Chapter Thirteen.
Sierra Leone.
The brigantine was ours, and, my first thought being for the safety of all three of the craft, I at once gave orders for the grappling irons to be cast loose, and for the brig and schooner to haul off to a safe distance. Then, looking round the deck of the brigantine, I noticed Freeman, the acting master of the Doña Inez, away aft, with his coat off, and one of his own men binding up the wounded arm of the officer. I hastened aft.
“Not seriously hurt, Freeman, I hope?” said I.
“Hullo, Grenvile, that you?” he returned. “No, thanks; rather painful, but not very serious, I hope. By Jove, but those Frenchmen fought stubbornly; if you had not come up in the very nick of time it would have gone pretty badly with us, I can tell you. You seem to have come off scot free, by the look of you.”
“Yes, I am all right, thanks—not a scratch,” said I. “But where is Mr Fawcett? I don’t see him aboard here.”
“No,” answered Freeman, “poor chap! he is below, aboard the brig, and I am afraid it is a bad job with him. The last broadside that this craft fired into us was at pretty close quarters, as you perhaps noticed, and the skipper was very severely wounded by a large splinter—abdomen torn open. Hamilton, the assistant surgeon, is greatly afraid that it will go badly with him.”
“By Jove,” said I, “I am awfully sorry to hear that! Could he see me, do you think?”
“I really don’t know,” answered Freeman; “Hamilton is the man of whom you must ask that question. Your best plan, I think, will be to go aboard as soon as possible. Meanwhile, I suppose you will take charge and make all necessary arrangements.”
“Certainly,” I said. “You, of course, will take command of the brig, and Keene must take command here, with just enough men to enable him to handle the ship, which, by the by, has a full cargo of slaves aboard, I perceive.” There could be no possible doubt as to this last, for there was a thin, bluish-white vapour of steam curling up through the gratings which closed the hatchways, the effluvium emanating from which was almost unendurable.
“You,” I continued, “had better get back aboard the brig and set your crew to work to repair your damages aloft as quickly as possible—all other damage must remain until we arrive at Sierra Leone. I will do the same as soon as I have seen the prisoners properly secured. Our own damages are but slight, and as soon as I have put matters in train aboard the schooner I will send Simpson and a party aboard here to see to things, while I go aboard you to hear what Hamilton has to say. But we shall have to use the brigantine’s boats, I expect, to get back to our own craft. I have not left enough hands with Keene to enable him to send a boat.”
This arrangement we duly carried out; but, owing to one delay and another, it was nearly three o’clock that afternoon when I was able to pay my promised visit to the brig, by which time Hamilton had coopered up all his most serious cases and was able to spare me a moment.
“Ah, Grenvile,” he exclaimed, as I descended into the brig’s cabin, which, by the way, was almost as sumptuously arranged as that of the Francesca, and which the medico was then using as a surgery. “I am glad to see you and to learn that you don’t need any of my delicate attentions! The skipper is very anxious to see you, poor chap, but he would not signal for you to come aboard, as Freeman told him that you intended coming as soon as possible, but that, in the meantime, you had your hands pretty full looking after things in general. This affair has been as sharp a thing of its kind as I have ever known, I think.”
“And how is he now, Hamilton? Do you think he can see me without detriment to himself?” I asked.
“Certainly, if he is not asleep, as to which I will investigate,” was the reply. “It will not harm him to see you,” continued Hamilton; “on the contrary, it may do him good. For I fancy that he wishes to arrange certain matters with you, and when he has done that he will perhaps be able to compose himself and give himself a chance. Not that I think there is much hope for him; I tell you that candidly. But for pity’s sake don’t let your manner to him betray the fact that we are taking a very serious view of his case. If we can get him ashore, and into the hospital alive, he may perhaps pull round; so pray shove ahead with your repairs as fast as possible, and carry on like fury when you fill away again.”
“Trust me,” said I. “If ‘carrying on’ will get him ashore alive, I’ll do it. And now perhaps you had better ascertain whether I can see him or not, for the sooner I am free again to look after matters the sooner shall we be able to make a start.”
