CHAPTER V.
“Come, my masters, let us share,—”Henry IV.
“Come, my masters, let us share,—”Henry IV.
“Come, my masters, let us share,—”Henry IV.
“Come, my masters, let us share,—”
Henry IV.
Obedient to the commands of his chief, Lorenzo drafted a number of men from the crew, and sent them on board the prize ship. The Black Schooner was kept in the position ordered by the captain; the proper watches for the night were set, and those on board the vessel retired to rest.
At the dawn of the next day, a peculiar sound of the fife summoned forth the whole crew of the schooner. In the space of a few moments, above three hundred men lined the long deck.
With the habit of continual discipline, they fell into order so quietly, that the space afforded by the deck of that comparatively small vessel, did not for a moment seem filled by the multitude which gathered on it. The pirates stood accoutred in, what might be called, theirholiday dress. Their red woollen shirts and caps were worn with some care; their sashes seemed more symmetrically folded round their waists, and the weapons which were stuck in them, seemed adjusted with more than ordinary attention; while their black beards, faces, and hands, presented that clean, sun-burnt, half-sea, half-land appearance, which we easily discover in the aspect of a sailor while on shore.
The appearance of the crew, as it gathered that morning, contrasted in a striking manner with that which it wore before the attack.
Before the action, the pirates stood like men who were too much engrossed with one idea—one passion—to be capable of any thought which was unconnected with that. Their red caps were drawn carelessly over their heads; their dress was that of men who could not afford a moment’s time to its adjustment, while the wildest ferocity sat on every line of their countenances. On that morning the absorption of mind had ceased; they seemed returned from the engrossing contemplation of the sanguinary and the terrible, to the softer feelings that lend to life those charms, which, empty though they be, still are sufficient to enliven its monotony, and sometimes even to smooth down its asperities. Their habitual fierceness, too, had yielded to the contentmentby which they seemed animated, and their features were less rigid, and less ferocious.
The men had been assembled some time before the captain made his appearance: the change which was observed in their aspect, could not be read in his. He appeared the same, sternly collected, individual that he always was.
As soon as he appeared on deck, the officers respectfully bowed. The captain then seated himself on a deck-stool, which had been placed behind a small table for him. The boys, who always attended him, then deposited on the table several bags of money, and disappeared.
“My men,” he said, when he had been seated, “our booty in gold has been small, but we shall, no doubt, find a sufficient recompense for our toil in the purchase-money of the ship’s cargo, which it is my will to take to St. Thomas’ to sell. Six thousand and five hundred dollars is the amount of what we have got. This I shall divide among you, and forego my own share until a day of better fortune. Let the wounded approach.”
Those who had been but slightly wounded in the last engagement, and could bear the fatigue of walking, stepped forward. They received shares larger than those of their comrades in proportion to the injurieswhich they had sustained. Those who had lost a hand, an arm, a leg, or a foot, received four times the amount of booty; those who had lost an eye, a finger, or a toe, received twice the amount. When the wounded had duly been recompensed, the captain then addressed his men.
“Comrades,” he said, “it was our misfortune to lose some of our brave associates in the fight, let those who were the friends of the dead come forward, as I call over their names, and receive their share:—Diego—who is Diego’s friend?” One of the pirates stepped forward, and, raising his right hand, declared that he was Diego’s friend. The share which should have been that of the dead, was then delivered to his friend.
“Martin,” continued the chief, “who was Martin’s friend?” Another pirate stepped forward, and, raising his right hand, in the same manner, declared that he was Martin’s friend.
The captain went on in this manner, calling over the names of the lost comrades, and requiring to know their friends, until he came to the last of the men.
“Francis,” he cried, “Francis’s friend.” Two men simultaneously stepped forward, and, raising their hands, each declared that he was Francis’s friend. “How is this?” the captain asked, “it is not impossible to havemore than one friend, but you know, my men, that it is the custom, on board this schooner, to have but one man to whom his friend may bequeath his share?”
The men then looked at each other: and each looked round at his comrades, as if appealing to them in testimony of his right to be considered the friend of the dead Francis.
“He was my friend,” each said, and looked again at their comrades, in corroboration of his claim; but the pirates uttered not a word in answer to this silent appeal.
“My men,” said the captain, “this has never happened here before: either Francis forgot his honor, when he charged both of you to be his friends, when dead, or one of you forgets his, when he asserts that he is Francis’s friend. Now, Francis is no more, and cannot answer for this; the responsibility of this breach of honor, my men, rests, therefore, upon you: one of you must lie.” The two men looked fierce when the chief coolly pronounced this word. “You know the law—choose your weapons—at six o’clock this evening you must fight: the survivor shall receive the share of Francis.”
A low murmur of approbation rang along the line of the assembled sailors, and the two pretenders to the favour of the departed pirate stepped aside.
After the shares of the wounded had been duly allotted, and those of the dead scrupulously delivered into the hands of their friends; or, if there were no friends of the deceased, carefully set apart for the purpose of having masses said for them, the lots of the other pirates were shared out to them.
