Tom Cringle's Log

by Michael Scott

  This determination had scarcely been formed in my mind, when, as if my very thoughts had been audible, the smuggler next me on the right hand drew a pistol, and held it close to my starboard ear.

  “Friend, if you tries to raise the house, or speaks to any Niger or other person we meets, I’ll walk through your skull with two ounces of lead.”

  “You are particularly obliging,” said I; “but what do you promise yourselves by carrying me off? Were you to murder me, you would be none the richer; for I have no valuables about me, as you may easily ascertain by searching me.”

  “And do you think that freeborn Americans like we have kidnapped you for your dirty rings, and watch, and mayhap a few dollars, which I takes you to mean by your, ‘waluboles,’ as you calls them?”

  “Why, then, what in the devil’s name have you kidnapped me for?” And I began to feel my choler overpowering my discretion, when Mr Paul Brandywine, who I now suspected to be the mate of the smuggler, took the small liberty of jerking the landyard that had been made fast to the middle of the handspike, so violently, that I thought both my shoulders were dislocated; for I was fairly checked down on my back, just as you may have seen a pig-merchant on the Fermoy road bring an uproarious boar to his marrow-bones; while the man who had previously threatened to blow my brains out, knelt beside me, and civilly insinuated, that “if I was tired of my life, he calculated I had better speak as loud again.”

  There was no jest in all this; so I had nothing for it but to walk silently along with my escort, after having gathered myself up as well as I could. We crept so close under the windows of the overseer’s house, where we picked up a lot of empty ankers, slung on a long pole, that I fancied I heard, or really did hear, some one snore—oh how I envied the sleeper! At length we reached the beach, where we found two men lying on their oars, in what, so far as I could distinguish, appeared to be a sharp swift-looking whale-boat—which they kept close to, with her head seaward, however, to be ready for a start, should anything suspicious appear near to them. The boat-keeper hailed promptly, “Who goes there?” as they feathered their oars.

  “The tidy little Wave,” was the answer.

  No more words passed; and the men, who had, in the first instance, pulled a stroke or two to give the boat way, now backed water, and tailed her on to the beach, when we all stepped on board.

  Two of my captors now took each an oar; we shoved off, and glanced away through the darkness, along the smooth surface of the sparkling sea, until we reached the schooner, by this time hauled out into the fairway at the mouth of the cove, where she lay hove short, with her mainsail hoisted up, riding to the land-wind, and apparently all ready to cant and be off the moment the boat returned.

  As we came alongside, the captain of her, my friend Obediah, as I had no difficulty in guessing, from his very out-of-the-way configuration, dark as it was, called out, “I says, Paul, who have you got into the starn-sheets there?”

  “A bloody spy, captain; he who was with the overseer when he peppered your sheathing t’other morning.”

  “Oho, bring him on board—bring him on board. I knows there be a man-of-war schooner close aboard of the island somewheres hereabouts. I sees through it all, smash my eyes!—I sees through it. But what kept you, Paul? Don’t you see the morning star has risen?”

  By this time I stood on the deck of the little vessel, which was not above two feet out of the water; and Obediah, as he spoke, pointed to the small dark pit of a companion, for there was no light below, nor indeed anywhere on board, except in the binnacle, and that carefully masked, indicating, by his threatening manner, that I was to get below as speedily as possible.

  “Don’t you see the morning star, sir? Why, the sun will be up in an hour, I calculate, and then the sea-breeze will be down on us before we get anything of an offing.”

  The mention of the morning star recalled vividly to my recollection the scene I had so recently witnessed at the negro wake; it seemed there was another person beside poor Quacco, likely to be crammed into a hole before the day broke, and to be carried to Africa too, for what I knew; but one must needs go when the devil drives, so I slipped down into the cabin, and the schooner having weighed, made sail to the northward.

  * Duppy, ghost.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE CHASE OF THE SMUGGLER.

  “Would I were in an alehouse in London, I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.”

  King Henry V.

