Complete works of freder.., p.321
Complete Works of Frederick Marryat, page 321
“There was one man I liked. He was not a warrior, or I should have hated him, but he was brought up with me in my father’s house, and was a near relative. I was grave and full of pride, he was gay and fond of music; and although there was no music to me equal to the tom-tom, yet I did not always wish for excitement. I often was melancholy, and then I liked to lay my head in the lap of one of my wives, under the shady forest behind my house, and listen to his soft music. At last he went to a town near us where his father lived, and as he departed I gave him gold-dust. He had been sent to my father to be formed into a warrior, but he had no strength of body, and he had no soul; still I loved him because he was not like myself. There was a girl in the town who was beautiful; many asked for her as their wife, but her father had long promised her to my friend; he refused even the greatest warrior of the place, who went away in wrath to the fetish-man, and throwing him his gold armlets asked for a fetish against his rival. It was given, and two days before he was to be married my friend died. His mother came to me, and it was enough. I put on my war dress, I seized my weapons, sat for a whole day with my skulls before me, working up my revenge, called out my men, and that night set off for the town where the warrior resided, killed two of his relatives and carried off ten of his slaves. When he heard what I had done, he trembled and sent gold; but I knew that he had taken the girl home as his wife, and I would not listen to the old man who sought to pacify me. Again I collected a larger force, and attacked him in the night: we fought, for he was prepared with his men, but after a struggle he was beaten back. I fired his house, wasted his provision ground, and taking away more slaves, I returned home with my men, intending soon to assault him again. The next day there came more messengers, who knelt in vain, so they went to my father, and many warriors begged him to interfere. My father sent for me, but I would not listen; the warriors spoke, and I turned my back: my father was wroth and threatened, the warriors brandished their two-handed swords — they dared to do it; I looked over my shoulder with contempt, and I returned to my house. I took down my skulls, and I planned. It was evening, and I was alone, when a woman covered up to the eyes approached; she fell down before me as she exposed her face.
“‘I am the girl who was promised to your relation, and I am now the wife of your enemy. I shall be a mother. I could not love your relation, for he was no warrior. It is not true that my husband asked for a fetish — it was I who bought it, for I would not wed him. Kill me and be satisfied.’
“She was very beautiful, and I wondered not that my enemy loved her — and she was with child — it was his child, and she had fetished my friend to death. I raised my sword to strike, and she did not shrink: it saved her life. ‘Thou art fit to be the mother of warriors,’ said I, as I dropped my sword, ‘and thou shalt be my wife, but first his child shall be born, and I will have thy husband’s skull.’
“‘No, no,’ replied she, ‘I will be the mother of no warriors but my present husband, whom I love; if you keep me as your slave I will die.’
“I told her she said foolish things, and sent her to the women’s apartment, with orders to be watched — but she hardly had been locked up before she drew her knife, plunged it into her heart, and died.
“When the king my father heard this he sent me a message— ‘Be satisfied with the blood that has been shed, it is enough’ — but I turned away, for I wished for mine enemy’s skull. That night I attacked him again, and met him hand to hand; I killed him, and carried home his skull, and I was appeased.
“But all the great warriors were wroth, and my father could not restrain them. They called out their men, and I called out my men, and I had a large body, for my name was terrible. But the force raised against me was twice that of mine, and I retreated to the bush — after a while we met and fought and I killed many, but my men were too few and were overpowered — the fetish had been sent out against me, and their hearts melted; at last I sank down with my wounds, for I bled at every pore, and I told my men who were about me to take off my feathers, and my dress and boots, that my enemies might not have my skull: they did so, and I crawled into the bush to die. But I was not to die; I was recovering, when I was discovered by those who steal men to sell them: I was bound, and fastened to a chain with many more. I, a prince and a warrior, who could show the white skulls of his enemies — I offered to procure gold, but they derided me; they dragged me down to the coast, and sold me to the Whites. Little did I think, in my pride, that I should be a slave. I knew that I was to die, and hoped to die in battle: my skull would have been more prized than all the gold in the earth, and my skin would have been stuffed and hung up in a fetish-house — instead of which, I now boil the kettle for the young gentlemen.”
