Chapter Fifteen.In which mutiny, like fire, is quenched for want of fuel and no want of water.Although we have made the African negro hitherto talk in his own mixed jargon, yet, as we consider that, in a long narration, it will be tedious to the reader, we shall now translate the narrative part into good English, merely leaving the conversation with which it may be broken in its peculiar dialect.“The first thing I recollect,” said Mesty, “is that I was carried on the shoulders of a man with my legs hanging down before, and holding on by his head.“Every one used to look at me, and get out of the way, as I rode through the town and market place, so loaded with heavy gold ornaments that I could not bear them, and was glad when the women took them off: but, as I grew older I became proud of them, because I knew that I was the son of a king—I lived happy, I did nothing but shoot my arrows, and I had a little sword which I was taught to handle, and the great captains who were about my father showed me how to kill my enemies. Some times I lay under the shady trees, sometimes I was with the women belonging to my father, sometimes I was with him and played with the skulls, and repeated the names of those to whom they had belonged, for in our country, when we kill our enemies, we keep their skulls as trophies.“As I grew older, I did as I pleased; I beat the women and the slaves; I think I killed some of the latter—I know I did one, to try whether I could strike well with my two-handed sword made of hard and heavy wood—but that is nothing in our country. I longed to be a great captain, and I thought of nothing else but war and fighting, and how many skulls I should have in my possession when I had a house and wives of my own, and I was no longer a boy. I went out in the woods to hunt, and I stayed for weeks. And one day I saw a panther basking in the sun, waving his graceful tail. I crept up softly till I was behind a rock within three yards of it, and drawing my arrow to the head I pierced him through the body. The animal bounded up in the air, saw me, roared and made a spring, but I dropped behind the rock, and he passed over me. He turned again to me, but I had my knife ready, and, as he fixed his talons into my shoulder and breast, I pierced him to the heart. This was the happiest day of my life; I had killed a panther without assistance, and I had wounds to show. Although I was severely hurt, I thought nothing of it. I took off the skin as my blood dropped down and mixed with that of the beast—but I rejoiced in it. Proudly did I go into the town dripping with gore and smarting with pain. Every one extolled the feat, called me a hero and a great captain. I filed my teeth, and I became a man.“From that day I ranked among the warriors, and, as soon as my wounds were healed, I went out to battle. In three fights I had gained five skulls, and when I returned they weighed me out gold. I then had a house and wives, and my father appointed me a Caboceer. I wore the plume of eagle and ostrich feathers, my dress was covered with fetishes, I pulled on the boots with bells, and with my bow and arrows slung on my back, my spear and blunderbuss, my knives and my double-handed sword, I led the men to battle and brought back skulls and slaves. Every one trembled at my name, and, if my father threatened to send me out, gold-dust covered the floor of his hall of council—Now, I boil the kettle for the young gentlemen.“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 himskull. 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 habmore soulin him, he more of aman.”“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 theHarpy’scourse 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.”
Although we have made the African negro hitherto talk in his own mixed jargon, yet, as we consider that, in a long narration, it will be tedious to the reader, we shall now translate the narrative part into good English, merely leaving the conversation with which it may be broken in its peculiar dialect.
“The first thing I recollect,” said Mesty, “is that I was carried on the shoulders of a man with my legs hanging down before, and holding on by his head.
“Every one used to look at me, and get out of the way, as I rode through the town and market place, so loaded with heavy gold ornaments that I could not bear them, and was glad when the women took them off: but, as I grew older I became proud of them, because I knew that I was the son of a king—I lived happy, I did nothing but shoot my arrows, and I had a little sword which I was taught to handle, and the great captains who were about my father showed me how to kill my enemies. Some times I lay under the shady trees, sometimes I was with the women belonging to my father, sometimes I was with him and played with the skulls, and repeated the names of those to whom they had belonged, for in our country, when we kill our enemies, we keep their skulls as trophies.
“As I grew older, I did as I pleased; I beat the women and the slaves; I think I killed some of the latter—I know I did one, to try whether I could strike well with my two-handed sword made of hard and heavy wood—but that is nothing in our country. I longed to be a great captain, and I thought of nothing else but war and fighting, and how many skulls I should have in my possession when I had a house and wives of my own, and I was no longer a boy. I went out in the woods to hunt, and I stayed for weeks. And one day I saw a panther basking in the sun, waving his graceful tail. I crept up softly till I was behind a rock within three yards of it, and drawing my arrow to the head I pierced him through the body. The animal bounded up in the air, saw me, roared and made a spring, but I dropped behind the rock, and he passed over me. He turned again to me, but I had my knife ready, and, as he fixed his talons into my shoulder and breast, I pierced him to the heart. This was the happiest day of my life; I had killed a panther without assistance, and I had wounds to show. Although I was severely hurt, I thought nothing of it. I took off the skin as my blood dropped down and mixed with that of the beast—but I rejoiced in it. Proudly did I go into the town dripping with gore and smarting with pain. Every one extolled the feat, called me a hero and a great captain. I filed my teeth, and I became a man.
“From that day I ranked among the warriors, and, as soon as my wounds were healed, I went out to battle. In three fights I had gained five skulls, and when I returned they weighed me out gold. I then had a house and wives, and my father appointed me a Caboceer. I wore the plume of eagle and ostrich feathers, my dress was covered with fetishes, I pulled on the boots with bells, and with my bow and arrows slung on my back, my spear and blunderbuss, my knives and my double-handed sword, I led the men to battle and brought back skulls and slaves. Every one trembled at my name, and, if my father threatened to send me out, gold-dust covered the floor of his hall of council—Now, I boil the kettle for the young gentlemen.
“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 himskull. 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 habmore soulin him, he more of aman.”
“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 theHarpy’scourse 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 kedge 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 deHarpy.”One of the seamen took the glass and examined her, while the others who stood by showed great agitation.“Yes, it is theHarpy,” 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 getseven 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 theHarpy, 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; “Harpytink 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. TheHarpywas 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 callall 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 theHarpy; “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.”“That’s as much as to say that she’s a pirate,” replied Sawbridge; “I can make nothing of her colours—they appear to me to be green—she must be a Turk. Another gun—and devilish well aimed; it has hit the boats.”“Yes, they are all in confusion: we will have her now, if we can only get a trifle of wind. That is a breeze coming up in the offing. Trim the sails, Mr Sawbridge.”The yards were squared, and theHarpysoon had steerage way. In the meantime Jack and his few men had kept up a steady, well-directed, although slow, fire with their larboard guns upon the Spanish corvette; and two of her boats had been disabled. TheHarpybrought the breeze up with her, and was soon within range; she steered to cut off the corvette, firing only her bow-chasers.“We ab her now,” cried Mesty, “fire away—men take good aim. Breeze come now; one man go to helm. By de power, what dat?”The exclamation of Mesty was occasioned by a shot hulling the ship on the starboard side. Jack and he ran over, and perceived that three Spanish gun-boats had just made their appearance round the point, and had attacked them. The fact was, that on the other side of the cape was the port and town of Carthagena, and these gun-boats had been sent out to the assistance of the corvette. The ship had now caught the breeze, fortunately for Jack, or he would probably have been taken into Carthagena; and the corvette, finding herself cut off by both theHarpyand Jack’s vessel, as soon as the breeze came up to her, put her head the other way, and tried to escape by running westward along the coast close in shore. Another shot, and then another, pierced the hull of the ship, and wounded two of Jack’s men; but as the corvette had turned, and theHarpyfollowed her, of course Jack did the same, and in ten minutes he was clear of the gun-boats, which did not venture to make sail and stand after him. The wind now freshened fast, and blew out the green petticoat, but theHarpywas exchanging broadsides with the corvette, and too busy to look after Jack’s ensign. The Spaniard defended himself well, and had the assistance of the batteries as he passed, but there was no anchorage until he had run many miles farther. About noon the wind died away, and at one o’clock it again fell nearly calm; but theHarpyhad neared her distance, and was now within three cables’ length of her antagonist, engaging her and a battery of four guns. Jack came up again, for he had the last of the breeze, and was about half a mile from the corvette when it fell calm. By the advice of Mesty, he did not fire any more, or otherwise theHarpywould not obtain so much credit, and it was evident that the fire of the Spaniard slackened fast. At three o’clock the Spanish colours were hauled down, and theHarpy, sending a boat on board and taking possession, directed her whole fire upon the battery, which was soon silenced.The calm continued, and theHarpywas busy enough with the prize, shifting the prisoners and refitting both vessels, which had very much suffered in the sails and rigging. There was an occasional wonder on board theHarpywhat that strange vessel might be which had turned the corvette and enabled them to capture her, but when people are all very busy, there is not much time for surmise.Jack’s crew, with himself, consisted but of eight, one of whom was a Spaniard, and two were wounded. It therefore left him but four, and he had also some thing to do, which was to assist his wounded men, and secure his guns. Moreover, Mesty did not think it prudent to leave the vessel a mile from theHarpywith only two on board; besides, as Jack said, he had had no dinner, and was not quite sure that he should find anything to eat when he went into the midshipmen’s berth; he would therefore have some dinner cooked, and eat it before he went on board in the meantime, they would try and close with her. Jack took things always very easy, and he said he should report himself at sunset. There were other reasons which made Jack in no very great hurry to go on board; he wanted to have time to consider a little what he should say to excuse himself, and also how he should plead for the men. His natural correctness of feeling decided him, in the first place, to