_A FIERCE CHARACTER. ATTEMPT TO BURN THE BRIG. THE CONSULTATION. THE
SENTENCE. THE YARD ARM! A DREAM. THE TRIAL. A STUBBORN SPIRIT BROKEN. A
NOBLE ACT OF JUSTICE! WORTHY OF EMULATION!_
|The day subsequent to this last fortunate capture, an event took place
on board the Constance which ended in a drama of singular interest.
There was a large powerful man, second in command of the prize just
taken, who had been transported to the brig for safe confinement. He
was a man of remarkable muscular strength, and one whom all noted on his
first coming on board, as the prisoner who had caused so much trouble on
board the prize before he was taken and bound. For additional security
he was confined separate from the rest of the prisoners, not only
because he had thus resisted Lovell after the surrender of the ship, but
because he had been overheard to make several threats relative to the
destruction of the vessel in which he should be confined. This man was,
as we have said, of remarkable bodily strength, and he was therefore, if
possible, more securely confined than the rest of his companions, but,
notwithstanding all this, on the afternoon of the day subsequent to
his capture, he managed to free himself from his bonds and place of
confinement, which was in the forecastle of the brig.
When discovered, he had gathered a large pile of straw and other
combustibles together, to which he had actually communicated fire, and
the forward part of the vessel would have been wrapped in flames in
five minutes more, but for the opportune discovery of the attempt of the
prisoner by one of the crew of the Constance. The foremost man, who made
the discovery, and who instantly endeavored to extinguish the flames,
was slightly stabbed with his own knife by the Englishman whom we
have described, and who was thus endeavoring to send the whole crew
to eternity together. At length after a severe struggle he was again
secured and placed where he could be more closely watched than he had
been heretofore, and in such a manner as to render his escape a second
time impossible.
The conduct of the prisoner seemed to all to be of the most
blood-thirsty and vindictive character, and the crew called loudly
on Captain Channing to make an example of him. Policy, too, urged the
necessity of this upon his own mind, for it was evident to the meanest
capacity on board, that the large number of prisoners confined in the
brig, if not deterred by some decided act of justice, would endeavor to
rise and take possession of the brig. So excited had the minds of the
crew became on this point, that they rather demanded than asked for
the immediate punishment of the man who would thus have destroyed them
altogether. In consideration of this emergency, Jack Herbert and William
Lovell were each called upon from their separate commands to come on
board the Constance to meet the captain in consultation, while the
little fleet was hove to. After a somewhat lengthy discussion of the
subject, Channing said: ‘You think then, gentlemen, that the execution
of this man is necessary?’
‘I would string him up within the hour,’ said Jack Herbert
‘I regret the necessity,’ said Channing, ‘but I must acknowledge that
the safety of our lives and that of the brig seems to demand it.’
‘Unquestionably,’ said both.
‘I look at this matter thus,’ continued Lovell. ‘We are like men living
over a mine of powder; the least spark of fire brought in contact with
that powder will cast us all headlong into eternity; there is one who
avowedly seeks an opportunity to apply the match; now should we hesitate
for a moment to deprive him of the power?’
‘This is the only light in which the subject can be viewed,’ said
Herbert; ‘and a most rational one it is too.’
‘The matter is settled then, gentlemen,’ said Channing, thoughtfully.
‘And this man must die!’
It was thus decided, and they then separated until the hour appointed
for the execution of the prisoner.
It was a calm, mild day for the season; the three vessels had hardly
reached the colder latitudes of the middle coast, and the day was really
remarkable for the season of the year of which we speak. The little
fleet lay within hailing distance of each other. The warm sun lay upon
the gently swelling breast of the ocean, like the blushing cheek of
a lady upon the breast of her lover. Everything about the brig was
arranged with a scrupulous regard to order and neatness, and the
countenance of every man seemed big with thought. Even honest Terrence
Mooney looked uneasy and solemn about his face, which was usually so
radiant with good feeling and kindness to all about him. Ever and anon
he would give a hitch to his pantaloons, and casting his eye aloft
to some arrangement about the rigging of the ship, would then give an
ominous shake of his head, as much as to say, there was something going
on that did not exactly meet his approbation, and then try to forget,
apparently, the thought that troubled him, by whistling loudly some
Irish air. It had been decided, as the reader has seen, that the
prisoner in question should be executed on the yard arm, and although
this was only understood by word of mouth, to the chief officers, yet
the intelligent eye of the crew took in the preparations, which had
necessarily been made, with a full sense of their purpose.
