Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 2 August 1848
It was evident that a bad night was before them, and there were some on board the little privateer who thought they had better have remained inside the light-house of Cape May, than ventured out upon the sea. The heavy masses of black clouds which were piled on the edge of the distant horizon seemed gradually gathering nearer and nearer, as if to surround and ingulf the gallant vessel, which sped onward fearlessly and proudly, as if conscious of its power to survive the tempest, and bide the storm.
Captain Greene's eye was at length attracted by the threatening aspect of the sky, and seizing his speaking-trumpet he gave the orders of preparation, which were the more promptly executed inasmuch as they had been anxiously awaited.
"Lay aloft there, lads, and in with the fore to'gallant-sail and royal – down with the main gaff top-sail! – bear a hand, lads, a norther on the Banks is no plaything! Clear away both cables, and see them bent to the anchors – let's have all snug – lower the flag from the gaff-peak, and send up the storm-pennant, there – now we are ready."
A thunder-storm at sea is perhaps the sublimest sight in nature, especially when attended with the darkness and mystery of night. The struggling vessel plunges onward into the deep blackness, like a blind and unbridled war-horse. All is dark – fearfully dark. Stand with me, dear reader, here in the bow of the ship! make fast to that halliard, and share with me in the glorious feelings engendered by the storm which is now rioting over the waters and rending the sky. We hear the fierce roar of the contending surges, yet we see them not. We hear the quivering sails and strained sheets, creaking and fluttering like imprisoned spirits, above and around us, but all is solemnly invisible; now, see in the distant horizon the faint premonitory flush of light, preceding the vivid lightning flash – now, for a moment, every thing – sky – water – sheet – shroud and spar are glowing with a brilliancy that exceedeth the brightness of day – the sky is a broad canopy of golden radiance, and the waves are crested with a red and fiery surge, that reminds you of your conception of the "lake of burning fire and brimstone." We feel the dread – the vast sublimity of the breathless moment, and while the mighty thoughts and tumultuous conceptions are striving for form and order of utterance within our throbbing breasts – again all is dark – sadly, solemnly dark. Is not the scene – is not the hour, truly sublime?
There was one at least on board the little Raker, who felt as we should have felt, dear reader – a sense of exultation, mingled with awe. It is upon the ocean that man learns his own weakness, and his own strength – he feels the light vessel trembling beneath him, as if it feared dissolution – he hears the strained sheets moaning in almost conscious agony – he sees the great waves dashing from stem to stern in relentless glee, and he feels that he is a sport and a plaything in the grasp of a mightier power; he learns his own insignificance. Yet the firm deck remains – the taut sheets and twisted halliards give not away; and he learns a proud reliance on his own skill and might, when he finds that with but a narrow hold between him and death, he can outride the storm, and o'ermaster the wave.
Such were the thoughts which filled the mind of Henry Morris, as he stood by the side of Captain Greene on the quarter-deck of the Raker; as he stood with his left arm resting on the main-boom, and his gracefully turned little tarpaulin thrown back from a broad, high forehead, surrounded by dark and clustering curls, and with his black, brilliant eyes lighted up with the enthusiasm of thought, he presented a splendid specimen of an American sailor. The epaulette upon his shoulder denoted that he was an officer; he was indeed second in command in the privateer. He was a native of New Jersey, and his father had been in Revolutionary days one of the "Jarsey Blues," as brave and gallant men as fought in that glorious struggle.
"Well, Harry," said Captain Greene, "it's a dirty night, but I'll turn in a spell, and leave you in command."
"Ay, ay, sir."
Captain Greene threw out a huge quid of tobacco which had rested for some time in his mouth, walked the deck a few times fore and aft, gaped as if his jaws were about to separate forever, and then disappeared through the cabin-door.
Henry Morris, though an universal favorite with the crew and officers under his command, was yet a strict disciplinarian, and being left in command of the deck at once went the rounds of the watch, to see that all were on the look out. The night had far advanced before he saw any remissness; at length, however, he discovered a brawny tar stowed away in a coil of rope, snoring in melodious unison with the noise of the wind and wave; his mouth was open, developing an amazing circumference. Morris looked at him for some time, when, with a smile, he addressed a sailor near him.