Without further loss of time Hamilton tiptoed to the door of the skipper’s state-room, and, having very gently turned the handle and looked in, beckoned me to enter.
“Mr Grenvile to see you, sir,” said the surgeon, ushering me in.
“Ah, Mr Grenvile, come in; I am glad to see you,” said the poor fellow, extending his hand to me. “Make room for yourself on that sofa locker there; never mind my clothes, pitch them down anywhere, I shall never want them again.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir!” said I, affecting to misunderstand him, as I took the garments one by one and hung them upon hooks screwed to the bulkhead. “This coat, for instance,” said I, holding it up, “will clean very well, I should think, but the waistcoat and trousers—well, I’m afraid you will need new ones, for these seem to be past repairing.”
“You misunderstand me, Grenvile,” he said. “But never mind, we’ll not talk about that just now; I have other and more important matters that I wish to speak about. And first of all, as to our losses, I fear they have been very heavy, have they not?”
“No, sir,” said I. “On the contrary, they are very light indeed, compared with those of the enemy. We have lost only five killed and eleven wounded, your case being the most serious of the latter, and Hamilton tells me that he hopes to have all hands of you up and as hearty as ever within the month.”
“Does he—does he really say that? God be thanked for that good news!” exclaimed the poor fellow with more energy than I could have expected from a man presenting such a ghastly appearance as he did. For his cheeks were sunken, and white as chalk, and his lips were quite blue. “The fact is, Grenvile,” he continued, “that I don’t want to die yet, if I can help it; not that I am not prepared to die, if it be God’s will to take me, for, thanks be to Him, I am ready to go at any moment, if the call should come, as all men should be, especially soldiers and sailors, who are peculiarly liable to receive their summons at a moment’s notice. No, it is not that, but I should like to live a little longer, if it might be so, for—for many reasons, the chief of which is that I have a wife at home—whose—whose heart—”
The dear fellow was getting a little excited, I saw, and that, of course, would be bad for him, so I cut in:
“Never fear, sir,” I exclaimed cheerily. “You will ride this squall out all right, I’ve not a doubt of it. You must not judge by your present feelings, you know. Just now you are exhausted with loss of blood and the pain of your wound, but I intend to carry on and get you ashore and in hospital within the next three days, please God, and once you are out of this close cabin, and in a nice airy ward, with proper nurses to look after you, you will begin to pull round in a way that will astonish you. You are in no danger, sir; Hamilton told me so, and I should think he ought to know.” It was useless to lie unless it were done boldly, and I inwardly prayed that my pious fraud might be forgiven.
“Well, well, I hope so,” the poor fellow gasped. “At all events I will try to hold on until we arrive, and then perhaps I may get my step. If I got that—”
“Get your step, sir?” I cut in again. “Of course you will get it! I only wish I were half as certain of getting the ten thousand a year that my uncle has promised to leave me when he dies. Get your step? Why, sir, it is as good as in your pocket already.”
“You think so?” asked he doubtfully. “I wish I could feel as sure of it as you do, my boy—ay, I wish I could feel as sure of it as I am that you will get your commission—for get it you shall, if anything I can say will help you to it. And that reminds me, Grenvile, that I wish to say how perfectly satisfied and highly pleased I have been with your conduct and gallantry in this affair. You handled your schooner with the very best of judgment, and indeed, but for you the fellow might have slipped away from us altogether. I will take care to make that quite clear to the commodore in my report to him.”
I thanked him very heartily for his exceedingly kind intentions toward me, and then we passed on to the discussion of certain other matters, with the details of which I need not weary the reader; and when I left him, an hour later, Hamilton assured me that his patient, although exhausted with his long talk, was none the worse, but rather the better, for my visit. “You have taken him out of himself, diverted his thoughts into a more cheerful channel, and it has done him good. We must play up that ‘step’ business to the very last ounce,” he concluded.