The officers of the schooner received theirs first, and those who might be called the common seamen, theirs afterwards. When the distribution was completed, the prisoners and strangers on board were ordered to appear. First came the surviving sailors of the prize ship. Out of the complement of thirty-five men, who had formed the crew of that vessel, five only had escaped death in the engagement. These came forth, pale and haggard, expecting, apparently, to hear every moment the dreadful command which, in some horrible way, should put an end to their existence. The five English sailors, with the exception of one, whose years might be more mature, were in the prime of life, and wore that hue of health which their calling imparts: howbeit the anxiety of the position in which they were placed had had its temporary effect on them.
They approached the captain with an air of uneasiness, turning their hats about in their brawny hands, while divers bumps might have been observed to rise now andthen, and disappear immediately on their weather beaten cheeks: probably they were the various protrusions created by the quid, while it went through the many revolutions in which it was then twisted.
“What were your wages, by the month, men?” inquired the captain, when the English sailors stood before him, bending on them, at the same time, one of his searching and stern looks.
The sailors looked at each other, then at the captain, and then at each other again, and could not, apparently, be bold enough to reply, lest the question might, eventually, prove to be some trap by which it was intended to ensnare them into some confession or other that would tend to aggravate their sufferings. The captain neither showed signs of impatience nor renewed his question, but remained still, looking stedfastly on the sailors, with the cool composure of one who does not wonder that others should feel embarrassed in his presence; but, on the contrary, expects a degree of confusion on the part of those who are addressed by him. The oldest man of the five, however, at last spoke and answered:
“Three pounds a month, your honor,” raising his hand, at the same time, to the part of his head where the brim of his hat should have been, if that necessarycerebral protection had happened to be in its proper place at the time, and not in his hands.
“Have any of you received any advances on your wages?” again inquired the captain.
“Half of a months’ wages have been paid at home, your honor,” answered the old tar, of which answer, when he had duly delivered himself, he looked anxiously round at his four companions respectively, and seemed to inquire, “what will this lead to?”
The captain drew from a purse several pieces of gold, which, when he had divided into several small sums, he gave to the sailors.
“There are your wages,” he said, as he tendered the money to them, “for the five months that you have been on the voyage, we give, and do not take from such as you.”
The sailors looked bewildered. They could scarcely believe their ears, and they cast glances of amazement at each other. Even the appearance of money, it would appear, could not re-assure them; they put out their hands to receive the tendered wages like men who were afraid to receive something that was given lest danger should be attached to it.
“We shall land you on the nearest head-land,” continued the captain, “in the mean time, you may enjoyyour liberty. If any of you wish to join my men, you can do so. The rules of the ship are few: I require but one thing—obedience. Death is the penalty of the least breach of discipline.”
Having said this, the captain waved his hand, and the English sailors fell back behind the assembled crew.
The master fisherman and his men were next brought forward. They had by this time become perfectly at home in the schooner. The master fisherman found that the life, which he would be likely to lead on board would suit his Spanish blood, and Spanish character, well. Down to that time, also, he had been well treated.
It is true, the discipline of the schooner had appeared to him, accustomed as he was to the free and independent life of one of his calling, rather hard and unbearable; but the good companionship, and the profits of a pirate’s life were sufficient, in his estimation, to outweigh that inconvenience. As for Jack Jimmy, and his other man, they, too, had familiarized themselves with their position: the latter seemed to care but for little, in this world, beside the luxury of eating, drinking, and sleeping. He found the schooner capable of furnishing him with those three things, and was not, therefore inclined, like the generality of mortals, to grumble about more, when he already enjoyed the three elements of his happiness.
The former, Jack Jimmy, it is true, was of a less contented, and more restless disposition; and the order and monotony of the schooner, to say nothing of the continual fear in which he had at first been kept, by the mystery of his novel position, tended to make him long for his own cabin; or, at best, for any other situation but the one in which he was then placed. He became, however, by degrees more satisfied, the longer he remained in the schooner; for, he was not ill-treated in the first place, and the tricks which the men played upon him, the voyage, and the other things—except, perhaps, the fight—which had happened since his arrival on board, contributed, in the second place, to afford that excitement which, it would seem, his nature craved.
As the master fisherman appeared, the captain delivered to him a purse, and said:
“That will compensate you for the time you have lost: you will be landed soon, you, and your men.”
Jack Jimmy had followed his master, or rather had been thrust forward with him, in a state of nervous trepidation. The movements of the little negro were as brisk and as rapid as those of a monkey. His head turned on his shoulders like a weather gauge in a storm, while his large white eyes were stretched open to their utmost width. His head seemed to be turned forwards, sideways,and backwards at the same time. One would have said that while he looked before him, he was afraid he should be struck backwards, or sideways; while he looked sideways, that he should be struck either from before or behind; and while he looked backwards, he was afraid that he should be struck from before or from the side.