"I say, Jack Marlinspike!"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Jack, get some oakum."
Jack speedily brought a fist-full.
"Now, Jack, some slush."
Jack dipped the oakum in the slush-bucket which hung against the main-mast.
"Now, Jack, a little tar."
The mixture was immediately dropped into the tar-bucket.
"Now, Jack, stow it away in Pratt's mouth – don't wake him up – 'tis a delicate undertaking, but he sleeps soundly."
"Lord! a stroke of lightning wouldn't wake him – ha! ha! ha! he'll dream he is eating his breakfast!"
With a broad grin upon his weather-beaten face, Marlinspike proceeded to obey orders. He placed the execrable compound carefully in Pratt's mouth, and plugged it down, as he called it, with the end of his jack-knife, then surveying his work with a complacent laugh, he touched his hat, and withdrew a few paces to bide the event.
Pratt breathed hard, but slept on, though the melody of his snoring was sadly impaired in the clearness of its utterance.
Morris gazed at him quietly, and then sung out,
"Pratt – Pratt – what are you lying there wheezing like a porpoise for? Get up, man, your watch is not out."
The sailor opened his eyes with a ludicrous expression of fright, as he became immediately conscious of a peculiar feeling of difficulty in breathing – thrusting his huge hand into his mouth, he hauled away upon its contents, and at length found room for utterance.
"By heaven, just tell me who did that 'ar nasty trick – that's all."
At this moment he caught sight of Marlinspike, who was looking at him with a grin extending from ear to ear. Without further remark, Pratt let the substance which he had held in his hand fly at Marlinspike's head; that individual, however, dodged very successfully, and it disappeared to leeward.
Pratt was about to follow up his first discharge with an assault from a pair of giant fists, but the voice of his commander restrained him.
"Ah, Pratt! somebody has been fooling you – you must look out for the future."
Pratt immediately knew from the peculiar tone of the voice which accompanied this remark who was the real author of the joke, and turned to his duty with the usual philosophy of a sailor, at the same time filling his mouth with nearly a whole hand of tobacco, to take the taste out, as he said. He did not soon sleep upon his watch again.
As the reader will perceive, Lieut. Morris was decidedly fond of a joke, as, indeed, is every sailor.
The storm still raged onward as day broke over the waters; the little Raker was surrounded by immense waves which heaved their foaming spray over the vessel from stem to stern.
Yet all on board were in good spirits; all had confidence in the well-tried strength of their bark, and the joke and jest went round as gayly and carelessly as if the wind were only blowing a good stiff way.
"Here, you snow-ball," cried Jack Marlinspike, to the black cook, who had just emptied his washings overboard, and was tumbling back to his galley as well as the uneasy motion of the vessel would allow; "here, snow-ball."
"Well, massa – what want?"
"Haint we all told you that you mustn't empty nothing over to windward but hot water and ashes – all else must go to leeward?"
"Yes, Massa."
"Well, recollect it now; go and empty your ash-pot, so you'll learn how."
"Yes, massa."
Cuffy soon appeared with his pot, which he capsized as directed, and got his eyes full of the dust.
"O, Lord! O, Lord! I see um now; I guess you wont catch dis child that way agin."
"Well, well, Cuffy! we must all learn by experience."
"Gorry, massa, guess I wont try de hot water!"
"Well, I wouldn't, Cuff. Now hurry up the pork – you've learnt something this morning."
Such was the spirit of the Raker's crew, as they once more stretched out upon the broad ocean. It was their third privateering trip, and they felt confident of success, as they had been unusually fortunate in their previous trips. The crew consisted of but twenty men, but all were brave and powerful fellows, and all actuated by a true love of country, as well as prompted by a desire for gain. A long thirty-two lay amidships, carefully covered with canvas, which also concealed a formidable pile of balls. Altogether, the Raker, though evidently built entirely for speed, seemed also a vessel well able to enter into an engagement with any vessel of its size and complement.
As the middle day approached the clouds arose and scudded away to leeward like great flocks of wild geese, and the bright sun once more shone upon the waters, seeming to hang a string of pearls about the dark crest of each subsiding wave. All sail was set aboard the Raker, which stretched out toward mid ocean, with the stars and stripes flying at her peak, the free ocean beneath, and her band of gallant hearts upon her decks, ready for the battle or the breeze.