  THE CRIB in which I was confined was as dark as pitch, and, as I soon found, as hot as the Black-hole in Calcutta. I don’t pretend to be braver than my neighbours, but I would pluck any man by the beard who called me coward. In my small way I had in my time faced death in various shapes; but it had always been above board, with the open heaven overhead, and generally I had a goodly fellowship in danger, and the eyes of others were upon me. No wonder, then, that the sinking of the heart within me, which I now experienced for the first time, was bitter exceedingly, and grievous to be borne. Cooped up in a small suffocating cabin, scarcely eight feet square, and not above five feet high, with the certainty of being murdered, as I conceived, were I to try to force my way on deck; and the knowledge that all my earthly prospects, all my dreams of promotion, were likely to be blasted and for ever ruined by my sudden spiriting away, not to take into the heavy tale the misery which my poor mother and my friends must suffer, when they came to know it—and “who will tell this to thee, Mary?” rose to my throat, but could get no further for a cursed bump that was like to throttle me. Why should I blush to own it—when the gypsy, after all, jinked an old rich goutified coffee-planter at the eleventh hour, and married me, and is now the mother of half-a-dozen little Cringles or so? However, I made a strong effort to bear my misfortunes like a man, and, folding my arms, I sat down on a chest to abide my fate, whatever that might be, with as much composure as I could command, when half-a-dozen cockroaches flew flicker flicker against my face.

  For the information of those who have never seen this delicious insect, I take leave to mention here, that, when full grown, it is a large dingy brown-coloured beetle, about two inches long, with six legs, and two feelers as long as its body. It has a strong anti-hysterical flavour, something between rotten cheese and asafoetida, and seldom stirs abroad when the sun is up, but lies concealed in the most obscure and obscene crevices it can creep into; so that, when it is seen, its wings and body are thickly covered with dust and dirt of various shades, which any culprit who chances to fall asleep with his mouth open is sure to reap the benefit of, as it has a great propensity to walk into it, partly for the sake of the crumbs adhering to the masticators, and also, apparently, with a scientific desire to inspect, by accurate admeasurement with the aforesaid antennae, the state and condition of the whole potato-trap.

  At the same time I felt something gnawing the toe of my boot, which I inferred to be a rat—another agreeable customer for which I had a special abhorrence; but as for beetles of all kinds, from my boyhood up, they had been an abomination unto me, and a cockroach is the most abominable of all beetles; so between the two I was speedily roused from my state of supine, or rather dogged endurance; and, forgetting the geography of my position, I sprang to my feet, whereby I nearly fractured my skull against the low deck above—I first tried the skylight—it was battened down; then the companion hatch—it was locked; but the ladder leading up to it being cooler than the noisome vapour bath I had left, I remained standing in it, trying to catch a mouthful of fresh air through the joints of the door. All this while we had been slipping along shore, with the land-wind on our beam, at the rate of five or six knots, but so gently and silently that I could distinctly hear the roar of the surf, as the long smooth swell broke on the beach, which, from the loudness of the noise, could not be above a mile to windward of us. I perceived, at the same time, that the schooner, although going free, did not keep away, nor take all the advantage of the land-wind to make his easting, before the sea-breeze set down, that he might h
ave done, so that it was evident he did not intend to beat up, so as to fetch the Crooked Island Passage, which would have been his course, had he been bound for the States; but was standing over to the Cuba shore, at that time swarming with pirates.

  It was now good daylight, and the terral gradually died away, and left us rolling gunwale under, as we rose and fell on the long seas, with our sails flapping, bulkheads creaking and screaming, and mainboom jig-jigging, as if it would have torn everything to pieces. I could hear my friend Obed walking the deck, and whistling manfully for the sea-breeze, exclaiming from time to time in his barbarous lingo, “Souffle, souffle, San Antonio.” But the saint had no bowels, and there we lay roasting until near ten o’clock in the forenoon. During all this period, Obed, who was shortsighted, kept desiring his right arm, Paul Brandywine, to keep a bright look-out for the sea-breeze to windward, or rather to the eastward, for there was no wind—because he knowed it oftentimes tumbled down right sudden and dangerous at this season about the corner of the island hereabouts; and the pride of the morning often brought a shower with it, fit to level a maize-plat smooth as his hand.”

