Whilst this was the state of things aft, matters were not all that they should be in the forecastle. The crew were a good enough set of men, and doubtless would have been all right under proper management, but, thanks to the surly and aggravating behaviour of Mr Carter, the starboard watch, over which he ruled, was in a state of almost open mutiny. And yet so acute was the aggressor that for a long time he gave the men no excuse for legitimate complaint; the utmost that could be said against him being that he was, in the opinion of the men, unduly particular as to the set and trim of the sails, and the superlative cleanliness of everything about the decks. This was all very well during the daytime, but when in the night-watches the men were hustled incessantly about the decks, taking a pull here, there, and everywhere at the halliards, sheets, and braces of the already fully distended and accurately trimmed sails, only to be ordered a few minutes later to ease up the lee braces half an inch and take a pull upon the weather ones; or alternately stowing and setting the “flying kites” or light upper canvas, they could not help seeing that these things were done less from zeal and anxiety to make a quick passage than for the purpose of indulging a spiteful and malicious temper.
At length a crisis arrived. The ship was at the time somewhere about the latitude of the Cape; stretching to the southward and eastward close-hauled, with a fine steady breeze from east-north-east. It was the second mate’s eight hours out that night, and although the weather was beautifully fine, with a clear sky, full moon, and steady breeze, he had been indulging in his usual vagaries throughout the last two hours of the first watch (he never attempted anything out of the common when Captain Staunton or any of the passengers were on deck, as some of them generally were until midnight), and he began them again within a quarter of an hour of coming on deck at 4 a.m. The royals were set when he took charge of the deck, and these he had separately clewed up and furled, as well as one or two of the smaller stay-sails. He allowed the men just time enough to settle down comfortably, and then ordered the recently stowed sails to be loosed and set again, which was done. A short interval passed, and then he had the royals stowed once more, and finally he ordered them to be loosed and set again.
Not a man took the slightest notice of the order.
“Do you hear, there? Jump aloft, some of you, and loose the royals,” shouted Carter, thinking for a moment that he had failed to make himself heard.
Still there was no response.
“You, Davis, away aloft and loose the fore-royal. Boyd, jump up and loose the main; and you, Nichols, up you go and loose the mizzen. Look lively now, or I’ll rope’s-end the last man down from aloft,” exclaimed the second mate, his passion rapidly rising as he found himself thus tacitly opposed.
As the last words left his lips the watch came aft in a body, pausing just forward of the main-mast.
“Look ’ee here, Mr Carter,” said Boyd, a fine active willing young fellow, stepping a pace or two in front of his messmates, “we thinks as them there r’yals ’ll do well enough as they am for the rest of the watch. They was set when we come ’pon deck, and that wouldn’t do, you had ’em stowed. Then you warn’t satisfied with ’em so, and you had ’em set. That wouldn’t do, so you had ’em stowed again; and stowed they will be for the rest of the watch, as far as I’m concarned. The night’s fine, and the breeze as steady as a breeze can be, and the old barkie ’d carry r’yals and skys’ls too for the matter o’ that, but if they was set we should have to stow ’em again five minutes a’terwards; so let ’em be, say I.”
A low murmur of assent from the rest of the watch gave the second mate to understand that these were their sentiments also upon the subject.
The foolish fellow at once allowed his temper to get the mastery of him.
“Oh! that’s what you say, is it, my fine fellows? Very good; we’ll soon see whether, when I give an order, I am to be obeyed or not,” he hissed through his clenched teeth.
Saying which he stepped hastily to the door of his cabin, which was situated on deck in the after house, entered, and in a few moments reappeared with a revolver in each hand.
“Now,” he exclaimed, planting himself midway between the poop and the main-mast, “let me see the man who will dare to disobey me. I’ll shoot him like a dog. Boyd, go aloft and loose the main-royal,” pointing one of the revolvers full at him.
“I refuse,” exclaimed the seaman. “I demand to be taken before Captain—”
A flash, a sharp report, and the man staggered backwards and fell to the deck, while a crimson stain appeared and rapidly broadened on the breast of his check shirt.
Two of his comrades instantly raised the wounded man and bore him forward; the remainder rushed with a shout upon the second mate and disarmed him, though not before he had fired again and sent a bullet through the left arm of one of his assailants.
The men were still struggling with the second mate when a figure sprang up through the companion, closely followed by a second, and Captain Staunton’s voice was heard exclaiming—
“Good heavens! Mr Carter, what is the meaning of this? Back men; back, for your lives. How dare you raise your hands against one of your officers?”
The men had by this time wrenched the pistols out of Carter’s hands, and they at once fell back and left him as Captain Staunton and Mr Bowles advanced to his rescue.
The new-comers placed themselves promptly one on each side of the second mate, and then the two parties stood staring somewhat blankly at each other for something like a minute.
“Well, Mr Carter,” at last exclaimed Captain Staunton, “have you nothing to say by way of explanation of this extraordinary scene? What does it mean?”
“Mutiny, sir; that and nothing less,” gasped Carter, whose passion almost deprived him of speech. “I thank you, sir, and you too, Mr Bowles, for coming to my rescue; but for that I should have been a dead man by this time.”
