Part 5 (1/2)
CHAPTER VI--I AM CONCERNED IN A MUTINY
I have neither s.p.a.ce nor patience to describe in any detail that long and tedious voyage. For we were months at sea. I saw whales spouting water into the air, and schools of porpoises; and at one time, for a whole month on end, we were becalmed, the s.h.i.+p lying idle in the midst of a vast floating ma.s.s of seaweed, where there were all kinds of jelly-fish and squids. The heat was excessive, and there was a rank, almost putrid, smell in the air, which came from the decaying seaweed.
That in itself was enough to try the temper of every member of the crew; but, to make matters worse, much of the tinned meat on board exploded in the hold. I cannot explain this, but I know that it happened, and am content to leave the explanation to the scientific reader. These circ.u.mstances, together with the surly nature of James Dagg, the captain, led from dissatisfaction to open grumbling, and thence to the mutiny of which I have now to tell.
My own fortunes were, to some extent, involved in that affair; and in any case, I must describe the incident more or less as it occurred, since nothing could better serve to ill.u.s.trate the true character of Amos Baverstock, who plays as important a part as myself in the narrative that follows.
I had not been a week at sea, and just recovered from my sickness, when I was given clearly to understand that I was to hold no intercourse with any of the crew. I cannot say that I wished to, for they were a ruffianly lot--half of them, I verily believe, prison-birds, like Joshua Trust, and the remainder West Indian negroes, Chinamen, and Lascars from the coast of Malabar.
I had to share a cabin with Amos himself, who seldom let me out of his sight. Thrown into such close intimacy with the man, I learned much concerning him, and he more of me. He seldom allowed a day to pa.s.s without questioning me in regard to what I knew of the map; and so terrible did his threats become that I was filled with fear for the future.
On that account, I yearned for a friend, someone in whom I could confide; and it was not long before I found such a man on board that pestilential s.h.i.+p. Now that I can look back upon my series of adventures, I can see both men and matters in their true perspective, and I realise that, had it not been for William Rushby, the boatswain of the _Mary Greenfield_, the most honest and the whitest man that ever piped all hands on deck, this tale had never been told.
When I saw him first, I sized him up as the true seaman that he was; but I dared not speak to him, because of the threats that had been heaped upon me. I knew also that I could go to none of the s.h.i.+p's officers with my story, for they were all tarred with the same brush as the skipper; but Providence before long gave me the chance I wanted.
When we were in mid-ocean Amos tired of the voyage, and required little persuasion from Mr. Forsyth to take to playing cards. Captain Dagg was a card-player, too, and Joshua made the fourth; and this was the party that sat down nightly after supper to gamble, drink and smoke, by the light of a reeking paraffin lamp in the little stuffy saloon.
I watched them play for many nights, and though I knew nothing of the game, it was quite clear to me that they were three babes at the business by the side of Mr. Forsyth. For it was he who always won, no matter with whom he played or what cards he held, and it was he who raked in their money.
This was all one to me. I soon tired of watching them; and when I had once slipped away from them, to breathe the fresh air on deck, and no questions had been asked, I made it my constant practice to sit of an evening upon the p.o.o.p, whence I could look down into the water and see the phosphorus as if smouldering in the wake of the s.h.i.+p.
And here it was that I talked with William Rushby. At that hour it was his duty to see that the s.h.i.+p's lamps were lighted, and when he had hoisted the mast-head lights, and put the red light to port and the green to starboard, he would come aft, haul in the log, and speak to me in whispers.
That he took that precaution from the first makes it plain enough that he guessed some mischief was afoot. He questioned me concerning who I was and what business I had in such company on board that s.h.i.+p. It was some time before I dared tell him the truth, for fear of Amos Baverstock; but I did so in the end, making him swear to keep my secret; which he did.
”It is all like a fairy tale,” said he, when he had heard my story; ”and it's hard to tell the best way to help you. Of this much I am certain: if you set forth into the back country of Venezuela with a man like Baverstock, you'll not come back alive.”
”But I cannot escape!” I protested. ”Even on board this s.h.i.+p, I am watched at all hours of the night and day.”
Rushby thought for a while, stroking his short black beard which was like that of a Russian Czar.
”Maybe,” said he, ”at Caracas, I could desert and take you with me. I have no liking for my s.h.i.+pmates here, as you may well imagine. In the meantime, many weeks must pa.s.s before we sight the mainland, and in that time much may happen.”
As he said this with some significance, I asked him what he meant.
”Why, just this,” he answered; ”there's trouble brewing aboard, which will come to a head before we touch port. The crew are a low-down, blackguard lot, no better men than sailors; and though they may be held to blame for that, it's no fault of theirs if they are fed worse than swine and cursed from dawn to sunset. Dagg I had heard about, though I never signed on under him before, nor will again, and the mate's even worse. There's high talk in the fo'c'sle, as it is, where the ringleader is that n.i.g.g.e.r cook. Mark my words--and I've sailed the seas for more than twenty years--a prize-fighting negro in the galley can cause more mischief aboard a sailing-s.h.i.+p than a monkey and a woman, both in one.”
I laughed, for I was not then accustomed to the talk of sailors.
”And they've run out of lime-juice,” he went on; ”and that's a serious thing.”
”Lime-juice!” I repeated, thinking he was joking still.
”A man must eat vegetables,” he explained to me, ”to keep his blood cool and his liver nicely trimmed. You can't eat green cabbages and Brussels-sprouts in mid-Atlantic, so you must carry lime-juice aboard; and we've run out. The men have much to complain of. They are in ill health, and one or two should be lying up in a sick berth, instead of being sworn at left and right for not moving quicker. So I see trouble ahead. It may be a hurricane, or just a summer squall; and if the first, Heaven help James Dagg and his officers, for they're a tough lot for'ard, as I know who've listened to their talk.”
And Rushby was proved to be in the right. We ran into a great calm as I have said. The sea was like gla.s.s; and though the sun was blotted out by a steam-like fog, the heat was so intense that we went about the deck in naught but vests and trousers, with the sweat dripping from our finger-tips.
Without a doubt, the crew suffered for lack of lime-juice; some broke out with a horrid skin disease. And then the news came that the tinned meat had all gone bad, and we were forced to live on salted ling-fish, so that we went thirsty all day long.
It was Ebenezer Hogg, the negro cook, who started all the trouble. He was a long, raw-boned Jamaica man, who had cut a figure in the prize-ring in his younger days. He had never forgiven the skipper for a blow across the mouth because the cabin potatoes had not been properly peeled, though this was the work of Ah Chin, the cook's mate, a half-daft Canton Chinaman, who would fire off crackers at all hours of the night, in honour (I suppose) of the heathen G.o.ds he wors.h.i.+pped.