CHAPTER II
The Merchant BrigTwo weeks later than the period at which we left the Raker, a handsome merchant vessel, with all sail set, was gliding down the English channel, bound for the East Indies. The gentle breeze of a lovely autumnal morning scarcely sufficed to fill the sails, and the vessel made but little progress till outside the Lizard, when a freer wind struck it, and it swept oceanward with a gallant pace, dashing aside the waters, and careering gracefully as a swan upon the wave. Its armament was of little weight, and it seemed evident that its voyage, as far as any design of the owners was concerned, was to be a peaceful one. England at that time had become the undisputed mistress of the ocean; and even the few splendid victories obtained by the gallant little American navy, had failed as yet to inspire in the bosoms of her sailors, any feeling like that of fear or of caution; and Captain Horton, of the merchantman Betsy Allen, smoked his pipe, and drank his glass as unconcernedly as if there were no such thing as an American privateer upon the ocean.
The passengers in the vessel, which was a small brig of not more than a hundred and forty tons, were an honest merchant of London, Thomas Williams by name, and his daughter, a lovely girl of seventeen. Mr. Williams had failed in business, but through the influence of friends had obtained an appointment from the East India Company, and was now on his way to take his station. He was a blunt and somewhat unpolished man, but kind in heart as he was frank in speech.
Julia Williams was a fair specimen of English beauty; she was tall, yet so well developed, that she did not appear slight or angular, and withal so gracefully rounded was every limb, that any less degree of fullness would have detracted from her beauty. She was full of ardor and enterprise, not easily appalled by danger, and properly confident in her own resources, yet there was no unfeminine expression of boldness in her countenance, for nothing could be softer, purer, or more delicate, than the outlines of her charming features. There were times when, roused by intense emotion, she seemed queen-like in her haughty step and majestic beauty, yet in her calmer mind, her retiring and modest demeanor partook more of a womanly dependence than of the severity of command.
Julia was seated on the deck beside her father, in the grateful shade of the main-mast, gazing upon the green shores which they had just passed, now fast fading in the distance, while the chalky cliffs which circle the whole coast of England, began to stand out in bold relief upon the shore.
"Good-bye to dear England, father!" said the beautiful girl; "shall we ever see it again?"
"You may, dear Julia, probably I never shall."
"Well, let us hope that we may."
"Yes, we will hope, it will be a proud day for me, if it ever come, when I go back to London and pay my creditors every cent I owe them, when no man shall have reason to curse me for the injury I have done him, however unintentional."
"No man will do so now, dear father, no one but knows you did all you could to avert the calamity, and when it came, surrendered all your property to meet the demands of your creditors. You did all that an honest man should do, father; and you can have no reason to reproach yourself."
"True, girl, true! I do not; yet I hate to think that I, whose name was once as good as the bank, should now owe, when I cannot pay – that's all; a bad feeling, but a few years in India may make all right again."
"O, yes! but, father, it is time for you to take your morning glass. You know you wont feel well if you forget it."
"Never fear my forgetting that; my stomach always tell me, and I know by that when it is 11 o'clock, A.M., as well as by my time-piece."
"Well, John, bring Mr. Williams his morning glass."
Julia spoke to their servant, a worthy, clever fellow, who had long lived in their family, and would not leave it now. He had never been upon the ocean before, and already began to be sea-sick. He however managed to reach the cabin-door, and after a long time returned with the glass, which he got to his master's hand, spilling half its contents on the way.
"There, master, I haint been drinking none on't, but this plaguey ship is so dommed uneasy, I can't walk steady, and I feels very sick, I does; I think I be's going to die."
"You are only a little sea-sick, John."
"Not so dommed little, either."
"You are not yet used to your new situation, John; in a few days you'll be quite a sailor."
"Will I though? Well, the way I feels now, I'd just as lief die as not – oh! – ugh" – and John rushed to the gunwale.
"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your cargo overboard. You'll sail better if you lighten ship."
"Dom this ere sailing – ugh – I will die."
Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the galley, and closed his eyes with a heroic determination.