tell the whole truth, and in the next, his kind feelings determined him to tell only part of it. Jack need not have given himself this trouble, for, as far as regarded himself, he had fourteen thousand good excuses in the bags which lay in the state-room; and as for the men, after an action with the enemy, if they behave well, even mutiny is forgiven. At last Jack, who was tired with excitement and the hard work of the day, thought and thought till he fell fast asleep, and instead of waking at sunset did not wake till two hours afterwards; and Mesty did not call him, because he was in no hurry himself to go on board andboil de kettle for de young gentlemen.When Jack woke up he was astonished to find that he had slept so long: he went on deck; it was dark and still calm, but he could easily perceive that theHarpyand corvette were still hove-to, repairing damages. He ordered the men to lower down the small boat, and leaving Mesty in charge, with two oars he pulled to theHarpy. What with wounded men, with prisoners, and boats going and coming between the vessels, every one on board theHarpywere well employed; and in the dark Jack’s little boat came alongside without notice. This should not have been the case, but it was, and there was some excuse for it. Jack ascended the side, and pushed his way through the prisoners, who were being mustered to be victualled. He was wrapped up in one of the gregos, and many of the prisoners wore the same.Jack was amused at not being recognised: he slipped down the main ladder, and had to stoop under the hammocks of the wounded men, and was about to go aft to the captain’s cabin to report himself, when he heard young Gossett crying out, and the sound of the rope. “Hang me, if that brute Vigors an’t thrashing young Gossett,” thought Jack. “I dare say the poor fellow had had plenty of it since I have been away; I’ll save him this time at least.” Jack, wrapped up in his grego, went to the window of the berth, looked in, and found it was as he expected. He cried out in an angry voice, “Mr Vigors, I’ll thank you to leave Gossett alone.” At the sound of the voice Vigors turned round with his colt in his hand, saw Jack’s face at the window, and, impressed with the idea that the reappearance was supernatural, uttered a yell and fell down in a fit—little Gossett also trembling in every limb, stared with his mouth open. Jack was satisfied, and immediately disappeared. He then went aft to the cabin, pushed by the servant, who was giving some orders from the captain to the officer on deck, and entering the cabin, where the captain was seated with two Spanish officers, took off his hat and said:“Come on board, Captain Wilson.”Captain Wilson did not fall down in a fit, but he jumped up and upset the glass before him.“Merciful God! Mr Easy, where did you come from?”“From that ship astern, sir,” replied Jack.“That ship astern! what is she?—where have you been so long?”“It’s a long story, sir,” replied Jack.Captain Wilson extended his hand and shook Jack’s heartily.“At all events, I’m delighted to see you, boy: now sit down and tell me your story in a few words; we will have it in detail by-and-bye.”“If you please, sir,” said Jack, “we captured that ship with the cutter the night after we went away—I’m not a first-rate navigator, and I was blown to the Zaffarine Islands, where I remained two months for want of hands: as soon as I procured them I made sail again—I have lost three men by sharks, and I have two wounded in to-day’s fight—the ship mounts twelve guns, is half laden with lead and cotton prints, has fourteen thousand dollars in the cabin, and three shot-holes right through her—and the sooner you send some people on board of her the better.”This was not very intelligible, but that there were fourteen thousand dollars, and that she required hands sent on board, was very satisfactorily explained. Captain Wilson rang the bell, sent for Mr Asper, who started back at the sight of our hero—desired him to order Mr Jolliffe to go on board with one of the cutters, send the wounded men on board, and take charge of the vessel, and then told Jack to accompany Mr Jolliffe, and to give him every information; telling him that he would hear his story to-morrow, when they were not so very busy.
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 kedge 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 deHarpy.”
One of the seamen took the glass and examined her, while the others who stood by showed great agitation.
“Yes, it is theHarpy,” 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 getseven 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 theHarpy, 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; “Harpytink 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. TheHarpywas 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 callall 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 theHarpy; “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.”
“That’s as much as to say that she’s a pirate,” replied Sawbridge; “I can make nothing of her colours—they appear to me to be green—she must be a Turk. Another gun—and devilish well aimed; it has hit the boats.”
“Yes, they are all in confusion: we will have her now, if we can only get a trifle of wind. That is a breeze coming up in the offing. Trim the sails, Mr Sawbridge.”
The yards were squared, and theHarpysoon had steerage way. In the meantime Jack and his few men had kept up a steady, well-directed, although slow, fire with their larboard guns upon the Spanish corvette; and two of her boats had been disabled. TheHarpybrought the breeze up with her, and was soon within range; she steered to cut off the corvette, firing only her bow-chasers.
“We ab her now,” cried Mesty, “fire away—men take good aim. Breeze come now; one man go to helm. By de power, what dat?”
The exclamation of Mesty was occasioned by a shot hulling the ship on the starboard side. Jack and he ran over, and perceived that three Spanish gun-boats had just made their appearance round the point, and had attacked them. The fact was, that on the other side of the cape was the port and town of Carthagena, and these gun-boats had been sent out to the assistance of the corvette. The ship had now caught the breeze, fortunately for Jack, or he would probably have been taken into Carthagena; and the corvette, finding herself cut off by both theHarpyand Jack’s vessel, as soon as the breeze came up to her, put her head the other way, and tried to escape by running westward along the coast close in shore. Another shot, and then another, pierced the hull of the ship, and wounded two of Jack’s men; but as the corvette had turned, and theHarpyfollowed her, of course Jack did the same, and in ten minutes he was clear of the gun-boats, which did not venture to make sail and stand after him. The wind now freshened fast, and blew out the green petticoat, but theHarpywas exchanging broadsides with the corvette, and too busy to look after Jack’s ensign. The Spaniard defended himself well, and had the assistance of the batteries as he passed, but there was no anchorage until he had run many miles farther. About noon the wind died away, and at one o’clock it again fell nearly calm; but theHarpyhad neared her distance, and was now within three cables’ length of her antagonist, engaging her and a battery of four guns. Jack came up again, for he had the last of the breeze, and was about half a mile from the corvette when it fell calm. By the advice of Mesty, he did not fire any more, or otherwise theHarpywould not obtain so much credit, and it was evident that the fire of the Spaniard slackened fast. At three o’clock the Spanish colours were hauled down, and theHarpy, sending a boat on board and taking possession, directed her whole fire upon the battery, which was soon silenced.
The calm continued, and theHarpywas busy enough with the prize, shifting the prisoners and refitting both vessels, which had very much suffered in the sails and rigging. There was an occasional wonder on board theHarpywhat that strange vessel might be which had turned the corvette and enabled them to capture her, but when people are all very busy, there is not much time for surmise.
Jack’s crew, with himself, consisted but of eight, one of whom was a Spaniard, and two were wounded. It therefore left him but four, and he had also some thing to do, which was to assist his wounded men, and secure his guns. Moreover, Mesty did not think it prudent to leave the vessel a mile from theHarpywith only two on board; besides, as Jack said, he had had no dinner, and was not quite sure that he should find anything to eat when he went into the midshipmen’s berth; he would therefore have some dinner cooked, and eat it before he went on board in the meantime, they would try and close with her. Jack took things always very easy, and he said he should report himself at sunset. There were other reasons which made Jack in no very great hurry to go on board; he wanted to have time to consider a little what he should say to excuse himself, and also how he should plead for the men. His natural correctness of feeling decided him, in the first place, to tell the whole truth, and in the next, his kind feelings determined him to tell only part of it. Jack need not have given himself this trouble, for, as far as regarded himself, he had fourteen thousand good excuses in the bags which lay in the state-room; and as for the men, after an action with the enemy, if they behave well, even mutiny is forgiven. At last Jack, who was tired with excitement and the hard work of the day, thought and thought till he fell fast asleep, and instead of waking at sunset did not wake till two hours afterwards; and Mesty did not call him, because he was in no hurry himself to go on board andboil de kettle for de young gentlemen.
When Jack woke up he was astonished to find that he had slept so long: he went on deck; it was dark and still calm, but he could easily perceive that theHarpyand corvette were still hove-to, repairing damages. He ordered the men to lower down the small boat, and leaving Mesty in charge, with two oars he pulled to theHarpy. What with wounded men, with prisoners, and boats going and coming between the vessels, every one on board theHarpywere well employed; and in the dark Jack’s little boat came alongside without notice. This should not have been the case, but it was, and there was some excuse for it. Jack ascended the side, and pushed his way through the prisoners, who were being mustered to be victualled. He was wrapped up in one of the gregos, and many of the prisoners wore the same.
Jack was amused at not being recognised: he slipped down the main ladder, and had to stoop under the hammocks of the wounded men, and was about to go aft to the captain’s cabin to report himself, when he heard young Gossett crying out, and the sound of the rope. “Hang me, if that brute Vigors an’t thrashing young Gossett,” thought Jack. “I dare say the poor fellow had had plenty of it since I have been away; I’ll save him this time at least.” Jack, wrapped up in his grego, went to the window of the berth, looked in, and found it was as he expected. He cried out in an angry voice, “Mr Vigors, I’ll thank you to leave Gossett alone.” At the sound of the voice Vigors turned round with his colt in his hand, saw Jack’s face at the window, and, impressed with the idea that the reappearance was supernatural, uttered a yell and fell down in a fit—little Gossett also trembling in every limb, stared with his mouth open. Jack was satisfied, and immediately disappeared. He then went aft to the cabin, pushed by the servant, who was giving some orders from the captain to the officer on deck, and entering the cabin, where the captain was seated with two Spanish officers, took off his hat and said:
“Come on board, Captain Wilson.”
Captain Wilson did not fall down in a fit, but he jumped up and upset the glass before him.
“Merciful God! Mr Easy, where did you come from?”
“From that ship astern, sir,” replied Jack.
“That ship astern! what is she?—where have you been so long?”
“It’s a long story, sir,” replied Jack.
Captain Wilson extended his hand and shook Jack’s heartily.
