Chapter Sixteen.
Our quarters at Ou Trou.—My asthmatic companion.—Illness and death of Captain Williams.—The melancholy burial-ground.—Try to kill time, but it kills most of my companions.—Startling news.—Life in the village.—Our condition becomes worse.—Death of more of my companions.—Orders for our release arrive.
Our mansion at Ou Trou consisted of three rooms, for which the liberal-minded copper-coloured owner insisted on our paying nineteen dollars a month. This was to serve as the habitation of twenty officers ranking as lieutenants. The midshipmen had another house appropriated to them of much the same character. Ours had out-houses connected with it, rather more extensive than the building itself, and as it was impossible for us all to stowaway in the house, especially in such a climate as that of Saint Domingo, we came to the resolution of drawing lots to determine who should occupy the outer buildings. An inspection of a comfortable barn in England will give no idea of these unattractive edifices. To increase their undesirableness as abodes for men, most of them were already occupied by mules or horses or cows or donkeys. When we gave signs of our intention to dispossess them, the owner asserted that we had no power to do so; they were the first tenants, and had the right of occupation in their favour.
“Now, gentlemen, are you all ready?” exclaimed the senior officer present; “we must settle this important matter. Four persons in each room is as many as they can possibly contain, the remainder must abide by the lot which falls to them. Two in the stable where the old horse now lives, two in the cow-shed, two in the tumble-down barn, and two in the large stable, where the mules and donkeys have till lately held their revels.”
This last edifice was in tolerable repair, and, provided its four-legged inhabitants were turned out, we considered would make a very tolerable abode. One after the other of us drew lots. Lieutenant Manby of the Minerva found himself the occupier of the shed with the old horse, and I was beginning to hope that I might obtain a berth in the house, when, lo and behold! I found that I was destined to share my abode with him. He was, as everybody who knew him would agree, a first-rate excellent fellow, so with regard to my human companion I had reason to consider myself fortunate; but the old horse, with the thermometer often at a hundred, was a considerable drawback to any comfort we might hope to find in our abode. Our landlord probably suspected that we should turn him out, so the very first night that we retired to our new abode the fellow made his appearance and told us to remove him at our peril.
“But the horse may eat us!” urged Manby.
“More likely that you will eat the horse,” answered the Frenchman, who was a bit of a naturalist. “He is graminivorous; you are carnivorous. He can’t eat you, but you can him.”
“He may bite, though!” I suggested.
“No, he has no teeth; he is too old for that,” replied the Frenchman, laughing.
“Ah! but his odour; that isn’t pleasant to delicate olfactories,” I observed humbly.
“Oh, that’s nothing when you are accustomed to it,” replied the tyrant, grinning from ear to ear. “You are too particular. Just let him take his side of the building, and do you take the other, and you will be completely at your ease.”
As it was useless arguing with so pertinacious a disputant we were compelled humbly to submit. The horse had one stall—we took possession of the other. To make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would allow, we collected all the hay and straw and reeds, so as to form a thick layer of dry materials between our bodies and the damp ground—for damp it was, in spite of the heat of the climate. It was too late in the day for us to attempt more, and, weary in mind and body, we climbed up into our nests, and were soon asleep. I was awoke by the wheezing and coughing of the asthmatic old horse, and, looking up, I saw what appeared to me an extraordinary phenomenon. Suddenly the air around us was filled with bright sparkles of light. Now they flashed on one side, now on the other; now the whole space above our heads was illuminated; then all was darkness; then the lights—thousands of them there appeared to be—burst forth once again, more brilliantly than ever. I could not help rousing up Manby, to ask him what he thought about the matter.
“The matter, Hurry!” he answered, yawning; “why, that our stable stands in a particularly damp situation, and that the place is full of fire-flies. You’ll hear frogs croaking before long, and see great big water-snakes crawling about, and reptiles of all sorts. The snakes, they tell me, are harmless; but it is not pleasant to awake and find one encircling one’s neck. However, we shall soon get accustomed to them, so people say, and that’s a comfort. I don’t know whether it is pleasanter to be asleep or awake. Just now, when you roused me up, I was dreaming that I was a horse, and that ugly copper-skinned landlord of ours was trying to put a saddle on my back to take a long ride, but I would not let him, and so he was thrashing me unmercifully. I dare say he would treat his beast much in the same way if left to himself.”
“Do not let us be talking of our dreams. Our waking thoughts are sufficiently unpleasant,” I observed.
After a time we managed to go to sleep again, but for some weeks scarcely a night passed without our being disturbed by unusual noises or by the visits of snakes or reptiles of some sort. Once we were invaded by a whole army of land-crabs, which were passing across the island, and it was some time before we could persuade them to turn aside from our door. Many paid the penalty of their temerity with their lives, and were cooked next morning for breakfast. By-the-bye, in the cooking department we were at first sadly deficient, but from the instruction we received from some of our French masters, we soon became great adepts in the art, and were independent of any help. One reason why we did not succeed at first was the scanty supply of food with which we were furnished. The Frenchmen, however, showed us where we might go out into the woods near the village, and gather vegetables and roots and nuts of all sorts for ourselves. After that we were never in want of the bare necessaries of life. We received an allowance from the French Government for our subsistence. The lieutenants received three shillings a day; the purser, master and surgeons only two; and the midshipmen but one shilling; on which, poor fellows, it was scarcely possible for them to exist. The captains were allowed more, I believe, and had a house found them some little way from Ou Trou, where they were able to live in somewhat less discomfort than we did. They used, however, their best exertions to lessen the inconveniences we were doomed to suffer; but the authorities paid but little attention to their representations. The residence hired by the midshipmen was even smaller and in a more dilapidated condition than ours, and from the smallness of their allowance, considering that their appetites were fully as good as ours, they were truly very badly off, poor fellows. We of the lieutenant’s rank accordingly consulted together, and agreed to have our mess in common for them and for ourselves. The midshipmen gratefully accepted our offer, and each of us threw his pay into a common stock and appointed two caterers to make the necessary arrangements and to contract with one of the copper-coloured French shopkeepers to supply us with breakfast and dinner and to do our washing. These arrangements being made, we flattered ourselves that all would go on swimmingly. Certainly our provisions were better and more abundant than we had expected; but we fancied that we had fallen in with a liberal-minded man, who was anxious to treat us well. We had a dreary time of it, however. Day after day passed away much in the same way. We had no shooting or fishing—no musical instruments—so that we had not even music to relieve the monotony of our existence. We had but few books also; some of us read them; but, generally speaking, under the relaxing influence of the climate, we felt very little inclined for any literary pursuit. A few games were invented which served to kill time, but killing time is not a pleasant or inspiriting occupation, especially when a man reflects that time is sure to kill him in the end. We walked about the neighbourhood of our dreary abode as far as we were allowed to go, but we soon got weary of the negro huts, and the palm-trees and the rice fields and the coffee plantations, and the cocoa-nuts and plantains and bananas, and the monkeys and opossums and racoons, and parrots and humming-birds. I dare say, if we had not been prisoners and compelled, as it were, to see the wonderful productions of animal and vegetable life, we should have been highly interested in them—at least, we ought to have been. One or two of our surgeons, who had a little turn for natural history, contrived to pass their time by collecting specimens, and examining into the nature and habits of the animals which abounded in the country; but naval officers, especially in those days, did not trouble their heads much about such matters, and were somewhat inclined to look down upon those who did. We talked of our prospects—they were gloomy enough; we tried sometimes to sing, but for that we had not much spirits; and so the days passed away. It would have been surprising, even in a healthy climate, if disease had not attacked us under similar circumstances. For some time it stood aloof, but it came at last, and made ample amends for its delay by its violence. We had been about a month at Ou Trou, when one day we were all seated at dinner in a sort of courtyard, which being in shade served us as our mess-room and drawing-room, unless the weather was bad, when we had to retire into our hot, stifling little house. We were all in tolerably fair spirits that day. O’Driscoll had been telling some of his good stories, more than one song had been sung, and jokes were flying about, far more than was usually the case. There were a few absentees in consequence of sickness, and we heard also that Captain Williams, lately commanding the Active, was ill. Poor man! he severely felt the loss of his ship, though, having been compelled to yield to a vastly superior force, no blame was attached to him. His spirits, it was said, had never risen again since he was taken prisoner, and he was thus but ill able to combat with the baneful effects of the climate and the irksomeness of imprisonment. Just then, however, few of our party were thinking about anything but the present moment and the unusually good dinner we had been enjoying, when who should make his appearance near the head of the table but Monsieur Roquion our purveyor, with a smiling countenance and a long bill in his hand.
