I squeezed his hand. “No, no—many, many thanks, my dear sir—but I never outrun the constable. Good-by, God bless you. Farewell, Mr Wagtail—Mr Gelid, adieu.” I tumbled into the boat and pulled on board. The first thing I did was to send the wine and sea stock, a most exuberant assortment unquestionably, belonging to my Jamaica friends, ashore; but, to my surprise, the boat was sent back, with Mr Bang’s card, on which was written in pencil, “Don’t affront us, Captain Cringle.” Thereupon I got the schooner under weigh, and no event worth narrating turned up until we anchored close to the post-office at Crooked Island, two days after.
We found the Firebrand there, and the post-office mail-boat, with her red flag and white horse in it, and I went on board the corvette to deliver my official letter detailing the incidents of the cruise, and was most graciously received by my captain.
There was a sail in sight when we anchored, which at first we took for the Jamaica packet; but it turned out to be the Tinker, friend Bang’s flour-loaded brig; and by five in the evening our allies were all three once more restored to us, but, alas! so far as regarded two of them, only for a moment. Messrs Gelid and Wagtail had, on second thoughts, it seems, hauled their wind to lay in a stock of turtle at Crooked Island, and I went ashore with them, and assisted in the selection from the turtle-crawls filled with beautiful clear water and lots of fine lively fresh-caught fish, the postmaster being the turtle-merchant.
“I say, Paul, happier in the fish way here than you were at Biggleswade, eh?” said Aaron.
After we had completed our purchases, our friends went on board the corvette, and I was invited to meet them at dinner, where the aforesaid postmaster, a stout conch, with a square-cut coatee and red cape and cuffs, was also a guest.
He must have had but a dull time of it, as there were no other white inhabitants, that I saw, on the island besides himself; his wife having gone to Nassau, which he looked on as a prime city of the world, to be confined, as he told us. Bang said that she must rather have gone to be delivered from confinement; and, in truth, Crooked Island was a most desolate domicile for a lady; our friend the postmaster’s family, and a few negroes employed in catching turtle, and making salt, and dressing some scrubby cotton-trees, composing the whole population. In the evening the packet did arrive, however, and Captain Transom received his orders.
“Captain Transom, my boy,” quoth Bang, towards nightfall, the best of friends must part—we must move—good-night—we shall be off presently— good-by,” and he held out his hand.
“Devil a bit,” said Transom; “Bang, you shall not go, neither you nor your friends. You promised, in fact shipped with me for the cruise, and Lady———has my word and honour that you shall be restored to her longing eye sound and safe; so you must all remain, and send down the flour brig to say you are coming.”
To make a long story short, Massa Aaron was boned, but his friends were obdurate, so we all weighed that night, the Tinker bearing up for Jamaica, while we kept by the wind, steering for Gonaives in St Domingo.
The third day we were off Cape St Nicholas, and, getting a slant of wind from the westward, we ran up the Bight of Leogane all that night, but towards morning it fell calm: we were close in under the high land, about two miles from the shore, and the night was the darkest I ever was out in anywhere. There were neither moon nor stars to be seen, and the dark clouds settled down until they appeared to rest upon our mastheads, compressing, as it were, the hot steamy air upon us until it became too dense for breathing. In the early part of the night it had rained in heavy showers now and then, and there were one or two faint flashes of lightning, and some heavy peals of thunder, which rolled amongst the distant hills in loud shaking reverberations, which gradually became fainter and fainter, until they grumbled away in the distance in hoarse murmurs, like the low notes of an organ in one of our old cathedrals; but now there was neither rain nor wind—all nature seemed fearfully hushed; for where we lay, in the smooth bight, there was no swell, not even a ripple, on the glass-like sea; the sound of the shifting of a handspike, or the tread of the men as they ran to haul on a rope, or the creaking of the rudder, sounded loud and distinct. The sea in our neighbourhood was strongly phosphorescent, so that the smallest chip thrown overboard struck fire from the water, as if it had been a piece of iron cast on flint; and when you looked over the quarter, as I delight to do, and tried to penetrate into the dark clear profound beneath, you every now and then saw a burst of pale light, like a halo, far down in the depths of the green sea, caused by the motion of some fish, or of what Jack, no great natural philosopher, usually calls blubbers; and when the dolphin, or skipjack, leapt into the air, they sparkled out from the still bosom of the deep dark water like rockets, until they fell again into their element in a flash of fire. This evening the corvette had showed no lights, and although I conjectured she was not far from us, still I could not with any certainty indicate her whereabouts. It might now have been about three o’clock, and I was standing on the aftermost gun on the starboard side, peering into the impervious darkness over the taffrail, with my dear old dog Sneezer by my side, nuzzling and fondling after his affectionate fashion, while the pilot, Peter Mangrove, stood within handspike length of me. The dog had been growling, but all in fun, and snapping at me, when in a moment he hauled off, planted his paws on the rail, looked forth into the night, and gave a short anxious bark, like the solitary pop of the sentry’s musket to alarm the main-guard in outpost work.
