Chapter Ten.
I rejoin the “Shark.”
As soon as all the savages who could leave the ship had gone, we roused out as many lanterns as we could muster, lighted them, and hung them in the fore and main rigging, or stood them here and there along the rail, preparatory to going the rounds of the deck and beginning the gruesome task of separating the dead from the wounded. And, while this was doing, the general, who claimed to possess some knowledge of surgery, retired to the main saloon, and having roused out Mrs Jenkins and her daughter Patsy, and impressed them into his service as assistants, proceeded to help Burgess to attend to the wounded of our own party, of whom I was one, an arrow having transfixed me through the left shoulder so effectually that the barbed point projected out at my back. I had received the wound a moment before the discharge of the carronades, and had been scarcely conscious of the hurt at the moment; but a man cannot plunge into the thick of a mêlée with an arrow through his shoulder and not know something about it, sooner or later; and the hurt had quickly become very painful and inflamed. The doctor declared that mine was the worst case of all, and insisted that I should for that reason be the first treated; I therefore submitted, with a good grace - for there were many matters calling for my immediate attention; and in a few minutes the head of the arrow was carefully cut off, the shaft withdrawn from the wound, and the wound itself carefully washed and dressed. Then, with my arm in a sling, and my jacket loosely buttoned round my neck, I went out on deck to see how matters were proceeding there.
Only seventeen living bodies were found among the prostrate heaps with which the decks were cumbered. These seventeen, after Burgess had done what he could for them, we placed in one of the many empty canoes that still remained alongside the ship, and towed the craft into the river, where we moored her in such a position that she would be likely to attract the attention of the natives, and thus lead to an investigation of her, and the rescue of her cargo of wounded, which was as much as we could do without exposing ourselves to very grave—and, to my mind, quite unnecessary risk. This, however, was not done until the return of daylight enabled us to see what we were about.
The dead having been got rid of, and our own wounded attended to, all hands turned in to secure a little very necessary rest, the deck being left in charge of an anchor-watch consisting of Messrs Acutt, Boyne, Pearson, and Taylor, who very kindly volunteered to see to the safety of the ship during the few remaining hours of darkness, pointing out that it would be perfectly easy for them to rest during the day, while the crew of the ship were engaged in doing what was necessary to enable us to make an early start from the spot which had brought so much adventure into the lives of all, and had been so disastrous to some of our little community.
At daylight all hands were called, and the first work undertaken was the removal, as far as possible, of all traces of the preceding night’s conflict. By dint of hard labour we at length succeeded in so far effacing the stains that the ordinary eye would scarcely be likely to identify them as what they really were, which was, at all events, something gained. There were other marks, however, which it was impossible to obliterate, such as the scoring of the deck planks and the pitting of the mahogany and maple woodwork forming the fore bulkhead of the poop by bullets which had formed part of the charges of the two carronades when they were fired to rake the main-deck; and these we were obliged to leave as they were.
Having succeeded in thus far straightening up matters that the lady passengers could venture on deck without too violent a shock to their susceptibilities, the hands knocked off to go to breakfast. The meal over, the kedge was weighed and stowed, and then the boats were brought alongside, one after another, and the process of striking cargo back into the hold was vigorously proceeded with. This work was of course done by the ship’s crew under Carter’s supervision, and I and my own little party of men thus had an opportunity at last to treat ourselves to a much-needed rest. Indeed, so far as I was concerned, Burgess insisted that I should at once turn in, and remain in my bunk until he should give me leave to rise, or, in such a climate as this, he would not be answerable for my life! As a matter of fact I had already begun to realise that, with the pain of my wounded shoulder, and exhaustion arising from want of sleep, I could not hold out much longer; and I felt more than thankful that, after the hot reception we had given the natives, there was not much probability of any further fighting. I therefore gladly retired to my cabin and, having swallowed a composing draught which Burgess mixed for me, slept until the following morning, when I felt so much better that the worthy medico rather reluctantly consented to my rising in time to sit down with the rest to tiffin. That same evening, by dint of hard work, the crew succeeded in completing the stowage of the last of the cargo, securing the hatches, and hoisting in the boats before knocking off; and somewhat later, that is to say about three bells in the second dogwatch, Carter availed himself of the springing up of the land breeze to lift his anchor and stand out to sea under easy canvas.