Our caterers inquired why he had come.
“For to present my litte compte to you, gentilmen,” he answered, for he indulged occasionally in a few words of English, especially when he wanted to say anything very disagreeable.
One of the caterers took the bill, and we saw them both looking over it together, and pulling wonderfully long faces.
“What is the matter?” asked Delisle. “Anything wrong with the account? Let us know the worst. It cannot be very bad, I hope.”
“Only our excellent friend here has brought us in a charge of a hundred dollars more than we expected to have to pay, or than we ought to pay,” was the answer.
“Never mind; we’ll contest it, and the fellow will have to go without the money, I hope.”
Monsieur Roquion understood the remark, for he grinned widely from ear to ear.
“Go and get us a proper account, Master Yellow-face,” said our chief caterer. “This little bill of yours is too much by half.”
I don’t know if the worthy understood what was said, but he refused to take back the account, and, after grinning at us a little longer, took his departure.
We finished our dinner without much concern about Monsieur Roquion and his bill; but we had unfortunately come to the end of our stock of wine and tea, and a few other luxuries, and where to obtain them except from Monsieur Roquion was a puzzle. The next morning we determined to try, so we went to his shop to order what we wanted; but he instantly met us with a hint that “Le petit compte must first be settled.”
We appealed to the commandant—a personage of whom I have not hitherto spoken, because I had nothing to say in his favour, but very much to the contrary. He replied that the demand was a just one. We suspected that he was to come in for his share of the spoil. We at length got angry, and said that we were cheated and would not pay. Thereat he grinned broadly, and informed us that it was his duty to see justice done to Monsieur Roquion, and that he should stop a portion of our allowances till the debt was paid. We protested loudly against this decision; but he only grinned the more, and with a bland smile informed us that might made right, and that we might take what course we liked.
We could do nothing but submit; and the next pay-day we found that he had determined to stop half our allowance. So we found ourselves reduced to eighteen-pence a day, while the poor midshipmen had only sixpence—a sum on which they could barely exist. We did our best to help them out of our own pittance; but to all of us it was like falling from affluence to penury. Misfortunes, it is said, never come alone. Certainly at that time we experienced plenty of them. We were all sitting together discussing what was best under our circumstances to be done, when Delisle, who had gone to see Captain Williams, came back with the report that he was much worse, and wished to see his son, who was a midshipman, and had been living with the others. Delisle went for the boy; and as he passed by, on his return, I saw that he looked especially sad. That evening notice was brought us that Captain Williams was dead, and his poor young midshipman son was left an orphan; and a prisoner in that far-off pestiferous land. Delisle brought the boy back with him, and with all the kindness of his heart endeavoured to console him.
In that climate decomposition follows death so rapidly that, almost before the human form is cold, it is necessary to commit it to the grave. We agreed, therefore, that early next morning we would all go and pay the last respects to the late unfortunate captain of the Active. Accordingly, snatching a hasty breakfast of dry bread and milk—for that was all the food the present low state of our finances would allow us to indulge in—we sallied forth, taking poor little Williams with us, whom we intended should act as chief mourner. When we arrived at the house, and went into the room where Delisle had last seen the body, it was no longer there. We searched about, but nowhere could we see it. In another room we found Captain Stott, late of the Minerva. His health, like that of his brother captain, had given way, and he looked very ill and wretched.
We told him that we had come to assist in burying poor Captain Williams.
“You have come, then, too late, gentlemen,” he answered with a deep sigh. “Two ill-conditioned negroes came this morning with a guard of three or four soldiers, and informed me that they had come to remove the body. I protested vehemently, and, had I possessed force, would have prevented them, but it was in vain. The wretches, with taunts and sneers at our being heretics and unworthy of Christian burial, carried away the body of my friend and brother-officer, and, I conclude, have thrown him into the ground in some out-of-the-way place.”
Captain Stott was too ill, or he would have followed the barbarians in spite of the soldiers. Two or three other people tried to do so, but were driven back with angry threats, and at last gave up the attempt. We were very indignant when we heard this, and resolved at once to go and try and find out where the wretches had buried the captain. We ascertained the direction they had taken and pursued them. We should soon have been at fault in that trackless part of the country, but we fell in with a little negro boy to whom I had been kind on more than one occasion, and he told us that he had followed the men at a distance, and undertook to show us the spot where our countryman had been buried. It was not far-off, and when we reached it our indignation became greater than ever. The authorities had evidently studied how they could most insult and annoy us.
In a piece of waste ground where offal and rubbish was cast, and where the bodies of the few malefactors who were ever brought to justice, as well as those of dogs and other animals, were deposited, they had ordered our poor friend to be interred. He had been placed there, fastened up in a piece of canvas, without a coffin and without ceremony of any sort. We stood with mournful countenances and with hearts full of bitterness and indignation over the foul spot, discussing among ourselves whether we ought not to dig up the body and carry it to the churchyard of Ou Trou, there to bury it among others who at all events had called themselves Christians. Our intentions must have been suspected, for in a few minutes a guard of soldiers made their appearance, and, threatening us with their pikes or halberds, made us desist. We then determined to go at once to the commandant. He received us with a look of haughty contempt. He remarked that our countryman was a heretic—that the priests considered that he had died out of the pale of their true Church like a dog, and that like a dog he must be buried.
“Does the holy religion of Christ teach you thus to treat your enemies?” exclaimed Delisle, indignantly. “We are Christians, as you call yourselves, and have, as such, a right to Christian burial.”
“I know nothing about that matter,” answered the commandant. “The priests say that you are not, that you are cut off from the only true Church, and are thus condemned to everlasting punishment. This being the case—and I am bound to believe it—what matters it where your bodies are placed?”
Such was the tenor of the reply we received from an officer holding a commission under the government of a nation which prided itself on being the most enlightened and civilised in the world.
Though in France the outward signs of religion were still adhered to, the savants and literati were already paving the way by their false philosophy for that terrific outbreak of popular fury which deluged their country in blood, and well-nigh rooted out all that was noble and good and worthy in the land. At this time in Saint Domingo, and probably in the other French dependencies, there was an ostentatious show of religion which was sadly belied by the manners and customs of the people. At all events, a person bearing his Britannic Majesty’s commission was entitled, as a prisoner of war according to the law of nations, to all the respect due to his rank as an officer and a gentleman.
We returned to our home, wondering who next among us would be carried off to be put into that revolting receptacle of the dead. We had now seriously to turn it in our minds how we should be able to exist. A bright idea struck me—I would become a gardener. There was a considerable portion of ground attached to our mansion. I had had some little experience before in my life; others also knew something about the art, and so we hoped that our united stock of knowledge would produce us a good supply of vegetables. We had unfortunately but little money to purchase tools, or seeds or plants, but we did not disdain to turn beggars. We borrowed what tools we could, and manufactured spades and hoes and rakes out of wood. They were not very neat, but they answered our purpose. Seeds cost but very little; many were given us, others we bought. The poor unsophisticated, ignorant blacks were very kind-hearted, and gave us all they could spare. Thus our garden became our greatest source of amusement, and at the same time a most profitable employment.
