Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1782 page)

CHAPTER I — THE ISLAND OF SILVER-STORE

It was in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and forty-four, that I, Gill Davis to command, His Mark, having then the honour to be
a private in the Royal Marines, stood a
-leaning over the bulwarks of the armed sloop Christopher Columbus, in the South American waters off the Mosquito shore.

My lady remarks to me, before I go any further, that there is no such christian-name as Gill, and that her confident opinion is, that the name given to me in the baptism wherein I was made, &c., was Gilbert.  She is certain to be right, but I never heard of it.  I was a foundling child, picked up somewhere or another, and I always understood my christian-name to be Gill.  It is true that I was called Gills when employed at Snorridge Bottom betwixt Chatham and Maidstone to frighten birds; but that had nothing to do with the Baptism wherein I was made, &c., and wherein a number of things were promised for me by somebody, who let me alone ever afterwards as to performing any of them, and who, I consider, must have been the Beadle.  Such name of Gills was entirely owing to my cheeks, or gills, which at that time of my life were of a raspy description.

My lady stops me again, before I go any further, by laughing exactly in her old way and waving the feather of her pen at me.  That action on her part, calls to my mind as I look at her hand with the rings on it — Well!  I won’t!  To be sure it will come in, in its own place.  But it’s always strange to me, noticing the quiet hand, and noticing it (as I have done, you know, so many times) a-fondling children and grandchildren asleep, to think that when blood and honour were up — there!  I won’t! not at present! — Scratch it out.

She won’t scratch it out, and quite honourable; because we have made an understanding that everything is to be taken down, and that nothing that is once taken down shall be scratched out.  I have the great misfortune not to be able to read and write, and I am speaking my true and faithful account of those Adventures, and my lady is writing it, word for word.

I say, there I was, a-leaning over the bulwarks of the sloop Christopher Columbus in the South American waters off the Mosquito shore: a subject of his Gracious Majesty King George of England, and a private in the Royal Marines.

In those climates, you don’t want to do much.  I was doing nothing.  I was thinking of the shepherd (my father, I wonder?) on the hillsides by Snorridge Bottom, with a long staff, and with a rough white coat in all weathers all the year round, who used to let me lie in a corner of his hut by night, and who used to let me go about with him and his sheep by day when I could get nothing else to do, and who used to give me so little of his victuals and so much of his staff, that I ran away from him — which was what he wanted all along, I expect — to be knocked about the world in preference to Snorridge Bottom.  I had been knocked about the world for nine-and-twenty years in all, when I stood looking along those bright blue South American Waters.  Looking after the shepherd, I may say.  Watching him in a half-waking dream, with my eyes half-shut, as he, and his flock of sheep, and his two dogs, seemed to move away from the ship’s side, far away over the blue water, and go right down into the sky.

“It’s rising out of the water, steady,” a voice said close to me.  I had been thinking on so, that it like woke me with a start, though it was no stranger voice than the voice of Harry Charker, my own comrade.

“What’s rising out of the water, steady?” I asked my comrade.

“What?” says he.  “The Island.”

“O!  The Island!” says I, turning my eyes towards it.  “True.  I forgot the Island.”

“Forgot the port you’re going to?  That’s odd, ain’t it?”

“It is odd,” says I.

“And odd,” he said, slowly considering with himself, “ain’t even.  Is it, Gill?”

He had always a remark just like that to make, and seldom another.  As soon as he had brought a thing round to what it was not, he was satisfied.  He was one of the best of men, and, in a certain sort of a way, one with the least to say for himself.  I qualify it, because, besides being able to read and write like a Quarter-master, he had always one most excellent idea in his mind.  That was, Duty.  Upon my soul, I don’t believe, though I admire learning beyond everything, that he could have got a better idea out of all the books in the world, if he had learnt them every word, and been the cleverest of scholars.

My comrade and I had been quartered in Jamaica, and from there we had been drafted off to the British settlement of Belize, lying away West and North of the Mosquito coast.  At Belize there had been great alarm of one cruel gang of pirates (there were always more pirates than enough in those Caribbean Seas), and as they got the better of our English cruisers by running into out-of-the-way creeks and shallows, and taking the land when they were hotly pressed, the governor of Belize had received orders from home to keep a sharp look-out for them along shore.  Now, there was an armed sloop came once a-year from Port Royal, Jamaica, to the Island, laden with all manner of necessaries, to eat, and to drink, and to wear, and to use in various ways; and it was aboard of that sloop which had touched at Belize, that I was a-standing, leaning over the bulwarks.

The Island was occupied by a very small English colony.  It had been given the name of Silver-Store.  The reason of its being so called, was, that the English colony owned and worked a silver-mine over on the mainland, in Honduras, and used this Island as a safe and convenient place to store their silver in, until it was annually fetched away by the sloop.  It was brought down from the mine to the coast on the backs of mules, attended by friendly Indians and guarded by white men; from thence it was conveyed over to Silver-Store, when the weather was fair, in the canoes of that country; from Silver-Store, it was carried to Jamaica by the armed sloop once a-year, as I have already mentioned; from Jamaica, it went, of course, all over the world.

