My First Voyage to Southern Seas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Then you did overbear us,” said the ruffian Cobb; “it won’t do to trust him.”

Before I had time to open my mouth I found myself gagged, so that I could not give the alarm, and I felt that the ruffians were about to lift me up and heave me overboard. At that moment an ally came to my aid, on whom the mutineers had not reckoned. The moment the fellows laid violent hands on me, Solon, who had been standing unobserved under the bowsprit, sprung on them, biting them right and left, and barking loudly. They sung out to each other to knock him on the head with a handspike, but he avoided their blows, now leaping on one side, now on the other, and with the greatest fury tearing at the legs of the men who had hold of me, though the others, it seemed to me, he let alone. The moment, however, that one of them touched me, Solon made his teeth meet in the calves of his legs. I struggled as hard as I could to free myself, but what could I do, a mere boy, in the hands of powerful and desperate men. Knowing that I must be aware of their plot, they seemed bent on my destruction. Already they had got me off my legs, close to the bulwarks, and were about to heave me overboard; the gag slipped from my mouth, and I shouted out hastily for help. The mutineers, alarmed by my cry, let me go, and aided by Solon, who had not ceased his furious onslaught at their legs, I made a desperate leap off the topgallant forecastle, and rushing aft, followed by my faithful ally, I gained the poop. Looking forward, I saw that several of the men were coming aft. It was the third mate’s watch on deck. He had been asleep, I suspect, or at all events pretended not to have heard my cry. Happily, however, it had reached the ears of Mr Henley, even in his berth, and so it had of Johnny Spratt, forward, and of Mr Vernon, and several of the gentlemen passengers, whom the heat of the weather prevented sleeping. Mr Henley and several of the others had pistols in their hands. Their appearance awed the mutineers, who stopped a little abaft the main-mast, while Solon stood on the break of the poop, barking furiously at them.

“What is the matter? who cried out, Marsden?” asked Mr Henley, recognising me.

“I did, sir,” I answered. “To the best of my belief some of those men there were about to throw me overboard, and would have done so if my dog had not helped me to get away from them.”

“Throw you overboard! nonsense,” exclaimed Mr Waller; “what should they want to do that for?”

“Because I overheard them proposing to turn the captain and some of the officers adrift, land the passengers on a desolate coast, and then to run off with the ship,” I replied in a loud tone, so that the men might hear me.

“A likely story enough. It is perfectly ridiculous and improbable,” exclaimed the third mate, vehemently; “you were dreaming, Marsden. The men finding you forward, I daresay as a joke, lifted you up to frighten you, though probably they did not like your dog biting their legs.”

The mutineers had come sufficiently aft to hear what was said. Cobb, who was the instigator—so it seemed to me—of the rest, sung out—

“Yes, sir, you’re right. It was only a joke. Mr Marsden was frightened, do ye see, and so we carried it on till his confounded dog bit our legs, so that we were obliged to let him go.”

This explanation appeared to relieve the minds of all on deck. It seemed so natural, and the seaman spoke in so calm a way, corroborating so completely the suggestions of the third mate, that I felt I had then but little chance of having my statement credited.