I fully agreed with him on this point, and at that moment poor Mammy Gobo was more welcome to our sight than the most beautiful creature in existence. What cooling drinks she concocted out of herbs and simples, and what delicious messes out of various sorts of vegetables and fruits and roots, the productions of that fruitful climate! However, Mammy Gobo could not always attend on us, for she had several other patients and had to look after her own affairs at home. During her absence our poor chickens fared but ill, for we could not go out to collect food for them, and the supply we had before stored up was soon expended. They, in consequence, had to go forth to forage for themselves. At first they came back regularly enough, but then we remarked that one was missing; then next day another did not make its appearance, and so on the third day two were missing. In a few days half our stock were lost. We told Mammy Gobo of what had occurred, and she said she would try and find out who had robbed us. When, however, she was present, all the chickens came back. We certainly did not suspect her of being the thief, but we felt sure that the real thieves watched her movements and ran off with our fowls when she was out of the way. We were compelled also to kill several of our stock of chickens for food, Mammy Gobo having especially prescribed chicken-broth when we became somewhat convalescent. They were now reduced to a very small number. One by one they also disappeared till none remained, and then we were indeed in a very miserable and forlorn condition. We were still too ill, however, to think much of the future, but we found it impossible to supply even our present wants; and had not the kind-hearted black woman catered for us, assuring the hucksters that I was certain to recover and pay them, I believe that we should have starved.
At last I was able to get about a little, though the fever was still on me, and I managed to crawl to the house to see some of my brother-officers. The greater number of them were sick, or had been ill and nearer death’s door. I inquired for my old shipmate and friend, Delisle. “He is ill in that room,” was the reply. I went forthwith to him. A few short weeks of sickness had made a great change in his countenance. He took my hand when I approached the wretched pallet on which he was stretched.
“I am glad to see you recovering, my dear Hurry,” he said in a low, feeble voice. “It is all up with me, though. I shall never be a post-captain—never command a ship—my last battle is fought. I must yield to God’s will. It seems hard, though. You know all about my friends. If you ever reach home, go and tell them about me. I can’t talk more. I am weak—very weak—couldn’t hail the maintop if I was to try. Oh, it’s hard, very hard, to be thus cut off by the arm of this vile climate—very, very.”
He was silent. I tried to console him, to raise his spirits, for I was certain they had a good deal to do in enabling a person to recover. In vain were all my efforts. He sank slowly, and before morning one who had long been my friend and the companion of my Orlopian days on board the Orpheus, and lately my messmate also in the Bristol, was no more. The blow prostrated me in body and spirits, and I felt inclined to give in, and lay my head down beside his. Soon after daylight we sallied forth with the body of our brother-officer, and took our way towards the dreary savannah. We were followed by some of our guards and other individuals, anxious, we concluded, to watch our proceedings. Our party was but small, for alas! the greater number of the lieutenants were unable from sickness to attend the funeral. We were a melancholy party—pale, haggard, and squalid. We placed the body on the grass. What a fine, handsome young fellow he looked! We began to dig his grave. Without consideration, we began to dig it east and west. When we had proceeded some way in our work, our French masters interfered and said that we ought to dig it north and south, that only Christian men, good Catholics, should be buried east and west, that they might be ready to rise when summoned by the sound of the last trump. We resolved, however, not to give in to so absurd a demand, and continued our labours. Again the Frenchmen interfered. On a further consultation one of our party recollected that graves were usually placed east and west in England, and so we told our tyrants that we were only following one of our own national customs, and to it we intended to adhere. From our not recollecting the custom, all our other countrymen had been buried north and south. After some further dispute about the matter we were allowed to proceed, and thus poor Delisle rests in the position which is considered most orthodox, though I cannot say that I should be inclined to attach much importance to the matter. Sad and sick, I went back to our stable. The exertion I had gone through almost finished me. The other lieutenants wanted me to go to their house, but I had no spirits for society. I preferred my own wretched abode and the companionship of Tom Rockets and the old black woman. Never did one brother mourn for another more sincerely than I did for Gerard Delisle. Thus the days and weeks and months drew slowly along till April arrived. That month was passed much as the others till on the 28th, a day not likely to be forgotten by me. Several of my friends had come in to see me, and they were all sitting about in the stable. We were bemoaning, as we often did, our hard fate.
“As for me,” I exclaimed, “I fully expect to lay my bones in that dark, dreary savannah! What hope have I of ever getting away?”
Suddenly a voice was heard outside the door shouting lustily. We thought it was one of our friends running about in the delirium of fever, when in rushed Lieutenant Moriarty with an open letter in his hand of a very official appearance.