On the following morning, when I went on deck, the Indian Queen was out of sight of land and standing to the southward under all plain sail, with nothing in sight but the heads of the topsails of a brig which, hull-down in the south-western quarter, was stretching in toward the coast, close-hauled on the port tack. We took very little notice of this craft at the time, for she was then too far distant to show much of herself, even when viewed through the ship’s telescope, while her yards were so braced that only the edges of her sails presented themselves to our view; but, remembering our recent experiences with a brig at a spot not very far distant from where we then were, I strongly advised Carter to keep a wary eye upon her movements. The land breeze was then fast dying away, and I thought it quite possible that we might have an opportunity to see a little more of the stranger when the sea breeze should set in.
That same sea breeze set in while we in the cuddy were sitting down to breakfast; and when, after the meal was over, we all adjourned to the poop, I found Carter regarding the stranger with some little uneasiness through the telescope. As I joined him he handed me the instrument, saying:
“Just take a squint at her, Mr Grenvile, and tell me what you think of her. To my mind she seems to be steering in such a way as to close with us, and I should like to have your opinion upon her.”
I accordingly took the instrument, and soon had the stranger sharply focused in the lenses. She was then broad on our starboard bow, and was still hull-down, but she had risen just to the foot of her fore course, which was set, while the mainsail hung in its clewlines and buntlines, and was running down with squared yards, but had no studding-sails set. And, as Carter had remarked, she seemed to be steering in such a manner as to intercept us. She was a brig of about the same tonnage as the Shark, of which craft she somehow reminded me sufficiently to invite a closer and more detailed scrutiny, and presently I was able to make out that she flew a pennant; she was consequently a man-o’-war. It is true that the Shark was not the only brig on the West African station: the British had two others, and we knew of three under the French pennant; but the craft in sight was not French—I could swear to that—and the longer I looked at her the more firmly convinced did I become that she was none other than the dear old Shark herself. I could not be absolutely certain of her identity until her hull should heave up clear of the horizon, but that jaunty steeve of bowsprit and the hoist and spread of those topsails were all very strongly suggestive of the Shark. As I lowered the glass from my eye I happened to glance forward, and caught sight of Jones and Simpson seated forward on the topgallant forecastle, smoking their pipes as they animatedly discussed some topic of absorbing interest, and, catching their eyes, I beckoned them to come aft to the poop.
“Take this telescope, Jones, and have a good look at that brig,” said I, as they climbed the poop-ladder, hat in hand; “then pass the instrument to Simpson, and let him do the same. Then tell me what you both think of her.”
The two men took the instrument, one after the other, and ogled the stranger through it with the greatest intentness; but I could see clearly that, even before Simpson took over the instrument from the boatswain’s mate, the latter had already arrived at a pretty definite conclusion with regard to her.
“Well,” said I, when at length Simpson had ended his scrutiny and handed back the instrument to me, “what do you think of her?”
“Why, sir,” answered Simpson, “if she ain’t the Shark she’s own sister to her; that’s all I can say.”
“And you, Jones, what is your opinion?” I asked.
“Why, just the same as the carpenter’s, sir,” answered Jones. “She’s the Shark, right enough. I knows the steeve o’ that bowsprit too well to be mistook as to what that brig is. She’s the Shark; and we shall have the pleasure of slingin’ our hammicks aboard of her to-night!”
“I verily believe you are right,” said I. “At all events we shall know for certain in the course of another half-hour; and meanwhile you can do no harm by going forward and passing the word for the Sharks to have everything ready for shifting over, should our surmise prove to be correct.”
“So you really think that yonder brig is your own ship?” remarked Carter, when the two men had gone forward again. “Well, if it should prove to be so, I shall be very sorry to lose you, and so will all of us.”
“Lose! Lose whom? I hope we are not going to lose anybody. We have already had losses enough, this voyage, goodness knows!” exclaimed the general, emerging from the companion at that moment.
He had evidently caught a word or two of what Carter had been saying, and wanted to know all about it.
“Why, Sir Thomas, Mr Grenvile believes that brig yonder to be his own ship, the Shark,” answered Carter. “And if it turns out that he’s right, of course he and his men will be rejoinin’ directly. And I was just sayin’ that we shall all be very sorry to lose him.”
“Sorry! by George I should say so!” cut in the general. “It would have been a precious bad job for everybody in this ship if we had not been lucky enough to pick up him and his men. Why, sir, we should, every man jack of us, have been dead as mutton by this time. So you think that craft yonder is your ship, do you?” he continued, turning to me. “Well, if she is, you will have to join her—that goes without saying. But Carter here speaks no more than the truth when he says that we shall all be very sorry to lose you—I know that I shall be. And if it should be that we must say good-bye to you now, that must not be the end of our acquaintance, you know; that will never do. You and I have fought side by side, my boy, and I shall expect you to write to me from time to time to let me know how you are getting on; and I will write to you also, if you can give me an address from which my letters can be forwarded on to you. This will be my address for the next year or two, probably.” And, producing a card, he scribbled something upon it and handed it to me.
