Part 22 (1/2)
”What s.h.i.+p is that? Where do you come from? How many days out?”
The captain answered the questions through his speaking-trumpet as we glided by. We at length came to an anchor about a mile from the city of Rio de Janeiro, in one of the most beautiful and picturesque harbours in the world. I can't stop to describe it, or the fine-looking city, or the curiously-shaped boats filled with black, brown, and white people, though the whites were decidedly in the minority; indeed some of them could be only so called by courtesy. To our disappointment no one was allowed to go on sh.o.r.e. The captain and second mate almost immediately took a country boat and pulled for the landing-place.
”I suppose they intend to send us off some grub,” said old Growles, in a voice loud enough for them to hear; but they took no notice, and pulled on. We waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of the provisions, but no boats appeared. It looked very much as if the captain had forgotten our necessities. At last a small one came alongside with fruit and vegetables, which those who had money eagerly purchased. I had a few s.h.i.+llings remaining in my pocket, but Mark had nothing, and I insisted on buying enough for him and myself. Mark declined taking them from me, saying he could do very well without them; but I pressed him, and we discussed a couple of dozen oranges between us. How delicious they tasted! We both felt like different creatures. Those of the crew who had money were put into much better humour, but the rest were more sulky than ever.
In the evening the boats brought off some fresh water, but no provisions. When the captain came on board at night we learnt that he had refused to purchase any, on account of their high price. Whether this was the case or not I don't know, but it made the men very angry.
Next day he went on sh.o.r.e again, returning in the afternoon with four gentlemen, whom we heard were going as pa.s.sengers round to Columbia River, in North America.
We soon found, from hearing them speak, that they were Scotch, and of this I had no doubt when I learned their names, which were McTavish, McDonald, McKay, and Fraser. Their vessel had been wrecked off Cape Frio, and notwithstanding the character borne by Captain Longfleet, they were glad to have an opportunity of continuing their voyage in the ”Emu.” Just before daybreak a small boat came alongside with fruit and vegetables; but they were all for the cabin, and the crew were none the better for them.
Next morning we sailed at daybreak with a land wind, followed by three or four other vessels, some bound round Cape Horn, others to cross the Atlantic. They were still in sight when it came on to blow very hard.
In a short time a sea got up which made the s.h.i.+p tumble about in a way I had not experienced since I had been down in the hold. The captain stood on, wanting to keep ahead of the other vessels. The topmasts bent like willow wands, and every moment looked as if they would go over the sides. We carried on, however, until it was nearly dark, when he ordered the hands aloft to reef sails. I had not as yet been ordered to perform this duty, but Mark was as active as any one. He and Tom were on the lee fore-topsail yard-arm. Two reefs had already been taken in when the sail had to be closely reefed. It was now quite dark. The operation was being performed, when there was a cry from forward of ”A man overboard!” To round the s.h.i.+p to might have been hazardous; but the second mate, who was the best of the officers, at once shouted out for volunteers to lower the boat.
”Hold hard,” says the captain; ”I'll not have the hands thrown away for a careless, useless lubber who can't hold fast.”
I had run aft when I heard some one say that the man who had gone was Tom Trivett. Without waiting for orders I hove overboard an oar and a hen-coop, with half-a-dozen cackling hens in it, which not having been properly secured, had fetched away. In my excitement I was proceeding to throw some spars and other articles into the sea, when the captain, catching sight of me, ordered me to desist.
”Let the fellow drown,” he exclaimed; ”it's his own fault, and it'll be a lesson to the rest of you.”
Though the men had no love for Tom Trivett, bad as they were these remarks greatly enraged them.
”He cares no more for our lives than he does for that of a dog. It would have been just the same if any of us had gone,” exclaimed several of them.
The pa.s.sengers were very indignant at the captain's barbarity. Two of them had been ready to go in the boat, and they all declared that the seaman might have been saved if proper efforts had immediately been made. I heard the captain in a peremptory tone tell them to hold their tongues, as they knew nothing about the matter. He was captain of the s.h.i.+p, and would act as he thought fit, and not endanger her safety for the sake of a single man who was not worth his salt. I deeply grieved for Tom since I discovered that he had been my firm friend, and I truly believed that I owed my life to him. Had it been daylight we might have watched to see whether he had got hold of any of the things thrown overboard, but almost immediately after he fell he was lost to view.
The gale lasted only a short time. We made sail again as soon as we could, and quickly lost sight of the other vessels.
Now that Tom Trivett had gone, my position became harder than ever, as I had no friend to stand up for me. I had often been protected by him when the others were inclined to bully me, and thus escaped many a cuff and kick. Julius Caesar was the only person who befriended me, and he didn't dare to do so openly. He often, indeed, appeared to be bullying me worse than the rest. I had been ordered to a.s.sist in cleaning his pots and pans, and sweeping out the caboose. Whenever the rigging had to be blacked down I was sent to do it, and was called to perform all the dirty jobs. The men, knowing I was a gentleman's son, took pleasure in seeing me thus employed. Mark would willingly have helped me, but he was always sent aft to some other work when seen near me.
I would gladly have changed places with him, but he told me that he was as badly off as I was forward, for he got as much kicked about by the captain and officers as I was by the men.
I had no one to talk to, for I could seldom get the opportunity of saying much to him. I felt that I had not a friend aboard. The men, when they had exhausted a few fresh provisions which they themselves had purchased, again began to grumble at the bad quality of their food.
They took care, however, to say nothing when the third mate was forward, but they went about their duty in a manner which it seemed surprising he did not observe.
One evening, being my watch below, still feeling the effect of the rough handling I had endured, I had crept into my berth to be out of the way of my persecutors. Mark, as usual, was attending to his duties in the cabin.
I had fallen asleep, when I was awakened by hearing some men speaking close to me, though it was too dark to see who they were, and even if they had looked into my berth they would not have discovered me; but I recognised the voices of old Growles and the boatswain, and two other men, who were the worst of the crew and the leading spirits for bad on board. I was not much alarmed, though I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of attracting their notice. I cannot repeat all they said, for they frequently made allusions which they knew that each other understood; but I heard enough to convince me that they were hatching a plot to overpower the officers and pa.s.sengers, and to take the vessel into Buenos Aires, or some other place on the banks of the River Plate.
One of the men proposed killing them and throwing them overboard. Old Growles suggested that they should be put into a boat and allowed to s.h.i.+ft for themselves, just as their officers were treated by the mutineers of the ”Bounty.” The boatswain said that he thought the best way of treating them would be to put them on sh.o.r.e on some desert island far-away to the southward, seldom visited by s.h.i.+ps, so that they could not make their escape.
”But they'll die of hunger, if you do that,” remarked another man.
”They'll die, at all events, so it matters little,” answered the boatswain. ”Our business is to get rid of them, and either to go cruising on our own account, or to sell the s.h.i.+p at a Spanish port to the westward, and enjoy ourselves on what we get for her.”
”Dead men tell no tales,” muttered the first speaker.
”Heave them overboard at once, and we shall be done with them.”
”I'm not for that sort of thing,” said old Growles. ”I shouldn't like to see their white faces as they dropped astern; they'd be haunting us, depend on that.”