“At all events, I’m delighted to see you, boy: now sit down and tell me your story in a few words; we will have it in detail by-and-bye.”
“If you please, sir,” said Jack, “we captured that ship with the cutter the night after we went away—I’m not a first-rate navigator, and I was blown to the Zaffarine Islands, where I remained two months for want of hands: as soon as I procured them I made sail again—I have lost three men by sharks, and I have two wounded in to-day’s fight—the ship mounts twelve guns, is half laden with lead and cotton prints, has fourteen thousand dollars in the cabin, and three shot-holes right through her—and the sooner you send some people on board of her the better.”
This was not very intelligible, but that there were fourteen thousand dollars, and that she required hands sent on board, was very satisfactorily explained. Captain Wilson rang the bell, sent for Mr Asper, who started back at the sight of our hero—desired him to order Mr Jolliffe to go on board with one of the cutters, send the wounded men on board, and take charge of the vessel, and then told Jack to accompany Mr Jolliffe, and to give him every information; telling him that he would hear his story to-morrow, when they were not so very busy.
Chapter Seventeen.In which our hero finds out that trigonometry is not only necessary to navigation, but may be required in settling affairs of honour.As Captain Wilson truly said, he was too busy even to hear Jack’s story that night, for they were anxious to have both vessels ready to make sail as soon as a breeze should spring up, for the Spaniards had vessels of war at Carthagena, which was not ten miles off, and had known the result of the action: it was therefore necessary to change their position as soon as possible. Mr Sawbridge was on board the prize, which was a corvette mounting two guns more than theHarpy, and called theCacafuogo.She had escaped from Cadiz, run through the straits in the night, and was three miles from Carthagena when she was captured, which she certainly never would have been but for Jack’s fortunately blundering against the cape with his armed vessel, so that Captain Wilson and Mr Sawbridge (both of whom were promoted, the first to the rank of post-captain, the second to that of commander), may be said to be indebted to Jack for their good fortune. TheHarpyhad lost nineteen men, killed and wounded, and the Spanish corvette forty-seven. Altogether, it was a very creditable affair.At two o’clock in the morning, the vessels were ready, everything had been done that could be done in so short a time, and they stood under easy sail during the night for Gibraltar, theNostra Señora del Carmen, under the charge of Jolliffe, keeping company. Jolliffe had the advantage over his shipmates, of first hearing Jack’s adventures, with which he was much astonished as well as amused—even Captain Wilson was not more happy to see Jack than was the worthy master’s mate. About nine o’clock theHarpyhove-to, and sent a boat on board for our hero and the men who had been so long with him in the prize, and then hoisted out the pinnace to fetch on board the dollars, which were of more importance. Jack, as he bade adieu to Jolliffe, took out of his pocket and presented him with thearticles of war, which, as they had been so useful to him, he thought Jolliffe could not do without, and then went down the side: the men were already in the boat, casting imploring looks upon Jack, to raise feelings of compassion, and Mesty took his seat by our hero in a very sulky humour, probably because he did not like the idea of having again “to boil de kettle for de young gentlemen.” Even Jack felt a little melancholy at resigning his command, and he looked back at the green petticoat, which blew out gracefully from the mast, for Jolliffe had determined that he would not haul down the colours under which Jack had fought so gallant an action.Jack’s narration, as may be imagined, occupied a large part of the forenoon; and, although Jack did not attempt to deny that he had seen the recall signal of Mr Sawbridge, yet, as his account went on, the captain became so interested that at the end of it he quite forgot to point out to Jack the impropriety of not obeying orders. He gave Jack great credit for his conduct, and was also much pleased with that of Mesty. Jack took the opportunity of stating Mesty’s aversion to his present employment, and his recommendation was graciously received. Jack also succeeded in obtaining the pardon of the men, in consideration of their subsequent good behaviour; but notwithstanding this promise on the part of Captain Wilson, they were ordered to be put in irons for the present. However, Jack told Mesty, and Mesty told the men, that they would be released with a reprimand when they arrived at Gibraltar, so all that the men cared for was a fair wind.Captain Wilson informed Jack that after his joining the admiral he had been sent to Malta with the prizes, and that, supposing the cutter to have been sunk, he had written to his father, acquainting him with his son’s death, at which our hero was much grieved, for he knew what sorrow it would occasion, particularly to his poor mother. “But,” thought Jack, “if she is unhappy for three months, she will be overjoyed for three more when she hears that I am alive, so it will be all square at the end of the six; and as soon as I arrive at Gibraltar I will write, and, as the wind is fair, that will be to-morrow or next day.”After a long conversation Jack was graciously dismissed, Captain Wilson being satisfied from what he had heard that Jack would turn out a very good officer, and had already forgotten all about equality and the rights of man; but there Captain Wilson was mistaken—tares sown in infancy are not so soon rooted out.Jack went on deck as soon as the captain had dismissed him, and found the captain and officers of the Spanish corvette standing aft, looking very seriously at theNostra Señora del Carmen. When they saw our hero, who Captain Wilson had told them was the young officer who had barred their entrance into Carthagena, they turned their eyes upon him not quite so graciously as they might have done.Jack, with his usual politeness, took off his hat to the Spanish captain, and, glad to have an opportunity of sporting his Spanish, expressed the usual wish that he might live a thousand years. The Spanish captain, who had reason to wish that Jack had gone to the devil at least twenty-four hours before, was equally complimentary, and then begged to be informed what the colours were that Jack had hoisted during the action. Jack replied that they were colours to which every Spanish gentleman considered it no disgrace to surrender, although always ready to engage, and frequently at tempting to board. Upon which the Spanish captain was very much puzzled. Captain Wilson, who under stood a little Spanish, then interrupted by observing:“By-the-bye, Mr Easy, what colours did you hoist up? we could not make them out. I see Mr Jolliffe still keeps them up at the peak.”“Yes, sir,” replied Jack, rather puzzled what to call them, but at last he replied that it was the banner of equality and the rights of man.Captain Wilson frowned, and Jack, perceiving that he was displeased, then told him the whole story, whereupon Captain Wilson laughed, and Jack then also explained, in Spanish, to the officers of the corvette, who replied that it was not the first time, and would not be the last, that men had got into a scrape through a petticoat.The Spanish captain complimented Jack on his Spanish, which was really very good (for in two months, with nothing else in the world to do, he had made great progress), and asked him where he had learned it.Jack replied, “At the Zaffarine Islands.”“Zaffarine Isles,” replied the Spanish captain; “they are not inhabited.”“Plenty of ground sharks,” replied Jack.The Spanish captain thought our hero a very strange fellow, to fight under a green silk petticoat, and to take lessons in Spanish from the ground sharks. However, being quite as polite as Jack, he did not contradict him, but took a huge pinch of snuff, wishing from the bottom of his heart that the ground sharks had taken Jack before he had hoisted that confounded green petticoat.However, Jack was in high favour with the captain, and all the ship’s company, with the exception of his four enemies—the master, Vigors, the boatswain, and the purser’s steward. As for Mr Vigors, he had come to his senses again, and had put his colt in his chest until Jack should take another cruise. Little Gossett, at any insulting remark made by Vigors, pointed to the window of the berth and grinned; and the very recollection made Vigors turn pale, and awed him into silence.In two days they arrived at Gibraltar—Mr Sawbridge rejoined the ship—so did Mr Jolliffe—they remained there a fortnight, during which Jack was permitted to be continually on shore—Mr Asper accompanied him, and Jack drew a heavy bill to prove to his father that he was still alive. Mr Sawbridge made our hero relate to him all his adventures, and was so pleased with the conduct of Mesty, that he appointed him to a situation which was particularly suited to him—that of ship’s corporal. Mr Sawbridge knew that it was an office of trust, and provided that he could find a man fit for it, he was very indifferent about his colour. Mesty walked and strutted about, at least three inches taller than he was before. He was always clean, did his duty conscientiously, and seldom used his cane.“I think, Mr Easy,” said the first lieutenant, “that as you are so particularly fond of taking a cruise”—for Jack had told the whole truth—“it might be as well that you improve your navigation.”“I do think myself, sir,” replied Jack, with great modesty, “that I am not yet quite perfect.”“Well, then, Mr Jolliffe will teach you; he is the most competent in this ship: the sooner you ask him the better, and if you learn it as fast as you have Spanish, it will not give you much trouble.”Jack thought the advice good: the next day he was very busy with his friend Jolliffe, and made the important discovery that two parallel lines continued to infinity would never meet.It must not be supposed that Captain Wilson and Mr Sawbridge received their promotion instanter. Promotion is always attended with delay, as there is a certain routine in the service which must not be departed from. Captain Wilson had orders to return to Malta after his cruise. He therefore carried his own despatches away from England—from Malta the despatches had to be forwarded to Toulon to the admiral, and then the admiral had to send to England to the Admiralty, whose reply had to come out again. All this, with the delays arising from vessels not sailing immediately, occupied an interval of between five and six months—during which time there was no alteration in the officers and crew of his Majesty’s sloopHarpy.There had, however, been one alteration; the gunner, Mr Minus, who had charge of the first cutter in the night action in which our hero was separated from his ship, carelessly loading his musket, had found himself minus his right hand, which, upon the musket going off as he rammed down, had gone off too. He was invalided and sent home during Jack’s absence, and another had been appointed, whose name was Tallboys. Mr Tallboys was a stout dumpy man, with red face, and still redder hands; he had red hair and red whiskers, and he had read a good deal—for Mr Tallboys considered that the gunner was the most important personage in the ship. He had once been a captain’s clerk, and having distinguished himself very much in cutting-out service, had applied for and received his warrant as a gunner. He had studied theArt of Gunnery, a part of which he understood, but the remainder was above his comprehension: he continued, however, to read it as before, thinking that by constant reading he should understand it at last. He had gone through the work from the title-page to the finis at least forty times, and had just commenced it over again. He never came on deck without the gunner’s vade-mecum in his pocket, with his hand always upon it to refer to it in a moment.But Mr Tallboys had, as we observed before, a great idea of the importance of a gunner, and, among other qualifications, he considered it absolutely necessary that he should be a navigator. He had at least ten instances to bring forward of bloody actions, in which the captain and all the commissioned officers had been killed or wounded, and the command of the ship had devolved upon the gunner.