“And now,” he continued, “about rejoining this ship of yours. Would it be possible for me to accompany you on board? I should like to make the acquaintance of your captain, and have a little talk with him.”
I very clearly understood that the kind-hearted old fellow wished to do me a good turn by making a much more favourable report of my conduct than it would be possible for me personally to make; and I was not so foolish as to regard lightly or neglect any help of which I could legitimately avail myself in my professional career. I therefore said:
“Oh yes, Sir Thomas, I have no doubt that it can be very easily managed; and I am quite sure that Captain Bentinck will be delighted to see you. You can go aboard in the same boat with us, and your return to this ship can be afterwards arranged for.”
“Right! Then that is settled. Now I will leave you, for there is a little matter that I wish to attend to before you and your people leave the ship.”
And with a very kindly smile and nod the old gentleman turned and left me, and presently I noticed that he was deep in conversation with first one and then another of the passengers who were now mustering on the poop.
Meanwhile the breeze was freshening and the two craft were nearing each other fast, the brig gradually edging a little farther away to the southward at the same time, by which means she by this time presented so nearly a perfect broadside view of herself to us that we could see the end of her gaff, to which we presently saw the British ensign run up. And now there was no longer any doubt as to her being the Shark, for her figurehead—consisting of a gilt life-size effigy of the fish after which she was named—could be distinctly made out, glittering under the heel of her bowsprit. In reply to her challenge we of course lost no time in running up our own ensign; but beyond doing that there was no need for further signalling, for it was by this time clearly evident that she intended to speak us. And presently my little party of nine came marching aft, bag and baggage, to the lee gangway, where they stood waiting in readiness to go down over the side, San Domingo depositing his kit temporarily in the stern-sheets of the longboat while he hurried down into my cabin to get my few belongings together.
The negro had just returned to the deck with these when the Shark, ranging up within a biscuit-toss of us, hailed:
“Ship ahoy! what ship is that?”
“The Indian Queen, of and from London to Bombay, with passengers and general cargo,” replied Carter. “We have an officer and nine men belonging to you on board, sir. Will you send a boat for them, or shall we lower one of ours?”
“Is that Mr Grenvile that stands beside you, sir?” asked a voice which I now recognised, despite the speaking-trumpet, as that of Captain Bentinck himself.
“Yes, sir,” replied I for myself; “and I have nine men with me, the survivors of the prize crew of the Dolores.”
I saw the skipper turn to Mr Seaton, who stood beside him, and say something, to which the other replied. Then the former hailed again.
“Very glad to find that you are safe, Mr Grenvile,” he shouted. “You had better take room and heave-to, and we will do the same. You need not trouble about a boat; we will send one of ours.”
Carter flourished an arm by way of reply, and then gave the order: “Main tack and sheet let go! Man the main clew-garnets and trice up! Lay aft, here, to the main braces, some of you, and stand by to back the mainyard! Down helm, my man, and let her come to the wind!”
At this moment Sir Thomas came up to me and said:
“Grenvile, my lad, come down on to the main-deck with me a moment, will you? I have a word or two that I should like to say to your men before they leave the ship.”
“Certainly, Sir Thomas,” said I; and down we both trundled to where the little party of Sharks stood lovingly eyeing the movements of their ship, and, as is the manner of sailors, abusing her and all in her the while.
“My lads,” said the general, as they faced round at our approach, “you are about to leave us and return to your own ship, where I doubt not you will receive a warm and hearty welcome from your messmates. But before you go I wish, on behalf of myself and the rest of the passengers of the Indian Queen, to express to you all our very high appreciation of the splendid manner in which you have conducted yourselves while on board this ship, and, still more, of the magnificent services which, under the leadership of your gallant young officer, Mr Grenvile, you have rendered not only to the owners and crew of the ship, but also to us, the passengers. There can be no manner of doubt that, under God, and by His gracious mercy, you have been the means, first, of rescuing the bulk of the crew from death of a nature too horrible to contemplate, and secondly, ourselves, the passengers, from a fate equally horrible. By so doing you have laid us all under an obligation which it is utterly impossible for us adequately to requite, particularly at this present moment; but it is my intention to go on board your ship to express personally to your captain my very high opinion of the conduct of each one of you. And meanwhile the passengers as a body have deputed me to invite your acceptance of this bag and its contents, amounting to ninety sovereigns—that is to say, ten pounds each man—as a very small and inadequate expression of our gratitude to you. I wish you all long life and prosperity.”
