“‘Black!’ exclaimed I; ‘I thought you were king’s men. I won’t go with you.’
“‘It is too late, my lad—go you must! Besides, there is no safety for you on shore now; you shot one of the crew of the cruiser’s gig, and they will have life for life, depend upon it.’
“The whole horror of my situation now burst upon me. I was in a fearful strait; but I made up my mind at once, to deceive the pirates, by appearing to be contented with my situation, and to take advantage of the first opportunity that presented itself to escape.
“‘Well,’ said I, ‘if that’s the case, I had better die fighting bravely like a man, than hang like a dog from the yard-arm of a man-of-war.’
“‘Bravely said, my hearty!’ replied the young leader; ‘but we must be moving—the blue jackets will be after us; that shot of yours will bring the whole hornet’s nest about our ears.’
“We got under way; and, after rounding the east end of Jamaica, we stood away for the Cuba shore. The very first time we came to an anchor, I made an attempt to escape; I had saved part of my provisions for some days before, and concealed it, in readiness to take with me. We were lying close to the shore, and the darkness of the night would, I thought, conceal my movements; I was just slipping over the schooner’s side, to swim ashore, when I felt a touch upon my shoulder, and, turning round, a dark lantern flashed in my face, and I saw the young pirate standing beside me. He held a cocked pistol to my head. ‘One touch of this trigger,’ said he, ‘and you would require no more looking after. My eye has been upon you all along; you cannot escape me; do not attempt it again—the consequences may be fatal.’
“From that hour I was aware that I was constantly and narrowly watched. Except in the one instance of the gig’s man, whom I had fired at under a delusion, it was my good fortune as yet to have escaped imbruing my hands in blood. During the action with the Albion, I was sent in the boat, under the particular charge of the mate. ‘Keep your eye on this fellow,’ said the captain; ‘If he flinches for a moment, blow his brains out instantly; we must glue him to us with blood. I will keep her in play till you creep alongside; and, once on board, cut every one down before you—give no quarter.’
“My blood ran cold at this horrible order, and I determined upon doing all in my power to counteract its execution. I was delighted when you discovered our approach and the blue light flashed from your stern; for I dreaded the scene of massacre that must have ensued, if we had boarded you unawares. I sprang on deck with the rest, in hopes that I might be able to prevent some bloodshed; but, when I was violently attacked, my passions were aroused, and I fought desperately for my life. Just as you tumbled me over the gangway, the gleam of moonshine showed me your face. I recognised you immediately; and, when I rose to the surface of the water again after my plunge, I blessed heaven that I had been spared the guilt of murder. I reached the boat which was still hanging under your quarter, cut the painter, and in the confusion, escaped unnoticed. I immediately made for the shore; and after many hair-breadth escapes from my old associates, I volunteered on board one of the cruisers on the Jamaica station. At length she returned home, the crew were paid off, and I determined to seek you out. On inquiring at the office of the owners of the Albion, in Liverpool, they told me that the late chief mate had settled, some years before, in the neighbourhood of Rothesay, in the Isle of Bute, and was still alive. Thank heaven! I have found you at last! I should like to live, Charles, to prove to you my sorrow and repentance for the past; but, as heaven has willed it otherwise, the blessed assurance of your forgiveness will lighten death of half its terrors.”
The poor fellow breathed his last a few days afterwards. Douglas mourned long and deeply for his brother’s death; but after time had soothed his grief, he became quite an altered man. His mind and spirits recovered their elasticity, after the load which had so long weighed them down was removed. He did not resume his own name; but lived many years afterwards, contented and happy, in the humble station of a fisherman; and it was not till after his death that his old companions discovered how justly the name of “Gentleman Douglas” had been applied to him. His tombstone bore the simple inscription, “Charles Douglas Ponsonby, eldest son of the late Reverend T. Ponsonby.”
I often wander, in the calm summer evenings, to the quiet churchyard, and return a sadder, but, I hope, a better man, after meditating upon the troublous and adventurous life, and peaceful and Christian death of the Rothesay Fisherman.