“Now, sir,” would he say, “if the gunner is no navigator, he is not fit to take charge of his Majesty’s ships. The boatswain and carpenter are merely practical men; but the gunner, sir, is, or ought to be, scientific. Gunnery, sir, is a science—we have our own disparts and our lines of sight—our windage and our parabolas and projectile forces—and our point blank, and our reduction of powder upon a graduated scale. Now, sir, there’s no excuse for a gunner not being a navigator; for knowing his duty as a gunner, he has the same mathematical tools to work with.” Upon this principle Mr Tallboys had added John Hamilton Moore to his library, and had advanced about as far into navigation as he had in gunnery, that is, to the threshold, where he stuck fast, with all his mathematical tools, which he did not know how to use. To do him justice, he studied for two or three hours everyday, and it was not his fault if he did not advance—but his head was confused with technical terms; he mixed all up together, and disparts, sines and cosines, parabolas, tangents, windage, seconds, lines of sight, logarithms, projectiles and traverse sailing, quadrature and Gunter’s scales, were all crowded together, in a brain which had not capacity to receive the rule of three. “Too much learning,” said Festus to the apostle, “hath made thee mad.” Mr Tallboys had not wit enough to go mad, but his learning lay like lead upon his brain: the more he read, the less he understood, at the same time that he became more satisfied with his supposed acquirements, and could not speak but in “mathematical parables.”“I understand, Mr Easy,” said the gunner to him one day, after they had sailed for Malta, “that you have entered into the science of navigation—at your age it was high time.”“Yes,” replied Jack, “I can raise a perpendicular, at all events, and box the compass.”“Yes, but you have not yet arrived at the dispart of the compass.”“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.“Are you aware that a ship sailing describes a parabola round the globe?”“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.“And that any propelled body striking against another flies off at a tangent?”“Very likely,” replied Jack, “that is asinethat he don’t like it.”“You have not yet entered intoacutetrigonometry?”“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.“That will require very sharp attention.”“I should think so,” replied Jack.“You will then find out how your parallels of longitude and latitude meet.”“Two parallel lines, if continued to infinity, will never meet,” replied Jack.“I beg your pardon,” said the gunner.“I beg yours,” said Jack.Whereupon Mr Tallboys brought up a small map of the world, and showed Jack that all the parallels of latitude met at a point at the top and bottom.“Parallel lines never meet,” replied Jack, producing Hamilton Moore.Whereupon Jack and the gunner argued the point, until it was agreed to refer the case to Mr Jolliffe, who asserted, with a smile, that those lines were parallels and not parallels.As both were right, both were satisfied.It was fortunate that Jack would argue in this instance: had he believed all the confused assertions of the gunner, he would have been as puzzled as the gunner himself. They never met without an argument and a reference, and as Jack was put right in the end, he only learned the faster. By the time that he did know something about navigation he discovered that his antagonist knew nothing. Before they arrived at Malta Jack could fudge a day’s work.But at Malta Jack got into another scrape. Although Mr Smallsole could not injure him, he was still Jack’s enemy; the more so as Jack had become very popular: Vigors also submitted, planning revenge; but the parties in this instance were the boatswain and purser’s steward. Jack still continued his forecastle conversation with Mesty; and the boatswain and purser’s steward, probably from their respective ill-will towards our hero, had become great allies. Mr Easthupp now put on his best jacket to walk the dog-watches with Mr Biggs, and they took every opportunity to talk at our hero.“It’s my peculiar hopinion,” said Mr Easthupp, one evening, pulling at the frill of his shirt, “that a gentleman should behave as a gentleman, and that if a gentleman professes hopinions of hequality and such liberal sentiments, that he is bound as a gentlemen to hact up to them.”“Very true, Mr Easthupp; he is bound to act up to them; and not because a person, who was a gentleman as well as himself, happens not to be on the quarter-deck, to insult him because he only has perfessed opinions like his own.”Hereupon Mr Biggs struck his rattan against the funnel, and looked at our hero.“Yes,” continued the purser’s steward, “I should like to see the fellow who would have done so on shore however, the time will come when I can hagain pull on my plain coat, and then the insult shall be vashed out in blood, Mr Biggs.”“And I’ll be cursed if I don’t some day teach a lesson to the blackguard who stole my trousers.”“Vas hall your money right, Mr Biggs?” inquired the purser’s steward.“I didn’t count,” replied the boatswain magnificently.“No—gentlemen are above that,” replied Easthupp; “but there are many light-fingered gentry habout. The quantity of vatches and harticles of value vich were lost ven I valked Bond Street in former times is incredible.”“I can say this, at all events,” replied the boatswain, “that I should be always ready to give satisfaction to any person beneath me in rank, after I had insulted him. I don’t stand upon my rank, although I don’t talk about equality, damme—no, nor consort with niggers.” All this was too plain for our hero not to understand, so Jack walked up to the boatswain, and taking his hat off, with the utmost politeness, said to him:“If I mistake not, Mr Biggs, your conversation refers to me.”“Very likely it does,” replied the boatswain. “Listeners hear no good of themselves.”“It appears that gentlemen can’t converse without being vatched,” continued Mr Easthupp, pulling up his shirt-collar.“It is not the first time that you have thought proper to make very offensive remarks, Mr Biggs; and as you appear to consider yourself ill-treated in the affair of the trousers, for I tell you at once, that it was I who brought them on board, I can only say,” continued our hero, with a very polite bow, “that I shall be most happy to give you satisfaction.”“I am your superior officer, Mr Easy,” replied the boatswain.“Yes, by the rules of the service; but you just now asserted that you would waive your rank—indeed, I dispute it on this occasion; I am on the quarter-deck, and you are not.”“This is the gentleman whom you have insulted, Mr Easy,” replied the boatswain, pointing to the purser’s steward.“Yes, Mr Heasy, quite as good a gentleman as yourself, although I av ad misfortune—I ham of as hold a family as hany in the country,” replied Mr Easthupp, now backed by the boatswain; “many the year did I valk Bond Street, and I ave as good blood in my weins as you, Mr Heasy, halthough I have been misfortunate—I’ve had hadmirals in my family.”“You have grossly insulted this gentleman,” said Mr Biggs, in continuation; “and notwithstanding all your talk of equality, you are afraid to give him satisfaction—you shelter yourself under your quarter-deck.”“Mr Biggs,” replied our hero, who was now very wroth, “I shall go on shore directly we arrive at Malta. Let you, and this fellow, put on plain clothes, and I will meet you both—and then I’ll show you whether I am afraid to give satisfaction.”“One at a time,” said the boatswain.“No, sir, not one at a time, but both at the same time—I will fight both or none. If you are my superior officer, you mustdescend,” replied Jack, with an ironical sneer, “to meet me, or I will not descend to meet that fellow, whom I believe to have been little better than a pickpocket.”This accidental hit of Jack’s made the purser’s steward turn pale as a sheet, and then equally red. He raved and foamed amazingly, although he could not meet Jack’s indignant look, who then turned round again.“Now, Mr Biggs, is this to be understood, or do you shelter yourself under yourforecastle?”“I’m no dodger,” replied the boatswain, “and we will settle the affair at Malta.”At which reply Jack returned to Mesty.“Massa Easy, I look at um face, dat feller, Eastop, he no like it. I go shore wid you, see fair play, anyhow—suppose I can?”Mr Biggs having declared that he would fight, of course had to look out for a second, and he fixed upon Mr Tallboys, the gunner, and requested him to be his friend. Mr Tallboys, who had been latterly very much annoyed by Jack’s victories over him in the science of navigation, and therefore felt ill-will towards him, consented; but he was very much puzzled how to arrange thatthreewere to fight at the same time, for he had no idea of there being two duels; so he went to his cabin and commenced reading. Jack, on the other hand, dared not say a word to Jolliffe on the subject: indeed, there was no one in the ship to whom he could confide but Gascoigne: he therefore went to him, and although Gascoigne thought it was excessivelyinfra digof Jack to meet even the boatswain, as the challenge had been given there was no retracting: he therefore consented, like all midshipmen, anticipating fun, and quite thoughtless of the consequences.The second day after they had been anchored in Vallette harbour, the boatswain and gunner, Jack and Gascoigne, obtained permission to go on shore. Mr Easthupp, the purser’s steward, dressed in his best blue coat with brass buttons and velvet collar, the very one in which he had been taken up when he had been vowing and protesting that he was a gentleman, at the very time that his hand was abstracting a pocket book, went up on the quarter-deck, and requested the same indulgence, but Mr Sawbridge refused, as he required him to return staves and hoops at the cooperage. Mesty also, much to his mortification, was not to be spared.This was awkward, but it was got over by proposing that the meeting should take place behind the cooperage at a certain hour, on which Mr Easthupp might slip out and borrow a portion of the time appropriated to his duty, to heal the breach in his wounded honour. So the parties all went on shore, and put up at one of the small inns to make the necessary arrangements.Mr Tallboys then addressed Mr Gascoigne, taking him apart while the boatswain amused himself with a glass of grog, and our hero sat outside teasing a monkey.