This was my seasoning fever, as they called it; and, though it did not last long—thanks to the good treatment and the medicinal herbs of the Mosquito men—it left me passing weak and helpless. I recovered my reason all at once, as one waking from the stupor of deep sleep. My hair had been cut close, and my head was tied round with freshly-plucked plantain leaves, constantly drenched with water. I lay upon blankets, none of which we possessed when I was taken ill, and my linen was reasonably clean and fresh. The wattled hut was open to the breeze on every side, and as it contained but one bed more, I guessed that it had been given up for my use and that of my partner, Nicky, as indeed it had. Looking around, I saw several pots, pans, baskets, and boxes scattered about, from which I concluded that the Spaniards had departed, and that my comrades had been able to recover some of the wreck of their property from the ruins of their habitations. And this, indeed, I found afterwards to be the case.
I was too weak at first to call out, and so remained in silence, enjoying a delicious languor, and cool and moist from head to foot. The fever had thoroughly left me, and I felt thankful and devoutly glad. Presently I distinguished the well-known smell of the smouldering fire of the boucan floating into the hut, and soon afterwards, Nicky, with bare arms and grimed hands, entered; his eyes sparkled when he saw me so much recovered, and presently calling the rest together, they all shook hands with me, and told me to be of good cheer, for I had fore-reached on the marsh fever, and would soon be quite hearty. And so, indeed, it was. I grew very hungry, and, being well fed, regained my strength fast, so that, two or three days after the fever left my blood, I was abroad sniffing the cool breezes of the sea.
Except two men—both French—who had joined when I was ill, none of the survivors of our original party had turned up; some of them had no doubt been made prisoners by the Spaniards, others might have started off along the coast to the eastward, as, indeed, many previously intended; but we feared that upwards of one half of our comrades were either captives, who would be forced to labour in the mines of Cuba, or had already—and the fate of these latter was more to be envied—died with their wounds, in front, giving battle to the Spanish robbers.
Being little able to work for some time after my recovery, and the rest of the party being engaged in the usual toil of hunting wild cattle, and preserving the meat by the boucan, it was often my habit to take the canoe and proceed in her down towards the mouth of the bay, so as to enjoy the fresh and briny breeze which came from the north-west across the ocean. To make these expeditions more pleasant, I prepared a mast with a small lug sail, such as the canoe could bear, and I could manage with ease. Almost my first trip, when thus provided, was to the scene of the late contest. I found nearly every trace of a settlement destroyed. The rude jetty was all but demolished, and over the ruins of the shattered huts, great crops of luxuriant herbage had grown, from which I often started snakes and venomous insects, such as centipedes and scorpions, who delighted to make their nests in the holes and crevices which they found in abundance amidst the ruins of our huts. On a sweet spot of green-sward, under the shadow of a great spreading tree, there were rows of little mounds, very green. Here our poor comrades lay buried. The Spaniards, it seems, had interred their dead, and on their departure, which happened on the day after I was attacked with fever, all our party had gone across the bay, and laid the dead Buccaneers beneath the mould. Upon the bark of the great tree I was at pains to carve a deep cross; for, though the symbol in Europe be the mark of a corrupt and idolatrous church, still I felt that in the wilderness it might bear a truer and a wider meaning, and point out to future strangers that the mounds beneath the tree covered the graves of Christian men.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BUCCANEERS TIRE OF THE LIFE ON SHORE, AND DETERMINE
TO GO AGAIN TO SEA.
Searching about the place I often discovered little matters, which I stored in the canoe and brought to our new settlement, such as axes and hammers, harpoons for striking fish, fragments of cordage, rope and canvas; and twice I dug up from the ruins, boxes containing seamen’s clothes, which were very welcome to us all; in one of these trunks I discovered some Spanish books, including a grammar and dictionary, and of these I hastened to avail myself, inasmuch as I saw that a knowledge of this language might soon be of the greatest service to me. Neither did my companions grudge that I thus applied much of my time to study, for none of them knew more than a few words of Spanish, and they were quite aware of the advantage of having one at least of that party conversant with that tongue.
Thus, time passed away tolerably pleasantly. The season for the arrival of the ships expected to load with the boucan prepared for them at the village on the east side of the bay, having passed, and none of them appearing, we concluded that stragglers from our old company had succeeded in making their way to Jamaica, Tortugas, and other islands, and had informed the merchants and planters there of the attacks of the Spaniards, and the utter ruin of the settlement, adding, very probably, that they were the sole survivors of the massacre. It, therefore, became a question with us what to do. The Frenchmen were for journeying along the coast to the westward, and then watching an opportunity to go across to Tortugas; but Stout Jem told them they might do so if they pleased, but he would prefer an island where his own countrymen had something to say in matters, an opinion which the rest of the English, as well as the Dutchmen and the Indians, who do not love the French, joined in very cordially. The Frenchmen, who, to do them justice, were very good fellows, on this gave up their proposition and swore that they would follow Stout Jem to the death.
‘Say you so, my boys?’ cried the Dover mariner. ‘Then so be it; and what I propose is this. Here be nine stout men of us, for I count the Indians as good as white blood. Our peaceful trade in beef and hides, hath been ruined by these accursed Spaniards, so I vote for the sea again.’
This proposal meeting with a clamour of approbation, Stout Jem flung aloft his hat.