The noble-hearted crew, now that they saw the event actually about to
take place, looked sad and dejected, for though any one of them would
have gone into battle, with a jest, and while in the heat of blood, and
with the justice of his cause at heart, have slain his enemy without a
second thought; yet here they were about to do a very different deed,
and one upon which they found time to reflect and ponder. They were
about to launch a fellow being, in cold blood, into eternity, and every
act of preparation but added to the chill at heart that each man felt.
Aye, their very natures were revolting within them at the proposed
_murder_, for so must ever seem the preconcerted taking of human life.
It is an awful thing to take away the life we cannot give; and we
are one of those who question its justice even in extreme cases, save
actually in self defence.
‘Divil a bit do I fancy this work,’ said Terrence Mooney to one of his
messmates; ‘it will bring bad luck upon the darling little brig, to have
a man dangling by his neck up there, where blocks and ropes only belong.
Arah, faith now, what was I after draining of the divil’s tail last
night, if it wasn’t all for this yard arm business?’
‘And did’nt I drame too,’ continued Terence, after taking a turn or two
between decks, where he was now watching the prisoners, ‘and did’nt I
drame, too,’ said he, ‘that the brig run her nose into a water spout
at say, and got rig’larly’ corned, a’ drinking salt water, and that she
would have tumbled overboard intirely, but that Captain Channing kept
all taut some how? Arab, divil a bit would I be after draining this if
there was’nt something wrong.’
‘Don’t it all mane this hanging business, to be sure?’ put in his
companion, who was the Irishman that joined the brig from the first
prize.
‘It may be that, and so it is most like,’ continued Terence, ‘but I’ve
had my misgivings, my boy, about lavin’ the ould woman, and not stopping
to see her dacently buried, and put under ground.’
‘That was’nt jist rigular, Terence.’
‘And how could I help it at all; was’nt Captain Channing and the brig to
sail that very hour that I agreed? to be sure I could’nt help it.’
‘It’s yourself that will be turning out a Jonah, and swallowing the
whole of us,’ said his companion half seriously.
‘Way wid ye now,’ said Terence, ‘and don’t bother me.’
A solemn silence now reigned through the brig, which scarcely made a
single foot of headway as she rose and fell gracefully in the long heavy
swell of the Atlantic.--We have said that it was calm, aye, it was very
still, for even the sea seemed as if holding its breath in anticipation
of witnessing some unhallowed act. There was hardly a single sign
of life manifested on board the Constance, save the sedate and quiet
helmsman, or of death either, though to the observant eye resting upon
that complicated yet graceful web of ropes and gear, a single whip was
visible rigged to the fore yard arm. One end was led inboard, while the
other ran along the yard through a block, and descended to the deck.
This single rope thus disposed, told a story to the honest seamen, that
led their countenances to express the sorrow, nay, almost _fear_, that
we have alluded to. There was to be a fearful act accomplished, and they
were to be the agents.
‘I do not like this business at all,’ said Capt. Channing to Lovell.
‘I look upon it as an important duty,’ was the reply.
‘It may be so,’ said Channing, musing.
‘Unquestionably.’
‘And this poor fellow must be hanged?’ said the captain.
‘So we have decided,’ said Lovell.
‘It is a fearful thing, William, thus coolly to take a human life. Who
would have thought that mine would ever be the hand, or that I should
ever issue the order that should deprive a human being of life. I
declare honestly to you that I am hardly equal to the cold blooded
deed.’
‘Nay, courage, Fanny,’ said Lovell, (they were alone in the cabin,)
‘you have done nobly thus far, now carry out the affair as it should be
done.’
‘And will this be a noble deed?’
‘It is always noble to do our duty.’
‘There is no reprieve, then?
‘I consider it as absolutely necessary for our safety. The fellow has
even declared that if he gets another opportunity he will do the same
deed over again. Is it safe then that he should live?’
‘The sentence is just,’ said Fanny.
‘Courage, Fanny, all will soon be over.’