Peter Mangrove advanced, and put his arm round the dog’s neck. “What you see, my shild?” said the black pilot.
Sneezer uplifted his voice, and gave a long continuous growl.
“Ah!” said Mangrove, sharply, “Massa Captain, someting near we—never doubt dat—de dog yeerie someting we can’t yeerie, and see someting we can’t see.”
I had lived long enough never to despise any caution, from whatever quarter it proceeded. So I listened, still as a stone. Presently I thought I heard the distant splash of oars. I placed my hand behind my ear, and waited with breathless attention. Immediately I saw the sparkling dip of them in the calm black water, as if a boat, and a large one, was pulling very fast towards us. “Look-out, hail that boat,” said I.
“Boat ahoy!” sang out the man to whom I had spoken. No answer. “Coming here?” reiterated the seaman. No better success. The boat or canoe, or whatever it might be, was by this time close aboard of us, within pistol-shot at the farthest—no time to be lost; so I hailed myself, and this time the challenge did produce an answer.
“Sore boat—fruit and wegitab.”
“Shore boat, with fruit and vegetables, at this time of night—I don’t like it,” said I. “Boatswain’s mate—all hands—pipe away the boarders. Cutlasses, men—quick—a piratical rowboat is close to.” And verily we had little time to lose, when a large canoe or row-boat, pulling twelve oars at the fewest, and carrying twenty-five men or thereabouts, swept up on our larboard quarter, hooked on, and the next moment upwards of twenty unlooked-for visitors scrambled up our shallow side, and jumped on board. All this took place so suddenly that there were not ten of my people ready to receive them, but those ten were the prime men of the ship.
“Surrender! you scoundrels—surrender! You have boarded a man-of-war. Down with your arms, or we shall kill you to a man.”
But they either did not understand me, or did not believe me, for the answer was a blow from a cutlass, which, if I had not parried with my night-glass, which it broke in pieces, might have effectually stopped my promotion.
“Cut them down, boarders! down with them—they are pirates!” shouted I; “heave cold shot into their boat alongside—all hands, Mr Rouse-em-out” (to the boatswain), “call all hands.”