When I went on deck, upon leaving poor Fawcett, I was gratified to find that the making good of damages aboard the brig was progressing apace, and that Freeman would be ready to make sail about sunset, while aboard the prize they were all ataunto again, with the damaged sails unbent and sent down, and fresh ones bent in their place. The schooner also had sent up and rigged a new topmast, set up the rigging, got the yards across, and the topsail set, with topgallant-sail and royal all ready for sheeting home. I therefore at once proceeded on board my own little hooker and packed Master Jack off, bag and baggage, to take charge of the prize, to that young gentleman’s ineffable pride and delight. Then, as soon as all was ready we made sail in company, and, carrying on day and night, arrived at our destination without further adventure early in the afternoon of the third day after our engagement with the slaver.
I had, of course, during the passage, made frequent enquiries each day as to the progress of poor Fawcett, but the best news that they could give me was that, while he seemed to be no worse, he was certainly no better. As soon, therefore, as the anchors were down I went alongside the brig, and having dispatched a messenger ashore in the schooner’s gig with a message to the hospital authorities, proceeded with the difficult and delicate job of conveying the invalid ashore. To facilitate this the carpenter of the brig had, under Hamilton’s supervision, prepared a light but strong framework, somewhat of the nature of a cot, with stout rope slings attached thereto, and when all was ready for the patient’s removal this was placed on the cabin table, and six stout fellows then entered the state-room, and, carefully lifting the wounded man, bed and all, out of his bunk, gently carried him into the main cabin and laid him, just as he was, on the cot or stretcher. This we fortunately accomplished without seriously discomposing our patient, and the surgeon then administered a soothing draught, the effect of which was to put the sufferer to sleep in a few minutes. Hamilton having foreseen that it would be practically impossible to convey the stretcher and its burden up on deck by way of the companion ladder without injury to the patient, had caused some planks to be removed from the fore bulkhead, thus making a passage into the main hold, through which we now carried the stretcher, laying it gently down on the slave-deck immediately beneath the main hatch. Then the slings of the concern were hooked on to a tackle which had been lowered down the hatchway, and our patient was next not only hoisted up through the hatchway, but also slung over the side and lowered down into the stern-sheets of a boat waiting alongside to receive him. The rest was easy; we pulled ashore, lifted our burden—still on the stretcher—out of the boat, and carried him up to the hospital, where he was at once placed in a bed that had been made ready to receive him. And all this without awaking him, so that when at length he opened his eyes it was to find himself comfortably settled in a fine, light, airy ward, with one of the hospital surgeons re-dressing his wound. The change did him immediate good, and before I left the building I had the satisfaction of learning that there was a possibility of his recovery, although very little likelihood that he would ever be fit for active service again. Meanwhile the rest of the wounded, or rather such of them as it was deemed advisable to place in the hospital, had also been taken ashore, and I was free to attend to other matters.
It is not necessary to describe in detail the conduct of all the business that I found it would be necessary for me to transact. Suffice it to say that I had a most satisfactory interview with the commodore of the station, at the end of which he complimented me very highly upon what he was pleased to designate as “the sound judgment and great gallantry” with which I had played my part, not only in the capture of the brigantine, but also in the affair of the Indian Queen. And, as a crowning mark of his approval, he presented me with an acting order as lieutenant, with an assurance that I might trust to him to see it confirmed. Emboldened by this favourable reception on the part of the great man, I ventured to hint that I believed poor Fawcett’s recovery would be greatly hastened if he could be reasonably assured of getting his promotion, to which the old fellow very kindly replied:
“Leave that to me, my lad, leave that to me; I am not so very old yet that I am not able to remember how you youngsters feel in the matter of promotion, or to sympathise with you. I shall probably be seeing Mr Fawcett to-day, and I venture to hope that my visit will do him more good than all the doctors in the hospital. Come and dine with me to-night; I want to hear the story of that Indian Queen affair in a little more detail, and there are other matters upon which I may have something to say to you. And bring your shipmate—what did you say his name is? Keene—ah, yes, bring Mr Keene with you!”