“Mr Gascoigne,” said the gunner, “I have been very much puzzled how this duel should be fought, but I have at last found it out. You see that there arethreeparties to fight; had there been two or four there would have been no difficulty, as the right line or square might guide us in that instance; but we must arrange it upon thetrianglein this.”Gascoigne stared; he could not imagine what was coming.“Are you aware, Mr Gascoigne, of the properties of an equilateral triangle?”“Yes,” replied the midshipman, “that it has three equal sides—but what the devil has that to do with the duel?”“Everything, Mr Gascoigne,” replied the gunner; “it has resolved the great difficulty: indeed, the duel between three can only be fought upon that principle. You observe,” said the gunner, taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and making a triangle on the table, “in this figure we have three points, each equidistant from each other; and we have three combatants—so that placing one at each point, it is all fair play for the three: Mr Easy, for instance, stands here, the boatswain here, and the purser’s steward at the third corner. Now, if the distance is fairly measured, it will be all right.”“But then,” replied Gascoigne, delighted at the idea, “how are they to fire?”“It certainly is not of much consequence,” replied the gunner, “but still, as sailors, it appears to me that they should fire with the sun; that is, Mr Easy fires at Mr Biggs, Mr Biggs fires at Mr Easthupp, and Mr Easthupp fires at Mr Easy, so that you perceive that each party has his shot at one, and at the same time receives the fire of another.”Gascoigne was in ecstasies at the novelty of the proceeding, the more so as he perceived that Easy obtained every advantage by the arrangement.“Upon my word, Mr Tallboys, I give you great credit; you have a profound mathematical head, and I am delighted with your arrangement. Of course, in these affairs, the principals are bound to comply with the arrangements of the seconds, and I shall insist upon Mr Easy consenting to your excellent and scientific proposal.”Gascoigne went out, and pulling Jack away from the monkey, told him what the gunner had proposed, at which Jack laughed heartily.The gunner also explained it to the boatswain, who did not very well comprehend, but replied:“I dare say it’s all right—shot for shot, and damn all favours.”The parties then repaired to the spot with two pairs of ship’s pistols, which Mr Tallboys had smuggled on shore; and, as soon as they were on the ground, the gunner called Mr Easthupp out of the cooperage. In the meantime, Gascoigne had been measuring an equilateral triangle of twelve paces—and marked it out. Mr Tallboys, on his return with the purser’s steward, went over the ground, and finding that it was “equal angles subtended by equal sides,” declared that it was all right. Easy took his station, the boatswain was put into his, and Mr Easthupp, who was quite in a mystery, was led by the gunner to the third position.“But, Mr Tallboys,” said the purser’s steward, “I don’t understand this. Mr Easy will first fight Mr Biggs, will he not?”“No,” replied the gunner, “this is a duel of three. You will fire at Mr Easy, Mr Easy will fire at Mr Biggs, and Mr Biggs will fire at you. It is all arranged, Mr Easthupp.”“But,” said Mr Easthupp, “I do not understand it. Why is Mr Biggs to fire at me? I have no quarrel with Mr Biggs.”“Because Mr Easy fires at Mr Biggs, and Mr Biggs must have his shot as well.”“If you have ever been in the company of gentlemen, Mr Easthupp,” observed Gascoigne, “you must know something about duelling.”“Yes, yes, I’ve kept the best company, Mr Gascoigne, and I can give a gentleman satisfaction; but—”“Then, sir, if that is the case, you must know that your honour is in the hands of your second, and that no gentleman appeals.”“Yes, yes, I know that, Mr Gascoigne; but still I’ve no quarrel with Mr Biggs, and therefore, Mr Biggs, of course you will not aim at me.”“Why, you don’t think that I’m going to be fired at for nothing,” replied the boatswain; “no, no, I’ll have my shot anyhow.”“But at your friend, Mr Biggs?”“All the same, I shall fire at somebody; shot for shot, and hit the luckiest.”“Vel, gentlemen, I purtest against these proceedings,” replied Mr Easthupp; “I came here to have satisfaction from Mr Easy, and not to be fired at by Mr Biggs.”“Don’t you have satisfaction when you fire at Mr Easy,” replied the gunner; “what more would you have?”“I purtest against Mr Biggs firing at me.”“So you would have a shot without receiving one,” cried Gascoigne: “the fact is, that this fellow’s a confounded coward, and ought to be kicked into the cooperage again.”At this affront Mr Easthupp rallied, and accepted the pistol offered by the gunner.“You ear those words, Mr Biggs; pretty language to use to a gentleman. You shall ear from me, sir, as soon as the ship is paid off. I purtest no longer, Mr Tallboys; death before dishonour. I’m a gentleman, damme!”At all events, the swell was not a very courageous gentleman, for he trembled most exceedingly as he pointed his pistol.The gunner gave the word, as if he were exercising the great guns on board ship.“Cock your locks!”—“Take good aim at the object!”—“Fire!”—“Stop your vents!”The only one of the combatants who appeared to comply with the latter supplementary order was Mr Easthupp, who clapped his hand to his trousers behind, gave a loud yell, and then dropped down: the bullet having passed clean through his seat of honour, from his having presented his broadside as a target to the boatswain as he faced towards our hero. Jack’s shot had also taken effect, having passed through both the boatswain’s cheeks, without further mischief than extracting two of his best upper double teeth, and forcing through the hole of the farther cheek the boatswain’s own quid of tobacco. As for Mr Easthupp’s ball, as he was very unsettled, and shut his eyes before he fired, it had gone the Lord knows where.The purser’s steward lay on the ground and screamed—the boatswain spit his double teeth and two or three mouthfuls of blood out, and then threw down his pistols in a rage.“A pretty business, by God,” sputtered he; “he’s put my pipe out. How the devil am I to pipe to dinner when I’m ordered, all my wind ’scaping through the cheeks?”In the meantime, the others had gone to the assistance of the purser’s steward, who continued his vociferations. They examined him, and considered a wound in that part not to be dangerous.“Hold your confounded bawling,” cried the gunner, “or you’ll have the guard down here: you’re not hurt.”“Han’t hi?” roared the steward. “Oh, let me die, let me die; don’t move me!”“Nonsense,” cried the gunner, “you must get up and walk down to the boat; if you don’t we’ll leave you—hold your tongue, confound you. You won’t? then I’ll give you something to halloo for.”Whereupon Mr Tallboys commenced cuffing the poor wretch right and left, who received so many swinging boxes of the ear, that he was soon reduced to merely pitiful plaints of “Oh, dear!—such inhumanity—I purtest—oh, dear! must I get up? I can’t, indeed.”“I do not think he can move, Mr Tallboys,” said Gascoigne; “I should think the best plan would be to call up two of the men from the cooperage, and let them take him at once to the hospital.”The gunner went down to the cooperage to call the men. Mr Biggs, who had bound up his face as if he had a toothache for the bleeding had been very slight, came up to the purser’s steward.“What the hell are you making such a howling about? Look at me, with two shot-holes through my figure-head, while you have only got one in your stern: I wish I could change with you, by heavens, for I could use my whistle then—now if I attempt to pipe, there will be such a wasteful expenditure of his Majesty’s stores of wind, that I never shall get out a note. A wicked shot of yours, Mr Easy.”“I really am very sorry,” replied Jack, with a polite bow, “and I beg to offer my best apology.”During this conversation, the purser’s steward felt very faint, and thought he was going to die.“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a fool I was; I never was a gentleman—only a swell: I shall die; I never will pick a pocket again—never—never—God forgive me!”“Why, confound the fellow,” cried Gascoigne, “so you were a pickpocket, were you?”“I never will again,” replied the fellow, in a faint voice: “Hi’ll hamend and lead a good life—a drop of water—oh!laggedat last!”Then the poor wretch fainted away: and Tallboys coming up with the men, he was taken on their shoulders and walked off to the hospital, attended by the gunner and also the boatswain, who thought he might as well have a little medical advice before he went on board.“Well, Easy,” said Gascoigne, collecting the pistols and tying them up in his handkerchief, “I’ll be shot, but we’re in a pretty scrape; there’s no hushing this up. I’ll be hanged if I care, it’s the best piece of fun I ever met with.” And at the remembrance of it Gascoigne laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Jack’s mirth was not quite so excessive, as he was afraid that the purser’s steward was severely hurt, and expressed his fears.“At all events, you did not hit him,” replied Gascoigne; “all you have to answer for is the boatswains’s mug—I think you’ve stopped his jaw for the future.”“I’m afraid that our leave will be stopped for the future,” replied Jack.“That we may take our oaths of,” replied Gascoigne.“Then look you, Ned,” said Easy; “I’ve lots of dollars; we may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, as the saying is; I vote that we do not go on board.”“Sawbridge will send and fetch us,” replied Ned; “but he must find us first.”“That won’t take long, for the soldiers will soon have our description and rout us out—we shall be pinned in a couple of days.”“Confound it, and they say that the ship is to be hove down, and that we shall be here six weeks at least, cooped up on board in a broiling sun, and nothing to do but to watch the pilot fish playing round the rudder, and munch bad apricots. I won’t go on board; look ye, Jack,” said Gascoigne, “have you plenty of money?”“I have twenty doubloons, besides dollars,” replied Jack.“Well, then we will pretend to be so much alarmed at the result of this duel, that we dare not show ourselves, lest we should be hung. I will write a note, and send it to Jolliffe, to say that we have hid ourselves until the affair is blown over, and beg him to intercede with the captain and first lieutenant. I will tell him all the particulars, and refer to the gunner for the truth of it; and then I know that, although we should be punished, they will only laugh; but I will pretend that Easthupp is killed, and we are frightened out of our lives. That will be it; and then let’s get on board one of the speronares which come with fruit from Sicily, sail in the night for Palermo, and then we’ll have a cruise for a fortnight, and when the money is all gone we’ll come back.”“That’s a capital idea, Ned, and the sooner we do it the better. I will write to the captain, begging him to get me off from being hung, and telling him where we have fled to, and that letter shall be given after we have sailed.”They were two very nice lads—our hero and Gascoigne.
