Jack in the Forecastle; or, Incidents in the Early Life of Hawser Martingale

by John Sherburne Sleeper

Mr. Ricker, the mate, now took command of the brig. This man possessed a warm and affectionate heart, and was deeply moved by the death of the captain. He wept aloud when the interment took place, and sought to alleviate his grief by copious draughts of spirituous liquors. He wept and drank himself to sleep while reclining on a hen-coop. In a few hours he awoke, and wept again; then told the cook to bring the brandy bottle, which soon acted as an opiate, and banished his sorrows. He pursued this course, crying and drinking for more than a week; and during the greater part of this time, while I was witnessing scenes of sadness and death enough to chill the stoutest heart, he incapacitated himself, by intoxication, from performing his duties as commander of the ill-fated vessel.

Smith was still lingering under the attack of a disease which we now knew to be yellow fever. He was gradually growing worse. Others of the crew were also visited by this dreadful pestilence, and the deck of the brig resembled one of the fever wards of a hospital. The groans of the poor fellows were enough, one would think, to create sympathy in the coldest bosom. But they had no effect upon Gaskell, excepting to excite derision; and when he spoke to his sick or dying shipmates with a ribald jest on his lips, and a scornful grin on his features, I longed to fell him to the deck. I rebuked him for his want of feeling, and suggested that, proud as he was of his strength and immunity from sickness, he might, notwithstanding, become an object of sympathy to his shipmates, and need their assistance. The answer I received was a boisterous laugh, as if the idea was too absurd to be entertained.

Many years have passed since these events occurred, but even now I cannot recur to them without a feeling of sadness. And no one, not familiar with such scenes, can form an idea of the distress which a mortal sickness produces on board a ship at sea. The captain had died, and the mate, who should have taken his place, was constantly in a state of beastly intoxication. Three of the crew were struggling with yellow fever, and, to add to our troubles, Gaskell made his way into the hold, and broached a cask of wine; and those who were not sick followed the example of the mate, and got drunk, and drowned in vociferous shouts and songs the groans of their suffering shipmates. Under these circumstances, I had no alternative but to take on myself the responsibility of navigating and sailing the vessel. And while proceeding along the fruitful shores of St. Domingo, and the picturesque coast of Jamaica, I passed whole nights on deck, engaged in tending the sick, trimming the sails, and steering the brig. It was truly fortunate that the wind continued light and the weather pleasant.

Smith, who was the first man taken sick, did not recover. His illness gradually increased; for several days his mind wandered, but he was not troublesome, and died on the tenth day after we left St. Pierre. On the day of the captain's death, a young man, belonging to Connecticut, was seized with a fever, and died five days afterwards in a state of delirium. His case required constant care and attention, as he made more than one attempt to throw himself overboard, in order, as he believed, to embrace his parents and friends in his own native village. Two others were taken alarmingly ill, but after suffering severely for several days gradually recovered. The cook, a stout black fellow, inured to warm climates, rendered me great assistance in taking care of the sick. But on the morning on which we beheld the mountains of Jamaica he also was visited by yellow fever. The symptoms were alarming, and there seemed no prospect of his recovery; but on the third day of his sickness, AND AFTER THE BLACK VOMIT HAD COMMENCED, and while I sat watching by his berth, expecting that in a few minutes he would breathe his last, he seemed to revive, and I put some rice-water to his lips. He swallowed a small quantity; the terrible forerunner of a speedy dissolution disappeared, and from that moment his strength gradually increased, the fever left him, and before we reached New Orleans he had recovered.

While the cook was still dangerously ill, one morning early, as we were slowly sailing along towards the Grand Cayman, Gaskell came crawling up the steps leading to the half-deck, and tottered along towards me. I was appalled at the change which a single night had made in his appearance. The defiant, rollicking ruffian no longer stood before me; the sneer was no longer on his countenance, his eyes no longer sparkled with mischief, and his language was not interlarded with disgusting profanity. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks ghastly pale, and a cold sweat, produced by FEAR, stood on his forehead. The workings of suffering and terror were imprinted on his features, and he looked as if twenty years had been added to his life in one short night.

And he had cause for alarm; the yellow fever had fastened upon him with a vice-like grasp, and he felt it in his inmost soul. The man was a coward, after all. He thought himself secure from the scourge, and put on a mask of defiance. He now knew that he had deceived himself, and all his daring vanished. HE WAS AFRAID OF DEATH; AND THE DREADFUL CONVICTION WAS FORCED UPON HIM THAT HIS DYING HOUR WAS AT HAND.

In tremulous accents, Gaskell described the symptoms of the disease. The shooting pains in his head, neck, and shoulders were insufferable, and he entreated me to do something, any thing, to relieve the pain, and restore him to health. He urged me to bleed him, which I undertook, and opened a vein in each arm, but the blood would not flow; the vital current seemed to be congealed by fear. He then begged me to bathe his back with camphor and opodeldoc, and although I knew the operation would produce no effect, I consented to his wishes, and for more than an hour rubbed his back as he desired, and bathed his head with vinegar and lime juice.

But the disease could not be removed. It seized upon his vitals, and he rapidly grew worse. His pains were great, but his mental agonies were greater. For worlds I would not suffer what that man suffered while rushing into the fearful embraces of death. His mind was clear and unclouded, while madness would have been mercy. His life had been loose and depraved. He had been guilty of many crimes, and in the day of death the stings of conscience pierced him to the soul. His evil deeds came back to him in that hour; they were stamped on his heart as with a red-hot iron. I tried to console him, but in vain. He would not listen when I spoke of death, and fiercely motioned me away when I attempted to read aloud a chapter from the Bible. He said but little; but what he did say were words of bitterness and despair. He declared, with an awful oath, that he would not die, and struggled fiercely for life to the last. I never shall forget the wild and ghastly countenance and distorted features of that dying man, who, only a few days before, while in the full flush of health, declared, with a diabolical grin, that he feared neither God nor man.

The fever had now run its race, but our ship's company was greatly reduced in number and in strength. The captain and three of the seamen had been committed to the waves, and others had not fully recovered from the effects of the fever. Mr. Ricker was the only person on board, with the exception of myself, who had entirely escaped. Whether drunkenness acted, in his case, as a preventive, I will not undertake to say; neither will I advise any one to try the hazardous experiment.

We were now in sight of the Isle of Pines, fourteen days having elapsed since we sailed from Martinico, when I observed indications of one of those severe gales not unusual in the Gulf of Mexico and vicinity, and known at "northers." Light-handed as we were, and without an efficient head, I was aware that our situation was a critical one. I then felt justified in doing what I should have done sooner; I threw overboard every drop of spirit I could find, and then applied myself to rouse Mr. 'Ricker from his drunken inactivity; I explained to him my apprehensions of a gale of wind, and the necessity for making preparation for the coming tempest. This brought him to his senses; and after grumbling somewhat at the loss of his liquor, and taking a deep draught of water, he entered with energy on the sphere of his duties.