Full of elation at the good news that I felt I had to communicate to Fawcett, I hurried to the hospital, and found, to my regret, that he was not quite so well, having exhibited some symptoms of a relapse, and the doctor therefore seemed at first somewhat disinclined to let me see him. But upon explaining to him that I had a little bit of very good news to communicate, he said:
“That, of course, makes a great difference. Yes, you may see him, for five minutes, which I suppose will be long enough to communicate your good news, and then come away again. You know your way up. Look in here on your return, and let me know the result of your interview.”
I went up, and found the poor fellow looking very haggard and ill, but he brightened up somewhat upon my entrance; perhaps he read good news in my jubilant expression.
“Well, what is it, Grenvile?” he said. “You look as though you have something good to tell me.”
“I have,” said I, pretending not to notice his altered looks. “I have, although perhaps I am not acting quite fairly by the commodore in forestalling him. He is coming to see you, sir, and, although he did not absolutely state as much in so many words, I have not the slightest doubt that he intends to give you your step. He has given me an acting order, and he therefore cannot, in common fairness, withhold your promotion from you. But naturally he would not take me into his confidence and categorically state his intentions toward you before mentioning the matter to you. But I feel as certain that you will get your step as I do that I am at this moment sitting by your bedside.”
“Well, that is good news indeed, and I thank you for so promptly bringing it to me,” exclaimed the invalid. “And I must not forget to congratulate you, Grenvile, upon your good luck, which, I tell you plainly, I think you fully deserve. But, although an acting order is an excellent thing in its way, you will have to pass before you can get it confirmed, you know. Have you served your full time at sea yet?”
“Yes,” said I; “completed it last month. But it is rather awkward about having to pass, though. I fear there is very little likelihood of my being able to go for my examination here.”
“That is as may be,” returned the lieutenant. “Anyhow, you cannot get away from here just yet; and it may be—I don’t say it will, but it may be—that an opportunity may occur before you leave. How did the commodore treat you; did he seem fairly favourably disposed to you?”
“Yes, indeed,” said I. “‘Fairly favourably’ hardly describes his manner to me. I should have spoken of it as ‘very favourably’.”
“Well, I am right glad to hear it, and I congratulate you most heartily. You say that the old boy is coming to see me. Now, understand, boy, if I can put in a good word for you without shoving it in, bows first, and knocking the old gentleman’s eye out with the flying-jib-boom, I will.”
The worthy fellow was now quite a different man from what he had been when I entered the room a few minutes earlier; I therefore thought this a favourable opportunity to top my boom and haul off; so, thanking him very sincerely for his kind intentions in my favour, I shook hands and bade him good day, promising to look in again upon him on the morrow.
Keene and I duly dined with the commodore that evening; and when the cloth had been removed, and the servants had retired, the old gentleman said:
“Well, Mr Grenvile, I called upon your friend Fawcett this afternoon, and had a fairly long chat with him, in spite of the doctors. The poor fellow will never be of any further use afloat, I am afraid; but he may yet do good service ashore if those fellows can patch him up sufficiently to enable him to go home. And I think they will; yes, I think they will. He was very much better when I left than when I arrived;” and the old boy’s eyes twinkled good-humouredly. “It is wonderful,” he continued, “what a little promotion will do for a man in his condition. Talking of promotion, I mentioned to him that I had given you an acting order, at which he seemed greatly pleased; and he said several things about you, young gentleman, which I shall not repeat, but which I was very pleased to hear, since they all go to confirm the good opinion of you that I have already formed. But he reminded me that before your acting order can be confirmed you must pass your examination. Now, do you feel yourself to be in trim to face the examiners at any moment?”
“Yes, sir,” said I, “provided, of course, that they don’t try to bother me with ‘catch questions’ of a kind that have no real bearing upon one’s practical capabilities. I have worked fairly hard from the moment when I first entered the service; my character will bear investigation; I am a pretty good seaman, I believe; and Mr Teasdale, our master aboard the Shark, was good enough to report to the sk— to Captain Bentinck, only the other day, that I am a trustworthy navigator.”
“Good enough to take a ship across the Atlantic, for instance, without assistance?” asked the old gentleman.
“Yes, sir,” said I. “I would not hesitate to take a ship anywhere, if required.”