As Captain Wilson truly said, he was too busy even to hear Jack’s story that night, for they were anxious to have both vessels ready to make sail as soon as a breeze should spring up, for the Spaniards had vessels of war at Carthagena, which was not ten miles off, and had known the result of the action: it was therefore necessary to change their position as soon as possible. Mr Sawbridge was on board the prize, which was a corvette mounting two guns more than theHarpy, and called theCacafuogo.
She had escaped from Cadiz, run through the straits in the night, and was three miles from Carthagena when she was captured, which she certainly never would have been but for Jack’s fortunately blundering against the cape with his armed vessel, so that Captain Wilson and Mr Sawbridge (both of whom were promoted, the first to the rank of post-captain, the second to that of commander), may be said to be indebted to Jack for their good fortune. TheHarpyhad lost nineteen men, killed and wounded, and the Spanish corvette forty-seven. Altogether, it was a very creditable affair.
At two o’clock in the morning, the vessels were ready, everything had been done that could be done in so short a time, and they stood under easy sail during the night for Gibraltar, theNostra Señora del Carmen, under the charge of Jolliffe, keeping company. Jolliffe had the advantage over his shipmates, of first hearing Jack’s adventures, with which he was much astonished as well as amused—even Captain Wilson was not more happy to see Jack than was the worthy master’s mate. About nine o’clock theHarpyhove-to, and sent a boat on board for our hero and the men who had been so long with him in the prize, and then hoisted out the pinnace to fetch on board the dollars, which were of more importance. Jack, as he bade adieu to Jolliffe, took out of his pocket and presented him with thearticles of war, which, as they had been so useful to him, he thought Jolliffe could not do without, and then went down the side: the men were already in the boat, casting imploring looks upon Jack, to raise feelings of compassion, and Mesty took his seat by our hero in a very sulky humour, probably because he did not like the idea of having again “to boil de kettle for de young gentlemen.” Even Jack felt a little melancholy at resigning his command, and he looked back at the green petticoat, which blew out gracefully from the mast, for Jolliffe had determined that he would not haul down the colours under which Jack had fought so gallant an action.
Jack’s narration, as may be imagined, occupied a large part of the forenoon; and, although Jack did not attempt to deny that he had seen the recall signal of Mr Sawbridge, yet, as his account went on, the captain became so interested that at the end of it he quite forgot to point out to Jack the impropriety of not obeying orders. He gave Jack great credit for his conduct, and was also much pleased with that of Mesty. Jack took the opportunity of stating Mesty’s aversion to his present employment, and his recommendation was graciously received. Jack also succeeded in obtaining the pardon of the men, in consideration of their subsequent good behaviour; but notwithstanding this promise on the part of Captain Wilson, they were ordered to be put in irons for the present. However, Jack told Mesty, and Mesty told the men, that they would be released with a reprimand when they arrived at Gibraltar, so all that the men cared for was a fair wind.
Captain Wilson informed Jack that after his joining the admiral he had been sent to Malta with the prizes, and that, supposing the cutter to have been sunk, he had written to his father, acquainting him with his son’s death, at which our hero was much grieved, for he knew what sorrow it would occasion, particularly to his poor mother. “But,” thought Jack, “if she is unhappy for three months, she will be overjoyed for three more when she hears that I am alive, so it will be all square at the end of the six; and as soon as I arrive at Gibraltar I will write, and, as the wind is fair, that will be to-morrow or next day.”
After a long conversation Jack was graciously dismissed, Captain Wilson being satisfied from what he had heard that Jack would turn out a very good officer, and had already forgotten all about equality and the rights of man; but there Captain Wilson was mistaken—tares sown in infancy are not so soon rooted out.
Jack went on deck as soon as the captain had dismissed him, and found the captain and officers of the Spanish corvette standing aft, looking very seriously at theNostra Señora del Carmen. When they saw our hero, who Captain Wilson had told them was the young officer who had barred their entrance into Carthagena, they turned their eyes upon him not quite so graciously as they might have done.
Jack, with his usual politeness, took off his hat to the Spanish captain, and, glad to have an opportunity of sporting his Spanish, expressed the usual wish that he might live a thousand years. The Spanish captain, who had reason to wish that Jack had gone to the devil at least twenty-four hours before, was equally complimentary, and then begged to be informed what the colours were that Jack had hoisted during the action. Jack replied that they were colours to which every Spanish gentleman considered it no disgrace to surrender, although always ready to engage, and frequently at tempting to board. Upon which the Spanish captain was very much puzzled. Captain Wilson, who under stood a little Spanish, then interrupted by observing:
“By-the-bye, Mr Easy, what colours did you hoist up? we could not make them out. I see Mr Jolliffe still keeps them up at the peak.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jack, rather puzzled what to call them, but at last he replied that it was the banner of equality and the rights of man.
Captain Wilson frowned, and Jack, perceiving that he was displeased, then told him the whole story, whereupon Captain Wilson laughed, and Jack then also explained, in Spanish, to the officers of the corvette, who replied that it was not the first time, and would not be the last, that men had got into a scrape through a petticoat.
The Spanish captain complimented Jack on his Spanish, which was really very good (for in two months, with nothing else in the world to do, he had made great progress), and asked him where he had learned it.
Jack replied, “At the Zaffarine Islands.”
“Zaffarine Isles,” replied the Spanish captain; “they are not inhabited.”
“Plenty of ground sharks,” replied Jack.
The Spanish captain thought our hero a very strange fellow, to fight under a green silk petticoat, and to take lessons in Spanish from the ground sharks. However, being quite as polite as Jack, he did not contradict him, but took a huge pinch of snuff, wishing from the bottom of his heart that the ground sharks had taken Jack before he had hoisted that confounded green petticoat.
However, Jack was in high favour with the captain, and all the ship’s company, with the exception of his four enemies—the master, Vigors, the boatswain, and the purser’s steward. As for Mr Vigors, he had come to his senses again, and had put his colt in his chest until Jack should take another cruise. Little Gossett, at any insulting remark made by Vigors, pointed to the window of the berth and grinned; and the very recollection made Vigors turn pale, and awed him into silence.
In two days they arrived at Gibraltar—Mr Sawbridge rejoined the ship—so did Mr Jolliffe—they remained there a fortnight, during which Jack was permitted to be continually on shore—Mr Asper accompanied him, and Jack drew a heavy bill to prove to his father that he was still alive. Mr Sawbridge made our hero relate to him all his adventures, and was so pleased with the conduct of Mesty, that he appointed him to a situation which was particularly suited to him—that of ship’s corporal. Mr Sawbridge knew that it was an office of trust, and provided that he could find a man fit for it, he was very indifferent about his colour. Mesty walked and strutted about, at least three inches taller than he was before. He was always clean, did his duty conscientiously, and seldom used his cane.
“I think, Mr Easy,” said the first lieutenant, “that as you are so particularly fond of taking a cruise”—for Jack had told the whole truth—“it might be as well that you improve your navigation.”
“I do think myself, sir,” replied Jack, with great modesty, “that I am not yet quite perfect.”
“Well, then, Mr Jolliffe will teach you; he is the most competent in this ship: the sooner you ask him the better, and if you learn it as fast as you have Spanish, it will not give you much trouble.”
Jack thought the advice good: the next day he was very busy with his friend Jolliffe, and made the important discovery that two parallel lines continued to infinity would never meet.
It must not be supposed that Captain Wilson and Mr Sawbridge received their promotion instanter. Promotion is always attended with delay, as there is a certain routine in the service which must not be departed from. Captain Wilson had orders to return to Malta after his cruise. He therefore carried his own despatches away from England—from Malta the despatches had to be forwarded to Toulon to the admiral, and then the admiral had to send to England to the Admiralty, whose reply had to come out again. All this, with the delays arising from vessels not sailing immediately, occupied an interval of between five and six months—during which time there was no alteration in the officers and crew of his Majesty’s sloopHarpy.
There had, however, been one alteration; the gunner, Mr Minus, who had charge of the first cutter in the night action in which our hero was separated from his ship, carelessly loading his musket, had found himself minus his right hand, which, upon the musket going off as he rammed down, had gone off too. He was invalided and sent home during Jack’s absence, and another had been appointed, whose name was Tallboys. Mr Tallboys was a stout dumpy man, with red face, and still redder hands; he had red hair and red whiskers, and he had read a good deal—for Mr Tallboys considered that the gunner was the most important personage in the ship. He had once been a captain’s clerk, and having distinguished himself very much in cutting-out service, had applied for and received his warrant as a gunner. He had studied theArt of Gunnery, a part of which he understood, but the remainder was above his comprehension: he continued, however, to read it as before, thinking that by constant reading he should understand it at last. He had gone through the work from the title-page to the finis at least forty times, and had just commenced it over again. He never came on deck without the gunner’s vade-mecum in his pocket, with his hand always upon it to refer to it in a moment.
But Mr Tallboys had, as we observed before, a great idea of the importance of a gunner, and, among other qualifications, he considered it absolutely necessary that he should be a navigator. He had at least ten instances to bring forward of bloody actions, in which the captain and all the commissioned officers had been killed or wounded, and the command of the ship had devolved upon the gunner.
