A TASTE OF COLD IRON
It was hard to tell just when the morning dawned in that dark hold of
the slaver. I was awakened by Henry coming below and leading us both on
deck, where our usual mess of bread and coffee was served for breakfast.
Then we were told to lay aft, and, following Hawkson, we entered the
cabin to hear our sentence pronounced by Captain Howard.
As we entered, that strange old rascal was at the table with Hicks,
engaged in a most peculiar game. The cloth was divided up into squares
like a checker-board, and from opposite sides the two were hard at it,
and paid no attention to Hawkson’s entrance. In a short time I found
that “beef was king,” that is, a plate with meat upon it could jump a
dish of bread or cup of coffee, as with checkers, the person losing not
having any more of that victual for the meal. While they played, they
ate from whatever dishes they could reach, and were so absorbed that it
was not until Hicks jumped the old man’s plate of sliced pineapple with
a chunk of salt beef that the old villain turned and noticed us. Then he
surlily demanded what was wanted.
Whether it was the loss of his fruit or memory of the last night’s
occurrence that oppressed him, it was hard to tell, but his mask-like
face showed no feeling. He bade Hawkson stand us against the cabin
bulkhead, and called Watkins to hand him pistols.
The old steward obeyed with alacrity, for it was only too evident what
he wanted them for. Hicks, however, burst forth into a laugh.
“Hold on, Captain Howard,” said he. “You forget this isn’t exactly a
pirate ship. Bless your old heart, you would pistol them both.”
“And I will,” said the old villain, cocking back the flints of the
weapons.
He had formerly had the playful habit of loosing off one or both of his
pistols under the table, to suddenly emphasize an after-dinner argument,
and the rough habits of his early days stuck to him, only now the
weapons appeared above the board. The game of grub, I learned, was one
he had practised with his mates in the old days when the gambling habit
had taken so strong hold upon him he must play at something.
Hicks, however, would hear of no such thing as shooting us without
trial. The captain’s will, he admitted, was law, but we were in an
English harbour and not on the high seas, and such action might cause
endless trouble if the governor heard of it. Hawkson also urged the
necessity of care for the sake of the voyage, and indeed he appeared
somewhat worried about the matter until the pistols were finally laid
aside and our case taken up.
Tim was asked if he had anything to say why the sentence of death should
not be pronounced upon him. It would be fulfilled, with the governor’s
permission, sometime that day. He had admitted the testimony of two
witnesses, who swore they had seen him wound Renshaw.
He was silent and hung his head. Then he raised it and stood straight
before them.
“I don’t mind the sentence,” said he, “but I do mind it coming from such
as you.”
“You may gag and take him forward,” said Howard. “He shall be blown from
a gun.”
He was led away, and they turned to me.
What had I to say? Well, I had considerable, and I told at some length
how I had nothing whatever to do with Tim’s case.
“You may drop him overboard with a shot to each foot,” said Howard, as I
finished. “Call away the gig, Mr. Hawkson. I’ll go over to the
governor’s before he gets too warm to see any one.”
The whole scene, the entire lack of feeling, the disposing of our cases
as though we were simply niggers, made an impression upon me that can
hardly be described. Then the old pirate turned to his meal as though
nothing had happened, and finished his coffee, while I was led forward.
“Keep a stiff neck, Heywood,” said the old privateersman, as we came on
deck. “I believe you’re all right. I’ve heard something of this Renshaw
before. He’s a feller of title, ye know, an’, if it wasn’t for that, I
could save the little red-headed feller, too. But Sir John will insist
on one o’ ye goin’. Blow the little chap from a gun? I’ll see he hears
more o’ your story, an’, if worse comes from it, I’ll--well, never mind.
There’s plenty o’ time between now and when the old man sees the
governor. He won’t do anything without permission in port.”
“Don’t take any trouble on my account,” I said, angrily. “I’ve tried to
clear fair enough, and would have gone but for Tim meeting his wife. I’d
as soon stand in front as behind the guns of a slaver.”
“You’ll never have sense enough to stand anywhere, an’ that’s a fact,”
growled Hawkson. “A good ship, a good crew, and plenty of profit in
sight. D--n you, Heywood, I’ve a notion to take you at your word.”
His fierce eyes held an evil light that I knew boded no good, and his
ugly mouth worked convulsively, showing his teeth. I was aware my case
was not one to trifle with too freely, and concluded I would hold my
tongue. He left me with an ugly sneer, and I went below attended by Mr.
Gull, who eyed me savagely, and hustled me with such energy that I
turned upon him.