“Well,” replied Jack, “that’s better than being killed and stuffed.”
“Mayhap it is,” replied Mesty, “I tink very different now dan I tink den — but still, its women’s work and not suit me.
“They put me with others into a cave until the ship came, and then we were sent on board, put in irons, and down in the hold, where you could not sit upright — I wanted to die, but could not: others died every day, but I lived — I was landed in America, all bone, and I fetched very little money — they laughed at me as they bid their dollars: at last a man took me away, and I was on a plantation with hundreds more, but too ill to work, and not intending to work. The other slaves asked me if I was a fetish-man; I said yes, and I would fetish any man that I did not like: one man laughed, and I held up my finger; I was too weak to get up, for my blood had long boiled with fever, and I said to him, ‘you shall die;’ for I meant to have killed him, as soon as I was well. He went away, and in three days he was dead. I don’t know how, but all the slaves feared me, and my master feared me, for he had seen the man die, and he, although he was a white man, believed in fetish, and he wished to sell me again, but no one would buy a fetish-man, so he made friends with me; for I told him, if I was beat he should die, and he believed me. He took me into his house, and I was his chief man, and I would not let the other slaves steal, and he was content. He took me with him to New York, and there after two years, when I had learned English, I ran away, and got on board of an English ship — and they told me to cook. I left the ship as soon as I came to England, and offered myself to another, and they said they did not want a cook; and I went to another, and they asked me if I was a good cook: everybody seemed to think that a black man must be a cook, and nothing else. At last I starve, and I go on board man-of-war, and here I am, after having been a warrior and a prince, cook, steward and everyting else, boiling kettle for de young gentlemen.”
“Well,” replied Jack, “at all events that is better than being a slave.”
Mesty made no reply: any one who knows the life of a midshipman’s servant will not be surprised at his silence.
“Now, tell me, do you think you were right in being so revengeful, when you were in your own country?” inquired Jack.
“I tink so den, Massa Easy, sometimes when my blood boil, I tink so now — oder time, I no know what to tink — but when a man love very much, he hate very much.”
“But you are now a Christian, Mesty.”
“I hear all that your people say,” replied the negro, “and it make me tink — I no longer believe in fetish, anyhow.”
“Our religion tells us to love our enemies.”
“Yes, I heard parson say dat — but den what we do with our friends, Massy Easy?”
“Love them too.”
“I no understand dat, Massa Easy — I love you, because you good, and treat me well — Mr Vigors, he bully, and treat me ill — how possible to love him? By de power, I hate him, and wish I had him skull. You tink little Massa Gossett love him?”
“No,” replied Jack, laughing, “I’m afraid that he would like to have his skull as well as you, Mesty — but at all events we must try and forgive those who injure us.”
“Then, Massa Easy, I tink so too — too much revenge very bad — it very easy to hate, but not very easy to forgive — so I tink that if a man forgive he hab more soul in him, he more of a man.”
“After all,” thought Jack, “Mesty is about as good a Christian as most people.”
“What that?” cried Mesty, looking out of the cabin window— “Ah! damn drunken dogs — they set fire to tent.”
Jack looked, and perceived that the tent on shore was in flames.
“I tink these cold nights cool their courage any how,” observed Mesty— “Massa Easy, you see they soon ask permission to come on board.”
Jack thought so too, and was most anxious to be off, for, on looking into the lockers in the state-room, he had found a chart of the Mediterranean, which he had studied very attentively — he had found out the rock of Gibraltar, and had traced the Harpy’s course up to Cape de Gatte, and thence to Tarragona — and, after a while, had summoned Mesty to a cabinet council.