“Now, sir,” would he say, “if the gunner is no navigator, he is not fit to take charge of his Majesty’s ships. The boatswain and carpenter are merely practical men; but the gunner, sir, is, or ought to be, scientific. Gunnery, sir, is a science—we have our own disparts and our lines of sight—our windage and our parabolas and projectile forces—and our point blank, and our reduction of powder upon a graduated scale. Now, sir, there’s no excuse for a gunner not being a navigator; for knowing his duty as a gunner, he has the same mathematical tools to work with.” Upon this principle Mr Tallboys had added John Hamilton Moore to his library, and had advanced about as far into navigation as he had in gunnery, that is, to the threshold, where he stuck fast, with all his mathematical tools, which he did not know how to use. To do him justice, he studied for two or three hours everyday, and it was not his fault if he did not advance—but his head was confused with technical terms; he mixed all up together, and disparts, sines and cosines, parabolas, tangents, windage, seconds, lines of sight, logarithms, projectiles and traverse sailing, quadrature and Gunter’s scales, were all crowded together, in a brain which had not capacity to receive the rule of three. “Too much learning,” said Festus to the apostle, “hath made thee mad.” Mr Tallboys had not wit enough to go mad, but his learning lay like lead upon his brain: the more he read, the less he understood, at the same time that he became more satisfied with his supposed acquirements, and could not speak but in “mathematical parables.”
“I understand, Mr Easy,” said the gunner to him one day, after they had sailed for Malta, “that you have entered into the science of navigation—at your age it was high time.”
“Yes,” replied Jack, “I can raise a perpendicular, at all events, and box the compass.”
“Yes, but you have not yet arrived at the dispart of the compass.”
“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.
“Are you aware that a ship sailing describes a parabola round the globe?”
“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.
“And that any propelled body striking against another flies off at a tangent?”
“Very likely,” replied Jack, “that is asinethat he don’t like it.”
“You have not yet entered intoacutetrigonometry?”
“Not come to that yet,” replied Jack.
“That will require very sharp attention.”
“I should think so,” replied Jack.
“You will then find out how your parallels of longitude and latitude meet.”
“Two parallel lines, if continued to infinity, will never meet,” replied Jack.
“I beg your pardon,” said the gunner.
“I beg yours,” said Jack.
Whereupon Mr Tallboys brought up a small map of the world, and showed Jack that all the parallels of latitude met at a point at the top and bottom.
“Parallel lines never meet,” replied Jack, producing Hamilton Moore.
Whereupon Jack and the gunner argued the point, until it was agreed to refer the case to Mr Jolliffe, who asserted, with a smile, that those lines were parallels and not parallels.
As both were right, both were satisfied.
It was fortunate that Jack would argue in this instance: had he believed all the confused assertions of the gunner, he would have been as puzzled as the gunner himself. They never met without an argument and a reference, and as Jack was put right in the end, he only learned the faster. By the time that he did know something about navigation he discovered that his antagonist knew nothing. Before they arrived at Malta Jack could fudge a day’s work.
But at Malta Jack got into another scrape. Although Mr Smallsole could not injure him, he was still Jack’s enemy; the more so as Jack had become very popular: Vigors also submitted, planning revenge; but the parties in this instance were the boatswain and purser’s steward. Jack still continued his forecastle conversation with Mesty; and the boatswain and purser’s steward, probably from their respective ill-will towards our hero, had become great allies. Mr Easthupp now put on his best jacket to walk the dog-watches with Mr Biggs, and they took every opportunity to talk at our hero.
“It’s my peculiar hopinion,” said Mr Easthupp, one evening, pulling at the frill of his shirt, “that a gentleman should behave as a gentleman, and that if a gentleman professes hopinions of hequality and such liberal sentiments, that he is bound as a gentlemen to hact up to them.”
“Very true, Mr Easthupp; he is bound to act up to them; and not because a person, who was a gentleman as well as himself, happens not to be on the quarter-deck, to insult him because he only has perfessed opinions like his own.”
Hereupon Mr Biggs struck his rattan against the funnel, and looked at our hero.
“Yes,” continued the purser’s steward, “I should like to see the fellow who would have done so on shore however, the time will come when I can hagain pull on my plain coat, and then the insult shall be vashed out in blood, Mr Biggs.”
“And I’ll be cursed if I don’t some day teach a lesson to the blackguard who stole my trousers.”
“Vas hall your money right, Mr Biggs?” inquired the purser’s steward.
“I didn’t count,” replied the boatswain magnificently.
“No—gentlemen are above that,” replied Easthupp; “but there are many light-fingered gentry habout. The quantity of vatches and harticles of value vich were lost ven I valked Bond Street in former times is incredible.”
“I can say this, at all events,” replied the boatswain, “that I should be always ready to give satisfaction to any person beneath me in rank, after I had insulted him. I don’t stand upon my rank, although I don’t talk about equality, damme—no, nor consort with niggers.” All this was too plain for our hero not to understand, so Jack walked up to the boatswain, and taking his hat off, with the utmost politeness, said to him:
“If I mistake not, Mr Biggs, your conversation refers to me.”
“Very likely it does,” replied the boatswain. “Listeners hear no good of themselves.”
“It appears that gentlemen can’t converse without being vatched,” continued Mr Easthupp, pulling up his shirt-collar.
“It is not the first time that you have thought proper to make very offensive remarks, Mr Biggs; and as you appear to consider yourself ill-treated in the affair of the trousers, for I tell you at once, that it was I who brought them on board, I can only say,” continued our hero, with a very polite bow, “that I shall be most happy to give you satisfaction.”
“I am your superior officer, Mr Easy,” replied the boatswain.
“Yes, by the rules of the service; but you just now asserted that you would waive your rank—indeed, I dispute it on this occasion; I am on the quarter-deck, and you are not.”
“This is the gentleman whom you have insulted, Mr Easy,” replied the boatswain, pointing to the purser’s steward.
“Yes, Mr Heasy, quite as good a gentleman as yourself, although I av ad misfortune—I ham of as hold a family as hany in the country,” replied Mr Easthupp, now backed by the boatswain; “many the year did I valk Bond Street, and I ave as good blood in my weins as you, Mr Heasy, halthough I have been misfortunate—I’ve had hadmirals in my family.”
“You have grossly insulted this gentleman,” said Mr Biggs, in continuation; “and notwithstanding all your talk of equality, you are afraid to give him satisfaction—you shelter yourself under your quarter-deck.”
“Mr Biggs,” replied our hero, who was now very wroth, “I shall go on shore directly we arrive at Malta. Let you, and this fellow, put on plain clothes, and I will meet you both—and then I’ll show you whether I am afraid to give satisfaction.”
“One at a time,” said the boatswain.
“No, sir, not one at a time, but both at the same time—I will fight both or none. If you are my superior officer, you mustdescend,” replied Jack, with an ironical sneer, “to meet me, or I will not descend to meet that fellow, whom I believe to have been little better than a pickpocket.”
This accidental hit of Jack’s made the purser’s steward turn pale as a sheet, and then equally red. He raved and foamed amazingly, although he could not meet Jack’s indignant look, who then turned round again.
“Now, Mr Biggs, is this to be understood, or do you shelter yourself under yourforecastle?”
“I’m no dodger,” replied the boatswain, “and we will settle the affair at Malta.”
At which reply Jack returned to Mesty.
“Massa Easy, I look at um face, dat feller, Eastop, he no like it. I go shore wid you, see fair play, anyhow—suppose I can?”
Mr Biggs having declared that he would fight, of course had to look out for a second, and he fixed upon Mr Tallboys, the gunner, and requested him to be his friend. Mr Tallboys, who had been latterly very much annoyed by Jack’s victories over him in the science of navigation, and therefore felt ill-will towards him, consented; but he was very much puzzled how to arrange thatthreewere to fight at the same time, for he had no idea of there being two duels; so he went to his cabin and commenced reading. Jack, on the other hand, dared not say a word to Jolliffe on the subject: indeed, there was no one in the ship to whom he could confide but Gascoigne: he therefore went to him, and although Gascoigne thought it was excessivelyinfra digof Jack to meet even the boatswain, as the challenge had been given there was no retracting: he therefore consented, like all midshipmen, anticipating fun, and quite thoughtless of the consequences.
The second day after they had been anchored in Vallette harbour, the boatswain and gunner, Jack and Gascoigne, obtained permission to go on shore. Mr Easthupp, the purser’s steward, dressed in his best blue coat with brass buttons and velvet collar, the very one in which he had been taken up when he had been vowing and protesting that he was a gentleman, at the very time that his hand was abstracting a pocket book, went up on the quarter-deck, and requested the same indulgence, but Mr Sawbridge refused, as he required him to return staves and hoops at the cooperage. Mesty also, much to his mortification, was not to be spared.
This was awkward, but it was got over by proposing that the meeting should take place behind the cooperage at a certain hour, on which Mr Easthupp might slip out and borrow a portion of the time appropriated to his duty, to heal the breach in his wounded honour. So the parties all went on shore, and put up at one of the small inns to make the necessary arrangements.
Mr Tallboys then addressed Mr Gascoigne, taking him apart while the boatswain amused himself with a glass of grog, and our hero sat outside teasing a monkey.
“Mr Gascoigne,” said the gunner, “I have been very much puzzled how this duel should be fought, but I have at last found it out. You see that there arethreeparties to fight; had there been two or four there would have been no difficulty, as the right line or square might guide us in that instance; but we must arrange it upon thetrianglein this.”
Gascoigne stared; he could not imagine what was coming.
“Are you aware, Mr Gascoigne, of the properties of an equilateral triangle?”
“Yes,” replied the midshipman, “that it has three equal sides—but what the devil has that to do with the duel?”