Often for days together we had no other food but that which our garden produced. We had yam, cassava, choco, ochro, tomatoes, Indian kale, Lima beans, potatoes, peas, beans, calalue, beet-root, artichokes, cucumbers, carrots, parsnips, radishes, celery and salads of all sorts; nor must I forget the magnificent cabbage-trees some two hundred feet high—not that we planted them, by-the-bye—or the fruits, the cocoa-nut, plantain, banana, the alligator pear, the cashew, papaw, custard apples, and others too numerous to mention; the recollection of which even now makes my mouth water, as it did sometimes then, when we saw but could not obtain them. If it had not been for our garden I believe that we should one and all of us have succumbed to that fell climate. In vain we endeavoured to learn how the war was going on. No news was ever allowed to reach us but what was of the most disheartening nature, and Monsieur Roquion always contrived to bring it with a grin on his countenance which we knew meant mischief, though we could not make up our minds to believe him or not. One day he came in with a smile on his countenance, and shrugging his shoulders—
“Very sorry for you, as we do not here benefit by your loss,” he remarked, endeavouring to put on a look of perfect sincerity. “You have, undoubtedly, heard the sad news. Your brave Admiral Keppel has been defeated in the channel. Most of his ships have been sunk or taken, and he himself has been captured and is a prisoner in France.”
Days and days passed away and we heard no more, and though we used every exertion to discover the truth, no one we met could contradict it. Next we heard that the successful French fleet had pursued Admiral Byron on his voyage to America, had brought him to action and completely dispersed and destroyed his fleet. We daily talked the matter over among ourselves. We could scarcely believe that the sun of England had set so low, and yet what right had we to doubt the truth of what we heard? We had ourselves been captured by the enemy, and might not others have been equally unfortunate?
Then we heard that the French had blocked up Lord Howe in New York, and that the American patriots had triumphed over the British army and were everywhere successful. How earnestly we longed for letters which might inform us of the truth! but our cunning captors took care that we should not get them. Perhaps they themselves believed the reports they spread among us. One thing we knew, that in spite of all their reverses, the English were not likely to give in without a desperate and prolonged struggle, and that, therefore, our captivity might be continued to an indefinite period. I therefore considered if I could not make myself more comfortable than I had hitherto been. I called Tom Rockets to my councils. He, faithful fellow, had been constantly in attendance on me.
“To my mind, sir, the best thing to do would be to keep chickens,” he observed with a look of simple earnestness. “My old mother used to keep them, and I helped her to feed them, and I know all their ways; and if we could get a few we could keep them in this here stable of yours, sir, and they would well-nigh feed themselves.”
I thought Tom’s proposal so good a one that I forthwith put his plan into execution. I had made several friends among the negroes by stopping and talking to them and exchanging a joke occasionally. Not that what I said was always very comprehensible to them, nor were their replies to me, but they understood my signs as I did theirs, so that we got on very well.
“Now, Tom,” said I, “we will go out and buy these same chickens. You know a laying hen from an old cock, I suppose?”
“Lord love ye, yes, sir,” was Tom’s answer, with a grin. “And if so be ye wants any of the rhino, I’ve saved three dollars, which will go far to buy them; and you know, Mr Hurry, sir, it will be an honour and pleasure to me if you will take them. I’ve no use for them, and may be, if they stop burning in my pocket, I shall only drink them up some day.”
I thought this too probable, but still I was unwilling to take the honest, generous-hearted fellow’s money. I had myself scraped together a couple of dollars, with which I expected to be able to purchase a cock and five or six fowls, and I thought that would be enough. Tom and I accordingly set out on our expedition, with our dollars in our pockets. Before long we reached the hut of an old negro and his wife, where I had seen some good-looking fowls. Looking about, however, we saw none of them. As we were going away old Quasho made his appearance, followed by Quashie, his better half. In vain, however, did we tell them we wanted some fowls; I had forgotten the French word, and they did not understand us.
“I think as how I can make them know what we wants, sir,” said Tom and he began crowing away at the top of his voice; then he cackled most lustily and began running about as a hen does before she begins to lay an egg, and finally, having provided himself with a round stone, he produced it as if he had just deposited it in a nest. Then he pulled out one of his dollars and held it up before them. Quasho and Quashie clapped their hands with delight at the significance of the action, and away they scuttled into the woods, soon returning with a couple of hens.
“Bons, bons!” cried Tom, taking them, but not giving up the coin. Again he crowed and again he cackled, and gave the old couple a shove to signify that they were to go off and bring more fowls. It did not suit them, it appeared, to comprehend what he wanted, but Tom was not to be done, so at last Quasho exclaimed—
“Jiggigery, niggery, hop,” or some words which so sounded, and away scuttled the old lady, bringing back a couple more hens.
Tom, having secured them by the legs under his arm, allowing them to peck away at his back, attempted the same manoeuvre, but the old people put on such a look of dull stolidity that I was certain they would give no more fowls for the dollar. I told him, therefore, to give up the dollar, and we continued on our way to another hut, where, for another dollar, we got the same number of fowls. Three dollars were thus expended, and, with our newly-acquired farm produce, we returned in triumph to my stable.
Manby was highly amused at the notion of my turning egg and chicken merchant, which I told him it was my intention to do. In that country food of all sorts for my fowls was easily procured, so I had no difficulty in collecting an ample supply. This became one of my chief occupations. Tom Rockets and I used to go out into the woods with bags, and come back loaded with nuts and seeds and roots for my pets. The consequence of their being thus amply supplied with provisions was that they quickly took to laying eggs, and thus in a short time I had four or five eggs every morning. Some of these Tom and I ate, and others we sold or exchanged for meat. They, with the produce of our kitchen garden, enabled us to be pretty well independent of the provisions furnished us by the authorities. Thus, what I at first thought a misfortune turned out to be a real benefit, because the necessity of procuring food made me exert myself, and afforded me an occupation of interest. I gave them all names, and I knew each of them, and they soon learned to know me and to come at my call. Whichever I summoned came flapping up to me, cackling or crowing as the case might be, whether cock or hen. I was rather proud of the nickname which my messmates gave me of “the farmer.” Often, when they were almost starving after our mess was broken up, I was able to supply myself and Tom with a comfortable breakfast and dinner. Never, indeed, were dollars better expended. I have already mentioned the various reports of disasters to the British arms, both by sea and land, which reached us from time to time. Soon after I got my fowls we were told, as an undoubted fact, that Jersey and Guernsey had been taken by surprise, and that every man, woman, and child in them had been destroyed on account of their loyalty to England; but the most terrific and heart-rending news came at last. It was that England herself had been invaded; that the enemy, having gained a secure footing in the country, had won three or four pitched battles, and had finally taken London, after a terrific resistance, when half the population were slain. Probably, under other circumstances, we should not have believed this last report unless it had been fully authenticated, though, unguarded as the shores of England at that time were, we knew that it was possible; but, dispirited and ill as many of us were, we were fully prepared to give credence to any story even of a less probable character. For two or three weeks we were left in the most dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty as to whether England still existed or not as an independent nation. Some of us fully believed that liberty no longer was to be found except in the highlands of Scotland and among the mountains of Wales.
The first gleam which banished these dreadful surmises was the announcement which reached us on the 5th of November, that Captain Philips, of the 60th Regiment, and Mr Rankin, a passenger in the Minerva, were forthwith to be set at liberty. They received permission to go at once to Jamaica under a flag of truce.
We could scarcely believe this information when we heard it, and it was only when we saw them setting off with joyful countenances, bidding us all farewell, that we were convinced of its truth. It also assured us that the various accounts we had from time to time heard of the disasters which had befallen the power of Great Britain were very contrary to what was the case. The invasion of England had long been a favourite scheme of the French, and I thought then, as I have since, that some ambitious general or sovereign will find it one of the very best cards he can possibly play to make the attempt for the purpose of gaining supreme power in the country, or of securing the position he may before have obtained.
Death was now busy among us. On the 20th of November Captain Stott’s steward died—a faithful fellow, who had willingly followed his master into captivity. Near the village was a wide savannah—an extensive open, level space, destitute of trees, and overgrown in most parts with a rank vegetation, and dotted with pools of water, among which snakes and venomous reptiles of all sorts delighted to roam. Here the poor man was carried by a couple of blacks and cast into a hole they dug for the purpose.