“See, Mesty,” said Jack, “I begin to make it out; here is Gibraltar, and Cape de Gatte, and Tarragona — it was hereabout we were when we took the ship, and, if you recollect, we had passed Cape de Gatte two days before we were blown off from the land, so that we had gone about twelve inches, and had only four more to go.”
“Yes, Massa Easy, I see all dat.”
“Well, then, we were blown off shore by the wind, and must of course have come down this way; and here you see are three little islands, called Zaffarine Islands, and with no names of towns upon them, and therefore uninhabited; and you see they lie just like the islands we are anchored among now — we must be at the Zaffarine Islands — and only six inches from Gibraltar.”
“I see, Massa Easy, dat all right — but six debbelish long inches.”
“Now, Mesty, you know the compass on the deck has a flourishing thing for the north point — and here is a compass with a north point also. Now the north point from the Zaffarine Islands leads out to the Spanish coast again, and Gibraltar lies five or six points of the compass to this side of it — if we steer that way we shall get to Gibraltar.”
“All right, Massa Easy,” replied Mesty; and Jack was right, with the exception of the variation, which he knew nothing about.
To make sure, Jack brought one of the compasses down from deck, and compared them. He then lifted off the glass, counted the points of the compass to the westward, and marked the corresponding one on the binnacle compass with his pen.
“There,” said he, “that is the way to Gibraltar, and as soon as the mutiny is quelled, and the wind is fair, I’ll be off.”
Chapter Sixteen.
In which Jack’s cruise is ended, and he regains the Harpy.
A few more days passed, and, as was expected, the mutineers could hold out no longer. In the first place, they had put in the spile of the second cask of wine so loosely when they were tipsy that it dropped out, and all the wine ran out, so that there had been none left for three or four days; in the next, their fuel had long been expended, and they had latterly eaten their meat raw the loss of their tent, which had been fired by their carelessness, had been followed by four days and nights of continual rain. Everything they had had been soaked through and through, and they were worn out, shivering with cold, and starving. Hanging they thought better than dying by inches from starvation; and, yielding to the imperious demands of hunger, they came down to the beach, abreast of the ship, and dropped down on their knees.
“I tell you so, Massa Easy,” said Mesty: “damn rascals, they forget they come down fire musket at us every day: by all de powers, Mesty not forget it.”
“Ship ahoy!” cried one of the men on shore.
“What do you want?” replied Jack.
“Have pity on us, sir — mercy!” exclaimed the other men, “we will return to our duty.”
“Debbil doubt ‘em!”
“What shall I say, Mesty?”
“Tell ’em no, first, Massa Easy — tell ’em to starve and be damned.”
“I cannot take mutineers on board,” replied Jack.
“Well, then, our blood be on your hands, Mr Easy,” replied the first man who had spoken. “If we are to die, it must not be by inches — if you will not take us, the sharks shall — it is but a crunch, and all is over. What do you say, my lads? let’s all rush in together: good-bye, Mr Easy, I hope you’ll forgive us when we’re dead it was all that rascal Johnson, the coxswain, who persuaded us. Come, my lads, it’s no use thinking of it, the sooner done the better — let us shake hands, and then make one run of it.”
It appeared that the poor fellows had already made up their minds to do this, if our hero, persuaded by Mesty, had refused to take them on board. They shook hands all round, and then walking a few yards from the beach, stood in a line while the man gave the signal — one — two.
“Stop,” cried Jack, who had not forgotten the dreadful scene which had already taken place,— “stop.”
The men paused.
“What will you promise if I take you on board?”
“To do our duty cheerfully till we join the ship, and then be hung as an example to all mutineers,” replied the men.
“Dat very fair,” replied Mesty; “take dem at their word, Massa Easy.”
“Very well,” replied Jack, “I accept your conditions; and we will come for you.”