“Everything, Mr Gascoigne,” replied the gunner; “it has resolved the great difficulty: indeed, the duel between three can only be fought upon that principle. You observe,” said the gunner, taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and making a triangle on the table, “in this figure we have three points, each equidistant from each other; and we have three combatants—so that placing one at each point, it is all fair play for the three: Mr Easy, for instance, stands here, the boatswain here, and the purser’s steward at the third corner. Now, if the distance is fairly measured, it will be all right.”
“But then,” replied Gascoigne, delighted at the idea, “how are they to fire?”
“It certainly is not of much consequence,” replied the gunner, “but still, as sailors, it appears to me that they should fire with the sun; that is, Mr Easy fires at Mr Biggs, Mr Biggs fires at Mr Easthupp, and Mr Easthupp fires at Mr Easy, so that you perceive that each party has his shot at one, and at the same time receives the fire of another.”
Gascoigne was in ecstasies at the novelty of the proceeding, the more so as he perceived that Easy obtained every advantage by the arrangement.
“Upon my word, Mr Tallboys, I give you great credit; you have a profound mathematical head, and I am delighted with your arrangement. Of course, in these affairs, the principals are bound to comply with the arrangements of the seconds, and I shall insist upon Mr Easy consenting to your excellent and scientific proposal.”
Gascoigne went out, and pulling Jack away from the monkey, told him what the gunner had proposed, at which Jack laughed heartily.
The gunner also explained it to the boatswain, who did not very well comprehend, but replied:
“I dare say it’s all right—shot for shot, and damn all favours.”
The parties then repaired to the spot with two pairs of ship’s pistols, which Mr Tallboys had smuggled on shore; and, as soon as they were on the ground, the gunner called Mr Easthupp out of the cooperage. In the meantime, Gascoigne had been measuring an equilateral triangle of twelve paces—and marked it out. Mr Tallboys, on his return with the purser’s steward, went over the ground, and finding that it was “equal angles subtended by equal sides,” declared that it was all right. Easy took his station, the boatswain was put into his, and Mr Easthupp, who was quite in a mystery, was led by the gunner to the third position.
“But, Mr Tallboys,” said the purser’s steward, “I don’t understand this. Mr Easy will first fight Mr Biggs, will he not?”
“No,” replied the gunner, “this is a duel of three. You will fire at Mr Easy, Mr Easy will fire at Mr Biggs, and Mr Biggs will fire at you. It is all arranged, Mr Easthupp.”
“But,” said Mr Easthupp, “I do not understand it. Why is Mr Biggs to fire at me? I have no quarrel with Mr Biggs.”
“Because Mr Easy fires at Mr Biggs, and Mr Biggs must have his shot as well.”
“If you have ever been in the company of gentlemen, Mr Easthupp,” observed Gascoigne, “you must know something about duelling.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve kept the best company, Mr Gascoigne, and I can give a gentleman satisfaction; but—”
“Then, sir, if that is the case, you must know that your honour is in the hands of your second, and that no gentleman appeals.”
“Yes, yes, I know that, Mr Gascoigne; but still I’ve no quarrel with Mr Biggs, and therefore, Mr Biggs, of course you will not aim at me.”
“Why, you don’t think that I’m going to be fired at for nothing,” replied the boatswain; “no, no, I’ll have my shot anyhow.”
“But at your friend, Mr Biggs?”
“All the same, I shall fire at somebody; shot for shot, and hit the luckiest.”
“Vel, gentlemen, I purtest against these proceedings,” replied Mr Easthupp; “I came here to have satisfaction from Mr Easy, and not to be fired at by Mr Biggs.”
“Don’t you have satisfaction when you fire at Mr Easy,” replied the gunner; “what more would you have?”
“I purtest against Mr Biggs firing at me.”
“So you would have a shot without receiving one,” cried Gascoigne: “the fact is, that this fellow’s a confounded coward, and ought to be kicked into the cooperage again.”
At this affront Mr Easthupp rallied, and accepted the pistol offered by the gunner.
“You ear those words, Mr Biggs; pretty language to use to a gentleman. You shall ear from me, sir, as soon as the ship is paid off. I purtest no longer, Mr Tallboys; death before dishonour. I’m a gentleman, damme!”
At all events, the swell was not a very courageous gentleman, for he trembled most exceedingly as he pointed his pistol.
The gunner gave the word, as if he were exercising the great guns on board ship.
“Cock your locks!”—“Take good aim at the object!”—“Fire!”—“Stop your vents!”
The only one of the combatants who appeared to comply with the latter supplementary order was Mr Easthupp, who clapped his hand to his trousers behind, gave a loud yell, and then dropped down: the bullet having passed clean through his seat of honour, from his having presented his broadside as a target to the boatswain as he faced towards our hero. Jack’s shot had also taken effect, having passed through both the boatswain’s cheeks, without further mischief than extracting two of his best upper double teeth, and forcing through the hole of the farther cheek the boatswain’s own quid of tobacco. As for Mr Easthupp’s ball, as he was very unsettled, and shut his eyes before he fired, it had gone the Lord knows where.
The purser’s steward lay on the ground and screamed—the boatswain spit his double teeth and two or three mouthfuls of blood out, and then threw down his pistols in a rage.
“A pretty business, by God,” sputtered he; “he’s put my pipe out. How the devil am I to pipe to dinner when I’m ordered, all my wind ’scaping through the cheeks?”
In the meantime, the others had gone to the assistance of the purser’s steward, who continued his vociferations. They examined him, and considered a wound in that part not to be dangerous.
“Hold your confounded bawling,” cried the gunner, “or you’ll have the guard down here: you’re not hurt.”
“Han’t hi?” roared the steward. “Oh, let me die, let me die; don’t move me!”
“Nonsense,” cried the gunner, “you must get up and walk down to the boat; if you don’t we’ll leave you—hold your tongue, confound you. You won’t? then I’ll give you something to halloo for.”
Whereupon Mr Tallboys commenced cuffing the poor wretch right and left, who received so many swinging boxes of the ear, that he was soon reduced to merely pitiful plaints of “Oh, dear!—such inhumanity—I purtest—oh, dear! must I get up? I can’t, indeed.”
“I do not think he can move, Mr Tallboys,” said Gascoigne; “I should think the best plan would be to call up two of the men from the cooperage, and let them take him at once to the hospital.”
The gunner went down to the cooperage to call the men. Mr Biggs, who had bound up his face as if he had a toothache for the bleeding had been very slight, came up to the purser’s steward.
“What the hell are you making such a howling about? Look at me, with two shot-holes through my figure-head, while you have only got one in your stern: I wish I could change with you, by heavens, for I could use my whistle then—now if I attempt to pipe, there will be such a wasteful expenditure of his Majesty’s stores of wind, that I never shall get out a note. A wicked shot of yours, Mr Easy.”
“I really am very sorry,” replied Jack, with a polite bow, “and I beg to offer my best apology.”
During this conversation, the purser’s steward felt very faint, and thought he was going to die.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a fool I was; I never was a gentleman—only a swell: I shall die; I never will pick a pocket again—never—never—God forgive me!”
“Why, confound the fellow,” cried Gascoigne, “so you were a pickpocket, were you?”
“I never will again,” replied the fellow, in a faint voice: “Hi’ll hamend and lead a good life—a drop of water—oh!laggedat last!”
Then the poor wretch fainted away: and Tallboys coming up with the men, he was taken on their shoulders and walked off to the hospital, attended by the gunner and also the boatswain, who thought he might as well have a little medical advice before he went on board.
“Well, Easy,” said Gascoigne, collecting the pistols and tying them up in his handkerchief, “I’ll be shot, but we’re in a pretty scrape; there’s no hushing this up. I’ll be hanged if I care, it’s the best piece of fun I ever met with.” And at the remembrance of it Gascoigne laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Jack’s mirth was not quite so excessive, as he was afraid that the purser’s steward was severely hurt, and expressed his fears.
“At all events, you did not hit him,” replied Gascoigne; “all you have to answer for is the boatswains’s mug—I think you’ve stopped his jaw for the future.”
“I’m afraid that our leave will be stopped for the future,” replied Jack.
“That we may take our oaths of,” replied Gascoigne.
“Then look you, Ned,” said Easy; “I’ve lots of dollars; we may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, as the saying is; I vote that we do not go on board.”
“Sawbridge will send and fetch us,” replied Ned; “but he must find us first.”
“That won’t take long, for the soldiers will soon have our description and rout us out—we shall be pinned in a couple of days.”
“Confound it, and they say that the ship is to be hove down, and that we shall be here six weeks at least, cooped up on board in a broiling sun, and nothing to do but to watch the pilot fish playing round the rudder, and munch bad apricots. I won’t go on board; look ye, Jack,” said Gascoigne, “have you plenty of money?”
“I have twenty doubloons, besides dollars,” replied Jack.
“Well, then we will pretend to be so much alarmed at the result of this duel, that we dare not show ourselves, lest we should be hung. I will write a note, and send it to Jolliffe, to say that we have hid ourselves until the affair is blown over, and beg him to intercede with the captain and first lieutenant. I will tell him all the particulars, and refer to the gunner for the truth of it; and then I know that, although we should be punished, they will only laugh; but I will pretend that Easthupp is killed, and we are frightened out of our lives. That will be it; and then let’s get on board one of the speronares which come with fruit from Sicily, sail in the night for Palermo, and then we’ll have a cruise for a fortnight, and when the money is all gone we’ll come back.”
“That’s a capital idea, Ned, and the sooner we do it the better. I will write to the captain, begging him to get me off from being hung, and telling him where we have fled to, and that letter shall be given after we have sailed.”
They were two very nice lads—our hero and Gascoigne.