Very soon after this event, which I find recorded in my journal, I most unexpectedly received a box containing linen and clothes, sent me by a friend at Jamaica. In the pockets of some of the clothes I discovered a packet of letters. Two of them were from home. What a thousand thoughts and feelings and regrets did their contents conjure up! Many, many months had passed away since I had heard from any of my relations and friends in Old England, and I had begun almost to fancy that I was forgotten, and should never receive any more letters. I read these over and over again, and then I went in search of Delisle, that I might have the pleasure of reading them to him. He and I were like brothers, and like a brother he entered into all my feelings, and was almost as much interested in the contents of my letters as I was myself. One of them was from my sister Lucy—a sweet, good, pretty girl. I described her to him, and, poor fellow, from my portrait, (I am sure it was not overdrawn, though), he fell in love with her. He was ever afterwards talking of her, and constantly asking to see her letters, and I agreed to introduce him when we got home, whenever that might be, and he promised, if she would have him, to marry her. So it was settled between us. No one will find fault with him or me for what we did.
I must not forget another important letter from the friend who sent the box. In it he told me that the admiral had most kindly kept a vacancy open for me as a lieutenant on board the Ostrich, but at last, when he could not arrange my exchange, he had been reluctantly compelled to fill it up. This, of course, added to my annoyance at having been made prisoner. The parcel of clothes was very valuable, for I found that they would fetch a high price in the place, and as in that warm climate a very small supply was sufficient, I resolved on selling the greater portion of them. This I forthwith did, at a price which enabled me to pay all my debts at the hucksters’ shops, and gave me a good sum besides. I thought that it would have been inexhaustible, and accordingly feasted sumptuously for several weeks, and entertained my friends freely in my stable, or rather in front of it, where, under the shade of a grove of cocoa-nut trees, I used to spread my board.
On the 2nd of December, Mr Camel, who had been purser of the Active, and the son of Captain Williams, were sent to Jamaica on their parole in a cartel, but no one else of our party was allowed to leave the place. Reports had just been going about to the effect that we were all to be forthwith exchanged, and therefore, when we found that they were false, an overpowering despondency sprung up among us. To increase the misery of our condition, a report reached the commandant, invented by some malicious person, or perhaps by the authorities themselves, to increase the harsh treatment to which we were subjected, to the effect that we had formed a plot to set fire to the village, and that, taking advantage of the confusion thus created, we intended endeavouring to make our way to the sea, and then to seize some small vessel and escape in her to Jamaica. It was not likely that a number of officers who had given their parole to remain quiet would be guilty of an act so dishonourable as to endeavour to escape. It was, however, believed, and we were in consequence even more severely treated than before. I say believed, but I should be more correct if I said that the authorities pretended to believe it. We had now a guard constantly set over us, and whenever we went out we were narrowly watched. The food with which we were furnished was worse than ever, and when we complained of the purveyors or hucksters the commandant replied that he could not interfere, and that we must take what was offered us, and be thankful that it was no worse. Often many of our poor fellows had not the bare necessaries of life, and it was only by great exertion that I was able to procure them, as I have described, for myself and a few of my more intimate friends. I had not supposed that so degenerate a race of Frenchmen existed, for when they saw us all rapidly sickening and advancing towards the grave, instead of relaxing their system of tyranny, they only increased their ill-treatment, and made us believe that they really wished to put us to death by inches.
On the 4th, poor young Bruce, a midshipman of the Minerva, died, and was buried in the savannah among many of our countrymen who had already fallen victims to disease. Captain Stott, we heard, was sinking fast, and on the 15th he too succumbed to sickness and, I truly believe, a broken heart. Some of his friends attended him to the last, and a large body of us went up to keep guard, to prevent his body being carried away, as had been the case with Captain Williams.
As soon as he was dead, we lieutenants carried him to our own house and in the morning we sent a deputation to the commandant, saying, that as Captain Stott was one of the oldest officers in his Majesty’s service, we considered that he ought to be buried with as much form and ceremony as circumstances would allow in the public cemetery of the place. Our request was, however, peremptorily refused. We all of us, accordingly, assembled in our uniforms, and bore the body of the old captain to the savannah, where, at a lonely spot, we dug a grave with such implements as we possessed, and, prayers being said, deposited him in it near his midshipman and steward.
There they rest, in that scarcely known locality, free from that trouble and care which has followed many of those who attended them to their graves. Some of those were, however, soon to be laid to rest alongside them. Perhaps it was through some feeling of humanity that, a few days afterwards, the son and nephew of Captain Stott—two little fellows scarcely more than ten years old—were allowed to go to Jamaica under charge of Mr Varmes, purser of the Minerva. Bartholomew, one of the lieutenants of the same ship, was very ill of the fever. He had scarcely been able to creep to the burial of his late commander, but still he had some hopes of recovery. Our medical man had very little experience of the nature of the fell disease which was attacking us, so that those taken ill had but a small chance of getting well.
I was sitting one day by the side of poor Bartholomew, endeavouring to afford him what consolation I could. Alas! with regard to his worldly prospects there was little I could offer. I tried to point to higher things—to the world to come. Unfortunately men do not think enough of that till they are on its very threshold. He was expressing a hope that he should get better, and I entertained the same; suddenly the door of the room was thrown open, and Adams, another of the Minerva’s lieutenants, rushed into the room with an animated countenance—
“Cheer up, Bartie, old fellow!” he exclaimed. “An order has just arrived for our release. I have seen it, and we are to set off at once for Jamaica.”
“Hurrah!” exclaimed the other lieutenant, lifting himself up in his bed. “Then I shall not have to leave my bones in this horrid hole. Hurrah! On, my fine fellows, on!”
He waved his hand above his head as if he had his sword in it, and was leading a party of boarders. I heard a rattling sound. I looked at his countenance. An awful change had come over it. Before I could even support him he fell back in his bed and was dead. Adams and I stood for a moment like persons petrified, so sudden and shocking was the event. We bore him at sunset to our field of the dead in the savannah, and there the hands of his friends and brother-officers laid him beside the grave of his late captain. Adams, however, got away and reached Jamaica in safety. Thus ended, in gloom and almost hopeless despondency, that, to us prisoners, ever memorable year of 1778. For what we could tell to the contrary then, we might have to remain till peace was restored, or till England succumbed to the enemies gathering round her.
Proud of our country as we were, and confident of the bravery of her sons, what had we to hope for? Although at sea the ancient supremacy of our flag had been ably upheld, on shore, either from want of good generals or from our pernicious military system—perhaps from both causes combined—no brilliancy had been shed on the British arms; indeed, we only heard of defeats, ill-conducted expeditions, and disasters of all sorts, which often made our hearts sink to the very depths of despondency.
Chapter Seventeen.
Attacked with fever.—Mammy Gobo, my black nurse.—Recovery.—Death of Delisle.—Sail for Jamaica.—Promoted.—Join the Porcupine.—Chase.—A mishap.—Becalmed.—Provisions run short.—Sufferings.—A fresh breeze brings us relief.—Jamaica again.