Such an event, as might be expected, was a great joke to the crew – a land-lubber at sea being with sailors always a fair butt, and poor John's misery was aggravated by their, as it seemed to him, unfeeling remarks, yet he was so far gone that he could only faintly "dom them." His master, who knew that he would soon be well, made no attempt to relieve him; and John was for some time unmolested in his vigorous attempt to die.
He was aroused at length by the same tar who had first noticed his sickness,
"I say, lubber, are you sick?"
"Yes, dom sick."
"Well, I expect you've got to die, there's only one thing that'll save you – get up and follow me to the cock-pit."
John attempted to rise, but now really unwell, he was not able to stir. His kind physician calling a brother tar to his aid, they assisted John below.
"There, now, you lubber, I'm going to cure you, if you'll only foller directions."
John merely grunted.
"Here's some raw pork, and some grog, though it's a pity to waste grog on such a lubber – now, you must eat as if you'd never ate before, if you don't, you are a goner."
John very faintly uttered, that he couldn't "eat a dom bit."
"Then you'll die, and the fishes will eat YOU."
John shuddered, "Well, I'll try."
So saying, he downed one of the pieces of pork, which as speedily came up again.
"Now drink, and be quick about it, or I shall drink it for you."
With much exertion they made John eat and drink heartily, after which they left him to sleep awhile.
The following morning John appeared on deck again, exceedingly pale to be sure, but entirely recovered from his sea-sickness, and with a feeling of fervent gratitude toward the sailor, who, as he fancied, had saved his valuable life.
Nothing occurred to interrupt the peaceful monotony of life aboard the little craft for the following ten days: before a good breeze they had made much way in their voyage, and all on board were pleased with prosperous wind and calm sea and sky.
On the morning of the following day, however, the cry from the mast-head of "sail ho!" aroused all on board to a feeling of interest.
"Where away?"
"Right over the lee-bow."
"What do you make of her?"
"Square to'sails, queer rig – flag, can't see it."
"O! captain," said Julia, "can't you go near enough to speak it?"
"Of course I could, 'cause it's right on the lee, but whether I'd better or not is quite another thing."
"The captain knows best, my dear," said the merchant.
"Certainly, but I should so like to see some other faces besides those which are about us every day."
"If you are tired already, my pretty lady," said Captain Horton, "I wonder what you'll be before we get to the Indies."
"Heigh-ho," sighed the fair lady.
"Mast-head there," shouted Captain Horton.
"Ay, ay, sir."
"What do you make of her now?"
"Nothing yet, sir; we are overhauling her fast though."
In a short time the top-sails of the strange vessel became visible from the deck.
"Ah! she's hove in sight, has she?" said Captain Horton. "I'll see what I can make of her," and seizing his glass he ascended the fore-ratlins, nearly to the cross-trees, and after a long and steady survey of the approaching vessel, in which survey he also included the whole horizon, he descended with a thoughtful countenance, muttering to himself, "I was a little afraid of it."
"Well captain," inquired Julia, "is it an English vessel?"
"May be 't is – can't tell where 't was built."
"Can't you see the flag?"
"Can't make it out yet."
"Captain Horton," exclaimed the merchant, who had been watching his countenance from the moment he had descended the ratlins, "you do know something about that vessel, I am sure."
Captain Horton interrupted him by an earnest glance toward Julia, which the fair girl herself noticed.
"O! be not afraid to say any thing before me, captain. I am not easily frightened, and if you have to fight I will help you."
The bright eyes of the girl as she spoke grew brighter, and her little hand was clenched as if it held a sword.
Casting a glance of admiration toward the beautiful girl, Captain Horton leisurely filled his pipe from his waistcoat pocket, and replied as he lit it —
"Well, I'm inclined to think it's what we call a pirate, my fair lady."
"A pirate," sung out John, "a pirate, boo-hoo! oh dear! we shall all be ravaged and cooked, and eaten. O dear! why didn't I marry Susan Thompson, and go to keeping an inn – boo-hoo!"
"John," said his master, "be still, or if you must cry, go below."
The servant made a manly effort, and managed to repress his ejaculations, but could not keep back the large tears which followed each other down his cheeks in rapid succession.