He was going on thus, like an automaton in violent action, when the sound of the captain’s voice fell upon his ear. He seemed, at that moment, struck motionless. He fixed his eyes on him, lowered what supplied the place of eyebrows, opened his mouth, threw his head and neck as far forwards as he could, and remained rooted to the spot in deep examination of the young man before him.
This did not last long; for, with his, usually rapid movements, he threw himself at the foot of the captain, before he had quite finished the few words which he had addressed to the master fisherman, clasped his knees franticly in his arms, and yelled out,—“Garamighty! da ee—da ee—da me young massa.”
Jack Jimmy sobbed aloud, as he the more tightly clasped the knees of the captain. The latter looked down calmly and coolly on the little man, seemed to recognize him, but said not a word to him.
Pained by the apparent forgetfulness of his young master, he raised his head, and, looking imploringly up to the captain Jack Jimmy cried out, piteously:
“You no know me—you no know me, massa—you no know Jack Jimmy—you no ’member Jack Jimmy in de mule-pen—you—”
“Yes, I do recollect you, Jack Jimmy,” interrupted the captain, “but you must neither make such a noise here, nor continue where you are.” He made a sign with his hand, and two men stepped forward and led away the affectionate Jack Jimmy.
“Ah! my young massa,” continued the affectionate negro as he was taken away, “ee bin da gie me cake—he bin da gie me grog—an when dey bin want foo beat me ee bin da beg foo me.”
When Jack Jimmy had been led away behind the assembled crew, and had been prevailed upon to become silent, which change did not take place in him until he had been threatened to be again rocked in the sail, the priest and the young lady were, in their turn, led forth. The former, although it was perceptible that he anticipated the gloomiest results, still had a resigned and serene air. He looked calmly on all that had taken place that day, and, perhaps, there might be read in his eyes a certain expression of surprise, that the piratesdid not at once act with that blood-thirsty ruffianism which he had been accustomed, from his earliest schoolboy readings, to attach to men of that abandoned life.
The young lady was, naturally, much more affected by the circumstances of her situation; kindness, however, had not been spared to reconcile her to it as much as possible.
Lorenzo had been strictly enjoined to show all marks of attention to her; and he seemed not to have required the positive command of his chief to do so: for she had at her command the chivalrous devotedness, which great beauty always draws from even the most stoical of men. She was exceedingly beautiful; such a species of beauty that we meet only in the tropics,—a beauty which we can compare to no known standard: something that belongs entirely to the warm clime by which it is produced; something that is more of the fanciful than of the real. She was of a middle age, slender, and of a perfect figure; her features were delicately and nicely chiselled; her complexion was of the clearest white, tinged with the slightest olive; her dark brown hair hung over a high and nicely moulded forehead, while her dark gazelle-like eyes imparted to her face a character of tenderness and softness.
The officer had exhibited the greatest solicitude on behalf of the fair captive from the moment she came on board the schooner; and now, when she stood on deck, weak and nervous, he might have been observed, from time to time, stealthily to give her as much assistance as the rules of the vessel permitted, and to pay her, perhaps, more attention than even the commands of his chief could have been intended to require of him.
When the priest and young lady stood before the captain, he spoke but very few words to them.
“You will be landed,” he said, as he looked at the two persons, “with the others, on the nearest cape.”
He waved his hand, and the captives were led away.
Lastly, the man who was found in the cabin of the captured ship, armed with a musket, and who had called the captain his son, was then led forward. Unlike the other prisoners, he was strictly guarded, and seemed to be treated with a severity that was the very opposite of that moderation which had been so generally and unexpectedly shown to the other prisoners that were in the same situation with himself.
The captain cast a stern and penetrating look on him, as he was brought before him, and said, in his stern indifferent manner:
“Prepare, to-morrow, for your trial; you know your crime.” As he said this, he waved his hand.
The prisoner seemed tongue-tied for awhile, his countenance betrayed the most despondent fear; he seemed to become conscious, at once, of some great offence, under whose weighty recollection his whole faculties appeared overwhelmed.
He stood before him whom he called his son, and seemed to entertain for him more fear than any of the stranger prisoners who could claim no relationship or parentage to move his pity or secure his forbearance. He could not utter a word for the short moment that he stood before the captain, but when the pirates, who guarded him, laid their hands roughly upon him, to pull him away, the fear, the surprise, the consciousness which, till then, had deprived him of speech, lost their power under the influence of the terror that now seized him.
“But—what—what is my offence? how dare you? My own son, to—” here one of the sailors, who guarded him, threw his sash over his head, and bound it so tightly behind, that not even a murmur of the unfortunate prisoner could be heard, as he was led away to the foremost part of the vessel.
The chief now rose and retired. The crew silentlyreturned to their own quarters, and the Black Schooner which, a moment ago, was full of animation, was now left again quiet and apparently solitary, gracefully riding over the sparkling waves under her jib and half-mainsail.