I had long held out against the attacks of that arch enemy, the yellow fever, to which so many of my companions in misfortune had succumbed. Several vacancies having occurred in the house, Manby had gone there and left me to the society of Tom Rockets and my cocks and hens. I, however, had got so accustomed to the place that I had no wish to go elsewhere. Impunity had made me fancy that I was proof against the fever. It found me out, however. In an instant I was struck down. I entreated that I might be left where I was. Tom made me up as comfortable a bed as he could, and covered me with a boat-cloak and a blanket. Strange as it may seem, in that climate I felt excessively cold, and thought that nothing would warm me. Hour after hour I lay shivering as if nothing could ever make me warm again, and expecting all the time that I was about to die, and thinking that those I loved most on earth would perhaps never gain tidings of my fate. Then I felt so hot that I had a longing to jump into the nearest stream to cool my fevered blood. Poor Tom sat by my side, often wringing his hands in despair, not knowing how to treat me, and yet anxious to do all in his power to be of assistance. At length one day he jumped up as if a bright thought had just struck him, and out he ran, leaving me alone. I scarcely expected that I should be alive when he came back, so weak and wretched did I feel. An hour or more passed when he reappeared, accompanied by an old black woman with whom I had occasionally exchanged a joke in passing, and I believe bestowed on her some trifle or other,—Mammy Gobo I used to call her,—little thinking the service she would be to me. She felt me all over and looked at my tongue, and then off she trotted. She soon, however, came back with some pots and herbs and some bricks. She first made Tom dig a hole, in which she lighted a fire and at it heated some bricks. These she applied at once to my feet, and, putting on her pots, formed some decoctions with the herbs, which she made me swallow in large quantities. Had she not providentially come, I believe that I should have died that very night. As it was, I was evidently a subject requiring all her care and skill. She seemed anxious to bestow both on me. All night long she sat up by my side, and all day she watched over me. It appeared to me that she never slept. If I opened my eyes they were certain to fall on her jolly ugly visage, with her large eyes turned full upon me, seemingly to inquire what I wanted. When at last she began to go away occasionally for half an hour at a time to collect more herbs, or for some other purpose, Rockets was always ready to take her place, and attended me with all the affection of a true and warm friend. Strong as my constitution was, I am very sure that had I not been watched over by Mammy Gobo and Tom I should not have recovered—that is to say, I felt then, and I feel more strongly now, that they were the instruments, under a merciful Providence, by which I was preserved so long from destruction while hanging between life and death, and ultimately of my recovery, though it was long before that took place. Probably in consequence of his constant attendance on me, before I had begun to recover, Tom himself was attacked with the fever, and there he lay in the stall next to me, moaning and groaning, and occasionally raging with delirium. I ought to have mentioned that some time before this our old horse had been removed to a place of superior accommodation—I suspect to our tumble-down, rickety stable; but, as we wanted his room more than his company, we did not complain of this. Mammy Gobo was no respecter of persons, and I was glad to find that she attended on Tom with as much care as she had done on me. The poor fellow was very grateful.
“Ah, sir,” he said, “though that ’ere nigger woman has got a black skin, to my mind she has as good and red a heart in her body as any white-faced person. It’s just the painting of the outside which ain’t altogether according to our notions; but after all, sir, beauty is, as you know, sir, only skin deep.”
I fully agreed with him on this point, and at that moment poor Mammy Gobo was more welcome to our sight than the most beautiful creature in existence. What cooling drinks she concocted out of herbs and simples, and what delicious messes out of various sorts of vegetables and fruits and roots, the productions of that fruitful climate! However, Mammy Gobo could not always attend on us, for she had several other patients and had to look after her own affairs at home. During her absence our poor chickens fared but ill, for we could not go out to collect food for them, and the supply we had before stored up was soon expended. They, in consequence, had to go forth to forage for themselves. At first they came back regularly enough, but then we remarked that one was missing; then next day another did not make its appearance, and so on the third day two were missing. In a few days half our stock were lost. We told Mammy Gobo of what had occurred, and she said she would try and find out who had robbed us. When, however, she was present, all the chickens came back. We certainly did not suspect her of being the thief, but we felt sure that the real thieves watched her movements and ran off with our fowls when she was out of the way. We were compelled also to kill several of our stock of chickens for food, Mammy Gobo having especially prescribed chicken-broth when we became somewhat convalescent. They were now reduced to a very small number. One by one they also disappeared till none remained, and then we were indeed in a very miserable and forlorn condition. We were still too ill, however, to think much of the future, but we found it impossible to supply even our present wants; and had not the kind-hearted black woman catered for us, assuring the hucksters that I was certain to recover and pay them, I believe that we should have starved.
At last I was able to get about a little, though the fever was still on me, and I managed to crawl to the house to see some of my brother-officers. The greater number of them were sick, or had been ill and nearer death’s door. I inquired for my old shipmate and friend, Delisle. “He is ill in that room,” was the reply. I went forthwith to him. A few short weeks of sickness had made a great change in his countenance. He took my hand when I approached the wretched pallet on which he was stretched.
“I am glad to see you recovering, my dear Hurry,” he said in a low, feeble voice. “It is all up with me, though. I shall never be a post-captain—never command a ship—my last battle is fought. I must yield to God’s will. It seems hard, though. You know all about my friends. If you ever reach home, go and tell them about me. I can’t talk more. I am weak—very weak—couldn’t hail the maintop if I was to try. Oh, it’s hard, very hard, to be thus cut off by the arm of this vile climate—very, very.”
He was silent. I tried to console him, to raise his spirits, for I was certain they had a good deal to do in enabling a person to recover. In vain were all my efforts. He sank slowly, and before morning one who had long been my friend and the companion of my Orlopian days on board the Orpheus, and lately my messmate also in the Bristol, was no more. The blow prostrated me in body and spirits, and I felt inclined to give in, and lay my head down beside his. Soon after daylight we sallied forth with the body of our brother-officer, and took our way towards the dreary savannah. We were followed by some of our guards and other individuals, anxious, we concluded, to watch our proceedings. Our party was but small, for alas! the greater number of the lieutenants were unable from sickness to attend the funeral. We were a melancholy party—pale, haggard, and squalid. We placed the body on the grass. What a fine, handsome young fellow he looked! We began to dig his grave. Without consideration, we began to dig it east and west. When we had proceeded some way in our work, our French masters interfered and said that we ought to dig it north and south, that only Christian men, good Catholics, should be buried east and west, that they might be ready to rise when summoned by the sound of the last trump. We resolved, however, not to give in to so absurd a demand, and continued our labours. Again the Frenchmen interfered. On a further consultation one of our party recollected that graves were usually placed east and west in England, and so we told our tyrants that we were only following one of our own national customs, and to it we intended to adhere. From our not recollecting the custom, all our other countrymen had been buried north and south. After some further dispute about the matter we were allowed to proceed, and thus poor Delisle rests in the position which is considered most orthodox, though I cannot say that I should be inclined to attach much importance to the matter. Sad and sick, I went back to our stable. The exertion I had gone through almost finished me. The other lieutenants wanted me to go to their house, but I had no spirits for society. I preferred my own wretched abode and the companionship of Tom Rockets and the old black woman. Never did one brother mourn for another more sincerely than I did for Gerard Delisle. Thus the days and weeks and months drew slowly along till April arrived. That month was passed much as the others till on the 28th, a day not likely to be forgotten by me. Several of my friends had come in to see me, and they were all sitting about in the stable. We were bemoaning, as we often did, our hard fate.
“As for me,” I exclaimed, “I fully expect to lay my bones in that dark, dreary savannah! What hope have I of ever getting away?”
Suddenly a voice was heard outside the door shouting lustily. We thought it was one of our friends running about in the delirium of fever, when in rushed Lieutenant Moriarty with an open letter in his hand of a very official appearance.
“It was directed to me, so I broke the seal. You and Manby and I are free. Hurrah, boys, hurrah!” he exclaimed. “Hurrah, hurrah!”
I thought at first that he was mad, and could not believe him till he let me inspect the letter. It was from General D’Argue, informing us that, in consequence of a request from Sir Peter Parker, we had leave to embark on board a cartel for Jamaica. I turned the document over and over again in my hand. There could be no doubt about its genuineness. Ill and weak as we all were, for we still had the fever on us, we resolved to set off the moment we were able. After the first ebullition of our feelings was over, we recollected what must be the sensation of the friends we were leaving behind, and Moriarty did his best to soothe them by assuring them how rejoiced we should be if they were able to go likewise. Some of them, I thought, looked compassionately on me, for I was at that time confined to my bed, such as it was, and, as I thought, utterly unable to walk. The news of my liberty, however, worked more wonders towards my cure than all the physic the first of doctors could have given me, or the decoctions of good Mammy Gobo. The next day, however, when it was known that I had got my liberty, the hucksters, shoemakers, and washerwomen poured in their bills on me, which, though not of any great amount, I found totally beyond my means to pay. I promised them that I would transmit the amounts the instant I got back to Jamaica; but they said that would not do, and that if I could not pay them they must appeal to the authorities, and that I must be detained. I was in despair. I was eager to be gone. I felt that I should not live if I remained. In my dilemma Lieutenant Lawford, who had a letter of credit on a merchant at Cape François, came forward in the most liberal and generous way, and supplied me with fifty dollars, which was all I required to satisfy the demands of my creditors. My mind being thus relieved, I felt myself strong enough to get up and assist in making the preparations for our journey. We engaged a carriage to convey us to the coast, for none of us were in a fit state to ride on horseback. I will not dwell on the sad countenances and the depressed spirits of our brother-officers whom we left behind.