We closed. The assailants had no firearms, but they were armed with swords and long knives, and as they fought with desperation, several of our people were cruelly haggled; and after the first charge, the combatants on both sides became so blended that it was impossible to strike a blow wit
hout running the risk of cutting down a friend. By this time all hands were on deck; the boat alongside had been swamped by the cold shot that had been hove crashing through her bottom, when down came a shower from the surcharged clouds, or waterspout—call it which you will—that absolutely deluged the decks, the scuppers being utterly unable to carry off the water. So long as the pirates fought in a body, I had no fears, as, dark as it was, our men, who held together, knew where to strike and thrust; but when the torrent of rain descended in bucketfuls, the former broke away, and were pursued singly into various corners about the deck, all escape being cut off from the swamping of their boat. Still they were not vanquished, and I ran aft to the binnacle, where a blue-light was stowed away—one of several that we had got on deck to burn that night, in order to point out our whereabouts to the Firebrand. I fired it, and, rushing forward cutlass in hand, we set on the gang of black desperadoes with such fury, that, after killing two of them outright, and wounding and taking prisoners seven, we drove the rest overboard into the sea, where the small-armed men, who by this time had tackled to their muskets, made short work of them, guided as they were by the sparkling of the dark water as they struck out and swam for their lives. The blue-light was immediately answered by another from the corvette, which lay about a mile off; but before her boats, two of which were immediately armed and manned, could reach us, we had defeated our antagonists, and the rain had increased to such a degree, that the heavy drops, as they fell with a strong rushing noise into the sea, flashed it up into one entire sheet of fire.
We secured our prisoners, all blacks and mulattoes, the most villanous-looking scoundrels I had ever seen, and shortly after it came on to thunder and lighten, as if heaven and earth had been falling together. A most vivid flash—it almost blinded me. Presently, the Firebrand burnt another blue-light, whereby we saw that her maintopmast was gone close by the cap, with the topsail and upper spars and yards and gear all hanging down in a lumbering mass of confused wreck; she had been struck by the levin brand, which had killed four men and stunned several more.
By this time the cold grey streaks of morning appeared in the eastern horizon—soon after the day broke; and by two o’clock in the afternoon both corvette and schooner were at anchor at Gonaives. The village, for town it could not be called, stands on a low hot plain, as if the washings of the mountains on the left-hand side as we stood in had been carried out into the sea and formed into a white plateau of sand; all was hot and stunted and scrubby. We brought up, inside of the corvette, in three fathoms water. My superior officer had made the private signal to come on board and dine. I dressed, and the boat was lowered down, and we pulled for the corvette, but our course lay under the stern of two English ships that were lying there loading cargoes of coffee.
“Pray, sir,” said a decent-looking man, who leant on the taffrail of one of them—”Pray, sir, are you going on board of the commodore?”
“I am,” I answered.
“I am invited there too, sir; will you have the kindness to say I will be there presently?”
“Certainly—give way, men.”
Presently we were alongside the corvette, and the next moment we stood on her deck, holystoned white and clean, with my stanch friend Captain Transom and his officers, all in full fig, walking to and fro under the awning, a most magnificent naval lounge, being thirty-two feet wide at the gangway, and extending fifty feet or more aft, until it narrowed to twenty at the taffrail. We were all— the two masters of the merchantmen, decent respectable men in their way, included—graciously received, and sat down to an excellent dinner, Mr Bang taking the lead as usual in all the fun; and we were just on the verge of cigars and cold grog when the first-lieutenant came down and said that the captain of the port had come off, and was then on board.
“Show him in,” said Captain Transom, and a tall vulgar-looking blackamoor, dressed apparently in the cast-off coat of a French grenadier officer, entered the cabin with his chapeau in his hand, and a Madras handkerchief tied round his woolly skull. He made his bow, and remained standing near the door.
“You are the captain of the port?” said Captain Transom. The man answered in French, that he was. “Why, then, take a chair, sir, if you please.”
He begged to be excused, and after tipping off his bumper of claret, and receiving the captain’s report, he made his bow and departed.
