Leaves from a middy's log

What the chief’s intention was in seeking us I do not know, for before he had reached our side of the ship he turned livid, swayed heavily forward, and fell prone upon the deck, evidently in an unconscious state.

“The fellow has fainted from loss of blood,” exclaimed the gunner; “what shall we do?”

“Rather a good job he has, I take it,” said Ned with great complacency; “for he looked mighty vicious as he came down the ladder, as if he hadn’t half slaked his thirst for slaughter.”

The bloodhound seemed much concerned at the mishap that had occurred to its master. For a few seconds it stood and glared at us ferociously, as if convinced that we were in some way responsible for what had happened. Its bristles were erect upon its back, and, in the semi-darkness of the lower deck, its eyes glowed like red-hot coals, whilst blood oozed from its shred of a mutilated ear and dripped upon the deck. It flashed across my mind for a moment that the great beast was going to spring upon us like a tiger upon its prey, and that with our legs in irons we should be in a very awkward predicament; but to my immense relief the savage animal at that moment sat down beside its master, and throwing back its massive head with a jerk, gave vent to a loud and most pathetic howl.

“If that dogerwauling don’t bring some of the swabs tumbling down the hatchway, smash my top-lights if anything will!” observed Ned; “’tis the most onnatural shindy that ever I came across by a long chalk.”

My coxswain was right. The dog had just lifted his head for another ear-piercing howl, when a confused hubbub of voices was heard at the top of the hatchway, and the next moment Miguel and two or three other swarthy fellows came rushing down the ladder in a reckless manner, evidently very perturbed in mind.

They were all talking at once, vociferating at the top of their voices, and gesticulating wildly. All were armed, and bore unmistakable traces of the late fray.

“Your boss has fainted from loss of blood, I reckon,” said Ned, pointing out the chief’s motionless recumbent form to Miguel. “He suddenly fell down as if he had been shot.”

Miguel made some surly rejoinder, the meaning of which we did not catch. Then he made a sign to his comrades, and together they stooped and raised their leader’s apparently lifeless body, and bore it swiftly up the companion ladder, closely followed by the bloodhound.

“I wonder if he’s dead,” I remarked in an awestruck voice as soon as they were out of sight. “He may have suffered from heart disease, and the excitement of the battle may have brought on an attack.”

“That’s possible,” said Mr. Triggs; “but it’s much more likely to be the effect of the wound in his head, which, I expect, was more serious than he thought.”

Soon after this occurrence Miguel brought us some breakfast of coffee and brown bread. As the reader may suppose, we did our best to wheedle some information out of him; but he was even more taciturn than usual, and would not deign to respond to our questions.

An admirable spy and an admirable jailer, was he not?

Before we had finished our meagre breakfast, we knew that the two vessels were no longer alongside each other, and that our brig was cleaving her way through the waves again as if nothing out of the common had happened. She had doubtless been brought to her course again; but what of the captured craft? Had a prize crew been put on board, and was she accompanying us on our mysterious voyage? We came to the conclusion that this must be so; for there had been no time to transfer her cargo to the deck of the brig, and the pirates would not have scuttled her without performing this very necessary operation.

We were now very careful not to talk on subjects that might be considered treasonable by our captors, for fear of being overheard. I managed, by great good fortune, to sleep away a good many hours of this particular day, which was an uncommonly hot one. The pain in my head from which I had suffered so much on the two previous days had now entirely disappeared, but the place where I had been struck by the miscreant’s pistol was still swollen and sore. For this latter misfortune, however, I cared but little.

It was about the hour of sunset that Mr. Triggs aroused me from a fitful slumber into which I had fallen.

“Wake up, Mr. Darcy,” he said; “we’ve come to an anchor.”

I was keenly on the alert in a moment. At anchor! Yes, but where?

Of course, I had been expecting to hear the news at any moment; and yet, when it came, it gave me a sort of electric shock.

The brig was lying steadily upon the water. I heard the last links of her cable rumbling out of the hawse-hole. Yes, we were at anchor.

A half-hour of anxious suspense followed, during which we hardly spoke. I felt very despondent, and so, judging from their looks, did my companions. Then heavy footsteps resounded on the deck above us, and half a dozen armed men—one with his left arm in a sling, and another with a bandaged head—descended the companion ladder, bringing tools with them wherewith to release us from our manacles.

