of
the chaps will do to look out for her; but tell the doctor to drop the
boat astern, and veer him a rope from the gangway. There! that's well
with the braces! Keep her off a point; so--that'll do."
As the orders were promptly obeyed, and the crew of the brig gagged,
and the vessel surged slowly on her course, the same speaker turned to
his men and said,
"Now, my hearties! let's have an overhaul of the skipper. Hand him up
here, will ye? or, never mind," he added, "I'll just step down and have
a growl with him myself."
As the mate pitched head foremost down the companion ladder, two of the
pirates jumped after him, and, dealing him another cruel stab with a
knife deep into the back, they passed on into the lower cabin. There was
a brief struggle, the sound of voices mingled with curses and threats,
and then all quiet again.
In pursuance of his expressed purpose, the stout ruffian slewed himself
round, took a sweep about the horizon, then sticking his pistol in its
belt, he slowly descended the ladder, gave the wounded and dying mate a
kick, and with a hoarse laugh entered the cabin.
There, on a small sofa abaft, between the two stern air-ports, sat
Captain Blunt. Blood was trickling down in heavy drops from a lacerated
bruise on his forehead; but, notwithstanding the swelling and pain of
the wound, his features were calm, stern, and honest. On either side of
him sat as villainous a brace of mongrel Portuguese or Spaniards as ever
infested the high seas; and his arms were pinioned by a stout cord to
the bolt above the transom.
"My sarvice to you, sir!" said the leader of the gang, with a devilish
smile of derision, as he stuck his arms akimbo and squirted some
tobacco-juice from his filthy mouth across the cabin table at the
pinioned prisoner.
"I s'pose you know by this time that you're a lawful prise, captured by
an hindependent constable of the West Indies, notwithstandin' ye had
sich safe escort and convoy all the arternoon?"
Here he chuckled, squirted more juice over the table, then dropped down
on a sea-chest cleated to the deck, took off his hat, and scratched his
yellowish red hair. The poor captain said not a word, but shook a great
clot of blood from his brow.
"Well, now, my old hearty, the first thing for you to do is to poke out
your manifest, and any other little matters of vallew ye may have stowed
away; and be quick, mind ye, for you haven't much time to sail in this
'ere craft. Howsoever, I s'pose ye can swim?"
"You'll find the manifest and the ship's papers there, inside that
instrument-box; and all the money in the vessel is in that locker; and I
trust in Heaven it may burn your hands to cinders, you devils!"
"Ho! smash my brains! keep a stopper on your jaw, or I'll squeeze your
dead carcass through that 'ere starn port."
The fellow rose as he spoke, and, stepping up to the narrow state-cabin
near by, he jerked open the upper drawer of a small bureau affair, and
pulling out a canvas bag, sealed at the mouth, tossed it on to the
cabin table. The coin fell with the heavy dead sound peculiar to gold,
and the ruffian, after taking it up again and weighing it tenderly,
growled out, "This chink will do for a yapper, at any rate! So now let's
have a peep at what the cargo consists on."
Then stepping a second time to the berth, he gave a kick to the
instrument-box, the lid flew off, and diving in his fist he drew out a
bundle of papers. Once more seating himself at the table beneath the
swinging lamp, he clumsily undid the papers and spread them before him.
"What a blessed thing is edication," muttered he to himself, "and what a
power o' knowledge reading 'riting does for a man!" Putting his fat
stumpy finger on each line of the manuscript as he slowly began to spell
out the contents, he began, "Man-i-fest of Brig 'Martha Blunt'--Ja-cob
Blunt, master:" here he paused, and, squirting more tobacco-juice over
at the skipper, as if to attract his attention, he suddenly ejaculated,
"Hark ye! Master Blunt, what was the name of that man-o'-war vessel as
was lyin' by you this morning?"
"The 'Scourge,'" replied the skipper, faintly, as he shook another great
drop of blood from his brow.
"The what? The 'Scourge!' That Yankee snake! Smash my brains! D'ye know
that that ship has been a hangin' about the north side of Cuba for ever
so long, interruptin' our trade? And you an Englishman, to go and ax him
to purtect ye! take that!"
Here he snatched a pistol from his sash, and, taking aim full at the
skipper's breast, he pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the weapon snapped
and did not explode. The ruffian held it a moment in his hand, and then
letting it rest upon the table, he said, with a horrible imprecation,
"Ye see you wos not born to be shot; but we'll try what salt water will
do for ye by-and-by."
Taking out his knife at the conclusion of this speech, he picked the
flint of his pistol, opened the pan, shook the priming, and then shoved
the weapon back in his belt. The mention of the "Scourge," however, had
evidently caused him some trepidation, for when he resumed the perusal
of the manifest it was in a hurried, agitated sort of way, and not at
all at his ease.
Smoothing the papers again before him, he went on, making running
commentaries as he read: "Eighty-six cases of silks--light, and
easily stowed away; twenty-nine tons bar iron; sixty-four sugar-kettles!
it will help to sink the brig; forty pipes of Bordeaux; two hundred
baskets Champagne; three hundred and fifty boxes of claret--sour
stuff, I warrant you; two casks Cognac brandy--but I say, you Blunt,"
said the fellow, looking up, "where's your own private bottle? It's
thirsty work spellin' out all this 'ritin', and my mouth's as dry as a
land-crab's claws. Howsoever," he continued, as he caught the
glance of satisfaction which came over the swarthy faces of his
companions beside the captain, "wait a bit, and we'll punch a hole in a
fresh barrel presently."
Having run through the manifest, he opened another paper and exclaimed,
"Hallo! what have we here? List of passengers--Madame Rosalie Piron
and--ho! that's a French piece, I knows by the name. Where is she?
Hasn't died on the v'yage, has she? D'ye hear there, ye infarnal
Blunt?"
The captain's face was troubled, and his head dropped down on his breast
without replying; but one of the scoundrels at his side struck him a
brutal blow with the back of his knife-hilt on the mouth, and jerking
up, he said, with an effort,
"Yes, we have a female passenger on board, with a helpless child; but I
pray you, in God's name, to leave the innocent woman in peace. You've
robbed and ruined me and my poor old wife--turn me adrift if you like,
drown or hang me, but don't harm the poor lady."
The tears blinded him as he spoke, and mingled with the bloody stream
which trickled down his cheeks. The ruffian's ugly face and bloodshot
eyes lighted up with a devilish and sinister satisfaction as the skipper
began his appeal, but before he had well finished speaking he broke in,
"Avast your jaw! will ye? You'll have enough to look out for your own
gullet, my lad, without mindin' any body else's; so turn to and say your
prayers afore eight bells is struck, because there's sharks off
Jamaiky."
Then addressing his own scoundrelly myrmidons, he exclaimed, "Look out
sharp for that old chap, my lads, while I goes to sarch for the woman
passenger!" As he turned, however, to leave the cabin, one of his
subordinates began to rummage about in a locker, when the burly brute
said, "Tonio, don't get to drinkin' too airly, boy, for ye know it's
agin the law till the prize is snug in harbor, or sunk, as the case may
be."
"_Si, senor_," replied the man, with a nod and a grin, and he resumed
his seat again; but no sooner had their leader left the cabin than a
bottle and glasses were placed upon the table, and they fell to with a
will, complimenting the bound and wounded prisoner by pitching the last
drops from their tumblers into his face.