“You want to bear a hand and remember that a live sailor is worth a
couple of fool slavers,” said I. “It’ll pay you to be a bit more
careful, Mr. Gull.”
“Shut up!” he answered, and hitched my shackle to the ceiling. Then he
turned and left me without another word, while I cursed freely and
fluently, with as much bitterness as a man can express in language.
It was very dark, and I knew nothing of what was going on above,
although I noticed as I crossed the deck that the fore and main topsails
were hanging up by their clews, all ready to sheet home, and above them
the royals were also hanging loose. From this I gathered that there
would be a start made very soon, and even as I wondered at our probable
destination, I heard the distant clank and rattle of the windlass. Then
I recognized the Doctor’s voice bawling the old refrain:
“Dey’s trouble ob-hyer, an’ dey’s trouble ober dar,
An’ I really do believe dat dey’s trouble ebbywhar--
Trouble--trouble--”
And I knew the mates were working the liquor out of his black hide.
Soon the anchor was short, and then silence reigned for a time, broken
only by the scurrying of a ship’s rat across the empty hold.
How oppressive the bilge heat was, and how rank the stench of the hold!
The barque had evidently been built at a time when salting ships had not
come into fashion, and her old timbers stunk. I tried to think of the
events of yesterday, and wondered what had become of poor Tim. I feared
they would give him the full penalty, for, although Renshaw was a
notorious adventurer, he was interested in the craft, and was a friend
of Hicks.
His position, also, called for summary vengeance upon a common sailor,
even though that sailor was an American.
In my case, however, the affair was different. I had done nothing to
either aid or abet Tim in his assault. I was deserting, and had admitted
that, but I knew nothing of the other affair that had ended so
uncomfortably and caused our arrest. Hawkson knew this well enough, and
it was with him my fate rested. He might save me from a hanging yet.
I stood wondering when and how the case would be settled, and was very
hot and tired, but the shackle would not allow me to either sit or lie
down upon the deck. The pain caused by the strain upon my wrists was
intense, and I swore loudly at the men who had forced me into the cursed
ship.
Suddenly I thought I heard a laugh. I strained my eyes in the direction
whence it came, and soon made out a shape sitting upon the lower step of
the ladder leading on deck. It chuckled and grunted for some minutes,
and I wondered what it was, when it rose, and I made out the figure of
Watkins.
The old steward came over and stood looking with a hideous sneer upon
his face. The light was enough to see each outline of his features, for
my eyes were now accustomed to the gloom, and the hatch let in a small
ray of sunshine through the crack of the slide.
“You seem devilishly well pleased, Noah,” said I, with as much composure
as I could muster.
He made no reply, but came close to me, and, leaning forward, as if
about to whisper something in my ear, he seized that member in his teeth
and bit it slowly. The pain was intense, and I roared out, wiggling to
free myself from the monster, but he held on for many minutes.
I was fairly sick with pain, but the old fellow failed to notice that my
legs were not ironed. As I was unable to move, he had doubtless supposed
they were shackled.
With what remaining strength I had left, I kicked him, and by excellent
luck landed full upon his stomach. He gave a grunt and doubled up like a
pocket-knife, falling away from me and lying motionless upon the deck.
I mentally prayed I had killed him, and bawled at the top of my voice
for Hawkson and Gull to come below. I might just as well have saved my
breath, for not a sound could reach the main-deck, where they would
evidently be at that time of day. I tried to ease my ear a bit by
pressing my shoulder against the wound.
After a time that seemed an age, the pain let up a little. I looked at
the form upon the deck before me, and saw it move and then rise and
again come toward me.
“You old cannibal,” I cried, “if ever I get clear of these irons, I’ll
cut you to ribbons for this.”
“If ever you do, you may,” he hissed. “How would you like to shake hands
on that.” And he seized my irons behind my back, keeping to one side
from my kicks, and he twisted until I almost fainted with agony. I
roared and bawled and struggled, but to no purpose. I could not shake
the horrible old creature off. Just when I thought I could stand the
pain no longer, and I verily believe the fiend intended to kill me, the
hatch was opened, and the carpenter came down the ladder with an armful
of chains.
Instantly Watkins sprang away and disappeared, leaving me calling for
the fellow Jorg to lend me a hand and keep the rascal off.
Jorg came stolidly below, and began shackling his chains to the
ring-bolts, paying no more attention to me than to a man raving in
delirium. He looked at me curiously and shook his head.
“Youse’ll get over it, friend John, in a day or two,” he said, and went
on deck.