  “No black clouds to windward yet, Paul?”

  Paul could see nothing, and the question was repeated three or four times.

  “There is a small black cloud about the size of my hand to windward, sir, right in the wake of the sun, just now, but it won’t come to anything; I sees no signs of any wind.”

  “And Elijah said to his servant, Go up now, and look towards the sea; and he went up, and looked, and said, There is nothing. And he said, Go again seven times; and it came to pass the seventh time, that he said, Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man’s hand.”

  I knew what this foreboded, which, as I thought, was more than friend Obed did; for he shortened no sail, and kept all his kites abroad, for no use as it struck me, unless he wished to wear them out by flapping against the masts. He was indeed a strange mixture of skill and carelessness; but, when fairly stirred up, one of the most daring and expert and self-possessed seamen I had ever seen, as I very soon had an ugly opportunity of ascertaining.

  The cloud on the horizon continued to rise rapidly, spreading over the whole eastern sky, and the morning began to lower very ominously; but there was no sudden squall, the first of the breeze coming down as usual in cats’ paws, and freshening gradually; nor did I expect there would be, although I was certain it would soon blow a merry capful of wind, which might take in some of the schooner’s small sails, and pretty considerably bother us, unless we could better our offing speedily, for it blew right on shore, which, by the setting-in of the sea-breeze, was now close under our lee.

  At length the sniffler reached us, and the sharp little vessel began to speak, as the rushing sound through the water is called; while the wind sang like an Æolian harp through the taught weather-rigging. Presently I heard the word given to take in the two gaff-topsails and flying jib, which was scarcely done when the moaning sound roughened into a roar, and the little vessel began to yerk at the head seas as if she would have cut through them, in place of rising to them, and to lie over as if Davy Jones himself had clapperclawed the mastheads, and was in the act of using them as levers to capsize her; while the sails were tugging at her, as if they would have torn the spars out of her so that I expected every moment, either that she would turn over, keel up, or that the masts would snap short off by the deck.

  All this, which I would without the smallest feeling of dread, on the contrary with exhilaration, have faced cheerily on deck in the course of duty, proved at the time, under my circumstances, most alarming and painful to me; a fairstrae death out of the maintop, or off the weather yard-arm, would to my imagination have been an easy exit comparatively; but to be choked in this abominable hole, and drowned darkling like a blind puppy—the very thought made me frantic, and I shouted and tumbled about, until I missed my footing and fell backwards down the ladder, from the bottom of which I scuttled away to the lee-side of the cabin, quiet, through absolute despair and exhaustion from the heat and closeness.

  I had remarked that from the time the breeze freshened the everlasting Yankee drawling of the crew, and the endless confabulation of the captain and his mate, had entirely ceased, and nothing was now heard on deck but the angry voice of the raging cry elements, and at intervals a shrill piercing word or two from Obed, in the altered tone of which I had some difficulty in recognising his pipe, which rose clear and distinct above the roar of the sea and wind, and was always answered by a prompt, sharp, “Ay, ay, sir,” from the men. There was no circumlocution, nor calculating, nor guessing now, but all hands seemed to be doing their duty energetically and well. “Come, the vagabonds are sailors after all, we shan’t be swamped this turn;” and I resumed my place on the companion ladder with more ease of mind, and a vast deal more composure, than when I was pitched from it when the squall came on. In a moment after I could hear the captain sing out, loud even above the howling of the wind and rushing of the water, “There it comes at last—put your helm hard a-port—down with it, Paul, down with it, man—luff, and shake the wind out of her sails, or over she goes, clean and for ever.” Everything was jammed, nothing could be let go, nor was there an axe at hand to make short work with the sheets and haulyards; and for a second or two I thought it was all over, the water rushing half-way up her decks, and bubbling into the companion through the crevices; but at length the lively little craft came gaily to the wind, shaking her plumage like a wild-duck; the sails were got in, all to the foresail, which was set with the bonnet off, and then she lay-to, like a sea-gull, without shipping a drop of water. In the comparative stillness I could now distinctly hear every word that was said on deck.