How I came to be aboard the armed sloop, is easily told.  Four-and-twenty marines under command of a lieutenant — that officer’s name was Linderwood — had been told off at Belize, to proceed to Silver-Store, in aid of boats and seamen stationed there for the chase of the Pirates.  The Island was considered a good post of observation against the pirates, both by land and sea; neither the pirate ship nor yet her boats had been seen by any of us, but they had been so much heard of, that the reinforcement was sent.  Of that party, I was one.  It included a corporal and a sergeant.  Charker was corporal, and the sergeant’s name was Drooce.  He was the most tyrannical non-commissioned officer in His Majesty’s service.

The night came on, soon after I had had the foregoing words with Charker.  All the wonderful bright colours went out of the sea and sky in a few minutes, and all the stars in the Heavens seemed to shine out together, and to look down at themselves in the sea, over one another’s shoulders, millions deep.  Next morning, we cast anchor off the Island.  There was a snug harbour within a little reef; there was a sandy beach; there were cocoa-nut trees with high straight stems, quite bare, and foliage at the top like plumes of magnificent green feathers; there were all the objects that are usually seen in those parts, and
I
am not going to describe them, having something else to tell about.

Great rejoicings, to be sure, were made on our arrival.  All the flags in the place were hoisted, all the guns in the place were fired, and all the people in the place came down to look at us.  One of those Sambo fellows — they call those natives Sambos, when they are half-negro and half-Indian — had come off outside the reef, to pilot us in, and remained on board after we had let go our anchor.  He was called Christian George King, and was fonder of all hands than anybody else was.  Now, I confess, for myself, that on that first day, if I had been captain of the Christopher Columbus, instead of private in the Royal Marines, I should have kicked Christian George King — who was no more a Christian than he was a King or a George — over the side, without exactly knowing why, except that it was the right thing to do.

But, I must likewise confess, that I was not in a particularly pleasant humour, when I stood under arms that morning, aboard the Christopher Columbus in the harbour of the Island of Silver-Store.  I had had a hard life, and the life of the English on the Island seemed too easy and too gay to please me.  “Here you are,” I thought to myself, “good scholars and good livers; able to read what you like, able to write what you like, able to eat and drink what you like, and spend what you like, and do what you like; and much
you
care for a poor, ignorant Private in the Royal Marines!  Yet it’s hard, too, I think, that you should have all the half-pence, and I all the kicks; you all the smooth, and I all the rough; you all the oil, and I all the vinegar.”  It was as envious a thing to think as might be, let alone its being nonsensical; but, I thought it.  I took it so much amiss, that, when a very beautiful young English lady came aboard, I grunted to myself, “Ah!
you
have got a lover, I’ll be bound!”  As if there was any new offence to me in that, if she had!

She was sister to the captain of our sloop, who had been in a poor way for some time, and who was so ill then that he was obliged to be carried ashore.  She was the child of a military officer, and had come out there with her sister, who was married to one of the owners of the silver-mine, and who had three children with her.  It was easy to see that she was the light and spirit of the Island.  After I had got a good look at her, I grunted to myself again, in an even worse state of mind than before, “I’ll be damned, if I don’t hate him, whoever he is!”

My officer, Lieutenant Linderwood, was as ill as the captain of the sloop, and was carried ashore, too.  They were both young men of about my age, who had been delicate in the West India climate.  I even took
that
in bad part.  I thought I was much fitter for the work than they were, and that if all of us had our deserts, I should be both of them rolled into one.  (It may be imagined what sort of an officer of marines I should have made, without the power of reading a written order.  And as to any knowledge how to command the sloop — Lord!  I should have sunk her in a quarter of an hour!)

However, such were my reflections; and when we men were ashore and dismissed, I strolled about the place along with Charker, making my observations in a similar spirit.

It was a pretty place: in all its arrangements partly South American and partly English, and very agreeable to look at on that account, being like a bit of home that had got chipped off and had floated away to that spot, accommodating itself to circumstances as it drifted along.  The huts of the Sambos, to the number of five-and-twenty, perhaps, were down by the beach to the left of the anchorage.  On the right was a sort of barrack, with a South American Flag and the Union Jack, flying from the same staff, where the little English colony could all come together, if they saw occasion.  It was a walled square of building, with a sort of pleasure-ground inside, and inside that again a sunken block like a powder magazine, with a little square trench round it, and steps down to the door.  Charker and I were looking in at the gate, which was not guarded; and I had said to Charker, in reference to the bit like a powder magazine, “That’s where they keep the silver you see;” and Charker had said to me, after thinking it over, “And silver ain’t gold.  Is it, Gill?” when the beautiful young English lady I had been so bilious about, looked out of a door, or a window — at all events looked out, from under a bright awning.  She no sooner saw us two in uniform, than she came out so quickly that she was still putting on her broad Mexican hat of plaited straw when we saluted.

“Would you like to come in,” she said, “and see the place?  It is rather a curious place.”

We thanked the young lady, and said we didn’t wish to be troublesome; but, she said it could be no trouble to an English soldier’s daughter, to show English soldiers how their countrymen and country-women fared, so far away from England; and consequently we saluted again, and went in.  Then, as we stood in the shade, she showed us (being as affable as beautiful), how the different families lived in their separate houses, and how there was a general house for stores, and a general reading-room, and a general room for music and dancing, and a room for Church; and how there were other houses on the rising ground called the Signal Hill, where they lived in the hotter weather.

“Your officer has been carried up there,” she said, “and my brother, too, for the better air.  At present, our few residents are dispersed over both spots: deducting, that is to say, such of our number as are always going to, or coming from, or staying at, the Mine.”

(“
He
is among one of those parties,” I thought, “and I wish somebody would knock his head off.”)