On the morning of the 30th of April, with a buoyancy of spirits to which I had long been a stranger, I with my companions got into the rickety vehicle which was to convey us the first part of our journey, Tom Rockets being perched on a seat behind. We arrived at about eight o’clock at the village of Lemonade—an attractive name on a hot day—and near there found a boat in readiness to carry us to Cape François. How delicious the sea-breeze smelt!—how refreshing to our parched skins and stagnant blood! It appeared to me to drive away at once all the remains of the fever. I felt like a new being, strong and hearty, in a moment. I found, however, when I attempted to exert my strength, that I had very little of that left. Once more we found ourselves in the far-from-delectable town of Cape François. As the cartel was not ready, we had to take up our abode at a tavern, where we were joined by two other naval officers who had been imprisoned in another part of the island. We had some difficulty in amusing ourselves during our stay, but every day we were picking up health and strength, and at length, on the 8th, we all five embarked, with two masters of merchantmen who had lost their vessels, and thirty seamen, on board the cartel, and commenced our voyage to Jamaica. On the 10th we put into Saint Germains, another part of Saint Domingo, where we received some more released prisoners, and on the following day we bid what I hoped would prove an eternal adieu to the most inhospitable of islands. With the exception of the houses we had stopped at on our way to Ou Trou, we had not been received into the abodes of any of the white inhabitants of the country. Some of the coloured people would willingly have treated us kindly, but they were kept in awe by the authorities, and thus the only real kindness we received was from the poor unsophisticated blacks. For my own part, I have felt ever since deeply grateful to Mammy Gobo and her ebony-skinned countrymen and countrywomen, and have been most anxious to do them all the good in my power. With regard to the French residents, all I can say is that I recognised among them none of the supposed characteristics of the French nation. Instead of proving hospitable and polite, I should say that I never saw a greater set of bears in my life.
Our voyage was short and merry, though one of the subjects which afforded us most amusement was our own forlorn, half-starved, almost naked condition. We were all much alike, so we could afford to laugh at each other. The weather held fine and our voyage was speedy, and on the ever-to-be-remembered 13th of May we sighted the entrance of Port Royal harbour, where we dropped anchor in the afternoon. I found that I had been absent exactly nine months and three days. In spite of my tatter-demalion appearance and my consciousness that I was much like the wretched apothecary who supplied the love-lorn Romeo with the fatal potion, as soon as I got on shore I hastened up to pay my respects to Sir Peter Parker. He received me, as I knew he would, with the greatest kindness, and when I apologised for my ragged appearance he laughed and assured me that he would much rather see an officer in a threadbare uniform, worn out in active service, than in one shining and bright in consequence of want of use.
“You’ll stay to dinner with me, Mr Hurry,” said the admiral. “We must try to put some more flesh on those bones of yours.”
I looked at my tattered garments.
“Oh, never mind those; they are honourable, like a flag well riddled,” he observed. “I want you, besides, to tell me all that happened to you during your captivity.”
Dinner was soon afterwards announced, and during it I gave the admiral an account of the chief events which had happened while I was at Ou Trou. He was very indignant when he heard of the way we had been treated, and especially of the mode in which Captains Williams and Stott had been buried. I made him laugh at some of our contrivances, and particularly at my having turned hen keeper. I described also to him our residence in the stable with the old horse. I declared that I had tried to teach the horse my language, and, not succeeding, had endeavoured to learn his, and that I was in a fair way of succeeding when he was removed from our habitation. This really was the case; I had made great friends with the old animal, and I was beginning to know exactly the meaning of all the noises he made. The admiral was highly amused with all I told him. He put me, in return, in high spirits by informing me that, on hearing I was captured, he had directed that I should be rated as a mate of the Bristol, and kept on her books, and that, in consequence, I was entitled to a share of prize-money, which, as she had been very successful, would be of some amount. Several officers, post-captains and others, were present, as were three or four civilians, planters and merchants. The latter invited me to their houses, and one of them, Mr Martin, insisted that I should drive back with him, and make his house my home till I got a ship.
“That he has got already,” said the admiral, presenting me with a paper, which I found was my commission as lieutenant, and that I was appointed to the Porcupine sloop-of-war of fourteen guns, commanded by Captain John Packenham. I could not find words to express my thanks to the admiral, but he said, “Pooh, pooh; we want active, intelligent, gallant young men not afraid of a gale of wind, or of an enemy ashore or afloat,” he answered. “You have fairly won your promotion, and I congratulate you on obtaining it.”
With these kind words I parted from the admiral, and took my seat in my new friend’s carriage.
“We have time to see old Stukely this evening, and ascertain the amount you have got to your credit. It won’t make you sleep the worse,” said he, as we drove along.
“Forty or fifty pounds, probably,” I remarked. “It would make me feel as rich as a king.”
“We will see, we will see,” he replied.
To the agent’s we went. He was a friend of Mr Martin’s, so without more ado he turned to his books.
“Hurry? Hurry of the Bristol?” he muttered. “A trifle, I know.”
I bethought me, “It won’t be ten pounds after all, perhaps.”
“Oh, yes, here I have it. Three hundred pounds, Mr Hurry! You can draw it whenever you like: our friend here will assure me of your identity.”
I couldn’t help throwing up my cap for joy.
“Well, I am rich,” I exclaimed; “like that old fellow Croesus I once read of at school. Thank you, sir—thank you. Hurrah, hurrah!” I burst out into a loud fit of laughter.
At first Mr Martin smiled at my joy, but he soon began to look grave, as did the agent, for they perceived that I was over-excited—that, in truth, the admiral’s good wine and my unexpected good fortune, acting on a frame shattered by sickness, had upset me, and they seemed to think that there was every probability of a return of my fever.
“I am very glad to hear that you have got this little sum. It will help to supply you with an outfit,” observed Mr Martin, wishing to calm me down a little.
“Enough for an outfit!—enough to fit out a prince or found a kingdom,” I exclaimed vehemently. “Ha, ha, ha!”
“Well, never mind that just now,” said my kind friend; “just get into my barouche, and come along to my house in the meantime. To-morrow we will talk about these matters.”
I made no resistance, and, getting into his carriage, we soon reached his cool and comfortable mansion in the neighbourhood of Kingston. I was immediately put to bed, and off I went into a sleep so sound that an earthquake or an hurricane would scarcely have awoke me.
It was late in the day when I at length opened my eyes, feeling quite a new being. A thorough sound sleep, with my mind at ease as to my prospects, was all I required to restore me to health. This I had not got since I left Ou Trou. As soon as I had dressed and breakfasted I set off for Port Royal harbour, and joined my ship, as happy a fellow, I may truly say, as ever crossed salt water. I was most kindly received by my new shipmates, who seemed to vie with each other in trying to make amends to me for the sufferings I had undergone. I had very little time to be idle, or to amuse myself on shore. That I suspect was the better for me. The ship was all ready for sea, and on the 18th of the month, just four days after I got back to Jamaica, we sailed on a cruise, in company with his Majesty’s frigate Hinchinbrook, commanded by Captain Parker, the admiral’s son, off Cape Saint Antonio. I found that the Camel, which had been sent to accompany a fleet through the gulf, had on her return, when off Cape Saint Antonio, seen a considerable number of Saint Domingo ships. One she had taken which was very valuable, but, being a slow sailer, the others had escaped her. Her captain informed Sir Peter that he was certain if a couple of ships would sail immediately the fortunes of all on board would be made. In consequence of this the admiral despatched the Hinchinbrook and my ship the Porcupine, directing us not to wait to fill up with provisions or water, but to proceed at once to the locality where these rich prizes were to be found.