“Oh, no, you wouldn’t, Mr Carter,” exclaimed one of the men. “We ain’t murderers; and we shouldn’t ha’ touched you if you hadn’t touched us first.”
“That will do,” exclaimed Captain Staunton. “If any of you have anything to say you shall have an opportunity of saying it in due time; at present I wish to hear what Mr Carter has to say,” turning inquiringly once more toward that individual.
Thus pressed, Carter related his version of the story, which was to the effect that the men had refused to obey orders, and had come aft in so menacing a manner that in self-defence he had been compelled to arm himself; and further, that hoping to check the mutiny in the bud, he had shot down the “ringleader.”
“So that is the explanation of the shots which awoke me,” exclaimed Captain Staunton. “And where is the wounded man?”
“In his bunk, sir; bleeding like a stuck pig,” replied one of the men, resorting to simile to aid his description, as is the wont of seafaring men generally.
“Phew!” whistled the skipper. “This is serious. Run, Bowles, and rouse out the doctor at once, if you please.”
Mr Bowles sped to the doctor’s cabin, and found that individual already “roused out,” with an open case of surgical instruments on the table, and a drawer open, from which he was hastily selecting lint, bandages, etcetera; the medico having been awakened by the first pistol-shot, and, like a sensible man, bestirring himself at once in preparation for the repair of damages, without waiting to learn first whether there were any damages to repair or not.
“Well, Bowles,” he exclaimed, as the worthy “chief” made his appearance, “you want me, eh? What’s the nature of the case?”
“A man shot,” briefly replied Mr Bowles.
“Just so; heard the shots. Where is the seat of the injury? Don’t know? Well, never mind, we’ll soon find out. Let me see—tourniquet—probe—splints—lint—bandage—um—um—yes; just carry these for me, Bowles, there’s a good fellow, and lead the way.”
So saying the worthy man put a quantity of splints, etcetera, into Mr Bowles’ hands, and, gathering up the rest o
f his chattels, followed the mate to the forecastle, where he at once busied himself in ascertaining the extent of and finally dressing poor Boyd’s injury.
In the meantime Captain Staunton, assisted by Mr Bowles, who had speedily rejoined him, had been holding a sort of court of inquiry into the case; and after much skilful interrogation, and the giving of a most patient hearing to the statement of each member of the watch, he had succeeded in arriving at a very near approach to the actual truth of the matter.
“This,” he said, “is clearly a case wherein both parties have been gravely in fault. I am compelled in justice to admit that you,” turning to the members of the watch, “appear to have received great provocation, inasmuch as there can be no doubt that you have been greatly harassed by Mr Carter’s habit of unnecessarily interfering with the disposition of the canvas set on the ship. I have, indeed, myself noticed this, my attention often having been arrested by the sounds of making and shortening sail during the night-watches, when you all doubtless thought me fast asleep in my berth; and I have had it on my mind for some time past to speak to Mr Carter on the subject; I should have done so long ago but for my great repugnance to interfere with my officers except upon the most urgent grounds. I confess I had no idea that the provocation had been going on for so long a time; the master of a ship, like other mortals, requires sleep; and doubtless many things are said and done whilst he is taking his rest of which he can know nothing unless they are brought to his notice by others. It was therefore manifestly your duty, in justice to me as well as in obedience to the law, to make complaint to me of any grievances of which you may have considered yourselves the victims; and that, instead of doing so, you took it upon yourselves to resent your grievances by refusing obedience to the orders of your officer, constitutes your offence—an offence which, in my opinion, has been sufficiently punished by the wounds inflicted upon two of your number. You have satisfied me that your lapse of duty was in reality a matter strictly between yourselves and the second officer, and in no wise a defiance of my authority, or I suppose I need scarcely say I should not take this lenient view of your conduct. As for you, Mr Carter,” the skipper resumed after a pause, “you have placed me in the very unpleasant position of being compelled to suspend you from duty until the arrival of the ship at Sydney. You have proved yourself incompetent to command a watch with that tact and moderation which is so essential to the safety of a ship and the comfort of those on board; and, led away by your heat of temper, you have hastily and unnecessarily resorted to measures of extreme violence, which might, had the men been of a similar temper, have led to a dreadful disaster. You may retire to your cabin, sir. Mr Bowles, do me the favour to call Mr Dashwood.”
Young Dashwood was found sitting on his chest, dressed and ready for any emergency, the entire occupants of the ship being by this time on the qui vive, and he was therefore in the presence of the skipper within a minute of the mention of his name. To him Captain Staunton at once delegated the command of the starboard watch, saying at the same time a few words expressive of confidence in his prudence and seamanship.
“One word more, men,” said the skipper, again addressing the watch. “I have suspended Mr Carter not because I regard you as in the right, or as in any way justified in your behaviour, but because he was manifestly wrong. I must therefore very earnestly caution you, one and all, against again refusing obedience to any commands issued by your officers. If those commands are such as to constitute a substantial grievance, or if they should by any chance be such as to manifestly imperil the safety of the ship or the lives of any of those on board, I am always to be found, and the matter must at once be referred to me. I shall always be ready to protect you from tyranny or intemperate treatment; but remember from this time forward there must be nothing even remotely resembling insubordination. Now, go back to your duty.”
