Mr Midshipman Easy (20 page)

“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, Massa Easy?”

“Love them too.”

“I no understand dat, Massa Easy—I love you, because you good, and treat me well—Mr Vigors, he bully, and treat me ill—how possible to love him? By de power, I hate him, and wish I had him
skull.
You tink little Massa Gossitt love him?”

“No,” replied Jack, laughing, “I'm afraid that he would like to have his skull as well as you, Mesty—but at all events we must try and forgive those who injure us.”

“Then, Massa Easy, I tink so too—too much revenge very bad—it very easy to hate, but not very easy to forgive—so I tink that if a man forgive, he hab
more soul
in him, he more of a
man.
”

“After all,” thought Jack, “Mesty is about as good a Christian as most people.”

“What that?” cried Mesty, looking out of the cabin window—”Ah! d——n 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, anyhow,” observed Mesty— “Massa Easy, you see they soon ask permission to come on board.”

Jack thought so too, and was most anxious to be off; for, on looking into the lockers in the state-room, he had found a chart of the Mediterranean, which he had studied very attentively—he had found out the rock of Gibraltar, and had traced the
Harpy's
course up to Cape de Gatte, and thence to Tarragona—and, after a while, had summoned Mesty to a cabinet council.

“See, Mesty,” said Jack, “I begin to make it out, here is Gibraltar, and Cape de Gatte, and Tarragona—it was hereabout we were when we took the ship, and, if you recollect, we had passed Cape de Gatte two days before we were blown off from the land, so that we had gone about twelve inches, and had only four more to go.”

“Yes, Massa Easy, I see all dat.”

“Well, then, we were blown off shore by the wind, and must of course have come down this way; and here you see are three little islands, called Zaffarine Islands, and with no names of towns upon them, and therefore uninhabited; and you see they lie just like the islands we are anchored among now—we must be at the Zaffarine Islands—and only six inches from Gibraltar.”

“I see, Massa Easy, dat all right—but six debbelish long inches.”

“Now, Mesty, you know the compass on 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.”

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: “d——n 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.”

“Debble doubt 'em!”

“What shall I say, Mesty?”

“Tell 'em no, first, Massa Easy—tell 'em to starve and be d——d.” “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 understand 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 in-shore, about two miles to the westward of them, and another outside, about four miles off. Mesty took the glass and examined the one outside, which, on a sudden, had let fall all her canvas, and was now running for the shore, steering for the cape under which Jack's vessel lay. Mesty put down the glass.

“Massa Easy—I tink dat de
Harpy.
”

One of the seamen took the glass and examined her, while the others who stood by showed great agitation.

“Yes, it is the
Harpy,
” said the seaman. “Oh! Mr Easy, will you forgive us?” continued the man, and he and the others fell on their knees. “Do not tell all, for God's sake, Mr Easy.”

Jack's heart melted; he looked at Mesty.

“I tink,” said Mesty, apart to our hero, “dat with what them hab suffer already, suppose they get
seven dozen apiece,
dat quite enough.”

Jack thought that even half that punishment would suffice; so he told the men, that although he must state what had occurred, he would not tell all, and would contrive to get them off as well as he could. He was about to make a long speech, but a gun from the
Harpy
, which had now come up within range, made him defer it till a more convenient opportunity. At the same time the vessel in-shore hoisted Spanish colours and fired a gun.

“By de powers but we got in the middle of it,” cried Mesty; “
Harpy
tink us Spaniard. Now, my lads, get all gun ready, bring up powder and shot. Massa, now us fire at Spaniard—
Harpy
not fire at us—no ab English colours on board—dat all we must do.”

The men set to with a will; the guns were all loaded, and were soon cast loose and primed, during which operations it fell calm, and the sails of all three vessels flapped against their masts. The
Harpy
was then about two miles from Jack's vessel, and the Spaniard about a mile from him, with all her boats ahead of her, towing towards him; Mesty examined the Spanish vessel.

“Dat man-of-war, Massa Easy,—what de debbel we do for colour? must hoist someting.”

Mesty ran down below; he recollected that there was a very gay petticoat, which had been left by the old lady who was in the vessel when they captured her. It was of green silk, with yellow and blue flowers, but very faded, having probably been in the Don's family for a century. Mesty had found it under the mattress of one of the beds, and had put it into his bag, intending probably to cut it up into waistcoats. He soon appeared with this under his arm, made it fast to the peak halyards and hoisted it up.

“Dere, Massa, dat do very well—dat what you call
‘all nation colour.'
Everybody strike him flag to dat—men nebber pull it down,” said Mesty, “anyhow. Now den, ab hoist colour, we fire away—mind you only fire one gun at a time, and point um well, den ab time to load again.”

“She's hoisted her colours, sir,” said Sawbridge, on board of the
Harpy;
“but they do not show out clear, and it's impossible to distinguish them; but there's a gun.”

“It's not at us, sir,” said Gascoigne, the midshipman; “it's 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 the
Harpy
soon 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. The
Harpy
brought the breeze up with her, and was soon within range; she steered to cut off the corvette, firing only on 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 the
Harpy
and 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 the
Harpy
followed her, of course Jack did the same, and in ten minutes he was clear of the gun-boats, who did not venture to make sail and stand after him. The wind now freshened fast, and blew out the green petticoat, but the
Harpy
was 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 further. About noon, the wind died away, and at one o'clock it again fell nearly calm; but the
Harpy
had 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, as otherwise the
Harpy
would 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 the
Harpy,
sending a boat on board and taking possession, directed her whole fire upon the battery, which was soon silenced.