“It was directed to me, so I broke the seal. You and Manby and I are free. Hurrah, boys, hurrah!” he exclaimed. “Hurrah, hurrah!”
I thought at first that he was mad, and could not believe him till he let me inspect the letter. It was from General D’Argue, informing us that, in consequence of a request from Sir Peter Parker, we had leave to embark on board a cartel for Jamaica. I turned the document over and over again in my hand. There could be no doubt about its genuineness. Ill and weak as we all were, for we still had the fever on us, we resolved to set off the moment we were able. After the first ebullition of our feelings was over, we recollected what must be the sensation of the friends we were leaving behind, and Moriarty did his best to soothe them by assuring them how rejoiced we should be if they were able to go likewise. Some of them, I thought, looked compassionately on me, for I was at that time confined to my bed, such as it was, and, as I thought, utterly unable to walk. The news of my liberty, however, worked more wonders towards my cure than all the physic the first of doctors could have given me, or the decoctions of good Mammy Gobo. The next day, however, when it was known that I had got my liberty, the hucksters, shoemakers, and washerwomen poured in their bills on me, which, though not of any great amount, I found totally beyond my means to pay. I promised them that I would transmit the amounts the instant I got back to Jamaica; but they said that would not do, and that if I could not pay them they must appeal to the authorities, and that I must be detained. I was in despair. I was eager to be gone. I felt that I should not live if I remained. In my dilemma Lieutenant Lawford, who had a letter of credit on a merchant at Cape François, came forward in the most liberal and generous way, and supplied me with fifty dollars, which was all I required to satisfy the demands of my creditors. My mind being thus relieved, I felt myself strong enough to get up and assist in making the preparations for our journey. We engaged a carriage to convey us to the coast, for none of us were in a fit state to ride on horseback. I will not dwell on the sad countenances and the depressed spirits of our brother-officers whom we left behind.
On the morning of the 30th of April, with a buoyancy of spirits to which I had long been a stranger, I with my companions got into the rickety vehicle which was to convey us the first part of our journey, Tom Rockets being perched on a seat behind. We arrived at about eight o’clock at the village of Lemonade—an attractive name on a hot day—and near there found a boat in readiness to carry us to Cape François. How delicious the sea-breeze smelt!—how refreshing to our parched skins and stagnant blood! It appeared to me to drive away at once all the remains of the fever. I felt like a new being, strong and hearty, in a moment. I found, however, when I attempted to exert my strength, that I had very little of that left. Once more we found ourselves in the far-from-delectable town of Cape François. As the cartel was not ready, we had to take up our abode at a tavern, where we were joined by two other naval officers who had been imprisoned in another part of the island. We had some difficulty in amusing ourselves during our stay, but every day we were picking up health and strength, and at length, on the 8th, we all five embarked, with two masters of merchantmen who had lost their vessels, and thirty seamen, on board the cartel, and commenced our voyage to Jamaica. On the 10th we put into Saint Germains, another part of Saint Domingo, where we received some more released prisoners, and on the following day we bid what I hoped would prove an eternal adieu to the most inhospitable of islands. With the exception of the houses we had stopped at on our way to Ou Trou, we had not been received into the abodes of any of the white inhabitants of the country. Some of the coloured people would willingly have treated us kindly, but they were kept in awe by the authorities, and thus the only real kindness we received was from the poor unsophisticated blacks. For my own part, I have felt ever since deeply grateful to Mammy Gobo and her ebony-skinned countrymen and countrywomen, and have been most anxious to do them all the good in my power. With regard to the French residents, all I can say is that I recognised among them none of the supposed characteristics of the French nation. Instead of proving hospitable and polite, I should say that I never saw a greater set of bears in my life.
Our voyage was short and merry, though one of the subjects which afforded us most amusement was our own forlorn, half-starved, almost naked condition. We were all much alike, so we could afford to laugh at each other. The weather held fine and our voyage was speedy, and on the ever-to-be-remembered 13th of May we sighted the entrance of Port Royal harbour, where we dropped anchor in the afternoon. I found that I had been absent exactly nine months and three days. In spite of my tatter-demalion appearance and my consciousness that I was much like the wretched apothecary who supplied the love-lorn Romeo with the fatal potion, as soon as I got on shore I hastened up to pay my respects to Sir Peter Parker. He received me, as I knew he would, with the greatest kindness, and when I apologised for my ragged appearance he laughed and assured me that he would much rather see an officer in a threadbare uniform, worn out in active service, than in one shining and bright in consequence of want of use.