"Can't you run from her, captain?" asked the merchant.
"Have you no guns aboard?" inquired Julia.
"I see you are for fighting the rascals, Miss Julia, and I own that would be the pleasantest course for me; but you see, we can't do it. The company don't allow their vessels enough fire-arms to beat off a brig half their own size – there's no way but to run for it, and these rascals always have a swift craft – generally a Baltimore clipper, which is just the fastest and prettiest vessel in the world, if those pesky Yankees do build them – but the Betsy Allen aint a slow craft, and we'll do the best we can to show 'em a clean pair of heels."
"You are to windward of them, captain," said Julia.
"Yes, that's true; but these clippers sail right in the teeth of the wind; see, now, how they've neared us – ahoy! – all hands ahoy!"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"'Bout ship, my boys – let go the jibs – lively, boys; now the fore peak-halyards. There she is – that throws the strange sail right astern; and a stern chase is a long chase."
Three or four hours of painful anxiety succeeded, when it became evident even to the unpracticed eyes of Julia and her father, that the strange vessel was slowly but surely overhauling them. Yet the brave girl showed none of the usual weakness of her sex, and even encouraged her father, who, though himself a brave man, yet trembled as he thought of the probable fate of his daughter. As for poor John, that unfortunate individual was so completely beside himself, that he wandered from one part of the vessel to the other, asking each sailor successively what his opinion of the chances of escape might be, and what treatment they might expect from the pirates after they were taken. As may be imagined, he received little consolation from the hardy tars, who, although themselves well aware of their probable fate, yet had been too long schooled in danger to show fear before the peril was immediately around them, and were each pursuing the duties of their several stations, very much as if only threatened with the usual dangers of the voyage. The unmanly fears of John even induced them to play upon his anxiety, and magnify his terror.
"Why, John," said his old friend, who had so scientifically cured him of his sea-sickness, and toward whom John evinced a kind of filial reverence, placing peculiar reliance upon every thing said by the worthy tar, "why, John, they will make us all walk the plank."
"Will they – O, dear me! and what is that, does it hurt a fellow?"
"O, no! he dies easy."
"Dies! oh, lud!"
"Why, yes! you know what walking the plank is, don't yer?"
"No I don't. O, dear!"
"Well, they run a plank over the side of the ship, and ask you very politely to walk out to the end of it."
"O, lud! and don't they let a body hold on?"
"And then when you get to the end of it, why, John, it naturally follers that it tips up, and lets you into the sea."
"And don't they help you out?"
"No, no, John! I aint joking now, by my honor; that's the end of a man, and that's where we shall go to if they get hold of us."
"O, dear me! what did I come to sea for? Well, but s'posin you wont go out on the plank, wouldn't it do just to tell 'em you'd rather not, perlitely, you know – perliteness goes a great way."
"They just blow your brains out with a pistol, that's all."
"O, lud!"
"Yes, John, that's the way they use folks."
"The bloody villains! and have we all got to walk the plank? Oh! dear Miss Julia, and all?"
"No, no, John, not her; poor girl, it would be better if she had" – and the kind-hearted tar brushed away a tear with his tawny hand.
"What! don't they kill the women, then?"
"No, no, John, they lets them live."
A sudden light shone in the eyes of John; it was the first happy expression that had flitted across his countenance since the strange sail had been discovered, and the fearful word, pirate, had fallen upon his ears.
"I have it – I have it!"
"What, John?"
But John danced off, leaving the sailor to wonder at the sudden metamorphosis in the feelings of the cockney.
"Well, that's a queer son of a lubber; I wonder what he's after now."
John, in the meantime, approached Julia, and in a very mysterious manner desired a few moments private conversation with her.
"Why, John, what can you want?" She had been no woman, if, however, her curiosity to learn the motive of so strange a request from her servant had not induced her to listen to him.
"Miss Julia," commenced John, "I've discovered a way in which we can all be saved alive by these bloody pirates, after they catch us; by all, I mean you and your father, and I, and the captain, if he's a mind to."
"Well, what is it, John?"
"I'll tell you, Miss Julia. Dick Halyard says they only kill the men – they makes all them walk the plank, which is – "