Leaves from a middy's log

by Arthur Lee Knight

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.