This latter operation did not take long, and our guards then secured our wrists with stout twine and led us on deck. How thankful I was that they did not blindfold us.

The chief was on his quarter-deck, looking rather haggard. His head was still bandaged, but was surmounted by a very large broad-brimmed felt hat. He was armed with his sword and silver-mounted pistols; and grouped about him were some of his principal followers, several of whom had evidently not come scathless out of the late affray. I noticed that upon the upper deck the brig carried six small brass guns, and abaft all, under a small poop, were stands for rifles and side-arms. I took all this in with a hasty glance, and then hurriedly turned my attention to the long, low stretch of land which was just visible over the port bulwarks.

Was it an island?

I was just debating this point in my mind, and trying to obtain a clearer view of the brig’s surroundings, and to see if there was another vessel with us, when I received a severe blow upon the back from a sheathed sword.

Turning hastily to ascertain who my cowardly assailant was, I found that it was Miguel, whose face wore its usual malevolent smile.

“Keep eye shut,” he said significantly, “or you get your troat cut, like plentee moch of ze udder Ingleeshmans!”

I considered that this was a delicate hint worth taking, for I had no wish to be put out of the way, or even blindfolded. So I cast my eyes sheepishly to the deck, and answered not a word.

But I very quickly had fresh opportunities of using my powers of observation. The chief issued some order, and we were at once marched to the entry-port by our guard, and conveyed down the side into a large cutter-shaped boat which lay alongside, manned by half a dozen of the brig’s crew. We were placed in the stern-sheets; and I had no sooner taken my seat there than my eye fell on a topsail schooner lying at anchor a few cable-lengths ahead of our own vessel. Everything on board her looked in great disorder, and I noticed that some of her rigging was shot away and hanging in bights, while her sails were loosely flapping about, and her yards and gaffs at all sorts of queer angles. I heard a confused hubbub of voices proceeding from her upper deck, but could not see the speakers owing to the schooner’s very lofty bulwarks.

“Yonder is the prize,” whispered Ned to me; “and a taut little craft she looks.”

I could not answer him, for I saw Miguel’s glittering eyes upon me. I gave my coxswain a warning nudge, and at the same moment the order was given to shove the boat off.

The oars splashed into the water, our bows were turned towards the land, and the crew struck up some kind of a boat-song with a weird refrain.

The chief and some of his followers remained on board the brig, but I fancied that they were preparing to follow in another boat.

There was a dead calm on the sea. The surface was like a mirror, unruffled by the faintest zephyr of a catspaw. The sky in the west was aflame with the ruby tints of sunset, fading away above in delicate gradations of colour into topaz, aquamarine, and pale sapphire; while faint bars of amethyst cloud, edged with gold, seemed to hover above the horizon line, as if preparing to follow the sun on his nightly journey. The exquisite sky-tints were reflected in the motionless ocean mirror in tender shades of colouring.

I thought of my messmate Fitzgerald, and how he would have raved about this fairy-like scene; then my mind reverted to my chum, Charlie Balfour, lying wounded on board the Rattler, and I wondered if he would be told of my disappearance. Again my thoughts travelled across the broad seas, and concentrated themselves on my happy home in the old country; and with tears gathering in my eyes I found myself muttering a prayer to the Creator of the universe, that those near and dear to me might never know the painful particulars of my capture and captivity.

I strove to shake off these gloomy thoughts, and turned my attention to the island we were now fast approaching.

I could not be certain whether what I saw before me was an island; but it had every appearance of being so, and I felt sure that we had not sailed far enough to reach the coast of Central America. An exuberant tropical vegetation seemed to cover the low hills, and the shore was fringed with dense groves of palm trees, some of the latter appearing almost to kiss the waves with their great drooping fronds. I saw no signs of any inhabitants, or of buildings of any kind, nor could I detect any traces of cultivated land. As we drew inshore, however, I noticed that there were numerous outlying cayos, as they are called in these seas, or coral reefs, covered with exquisite verdure. To thread one’s way in a boat through these labyrinths of tiny West Indian islets is often an operation requiring great skill and nerve, and a thorough knowledge of the winding channels.

The world looked beautiful, bright, and happy, and as if wrapped in a sublime repose. How strange it seemed that we should form part of such a fair scene! A band of bloodthirsty pirates, their souls black with recent crime, were indeed an incongruity in such a picture.