“Thank’e, Sir Thomas, thank’e, sir; you’re a gentleman of the right sort, you are—ay, and a good fighter too, sir; we shan’t forget how you went with us into that village, away yonder, to help save them poor ‘shell-backs’,” and so on, and so on. Each man felt it incumbent upon him to say something in reply to Sir Thomas’s speech, and, still more, by way of thanks for the handsome gift that had come to them through him.
By the time that this pleasant little ceremony of the presentation was over, the two vessels were hove-to, and Carter, who of course saw and heard what was going on, must needs come down and have his say also.
“Mr Grenvile, and men of the Shark,” he began, as soon as the general’s back was turned, “I’ve been very pleased to see what’s just been done, and I’m only sorry that I’ve no power to do as much on my own account. But, whereas I’m now cap’n of this ship, I was only third mate when we hauled out of dock at London, consequently I’ve no money of my own for makin’ presents, and such money as is in the ship belongs to the owners, and I’ve no power to spend it otherwise than in certain ways, as I dare say you all understand. But I agree with every word that the general said about your splendid conduct, and savin’ the lives of my crew and passengers, and all that, and when we get back home I will of course see the owners and report everything to them, and if they’re the men I take ’em to be they’ll be sure to do the handsome thing by you. As for me, I can only thank you all very heartily for all the help you’ve given me.”
The Shark’s boat came alongside just then, and the men passed down their “dunnage” into her amid a brisk fire of good-humoured chaff from their shipmates, and such enquiries as: “Hello, Jim, haven’t you got so much as a monkey or a parrot to cheer us up with?” and so on. Then they followed their belongings down the side, and stowed themselves away in the boat, while I was busy saying adieu to the occupants of the poop, all of whom expressed their deep regret at parting with me. Then I sprang down into the boat, the general followed, and we shoved off amid much cheering from the forecastle, and much waving of hats and pocket handkerchiefs from the poop.
The pull from the ship to the brig was a short one, and in a few minutes I had the satisfaction of finding myself once more standing on the deck of the Shark.
“Come on board, sir,” I reported, touching my hat to the captain, who, with the first lieutenant, was standing on the quarter-deck near the gangway as I entered.
“You have taken us rather by surprise, Mr Grenvile,” remarked the skipper, gravely acknowledging my salute. “I quite expected that you would be at Sierra Leone by this time. I see that you are wounded, and you appear also to have lost some men. These circumstances, coupled with the fact of your coming to us from yonder ship, lead me to fear that matters have gone very seriously wrong with you and your prize.”
“They have indeed, sir, I am sorry to say,” answered I. “But before I tell you my story, sir, will you permit me to introduce to you General Sir Thomas Baker, one of the passengers aboard the Indian Queen, who has expressed a desire to have some conversation with you.”
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Thomas,” remarked the skipper, exchanging salutes with the general, and then offering his hand. “Perhaps you will do me the favour to step below to my cabin with me, and we can then have a chat together. Meanwhile, Mr Grenvile, if one may judge from your appearance, the sooner you report yourself to the surgeon the better it will be for you.” And, as I touched my hat and retired, he led the way below, closely followed by the general.
“Well, Grenvile, here you are,” exclaimed Morgan, as I entered his cabin. “I have been expecting you, for I saw you come up the side. What is the extent of the damage, and what have you done with the Dolores? Which is the worse, your shoulder or your head? Shoulder, eh? Well, let me help you off with your jacket and shirt. Easy does it! There, now sit down in that chair and make yourself comfortable, while I cooper you up. Have they a surgeon aboard that ship? This shoulder of yours appears to have been attended to very passably. Now, spin your yarn while I give you an overhaul.”
I gave a brief account of myself and of what had befallen us since leaving the Shark, while Morgan patched me up, and his work and my yarn came to an end about the same time.
“Well,” said he, as I rose to leave the cabin, “I don’t think the skipper will have much fault to find with you when he hears your story. You couldn’t help the loss of the schooner, and, upon the other hand, there seems to be very little doubt that you saved the Indian Queen from destruction, and her passengers and crew from a very terrible fate. I expect that jolly old buffer, General what’s-his-name, has come aboard with the express purpose of making a confidential report to the skipper upon your conduct, and if his story at all bears out your own it ought to do you some good. Now, I’m going to put you on the sick list for a day or two; you have been worked quite hard enough of late, and wounded too. You must take care of yourself for a little while. You need not stay below, you know, but you must not go on duty, for you are not fit for it; that shoulder of yours needs looking after, or it will give you a good deal of trouble. Come to me again at eight bells this afternoon.”