‘Aye, but it is a fearful business. Lovell, do you realize it?’
‘I do, indeed, but think we have decided for the best.’
Overcoming all her woman’s feelings, Fanny summoned her wonted spirit,
and ordered the prisoner to be brought before her. He soon made his
appearance, strongly bound, and led a couple of the crew. He was a noble
specimen of a man in his physical formation. Of good height, broad and
full across the chest, with heavy yet well formed limbs. His hair was
short, black as jet, and curled closely to his head. He came in looking
sullenly down upon the cabin floor, resembling a lion at bay, his huge,
muscular form expanding with rage at the feeling of his bonds. He stood
before the captain of the brig who sat in a large easy chair, while on
either side stood Lovell and Herbert.
It was a scene of strange and peculiar interest. There stood that huge
Hercules of a man before that gentle hearted girl to be adjudged to
death. Her deep soul seemed to be reading the prisoner’s inmost thoughts
through the blue of her beautiful eye. Her voice did not tremble, her
hand was firm, and she was a man at heart. The woman feeling which was
so lately called into action in her breast, was banished, and nothing
save stern justice might be expected to come from out those lips which
displayed at that moment a decision of purpose and character which
Lovell had never marked there before.
‘Prisoner,’ said Fanny, in her low musical tone of voice, and yet with
singular distinctness, ‘do you know that my counsellors have decided
upon your death at the yard arm, within this very hour?’
‘I saw the whip rigged aloft, as I came along the deck,’ was the meaning
reply of the prisoner.
‘Have you nothing to offer before we execute this resolve?’
‘Nothing,’ said the man, his eyes still bent upon the floor. ‘It would
seem most probable that a person about to lose his life would have some
wish to express. If you have any, speak them, and if they be reasonable
they shall be granted.’
‘I have none,’ was the reply.
‘Prisoner,’ continued Fanny, ‘have you no wife, children, of friends?’
Here she was interrupted by a groan from the Englishman, that showed she
had touched him upon a vulnerable point.
‘Speak, sir.’
‘I have both wife and children,’ he said, without raising his head from
his breast, while his broad manly chest heaved with visible emotion.
‘And you have no reward to leave for them, no wish to express before
your execution?’ asked Fanny.
‘None! They will know that I died _loyal!_’
‘You have offered threats against this vessel and us, a second time
since your being again secured, I am told. Is this so?’
‘It is; the enemies of my king are the enemies of God, and I would
pursue them to the last gasp. Thou art a rebel, sir Captain, and all
these about thee. Should they be spared if I could rid the king of them,
by the loss of my own life? No!’ During all this time he had not even
lifted his head, but as if humbled by his bonds, his eyes still sought
the floor.
‘Would you not embrace such a proposal,’ said Fanny, ‘as should restore
your wife to your bosom, and your children to your arms.’
The man started--his Herculean proportions assuming an attitude that
would have struck an artist with admiration. His head was erect, his
eyes bent eagerly upon the captain, and his form seemed to be at least a
half a head taller than before. In a moment more his head dropped again
as if the spirit that had actuated him for a moment had passed away,
and he even doubted that he had heard aright. Relapsing into his former
state, he made no reply to the question that had so moved him.
‘Say, prisoner,’ continued Fanny, ‘would you again see those you have
left in your native land--your home, your wife and children, and those
you love?’
‘I shall meet them in Heaven,’ was the calm reply.
‘And is it loyalty to thy king that has incited thee to this mistaken
course?’ asked Fanny.
‘What else could actuate a British sailor?’
‘Unbind him!’ said Fanny to the guard, who stood by his side.
‘Do I command this vessel?’ asked Fanny, rising and drawing her naked
sword, and grasping it for action.
‘Certainly, sir.’ said one of the men, ‘but your honor, we------’
‘Do you hear, fellows? Unbind him!’
Lovell and Herbert were unprepared for this, and did not venture a
word, while the guard did as they were ordered. In a moment more the
Englishman stood unbound, and at liberty before her, his fine manly
face evincing the utmost surprise, while he stood motionless with
astonishment.
‘I think I have not mistaken you, sir, ‘said Fanny, addressing the
prisoner, ‘and if I have read you aright, it best behoves us to hold
converse with such as thou art on _equal_ terms. You are now _free!_’
‘And to what end?’ asked the man in amazement.