Jack and Mesty hauled up the boat, stuck their pistols in their belts, and pulled to the shore. The men, as they stepped in, touched their hats respectfully to our hero, but said nothing. On their arrival on board Jack read that part of the articles of war relative to mutiny, by which the men were reminded of the very satisfactory fact, “that they were to suffer death;” and then made a speech which, to men who were starving, appeared to be interminable. However, there is an end to everything in this world, and so there was to Jack’s harangue; after which Mesty gave them some biscuit, which they devoured in thankfulness, until they could get something better. The next morning the wind was fair, they weighed their hedge with some difficulty, and ran out of the harbour: the men appeared very contrite, worked well, but in silence, for they had no very pleasant anticipations; but hope always remains with us; and each of the men, although he had no doubt but that the others would be hung, hoped that he would escape with a sound flogging. The wind, however, did not allow them to steer their course long; before night it was contrary, and they fell off three points to the northward. “However,” as Jack observed, “at all events we shall make the Spanish coast, and then we must run down it to Gibraltar: I don’t care — I under stand navigation much better than I did.” The next morning they found themselves, with a very light breeze, under a high cape, and, as the sun rose, they observed a large vessel inshore, about two miles to the westward of them, and another outside, about four miles off. Mesty took the glass and examined the one outside, which, on a sudden, had let fall all her canvas, and was now running for the shore, steering for the cape under which Jack’s vessel lay. Mesty put down the glass.
“Massa Easy — I tink dat de Harpy.”
One of the seamen took the glass and examined her, while the others who stood by showed great agitation.
“Yes, it is the Harpy,” said the seaman. “Oh Mr Easy, will you forgive us?” continued the man, and he and the others fell on their knees. “Do not tell all, for God’s sake, Mr Easy.”
Jack’s heart melted; he looked at Mesty.
“I tink,” said Mesty apart to our hero, “dat with what them hab suffer already, suppose they get seven dozen apiece, dat quite enough.”
Jack thought that even half that punishment would suffice; so he told the men, that although he must state what had occurred, he would not tell all, and would contrive to get them off as well as he could. He was about to make a long speech, but a gun from the Harpy, which had now come up within range, made him defer it till a more convenient opportunity. At the same time the vessel in shore hoisted Spanish colours, and fired a gun.
“By de powers, but we got in the middle of it,” cried Mesty; “Harpy tink us Spaniard. Now, my lads, get all gun ready, bring up powder and shot. Massa, now us fire at Spaniard — Harpy not fire at us — no ab English colours on board — dat all we must do.”
The men set to with a will; the guns were all loaded, and were soon cast loose and primed, during which operations it fell calm, and the sails of all three vessels flapped against their masts. The Harpy was then about two miles from Jack’s vessel, and the Spaniard about a mile from him, with all her boats ahead of her, towing towards him; Mesty examined the Spanish vessel.
“Dat man-o’-war, Massa Easy — what de debbil we do for colour? must hoist someting.”
Mesty ran down below; he recollected that there was a very gay petticoat, which had been left by the old lady who was in the vessel when they captured her. It was of green silk, with yellow and blue flowers, but very faded, having probably been in the Don’s family for a century. Mesty had found it under the mattress of one of the beds, and had put it into his bag, intending probably to cut it up into waistcoats. He soon appeared with this under his arm, made it fast to the peak halyards and hoisted it up.
“Dere, massa, dat do very well — dat what you call all nation colour. Everybody strike him flag to dat — men nebber pull it down,” said Mesty, “anyhow. Now den, ab hoist colour, we fire away — mind you only fire one gun at a time, and point um well, den ab time to load again.”
“She’s hoisted her colours, sir,” said Sawbridge, on board of the Harpy; “but they do not show out clear, and it’s impossible to distinguish them; but there’s a gun.”
“It’s not at us, sir,” said Gascoigne, the midshipman; “its at the Spanish vessel — I saw the shot fall ahead of her.”
“It must be a privateer,” said Captain Wilson, “at all events, it is very fortunate, for the corvette would otherwise have towed into Carthagena. Another gun, round and grape, and well pointed too; she carries heavy metal, that craft; she must be a Maltese privateer.”