From the surgeon’s cabin I made my way to the midshipmen’s berth, where I received as boisterously hearty a welcome as mid could desire; but I had been there scarcely five minutes when San Domingo, who had already installed himself in his former berth, popped his head in at the door and said, with a broad grin:
“Mistah Grenvile, sah, de first leptenant wishes to see you on deck, sah.”
Leaving my shipmates itching with curiosity to hear the yarn which I had just begun to spin, I made my way up to the quarter-deck, where I found Mr Seaton in charge, both ships still remaining hove-to.
“Ah, here you are, Grenvile!” exclaimed the first luff as I stepped up to him and touched my hat. “I am anxious to hear the story of your adventures since you left us, but I understood that the captain had sent you below to the surgeon. Have you seen him?”
“Yes, sir,” said I; “I have been with him for quite half an hour, while he dressed my wounds. He has put me on the sick list, sir.”
“Which is about the best place for you, I should think, judging from your looks,” answered my companion. “And, of course,” he continued, “the wily old Welshman availed himself of the opportunity to extract your story from you—trust Morgan for that! However, he has only weathered on me to the extent of half an hour or so, and I’ll get even with him yet before all’s done. Now, heave ahead, my lad, and give me the whole yarn, from clew to earing.”
Whereupon I had to go through my story a second time, and when I had come to the end I began to reckon up mentally how many times more I might reasonably be expected to tell it, for the fact was that I was already becoming a little tired of it.
“Thank you, Grenvile,” said Mr Seaton, as I brought my yarn to a conclusion. “A most interesting yarn, and an exceedingly exciting experience. Of course it is not for me to mete out praise or blame in my official capacity, that is to say, it is for the captain to do that; but, unofficially, and merely as a friend, I may perhaps venture to say that so far as I can see you have nothing with which to reproach yourself and have much to be proud of. It is unfortunate that you should have lost five of your number, and I am particularly sorry that Mr Gowland should have been among them, for Mr Gowland was a particularly trustworthy and reliable navigator; but no one could possibly have foreseen that you would have been attacked by that piratical slaver. Ah, here come the captain and your friend the general! What a fine-looking old fellow the general is!”
They came straight toward where the first luff and I were standing; and as they approached, Captain Bentinck said:
“Well, general, since you are quite determined not to stay to lunch with us, let me at least introduce my first lieutenant to you before you go.” Sir Thomas very courteously expressed the pleasure that it would afford him to make Mr Seaton’s acquaintance, and the introduction was duly made. Then the captain said:
“Sir Thomas has been giving me a very full and detailed description of everything that has happened since you joined the Indian Queen, Mr Grenvile, and the recital has afforded me a great deal of pleasure. You appear to have handled an extremely difficult situation with equal courage and discretion, and I may as well say at once that, so far as that part of your adventure is concerned, I am quite satisfied. Sir Thomas has also had something to say about that part of your adventure which relates to the loss of the Dolores”—and here I thought I detected a twinkle of amusement in the skipper’s eye, brought there possibly by a repetition of the General’s frank criticism of my commanding officer’s conduct in turning us all adrift in an unarmed vessel—“from which I gather that you were in no way to blame for that unfortunate occurrence.”
“I think you will be confirmed in that opinion, sir, when you have heard Grenvile’s own version of the occurrence, as I have,” said Mr Seaton. “The whole affair appears to have been just one of those that no one could possibly have anticipated.”
“Well, I must bid you all adieu,” said the general, “for I have kept poor Carter waiting a most unconscionable time, and I see him marching to and fro upon his poop yonder in a state of terrible impatience. Good-bye, my dear boy, and God bless you, for you are a downright good lad in every way! Don’t forget to write to me, and keep me posted as to how you are getting on. Good-bye, Captain Bentinck! I am delighted to have had the very great pleasure of making your acquaintance, and I am much obliged to you for listening to me so patiently. Good-bye, Mr Seaton; good-bye, good-bye!” And the old gentleman bustled away, beaming benignantly upon all and sundry, and made his way down into the boat, which meanwhile had been hauled-up to the gangway. Five minutes later the boat returned to the Shark, and was hoisted to the davits, and the two craft filled away upon their respective courses, with mutual dips of their ensigns, and much waving of white pocket handkerchiefs from the poop of the Indian Queen.
That I should be called upon to relate my story yet once again—this time to the captain—was, of course, inevitable; but he was considerate enough to defer the recital until dinner-time that evening, when the second lieutenant, the master, and myself were guests at his table. He was very kind and sympathetic in the matter of the loss of the Dolores, which he admitted was inevitable under the circumstances, and warmly reiterated his expressions of satisfaction at everything that I had done aboard the Indian Queen.