I glanced at them for a moment. Their swarthy, unprepossessing faces were positively irradiated with the fast-fading roseate tints of the western sky, but even that could not redeem them. They were stamped too legibly with the brand of their evil passions.

I had for a long time felt convinced that our captors had no connection with the Cuban insurgents, or with the mutineers of the Flying-fish. There could be no doubt that Mr. Triggs had surmised rightly, and that they were pirates first and smugglers afterwards. It was merely a coincidence that their great cave happened to be not far distant from our line of march; and undoubtedly our reliable spies had mistaken them for a body of insurgents, and had so led us astray. The pirates’ reason for kidnapping us, of course, I could not fathom. It remained a mystery.

We threaded our way carefully through the cayos, and presently I noticed that we were approaching what appeared to be a narrow but fairly deep lagoon, fringed with mangrove bushes, and overhung with clumps of tall feathery bamboos, and picturesque palm trees. Flocks of sea-birds, which had apparently been fishing, rose into the air with shrill screams of protest as we approached, and then winged their way seawards.

The boat’s crew had ceased their wild singing, and now began to pull rather leisurely, the oars dipping very irregularly in and out of the placid waters.

In a few minutes we were gliding up the lagoon, which seemed to teem with fish. I noticed that two or three cranes were standing in a watchful attitude in the shallows, and that kingfishers and several kinds of waterfowl were seeking the shelter of the mangrove-studded banks. Far above our heads soared a frigate pelican.

A rude pier, constructed of roughly-hewn logs of wood, now came into view, and the boat was steered directly for it. The steersman gave a loud and very peculiar shout, which echoed with weird effect among the trees, and seemed to die away in mocking laughter on the slopes of the more distant hills.

Two dark alert-looking figures almost immediately emerged from a grove of trees near the head of the pier, and gave a shrill answering shout, at the same time moving forward rapidly in the direction of the boat. It was now getting dusk, and I could not distinguish them clearly, as the triumphant glories of the sunset sky were fast fading in the western heavens.

Amid much jabbering and inane laughter on the part of the crew, we glided alongside the pier. I just had time to notice that one of the men who stood there to receive us was old, and wore a grey pointed beard, although his figure was erect and military-looking. The next instant, we were hustled out of the boat by our guards, and marched off without any delay towards the head of the pier. I had time to notice that four men remained in the boat, and that these fellows promptly pushed off into deep water, as if with the intention of pulling off to the brig again for a fresh consignment of passengers.

The two men who had awaited our advent at the pier accompanied us on our march, and I saw them look at us keenly, and heard them asking innumerable questions in a very surprised tone of voice, evidently pumping our captors as to our identity and nationality. Miguel was the one who principally took upon himself to answer these queries.

On quitting the rude pier we struck off by an upward gradient on a broad but roughly-constructed path leading through a grove of palm trees. The atmosphere here was hot and close, although the sun had set, and mosquitoes and other insects seemed to swarm in myriads and caused us much annoyance. The shades of evening were gathering fast, and the pirates stepped out briskly as if afraid of being benighted. They were, of course, well armed, and kept a watchful eye on us, having orders, no doubt, to shoot us dead should we make the slightest attempt to escape.

I fancied that both Mr. Triggs and my coxswain looked less anxious than they had done on board the brig. They were marching just in front of me, and now and again I caught a hasty glimpse of their faces.

To our great relief, we soon emerged from the palm-grove, and found ourselves on a small open savannah of natural turf. On the right hand it sloped away rather abruptly to a sheet of water which was either a long narrow lake, or the upper strip of the salt water lagoon that we had just quitted. Its dark waters were only visible here and there through vistas in the trees that studded the savannah, but I could see that they swarmed with waterfowl. I found myself wondering whether the pirates’ brig could be towed through the outlying cayos into the outer and deeper waters of the lagoon. As the island seemed to possess no harbour, the brig would otherwise have to remain in the open roadstead, and run the risk of being perceived by passing vessels.

The track we were following wound up over the upper slopes of the savannah, and had evidently been trodden by many feet from time to time. On our left hand, at the distance of about a hundred yards, was a belt of somewhat stunted jungle; and beyond the upper boundary was a precipitous escarpment of rocks and boulders, amidst which clumps of brushwood and tussocks of long coarse grass seemed to find soil enough to flourish in. Above these, again, were other gentle slopes, clothed with trees, terminating in a long, level, arid-looking ridge destitute of any vegetation, which was doubtless the backbone of the island.