On the 25th we arrived off our station. The next day a stranger was reported in sight—a schooner. We made all sail in chase. How delightful it was to feel myself once more on board ship, bowling away with a fine breeze through the free sparkling waters, with England’s time-honoured flag above my head. I could scarcely refrain from shouting with pleasure, and I do not think that anybody would have been much astonished had I done so, for I should have replied, “Let me tell you, old fellows, if any of you had been shut up in a dull village in an abominable climate, half-starved, ill-treated and insulted, hearing constantly that old England was conquered, that her fleets were destroyed, and her people led into captivity, with your companions and friends dying about you, and, when dead, buried like dogs, you would shout when you found yourselves at liberty, and able once more to do battle with the enemies of your country.”
Whether the schooner was American or French we could not at first determine, but that she was an enemy there could be no doubt. The prospect of prize-money is always pleasant, though when obtained, in too many cases, it is spent in folly and extravagance. All hands were in high spirits; a good beginning to a successful cruise we thought it would prove. Cape Antonio bore at the time south-east. We had almost got the chase within range of our guns, when a grating sound was heard, and a shock was felt which sent most of the ship’s company toppling down on their noses; the water surged up alongside, and we found that we were on shore. Here might be a speedy conclusion to all our hopes of prize-money—not that we cared for the paltry sum the vessel in sight might have given us, but for what we might obtain by our cruise altogether. Not a moment was lost in clewing-up everything, lowering boats, and in laying out anchors; but, notwithstanding, we stuck hard and fast. British seamen, however, do not give way to despair in a hurry. Fresh anchors and warps were laid out. We sounded round the ship to see where most water was to be found. Then we worked away with our purchases. We had no wish to start our water or to heave our guns and provisions overboard till the last extremity. Fortunately the wind fell. We hove away with a will. “Hurrah, hurrah?” was the cry fore and aft; “she moves, she moves!” Our success encouraged us. The Hinchinbrook, before we got on shore, was out of sight; so was the chase by this time. At length our efforts were rewarded with success, and once more we had deep water under our keel. What was satisfactory, also, we had suffered little or no damage.
For the next fortnight we were employed chiefly in chasing and speaking a vast number of Spanish merchantmen bound to the Havannah, and as we little suspected all the time that war had been declared between England and Spain, we allowed them to proceed. This was provoking enough, for, they would have proved very rich prizes. We spoke also his Majesty’s ships Winchelsea, Camel, Lynne, and Druid, with a convoy from England for Jamaica, and on the 15th of June, the period of our cruise being up, and our provisions, moreover, growing short, we left our station and made sail for Port Royal.
On the 1st of July, judging by our reckoning that we were within a few leagues of Jamaica, our surprise was very considerable when we struck soundings on the Misteriosa bank, about a hundred leagues to the westward of where we supposed ourselves to be. Captain Packenham sent forthwith for the purser, and in consequence of the report he gave we were immediately put on half allowance, having, even at that rate, provisions to last us only for fourteen days. There we were, dead to leeward, while light winds and frequent calms occasioned our progress to be very slow. We kept at it, however, making every inch of ground we could. Still by the 12th, being at a considerable distance from land, we were of necessity put on yet further reduced allowance of a biscuit a day, an ounce of pork and half a pint of water. I, who just then required sustenance more than most of my companions, felt the want of substantial food very much. The Hinchinbrook, with which we were still in company, was also short of provisions, and could ill spare any to supply our wants. We now both of us felt the inconvenience of having sailed in so great a hurry. It had been calculated that we should take a week to get to our station; that we should cruise there a couple of weeks, and take a week to return. Things were now growing extremely serious, though the men bore their want of food very well, but we could not help seeing clearly that the time might shortly come when we should really have nothing whatever on board. On the 15th, believing that we could not possibly reach a port, we stood to the northward and kept in the latitude of Jamaica, hoping thus to fall in with a fleet of merchantmen under convoy of some ships of war, which we knew were to sail from Jamaica about that time. We had look-outs stationed at each mast-head, eagerly on the watch for any strange sail, friend or foe, from which we might have obtained relief. We should certainly have attacked any foe, even twice our force, for the sake of obtaining food from them. I believe that, so desperately we should have fought, we should have conquered. Men are like wild beasts when hungry. There is nothing they will not dare and do. Still we were doomed to disappointment. On the 30th of July, all our bread and water being expended, we were reduced to an allowance of one ounce of pork for each man daily. It did just to keep body and soul together. We were compelled to send each day on board the Hinchinbrook for a small cask of water, which was all they could spare us. Even of this small allowance we felt that we might any day be deprived, should we, as was very probable, be separated from our consort by a gale of wind. On the 2nd of August the faces of the purser and his clerks were longer than usual. The ounce of pork was diminished to half an ounce, and then some of the messmen found that they were getting only a quarter of an ounce, I guessed, by the countenances of the men as they went forward, but they said nothing. They very well knew that the present state of things could not be helped. Very soon the purser came aft to the captain who was on the quarter-deck—
“Sir, I have to report that there is not a pint of water or an ounce of bread or biscuit, or anything eatable on board,” was his very unsatisfactory announcement.
The captain stood as cool and unmoved as if he was hearing an account of any ordinary occurrence.
“You have some tallow candles and oil, and some raisins, and a few other little things of that sort?” he remarked.
The purser said there was a small supply on board.
“Very well, they will serve to keep all hands alive for a day or two, and by that time we may hope to fall in with assistance,” he answered.
He then called us all round him, and officially announced what the purser had told him.
“I’ll let the people know the state of things,” he added, and directed that they should be summoned aft.
Their pale, thin faces, and the slow way in which many of them walked, showed that the want of sufficient food was already telling on their strength.
“My lads,” said Captain Packenham, “we put to sea in a hurry, and we expected to be back before our provisions were expended, but we are mistaken. We are short of food, but many ships have been in a worse case. We have done our best to get back to Jamaica, and as we cannot get there, I hope we may fall in with some vessels or other from which we may get a supply of provisions, either friends to give them to us, or enemies from which we may take them, and, hungry as we are, I would not fear to lay you alongside an enemy’s ship, for I am very certain you would take care to provide yourselves with a good supper at the end of the fight.”
The crew warmly cheered this speech, though the voices of many of the poor fellows sounded hollow and faint. They knew, however, that, badly off as they might be, not an officer would touch a mouthful of food while they were without it. How eagerly we all looked out for a sail which might bring us relief! There was no necessity to hail the mast-heads to ascertain that the men stationed there were doing their duty. I certainly did not wish myself back at Ou Trou, but I never suffered such pangs of hunger there as I was now doing. We had two or three prophets of disaster on board, and they were continually citing instances where the whole crew of a ship had died from starvation, or perhaps where only one or two had survived to tell the tale of their misfortunes. Water was our greatest want. The wind was light, almost a calm, and the sun shone forth on the calm shining sea with intense fury, the very pitch in the teams of our decks bubbled up, and if we had a beef steak we might have cooked it on the capstan-head. We put on our sword-belts, and drew them tighter and tighter round our waists. The men used their handkerchiefs for the same object. But all would not do. Tight as we drew them we could not stop the gnawing pangs which attacked us. Those on watch had, of course, to keep the deck. The rest of the officers lay down in their cabins, but I could not remain in mine. I was soon again out of it, and climbing up aloft eagerly to scan the horizon, in the hopes of finding a sail in sight. In vain I looked round; not a speck was to be seen above the horizon. At length the sun went down, and darkness came on, and there the ship lay becalmed, with her crew of starving men. Anxiously all that night passed away—the calm continued. We had indeed practical experience of how hard hunger and thirst is to bear. We could see the Hinchinbrook at a little distance from us, rolling her polished sides in the water, over which the moonbeams were now playing. She was now in as bad a condition as we were, and could no longer render us any assistance. The sun again rose, and then the two ships lay with their sails idly flapping against the masts. A hurricane would at that time have been welcomed—anything to move us on. There was no piping to breakfast that day. The boatswain put his whistle to his mouth, but instantly let it fall again. The men, however, were mustered at divisions, and then they were set on to do all sorts of work, to keep their minds employed if possible, although their jaws were to be idle. At dinner-time as much of the oil and tallow candles as could be spared was served out, but some of the men could not touch the greasy compound, even though about a thimbleful of rum was offered at the same time to wash it down.