‘I would _reason_ with you.’
‘I am attentive,’ said the Englishmen, evincing by his manner and speech
a degree of refinement, that he had not before shown.
‘Dost thou know,’ asked Fanny, ‘of the oppression that has driven
the North American Colonies of Great Britain to the course they have
adopted? what flagrant wrongs they have endured; what servile and
debasing treatment they have suffered at the hands of the evil advisers
of the king?’
‘I only know that the North American Colonies have rebelled against
their lawful king,’ said the Englishman, moodily.
‘You know not,’ continued Fanny, warming in her subject, as she
proceeded, her deep blue eyes sparkling with animation and spirit,
‘of the sanctuarys defiled, of homes made desolate, the prostration of
trade, and the consequent distress of thousands! You know not that the
messengers of the people have been spurned from the throne, thus adding
insult to injury?--Would it not belie our English origin to bear all
this tamely Should we be worthy the stock from whence we spring, did we
not resent them, and endeavor by our own right hands to obtain justice?’
‘You tell me news, indeed,’ said the Englishman, thoughtfully.
‘Let not this spirit of revenge live any longer in thy breast,’ said
Fanny, ‘but consider first what has caused this resort to arms, and
then judge who is in the wrong. If it should seem to thee to be the
Colonists, do not disgrace thy nature by seeking revenge against them by
any blood thirsty act; and if the King, then do not again lift your arm
against this people.’
‘I feel that I have erred!’ said the Englishman, nobly willing to
acknowledge the wrong he had done.
‘So,’ said Fanny, ‘I know that I may trust you!’
The Englishman sprang forward, seized the extended hand of Fanny, and
after pressing it warmly, left the cabin without uttering a word.
Fanny in her ready wit and judgment, read something of the true
character of the prisoner, and after a little conversation, as we have
seen, she was strengthened in her supposition with regard to it. She had
rather resort to almost any expedient than that of the execution of the
man, and to avert it she was willing to run some risk in the matter of
trusting him.
The treatment proved salutary. A stubborn spirit was conquered by
kindness and reason, the only weapons that one responsible being should
use with another. The Englishman’s spirit had undergone a complete
change; he would have lain down his life for the captain of the
Constance; and from the hour of his liberation, was an ardent supporter
of the cause of the American people, though he was never actively
engaged in the war. He did not betray the confidence that had been so
placed in him, but served faithfully as a common sailor to the end of
the voyage.
There is a moral that we are tempted to put down here, simple perhaps,
but a great one nevertheless, yet fearing the censure of the general
reader, who sometimes decries in no measured terms these moral
digressions, we leave the inference to which we have only alluded, for
the good judgment and discernment of the reader, but let us venture to
urge its consideration.
Lovell was struck with the good judgment and ingenuity which Fanny had
displayed in this trying case, and found therein a new trait of goodness
and understanding, to love and respect her for; and when they were again
alone he asked her.
‘Why did you not tell me of this plan of action, dear Fanny; was I not
deemed worthy of the trust?
‘I had not entertained the idea beforehand, William; it was the
promptings of the moment, suggested by the noble bearing of the man,
and the feeling and emotion he evinced at the mention of his home and
family. It was easy enough to see then, William, that his heart was in
the right place, and susceptible to the influence of kindness.’
‘It could not have been better managed,’ said Lovell, ‘or more skill and
judgment of human nature displayed.’
‘I have relieved my heart of a heavy load of responsibility,’ said
Fanny; ‘for the last few hours I have been quite miserable.’
‘You have done nobly, my dear girl.’
‘What, sir?’
‘I beg pardon--_sir_, I mean that your conduct is deserving of all
praise, Captain Channing,’ said Lovell, with a mock show of respect.
‘If you are not careful, William,’ said Fanny, ‘you will expose me to
the crew, and who knows what might be the consequence?’
‘True, true,’ said Lovell, ‘I will be all respect in future, depend upon
my discretion. But have you no fears or misgivings, Fanny, as to the
good faith of this man you have liberated?’
‘Not the least. I fear not to trust him with my life.’
‘Heaven grant him honest,’ said Lovell as they parted.