As we toiled up over the savannah, we came upon the first signs of a human habitation which we had seen. This was a long low dwelling with mud walls, and a roof of the flimsiest description thatched with dried grass. Around the building were a few banana, bread-fruit, and guava trees; and in front was a large patch of cultivated ground containing yams and sweet potatoes, which was being lazily hoed by two sleek-looking and nearly nude negroes. In the doorway of the house a stout negress, arrayed in a flaring cotton dress, was seated, nursing a pickaninny, and singing softly to herself the refrain of some African cradle-song. I noticed the start of astonishment this black trio gave when their eyes fell upon us. The negroes ceased working, and leaning upon their hoes stared at us as if their great rolling black orbs were going to drop out of their sockets; and the negress, starting to her feet, and placing her baby in a sort of rude hammock, which was slung under a couple of fruit trees, waddled toward us with her arms akimbo, and her full-moon face expressive of the greatest astonishment.

The scene changed in a twinkling, for Miguel and some of his choice companions attacked these black dependants of theirs with what was, I am sure, a torrent of invective. The hoers resumed their work without a word of remonstrance; and the negress, evidently terrified at the threats hurled at her, fairly turned tail, and attempted to run in the direction of the hammock in which she had deposited her pickaninny. Any pace but that of a slow walk, however, was evidently foreign to this good lady’s habits, and in her confusion she caught her foot in the root of a tree, and went sprawling on the ground in a very helpless sort of fashion; for it was evident that she could not get up again without assistance, and was very much in the predicament of a turned turtle on the beach. The pickaninny set up a roar at this critical moment, and I could hear its “mammy” gasping and spluttering like a stranded fish.

Bearing away sharp to the left, we entered the belt of jungle of which I spoke before. Here the light was sombre, and, but for the fact that the trees had been felled along the route, would have been difficult to traverse.

In about ten minutes we emerged from the belt, and found ourselves in a singularly arid, barren-looking stretch of country, which had, I fancied, a volcanic appearance. The island was certainly larger than I had expected, and appeared to be of somewhat remarkable formation. Boulders of peculiar shape were scattered about in all directions, and ridges of scarred and fissured rock, running up towards the central ridge, broke up the slopes of the hills into numerous shallow stony ravines, one or two of the latter conveying streams of water in the direction of the sea.

A small lake of remarkably transparent emerald-green water lay beneath us, and on its surface was a canoe containing two dark figures, evidently men engaged in fishing. Miguel gave them a yell that might have awakened the dead, but we did not pause in our march for an instant. There came a responsive shout from the lake, whereupon I saw that the canoe was being paddled to the shore.

The path was now narrower and more stony, but the pirates did not diminish their pace. The way was tortuous, winding amongst huge cliff-like rocks, and around the brows of desolate boulder-strewn hills. Suddenly we arrived upon the verge of what looked like the large crater of an extinct volcano. Its edges were fringed with sparse vegetation, but within all was arid and desolate in the extreme, and the brown, bare, thirsty-looking soil was strewn with blocks of lava and igneous rocks, where lizards probably held high revelry whenever they felt in a “jinky” humour.

I jumped two or three feet off the ground!

The old greybeard, who was walking close to my side, had pulled out a bugle, on which he blew an ear-piercing and mighty blast.

The way the notes echoed and re-echoed in apparently endless reverberations amid the rocky cliffs of the crater sounded almost uncanny, at length dying away like the faint mutterings of some evil spirits lurking in the shadowy ravines.

A couple of vultures soared over our heads, and I fancied I heard in the distance the mournful howl of a jackal.

The evening air seemed unusually chilly after the sweltering heat of the day, and in spite of our brisk walk I felt a cold shivering fit come over me.

As if in response to the bugle blast, half a dozen villanous-looking fellows came rushing along the path to meet their compatriots. They eyed us with a broad stare of astonishment, and then fell to questioning our captors eagerly.

The track now led us down over the lip of the crater, and in a moment we found ourselves on a sort of terrace strewn with boulders, and apparently blasted out of the volcanic detritus deposited centuries before amid frightful convulsions of nature.