WE MAKE A DAY OF IT
“Did you fellers hear me?” asked Mr. Gull, coming toward Martin and the
rest of us.
“Harkee, Mr. Gull,” said the Scot, “d’ye mean we can clear ef the wessel
don’t suit? Is that the lay o’ it? She’s a fine ship, Mr. Gull, an’ fer
me ye can lay to it. I’d never leave her, unless it’s the wish o’ the
matchless officers that commands her.”
“If you drunkards ain’t aboard again by eight bells to-night, it’ll be a
sorry crowd that’ll come next day,--an’ ye can lay to that, ye fine
Scotchman, an’ with just as much scope as ye may care for.”
Big Jones smiled as he unbent the boat tackle. It was evident our second
mate was not as big a fool as he looked, but it seemed strange we should
be allowed ashore unless the captain had good reason to believe we could
be back aboard again. Only a few minutes before we were planning some
desperate means of reaching the beach, and now the invitation was
offered to all who cared to avail themselves of the captain’s
liberality.
In a very short time the boat was overboard, and a liberty crew,
consisting of Martin, Tim, Big Jones, Bill, Anderson, a Norwegian of
Gull’s watch, a German called Ernest, the black cook, and myself, jumped
into her and started off.
“If I come back again,” said Jones, “they’ll need a good, strong heavy
man over there or a pair o’ mules to drag me.”
“Good-bye,” said Bill. “Youst keep awake when we come alongside. ’Twould
be a pity to rouse you,” and he grinned knowingly at the men who leaned
over the rail to see us depart.
I saw the old rascal Watkins come out in the waist and stand a moment
gazing after us, and Ernest bawled out a taunt in German which none of
us understood. Then we shot out of hearing and headed for the landing,
as wild for the beach as so many apprentices.
The “Doctor,” who was a most powerful nigger, grinned in anticipation of
the joys on the shore. His clothes were nondescript and bore evidence of
the galley, and his feet were big, black, and bare.
“Yah, yah, yah!” he laughed, “my feet is laughin’ at my pore ole body,
all rags and grease. Dey’ll hab a time asho’. Ain’t seen no green grass
lately.”
The boat was run upon the coral, and all hands sprung out without
waiting to shove her up. We splashed ashore through the shallow water,
leaving the Doctor to haul the boat up and make her fast. It was evident
he intended going back aboard, but we were a bit differently inclined.
The black soon joined us and led the way to the nearest rum-shop, the
place all sailors steer for, and, without comment, we filed into the
dirty hole for our first drink.
“I says, Thunderbo’, give us disha stuff they says do a nigger good,”
said the Doctor, who acted as our pilot. “My feet is sure laffin at my
belly, Thunderbo’, ’cause it’s as empty as yo’ haid.”
Thunderbore, who was a huge, nautical-looking pirate as black as the
Doctor, showed a set of white teeth and a large jar of a vile fluid
which fairly tore my throat to ribbons as I swallowed my “whack.” Big
Jones took his with a grimace, and was followed by Martin and the rest
until all had drunk.
The stuff was pure fire, but the Doctor gulped a full half-pint, and
smacked his lips.
“Thunderbo’, yo’ sho’ ain’t gwine to make a po’ nigger drink sech holy
water as disha. Give us somethin’ that’ll scratch, yo’ ape, or I’ll have
to take charge here,--I sho’ will,” said the Doctor.
Thunderbore had a good temper, but was used to dealing with all classes
of desperadoes. He passed the jar again, and drew a Spanish machete or
corn-knife from his belt. He reached over and smote the Doctor playfully
a blow with the flat of it that sounded with a loud clap through the
dirty den.
Some of the men laughed in derision, but the Doctor showed his ugly
teeth and glared at the den-keeper. He took another drink, and the fiery
liquid began to show its effects. Even Martin’s eyes looked queer after
a second taste, and he edged toward the huge, smiling African who held
the jar and knife.
“I weel ken ye a murderer by yer eye,” said he, “but dare ye lay aside
the steel an’ stand forth, I’ll trim ye, ye black ape. I’ll trim ye for
th’ sake o’ the good wittles the Doctor has cooked.”