“Good!” exclaimed the commodore; “I like your confident way of speaking. I like to see a young fellow who believes in himself. Well, well, we shall see, we shall see.”
Then he asked me to relate to him the whole story of the loss of the Dolores and of the Indian Queen incident, “from clew to earing”, as he put it; and I told him the complete yarn, as he sat cross-legged in his low lounging chair, with a cheroot stuck in the corner of his mouth, listening, nodding his head from time to time, and frequently breaking in with a question upon some point which he wished to have more fully explained. He also put Master Jack pretty completely through his facings, so that, when at length we rose to go, he had acquired a very fair amount of information relating to us both.
The Mixed Commission sat a few days later to adjudicate upon our prizes, with the result that all three were duly condemned; and we thus became entitled to a very nice little sum of prize money, for there was not only the value of the three craft, but also the head money upon the brigantine’s cargo of slaves. Upon the declaration of judgment by the court the three vessels were promptly advertised for sale by auction, and brought to the hammer some three weeks later. As it was well known that all three were exceptionally fast craft the competition for their possession was expected to be particularly brisk, and the event justified the expectation, for upon the day appointed for the sale the attendance was a record one and the bidding remarkably spirited. To such an extent, indeed, was this the case that many of the knowing ones present hazarded the confident conviction that some of the bidders present would probably be found—if the truth about them could but be ascertained—to be secret agents of slavers, and that the vessels would, at no very distant date, be found to be employed again in their former trade. The brig was the first craft offered for sale, and after a very spirited competition she was ultimately knocked down to a Jew marine-store dealer at a very handsome figure. Then followed the brigantine, which also realised an exceedingly satisfactory price. With the disposal of this craft the competition slackened very considerably, which was not to be wondered at, for the schooner, although a smart little craft, was not nearly so valuable—especially from a slave trader’s point of view—as either of the others; yet when she was at length knocked down she went for her full value, and, on the whole, the parties most intimately concerned had every reason to be very well satisfied with the total result of the sale. It was not until the next morning that the fact was allowed to leak out that the Francesca, had been purchased into the service. Meanwhile I had practically nothing to do, and I therefore spent most of my time in study, preparing myself for my examination, so that I might be ready to avail myself of the first opportunity to pass that should present itself. I filled in the gaps by visiting Fawcett at the hospital, and I was pleased to find that since the cheering visit of the commodore he had been making very satisfactory progress.
It was on the afternoon of the day succeeding the sale of the prizes that the commodore sent for me.
“Well,” said he when I presented myself, “I suppose you are beginning to feel rather tired of kicking your heels about ashore here, are you not?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “I must confess that I am, especially now that Mr Fawcett seems to be progressing so satisfactorily toward convalescence. I had hoped that the Shark would have been in ere this; for although I have not been altogether wasting my time, I feel that I am not earning my pay; moreover, I prefer a more active life than I am leading here.”
“Quite right, young man, quite right,” approved the commodore. “Nothing like active service for an ambitious young fellow like yourself. I understand that you have been working up for your examination lately. Well, to be quite candid with you, I don’t think your chances of passing here are very bright—not because I consider you unfit to pass, mind you, but because it may be some time before an opportunity offers. But that is a misfortune which, perhaps, may be remedied. You have heard, I suppose, that your schooner has been purchased into the service?”
“Yes, sir, I have,” said I, all alert in a moment, for I hoped that this abrupt reference to the transaction boded good for me. “And I was exceedingly glad to hear it,” I went on, “for she is a very smart, handy little vessel, and may be made exceedingly useful in many ways.”
“So I thought, and therefore I bought her,” remarked the old gentleman. “It was my original intention to have made her a tender to the Shark—in which capacity she would no doubt have proved, as you say, exceedingly useful; and I may further tell you that, subject to Captain Bentinck’s approval, I intended to have put you in command of her. But certain news which has reached me this morning has altered all my plans concerning her, at all events for the present, and instead of making her a tender to the Shark I now propose to send her across to the West Indies with dispatches of the utmost importance. You will therefore be so good as to proceed on board forthwith and take the command, give all her stores a thorough overhaul, and report to me what deficiencies, if any, require to be made good in order to fit her for the voyage across the Atlantic. I have issued instructions for your former crew to be turned over to her from the depot ship, and it will be as well, perhaps, for you to take over half a dozen extra hands from the late prize crew of the brig. I should like to be able to give you Mr Freeman as master, but I can’t spare him; so you will have to be your own navigator. By the way, what sort of a navigator is Keene?”