“Stay a bit,” observed the surgeon, “in two or three days they will take it eagerly enough.”
It was not from hunger we suffered so much as from thirst. That was terrible. Hour after hour passed by. No relief appeared. I began almost to wish that I had laid my head down alongside my poor friend and old shipmate, Delisle, in the desolate savannah near Ou Trou. The thought was wrong—rank ingratitude to the merciful providence which had preserved me—but it was human, I fear. How admirably our gallant fellows behaved! Scarcely a murmur or a grumble was heard. Again the sun went down. That night was one of great suffering among many of the crew. Some tried to keep up their own spirits and those of their messmates by singing and cutting jokes and telling stories. Still it would not do. They soon broke down. The surgeons kept going about, administering stimulants to those who appeared sinking, but their store of medicine was soon exhausted, and they could do no more. Day came again, but no relief was brought us. I with others climbed aloft. Not a sail was in sight. In vain—in vain we scanned the horizon, the calm continued, and the ships floated idly on the smooth, sullen, treacherous water. Yet who that could by any possibility have seen those two fine, well-appointed men-of-war would have supposed that so much suffering, alarm, and dread existed on board them! Death had not yet visited us, but we could not tell when he would commence his work of destruction. Any moment he might begin to strike, and we knew that he would not cease till he had made an end of all. The men were piped to divisions, but scarcely an attempt was made to find employment for them. They lay listlessly along the decks, some could scarcely walk. The voices of the officers, as they issued their orders, sounded hollow and strange. I felt sure that many would not last out another day. The hours still drew slowly on, without bringing us any relief. Captain Packenham had retired to his cabin to conceal the pain he was suffering. The first lieutenant and I still kept the deck, but I began to feel that I must soon go below, or I should fall where I stood. The greater part of the crew were completely prostrate. Some few of the stronger men continued every now and then to go aloft to take a look-out round the horizon, to learn if any sail were in sight. I turned to my brother-officer—
“What think you, Staunton, of our prospects?” said I.
“The Jamaica fleet ought to be here by this time,” he answered.
“But if they have been delayed, or have already passed or steered another course, what are we to do?” I urged.
“Starve to death,” he answered, in a hollow voice. “A day—a few hours—will settle the point.”
We neither of us spoke again for long after that. The ship’s head kept going round and round the compass. Some of the people were too weak even to endeavour to crawl into the shade. We supported ourselves as long as we could against the bulwarks, but at length had to sit down on a gun-carriage, our knees refusing any longer to hold us up. The day was drawing on. I felt with Staunton that another day would settle the question of life or death for most of us. One by one the men had come down from aloft, giving up all hope of seeing a sail approaching to our relief. Weak as they were, we could not insist on any of the poor fellows remaining up there, except as volunteers.
I was thinking over all I had gone through at different parts of my life, and how often I had been mercifully preserved. “I’ll not give in even now,” I said to myself. “I’ll go aloft, and have another look-out.” Suddenly I felt my strength returning. I got up, and, slinging my glass over my shoulder, went up the fore rigging. It appeared to me that I was as strong and active as ever. I gained the foretop mast-head. I unslung my glass and looked out. There, right away to the westward, was a long, dark line in the horizon, which could be caused I knew alone by a fresh breeze, and even as I looked and hailed the welcome sign of deliverance, several dots appeared above it, the loftier sails, as I well knew, of approaching ships. I rubbed my eyes. Again I looked to assure myself of the reality of what I fancied I saw, and that I might not be deceived by some phantom of the brain. No, I was certain that I was right; there were the approaching sails. With a strong breeze they came on quickly towards us.
“Several sail in sight!” I shouted out, and my voice was scarcely weaker than usual. I waved my hand and pointed in the direction I saw them.
The effect was electrical. Men who seemed before almost at their last gasp rose to their feet. The officers came hurrying on deck. Captain Packenham himself appeared. Many mounted the rigging and joined me aloft to assure themselves that I was not deceived. There could be no doubt about the matter. All saw the approaching ships. Royals, topgallant sails, topsails appeared one after the other above the horizon. They might be the ships of the expected Jamaica fleet, or they might be enemies. By that time the sea was swarming with them. In that case we should have to fight for what we wanted.
“No matter,” was the cry of all on board, “we are ready and able as ever to meet a foe.”
The prospect of relief roused everyone, and though our cheeks were thin and our strength was feeble, our spirits rose and we felt that we could fight as well as ever. Anxiously we watched the approaching strangers. As we rose their courses out of the water we felt pretty certain from their appearance that some of them were men-of-war. At length we made out their colours. They were English. They might, however, have been hoisted to deceive us. Not to be taken by surprise we went to quarters. We now clearly ascertained that the two headmost ships were frigates and the rest merchantmen. They soon showed the private signals. They were the Aeolus and Prudente frigates with the long-expected convoy for England. We hoisted signals of distress, and, lowering our boats, they were alongside them by the time they hove-to near us.
The different way in which we were treated by the officers of the two frigates was very remarkable. Captain Waldegrave of the Prudente aided us in the most kind and compassionate way, and he was warmly seconded by two of his lieutenants, Campbell and Ferris, who exerted themselves to the utmost to bring provisions on board without an instant’s delay. They sent us their own dinners which had just been dressed, and also all the cooked meat on board, so that we were able at once to satisfy the cravings of hunger. They despatched also all the delicacies they could think of, likely to be of use to us from their own private stores. The officers of the other frigate, on the contrary, treated our sufferings with heartless indifference, and seemed much vexed at having to give up some of their provisions towards supplying our wants, and at the delay which we caused them.
The masters of the merchantmen seemed to vie with each other which should afford us most voluntary assistance, and among others we were especially indebted to Captain Louis of the Augustus Caesar, a large London ship, who sent us wine, tea, sugar, sheep, fowls—indeed, everything we could possibly require. Altogether from them and the men-of-war we were supplied with provisions for three weeks. Delightful indeed was the change from actual starvation to the abundance we now enjoyed. With right good-will did we cheer the fleet which had so amply relieved our distress as we parted from them and made sail once more for Jamaica.
The following day, the 6th of August, we saw the Island of the Grand Caymayne. Here we anchored for a few hours and were then ordered by Captain Parker to proceed direct for Jamaica with despatches for his father. One of the ship’s company was destined never to reach it. The captain of the maintop, a fine active fellow, fell from aloft, and, striking part of the rigging, bounded overboard. The ship was instantly hove-to, a boat was lowered and pulled towards the spot where he fell. Some thought they saw his head floating above the waves. In vain we looked about for him. Either stunned by his fall he sank at once, or a shark, one of those ravenous monsters of the deep, had made him his prey. Poor John Nettlethorp! There were mourning hearts in your quiet home in Devonshire when the ship returned and your fate was told those who had long-expected to see you once again.
On the 19th we reached Port Royal. We found everybody in the greatest excitement making preparations to receive Count D’Estaign, who, with a powerful fleet and army, was hourly expected to make an attack on the island. None of England’s colonies can boast of more loyal and devoted inhabitants than does Jamaica, as they have given abundant proof of on numberless occasions.
“Yes, gentlemen of England, who stay at home at ease,
Ah! little do you think upon the dangers of the seas.”
Little also, say I, do you dream of all the racketing and knocking about your naval defenders have to go through in time of war that you may stay at home at ease!
My journal will give you some idea of what seamen have to endure. In harbour one day, at sea for weeks, then to encounter storms and ship-wrecks, battles and wounds, famine and sickness, extremes of heat and cold, pain and suffering, defeat sometimes and imprisonment, with the many ills which make the heart sick, and when at length we return into port, instead of obtaining rest we have to refit ship, take in stores and provisions, and seldom enjoy a moment of leisure till we are once more ready for sea. I was very far, even in the days of which I speak, of complaining of this. I chose my profession. I loved it. I delighted in action, and all I wish to impress on my readers is the nature and duties of a sailor’s life. Still, had I again to begin my existence in this sublunary world and once more to choose my profession, above all others I would select that of an officer in the glorious navy of old England.