I returned to the Wave, and next morning I breakfasted on board of the commodore, and afterwards we all proceeded on shore to Monsieur B——’s, to whom Massa Aaron was known. The town, if I may call it so, had certainly a very desolate appearance. There was nothing stirring; and although a group of idlers, amounting to about twenty or thirty, did collect about us on the end of the wharf—which, by the by, was terribly out of repair—yet they all appeared ill-clad, and in no way so well furnished as the blackies in Jamaica; and when we marched up through a hot, sandy, unpaved street into the town, the low, one storey, shabby-looking houses were fallen into decay, and the streets more resembled river-courses than thoroughfares, while the large carrion-crows were picking garbage on the very crown of the causeway, without apparently entertaining the least fear of us, or of the negro children who were playing close to them—so near, in fact, that every now and then one of the urchins would aim a blow at one of the obscene birds, when it would give a loud discordant croak, and jump a pace or two with outspread wings, but without taking flight. Still, many of the women, who were sitting under the small piazzas or projecting eaves of the houses, with their little stalls filled with pullicate handkerchiefs, and pieces of muslin, and ginghams for sale, were healthy-looking, and appeared comfortable and happy. As we advanced into the town, almost every male we met was a soldier, all rigged, and well dressed too, in the French uniform; in fact, the remarkable man, King Henry, or Christophe, took care to have his troops well fed and clothed in every case. On our way we had to pass by the Commandant, Baron B——’s house, when it occurred to Captain Transom that we ought to stop and pay our respects; but Mr Bang, being bound by no such etiquette, bore up for his friend, Monsieur B——’s. As we approached the house—a long, low, one-storey building, with a narrow piazza, and a range of unglazed windows, staring open, with their wooden shutters, like ports in a ship’s side, towards the street—we found a sentry at the door, who, when we announced ourselves, carried arms, all in regular style. Presently a very good-looking negro, in a handsome aide-de-camp’s uniform, appeared, and, hat in hand, with all the grace in the world, ushered us into the presence of the Baron, who was lounging in a Spanish chair half asleep; but on hearing us announced, he rose, and received us with great amenity. He was a fat elderly negro, so far as I could judge, about sixty years of age, and was dressed in very wide jean trousers, over which a pair of well-polished Hessian boots were drawn, which, by adhering close to his legs, gave him, in contrast with the wide puffing of his garments above, the appearance of being underlimbed, which he by no means was, being a stout old Turk.
After a profusion of congees and fine speeches, and superabundant assurances of the esteem in which his master King Henry held our master King George, we made our bows, and repaired to Monsieur B——’s, where I was engaged to dine. As for Captain Transom, he went on board that evening to superintend the repairs of the ship.
There was no one to meet us but Monsieur B—and his daughter, a tall and very elegant brown girl, who had been educated in France, and did the honours incomparably well. We sat down, Massa Aaron whispering in my lug, that in Jamaica it was not quite the thing to introduce brown ladies at dinner; but, as he said, “Why not? Neither you nor I are high-caste creoles—so en avant.”
Dinner was nearly over, when Baron B——’s aide-de-camp slid into the room. Monsieur B—— rose. “Captain Latour, you are welcome—be seated. I hope you have not dined?”
“Why, no,” said the negro officer, as he drew a chair, while he exchanged glances with the beautiful Eugenie, and sat himself down close to el Señor Bang.
�
�Hillo, Quashie! Whereaway, my lad? a little above the salt, ain’t you?” ejaculated our amigo; while Pegtop, who had just come on shore, and was standing behind his master, stared and gaped in the greatest wonderment. But Mr Bang’s natural good-breeding and knowledge of the world instantly recalled him to time and circumstances; and when the young officer looked at him, regarding him with some surprise, he bowed, and invited him, in the best French he could muster, to drink wine. The aide-de-camp was, as I have said, jet-black as the ace of spades; but he was, notwithstanding, so far as figure went, a very handsome man—tall and well made, especially about the shoulders, which were beautifully formed, and, in the estimation of a statuary, would probably have balanced the cucumber curve of the shin; his face, however, was regular negro—flat nose, heavy lips, fine eyes, and beautiful teeth; and he wore two immense gold ear-rings. His woolly head was bound round with a pullicate handkerchief, which we had not noticed until he took off his laced cocked-hat. His coat was the exact pattern of the French staff uniform at the time—plain blue, without lace, except at the cape and cuffs, which were of scarlet cloth covered with rich embroidery. He wore a very handsome straight sword, with steel scabbard, and white trousers and long Hessian boots already described as part of the costume of his general.
Tom Cringle's Log Page 54