“Oh,” I said, laughingly, “he can fudge a day’s work as well as most people, sir!”
“Ah,” said the old gentleman, “I wonder whether you boys will ever be brought to understand that ‘fudging’ is no good, except to bamboozle the master! How would any of you manage if by chance it fell to you to take a ship into port, and you could only ‘fudge’ a day’s work? Well, you shall take him with you; but hark ye, my lad, for his own sake you must make him stick to his work and do it properly, so that he may be ready for any emergency that may happen to come along. Come and dine with me to-night, and bring the young monkey with you. I’ll talk to him like a Dutch uncle, and see if I can’t stir him up to a sense of his responsibilities. One word more, my lad. An opportunity to pass may occur while you are over yonder; and if it does, I very strongly advise you to seize it.”
“Be assured that I will, sir,” exclaimed I. “And—oh, sir, I really don’t know how to express my gratitude to you for giving me such a splendid—”
“There, there, never mind about that, boy,” interrupted the old fellow hurriedly. “I know all that you would say, so there is no need for you to repeat it. As to gratitude, you can best show that by proving yourself worthy of the trust that I am putting in you, as I have no doubt you will. Now, run along and get aboard your ship, and the sooner you can report yourself ready for sea, the better I shall be pleased with you. Don’t forget to-night—seven sharp!”
I was probably the most elated young man on the West Coast that afternoon as I hurried from the commodore’s presence and made my way aboard the sweet little Francesca, where I found the whole of my former crew, Keene included, already installed.
“Hullo, Grenvile, what is the meaning of this?” was his enquiry as I went up the vessel’s low side and passed through the gangway. “What’s in the wind? Here have we all been turned over at a moment’s notice, and there are already rumours floating about that we sail to-night.”
“No,” said I, “it is not quite so bad as that, but it means that we are bound to the West Indies at the earliest possible moment, and it also means, Jack, you villain, that I have received strict orders from the commodore to work you down until you are as fine and as sharp as a needle. You will hear more about it to-night, my lad, when you and I go to dine with him, so stand by and look out for squalls!”
“The West Indies? Hooray!” cried Jack. “The land of beauty and romance, of solitary cays with snug little harbours, each of them sheltering a slashing pirate schooner patiently waiting for us to go and cut her out; the land of fair women and hospitable men, the land of sugar plantations, lovely flowers, and delicious fruits, the land of—of—”
“Disastrous hurricanes, furious thunderstorms, yellow fever, poisonous reptiles, the horrible mysteries of voodoo worship, and so on, and so on,” I cut in.
“Oh, you be hanged!” retorted Jack recklessly. “It’s a precious sight better than this pestilential West Coast at all events, say what you will. And as to work, that’s all right; I don’t care how hard you work me in reason, Dick. I know that I’ve been an atrociously lazy beggar, always more ready to skylark than to do anything useful, but I’m going to turn over a new leaf now; I am, indeed—you needn’t look incredulous; I’ve wasted time enough, and I intend now to buckle to and make myself useful. And the commodore may ‘jacket’ me as much as he pleases to-night—I know I deserve it—and I’ll say nothing, but just promise to be a good boy in future. He’s a jolly, kind-hearted old chap, and I don’t care who hears me say so!”
“Well done, Jack!” said I; “I’ve not heard you talk so much in earnest for a long time. But, joking aside, I am very glad indeed, old fellow, to hear that you are going to turn over a new leaf. As you very truly say, you have wasted time enough; the moment has arrived when, if you wish to make headway in your profession, as I suppose you do, you must begin to take life seriously, and realise that you were not sent into the world merely to skylark, although skylarking, within reasonable limits and at the proper time, is possibly a harmless enough amusement.”