  “Pretty near it; rather close shaving that same, captain,” quoth Paul, with a congratulatory chuckle; “but I say, sir, what is that wreath of smoke rising from Annotta Bay over the headland?”

  “Why, how should I know, Paul? Negroes burning brush, I guess.”

  “The smoke from brushwood never rose and flew over the bluff with that swirl, I calculate; it is a gun, or I mistake.”

  And he stepped to the companion, for the purpose, as I conceived, of taking out the spy-glass, which usually hangs there in brackets fitted to hold it: he undid the hatch and pushed it back, when I popped my head out, to the no small dismay of the mate; but Obed was up to me, and while with one hand he seized the glass, he ran the sliding top sharp up against my neck, till he pinned me into a kind of pillory, to my great annoyance; so I had to beg to be released, and once more slunk back into my hole. There was a long pause; at length Paul, to whom the skipper had handed the spy-glass, spoke.

  “A schooner, sir, is rounding the point!”

  As I afterwards learned, the negroes who had witnessed my capture, especially the old man who had taken me for his infernal majesty, had raised the alarm, so soon as they could venture down to the overseer’s house, which was on the smuggling boat shoving off, and Mr Fyall immediately despatched an express to the Lieutenant commanding the Gleam, then lying in Annotta Bay, about ten miles distant, when she instantly slipped and shoved out.

  “Well, I can’t help it if there be,” rejoined the captain.

  Another pause.

  “Why, I don’t like her, sir; she looks like a man-of-war—and that must have been the smoke of the gun she fired on weighing.”

  “Eh?” sharply answered Obed, “if it be, it will be a hanging matter if we are caught with this young splice on board; he may belong to her, for what I know. Look again, Paul.”

  A long, long look.

  “A man-of-war schooner, sure enough, sir; I can see her ensign and pennant, now that she is clear of the land.”

  “O Lord, O Lord!” cried Obed, in great perplexity, “what shall we do?”

  “Why, pull foot, captain,” promptly replied Paul; “the breeze has lulled, and in light winds she will have no chance with the tidy little Wave.”

  I could now perceive that the smug
glers made all sail, and I heard the frequent swish-swish of the water, as they threw bucketsful on the sails to thicken them and make them hold more wind, while we edged away, keeping as close to the wind, however, as we could without stopping her way.

  “Starboard,” quoth Obed—”rap full, Jem—let her walk through it, my boy—there, main and foresail, flat as boards; why, she will stand the main-gaff-topsail yet—set it, Paul, set it;” and his heart warmed as he gained confidence in the qualifications of his vessel. “Come, weather me now, see how she trips it along—pooh! I was an ass to quail, wan’t I, Paul?”

  “No chance now,” thought I, as I descended once more; “I may as well go and be suffocated at once.” I knocked my foot against something in stepping off the ladder, which, on putting down my hand, I found to be a tinder-box, with steel and flint. I had formerly ascertained there was a candle in the cabin, on the small table, stuck into a bottle; so I immediately struck a light, and as I knew that meekness and solicitation, having been tried in vain, would not serve me, I determined to go on the other tack, and to see how far an assumption of coolness and self-possession, or, it might be, a dash of bravado, whether true or feigned, might not at least insure me some consideration and better treatment from the lawless gang into whose hands I had fallen.

  So I set to and ransacked the lockers, where, amongst a vast variety of miscellaneous matters, I was not long in finding a bottle of very tolerable rum, some salt junk, some biscuit, and a goglet, or porous earthen jar, of water, with some capital cigars. By this time I was like to faint with the heat and smell; so I filled a tumbler with good half-and-half, and swigged it off. The effect was speedy; I thought I could eat a bit, so I attacked the salt junk and made a hearty meal, after which I replenished my tumbler, lighted a cigar, pulled off my coat and waistcoat, and with a sort of desperate glee struck up, at the top of my pipe, “Ye Mariners of England.” My jovialty was soon noticed on deck.