The men walked quietly away forward, and Captain Staunton, accompanied by Mr Bowles, retired below to make an immediate entry of the occurrence in the official log-book.
The occupants of the saloon were naturally greatly exercised by the event, which formed the staple of conversation next day. It was interesting to observe the way in which the subject was regarded by the various members of the little community. O’Reilly, the editor of the “Galatea Free Press,” was wild with excitement at contemplation of the narrow escape they had had from a mutiny and its attendant fight; and he exhibited a curious study of mingled irritation and satisfaction—of irritation that the fight had not come off, and of satisfaction that he had not been compelled to take up arms against any of the forecastle hands, every one of whom he regarded in his free-hearted way as a personal friend, and with every one of whom he was a prime favourite.
The ladies, who really understood nothing whatever of the merits of the case, with that unerring instinct which invariably leads them to a right conclusion, sided unanimously with the seamen; while a few of the more timid among the male passengers regarded Carter as a sort of hero-martyr, Mr Dale being especially loud and indiscreet in his denunciations of the recklessness manifested in “encouraging the mutinous rascals in their defiance of authority.”
“It will end,” he dismally prophesied, “in our all being murdered in our beds some night. Oh, dear! I wish I had never come to sea.” Brook and one or two more, though they said little, went about the ship for some few days afterwards in evident perturbation of mind, though, to do them justice, had they been obliged they would have doubtless fought and fought well. Rex Fortescue, perhaps, took matters the most coolly of any. He not only went himself forward as usual to hear the yarn-spinning and smoke his cigar on the forecastle during the dog-watches, but he also took Violet with him (he having noticed long before that the presence of a lady was always sufficient to ensure the strictest decorum on the part of the men); thus showing the crew, as clearly as he could, that he at least had no doubt of their loyalty.
Carter’s suspension from duty removed the only discordant element which had ever revealed itself on board, as far as the crew of the ship were concerned; and thenceforward matters went smoothly enough on board the Galatea for the remainder of the passage, which proved to be a rapid one, notwithstanding the delay experienced in rounding the Cape. It was also an uneventful one—the foregoing occurrence excepted. Nothing further need therefore be said respecting it, than that in good time the ship safely arrived in Sydney’s noble harbour, and, landing her passengers, began forthwith the humdrum operation of discharging cargo.
* * *
* * *
Chapter Five.
Homeward bound.
At the date of this story the discharging of a cargo was a much more leisurely operation than it is at the present day; and Bob therefore had several opportunities of taking a run ashore and looking round the town and suburbs of Sydney. The passengers—such of them, that is, as were residents in or near Sydney—had one and all given Bob most pressing invitations to visit them whenever he could obtain leave; and on the day but one following the arrival of the ship, a very prettily-worded and pressing little note had come to him from Blanche Lascelles to say that the friends with whom she and Violet were staying at Cookstown would be delighted to make his acquaintance; so that Bob was never at a loss for a place whither to direct his steps whenever he could get ashore. He consequently managed to see a good deal of the place, and thoroughly enjoyed the seven weeks during which the Galatea lay in Sydney harbour.
The outward cargo discharged, the homeward freight of wool began to come down, and the stevedores were kept busy all day long screwing it into as small a compass as possible in the hold.
Meanwhile Captain Staunton was in great tribulation. The gold-fever was then at its height in Australia. The precious metal had been discovered some years before, but about a month previous to the arrival of the Galatea in Sydney, news had come down the country of the discovery of a new auriferous region, the richness and extent of which was said to be something past belief. The result of this rumour was that every idl
e loafer who arrived in an Australian port made it his first business to desert from his ship and start hot-foot for the gold-fields. If the matter had ended here the shipmasters would have had cause to congratulate themselves rather than the reverse, but unfortunately for them it was not so. The gold-fever had stricken everybody—merchants even, mechanics, clerks, all in fact but the few cool hands who realised that by remaining in the half-deserted towns they were sure of making that fortune the winning of which at the diggings was problematical; and one consequence of this was that when seamen deserted a ship no one could be found to take their places; and Captain Staunton could stand on his own poop and count at least fifty vessels whose cargoes were on board, hatches battened down, and everything ready for sea; but there they lay, unable to sail for want of a crew to man them.
Now the Galatea was not in quite so bad a plight as this; for when the last bale of wool had been screwed in and the hatches put on, there still remained in her forecastle eight good men and true—six belonging to the port watch and two to the starboard—who had resisted all the alluring dreams of fortunes to be made in a day at the diggings. The other eight had deserted in a body one Sunday, very cleverly eluding the police, whose chief duty it then was to prevent such occurrences. The second mate and the cook were also missing. Hence Captain Staunton’s anxiety. On the one hand, he was averse to the extreme step of taking his ship to sea half-manned; and on the other, he was haunted by the constant dread of losing still more of his men if he remained in port until he had made up his complement.
The Pirate Island Page 7