The pernicious effect of the liquor was showing in the men’s faces. Even
I, temperate and peacefully disposed as I always am, began to feel a
desire to assert myself in a manner not in keeping with my usual
modesty. In fact, there were some there who were so drunk they actually
accused me afterward of having precipitated trouble by driving my fist
into the good-natured Thunderbore’s anatomy and seizing his machete. If
I did such a thing, it must have been in the same spirit of playfulness
that he exhibited when smiting the Doctor, for I was that peacefully
inclined that even after seeing a struggling pile of human forms upon
the floor, with the jar beneath them, I tried to separate a few with all
my strength. After exhausting this, I remember Tim cautioned me to leave
the intemperate fellows, who still struggled, threatened, and swore at
the black Thunderbore, who, with several friends who had rushed from an
adjoining room to his aid, now held the sailors at bay with a
boarding-pike. This he jabbed furiously at the Doctor, and, because Big
Jones would not allow him to be impaled upon it, the sea cook took
offence and turned upon his saviour, with Martin as an able ally.
The whole scene soon resolved itself into a sailors’ brawl, which I feel
ashamed to describe. I therefore withdrew with my companion Tim, who was
almost as averse to a quarrel as I was myself.
We left the den, and he guided the way through the white streets of
coral rock, which shone glaringly in the sunshine. They were dazzling,
and the light made my head swim a bit, but we kept on until we ran into
a shady lane, where an old negress had a small shanty, in front of which
she displayed a litter of shaddocks, sour-sops, and sapodillas. Tim
purchased some of the fruit, and then we struck into the bush until we
reached a small inlet. Here, in the clear water into which one could see
several fathoms, we plunged, leaving our clothing upon the bank.
“That settles it for me,” I said. “I’ll not go back in that ship. Even
Mr. Curtis, with all his money and influence, can’t get me back.”
“Mr. Curtis is closely related to the governor, and can get you easy
enough if he wants you,” said Tim. “But I feel myself like making the
jump right here. I’ve been here before. There ain’t nothin’ can get off
the island without he knows it. That’s the only thing that keeps me from
it.”
“I thought you were so keen for me to get out here,” I said, sourly.
“I didn’t suggest Nassau, did I?” said Tim.
“That’s the place,” I answered, “but I suppose you were a bit loony.
What made you act bug-house and go over the side, hey?”
Tim looked at me strangely a moment.
“I didn’t mean you to jump right here. You can’t do it. They’ll have us
back aboard to-morrow. Wait till we get to the s’uthard for wood.
There’ll be a chance on the Caicos or Turk’s Island, and we go in
there.”
I swam about, enjoying myself as much as possible with a rising temper
at the thought of going back aboard. I began to study the question, and
asked about the size of the island and the distances to the different
points on the Bahama bank. Tim had been all over the bank, and knew it
pretty well, and I became absorbed listening to him and forming my
plans.
Suddenly it occurred to me I needed a smoke, and started for the shore
to get my pipe out of my clothes. We could sit naked in the shade and
enjoy life a bit while trying a scheme.
“Where the deuce did you put those clothes?” I asked Tim, who followed
me.
“I never touched them. What’s the matter?”
“I don’t see them anywhere,” I answered, suspiciously.
We were both on the bank, and stood there gazing about us. There was
nothing in the shape of a garment near, not even a handkerchief. Tim’s
white, freckled body looked rather meagre, and I noticed several huge
flies that lit upon him and made him jump with their bite. Then
something got foul of my back and stung me madly.
“Devil nab me,” I yelled, “what the mischief is it?”
“Nothin’ but a fish-fly,” said Tim, slapping me a rousing whack between
the shoulders. “Our clothes are gone all right, and we’ve got to foot it
back to the landing naked. What’s the use growlin’ about it?”
“Well, you are a--” but words failed me. That couldn’t express what I
felt. I had trusted to Tim’s knowledge of the place, and here was a
mess. There was no possible means of clearing out without a stitch of
clothing, and the rascally thief who had taken ours gave me an idea how
closely a deserter would be followed over the low island barren of heavy
timber. I looked along the bank, and saw there was no use.
“You’re the biggest fool I ever knew,” I finally said, and we started
slowly back to the town, with nothing to clothe us save an air of
seeming chastity not at all in keeping with civilization.