Old Jack

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Two days after that, when there was some sea on, and the brig was pitching heavily, he fell down again, and Mr Crosby caught sight of him, and kicked him in the rib; and when the second mate, who was a quiet young man, and generally frightened at the other two, tried to interfere, he threatened to knock him down with a handspike. Then, because poor Taylor called them by some name they deserved, they dragged him aft by his hair, and then triced him up to the main-rigging by the heels. I was in the watch below; of the rest of the crew, one was at the helm, another forward, and the others aloft; so that there was no one to interfere. At last, the man forward looked down the fore-scuttle and told us what had happened. We sprung on deck. Taylor was getting black in the face. It was more than we could stand, and in a body we rushed aft, and before the mate could interfere, for the captain was below, we cut him down, and carried him forward. The mate sung out, “Mutiny!” and the captain came on deck with his pistols. But we told him he might shoot one and all of us, but we would not see a messmate murdered before our eyes. Our determined manner somewhat awed the captain, and swearing that he would be even with us before long, he let us have our way. Poor Taylor did not die at once, as we expected he would; but that night he was in a high fever, and raved and shrieked till he made us all tremble with terror.

At noon next day the captain observed that Taylor was not on deck. He asked why he did not come. No one answered. “Then I’ll soon learn the cause,” he exclaimed, leaping down forward. In another moment he sprung up again, followed by Taylor. The hair of the latter was all standing on end; his eyeballs were starting from their sockets; he had only his shirt on, with the sleeves rolled up, showing his thin bony arms and legs. He was shrieking terrifically. The captain attempted to kick him back as he appeared above the hatchway; but he evaded the blow, and stood on deck confronting his persecutor. The strength of madness was upon him. He made a spring at the captain, and would have hurled him, I verily believe, overboard; but at that moment the first mate rushing forward, struck the poor fellow a blow on the back of the head with a handspike. He gave one glance at his murderer as he fell, and in a few minutes his limbs stiffened, and he was dead. The captain and mate went aft as he fell, leaving him on the deck, and talked together.

After some time the mate sung out, “Rouse that fellow up, some of you there! Ill or not ill, he must do his duty.” None of us spoke or stirred, and at last he came forward and kicked the corpse, as if to make the man get up. We guessed all the time that he knew perfectly well that Taylor was dead. There he lay where he fell, till the second mate, who had been below, came on deck, and, going up to the body, discovered the truth. He, of course, reported the man’s death to the captain.

“Heave the carcass overboard, Mr Sims,” was the answer. “Let’s hear no more about the rascal.”

Sailors have a dislike to have a dead body in the ship; so, before night set in, we lashed it up in a piece of canvas, and with a shot at the feet, committed it to the sea. Strange as it may appear, when the mate found that we had taken the canvas for this purpose, he made it an excuse for further abuse and ill-treatment. Not a day passed but one or other of us got a kick or a blow from him or the captain. They made one young lad very nearly leap overboard, where he would have been drowned. I hauled him back, and calming him down, showed him the enormity of the sin he was going to commit, and urged him to bear his trials, as they must shortly be over.

At last we reached Carlisle Bay, where we brought up off Bridge Town, the capital of the fertile island Barbadoes. The town lies round the bay, and contains some handsome houses and broad streets. This island is more level than most of the West India isles, with the exception of the north-eastern quarter, called Scotland, when there is an elevation of a thousand feet above the sea. It is rather less in size than the Isle of Wight. What a wretched voyage had we had! How miserable and crushed in spirit did I feel! The scene struck me, therefore, as peculiarly beautiful, as, gliding up the bay, we saw spread out before us the blue waters, fringed by the tall, graceful palms; the shining white houses, circling round the shore; the trim, gallant men-of-war; the merchantmen with their many-coloured flags; the numerous boats pulling here and there, manned by shouting, grinning, laughing negroes;—and then the planters’ houses, and woods, and fields of sugar-cane, and farms in the distance, made me feel that such scenes as we had gone through could no longer be enacted with impunity.

The moment we dropped our anchor, the captain went on shore; and I found that, to be beforehand with any of us who might inform against him, he had given his own version of Taylor’s death; which, of course, his mate was ready to corroborate. When he returned on board, he gave a triumphant glance forward, as much as to say, I have you still in my power. So he had, as we found when once more we were at sea. I was glad that the young lad Thompson, whom he had so ill-treated, deserted the day before we sailed, and, I believe, entered aboard a man-of-war, where he was safe.

While in harbour we had been quiet enough, but we had not been two days at sea before the captain and mate commenced their old system of tyranny. Everybody was ill-treated, and this time I was the chief victim. Kicked and struck on the slightest pretext, and compelled to perform the most disgusting offices, I soon felt myself a degraded being both in body and mind; and when I thought of what I had been on board the Juno, and what I now was, I shrunk from making the comparison. But I was to obtain relief in a way I little expected.

I was in the second mate’s watch. Early one morning, about four bells in the middle watch—that is to say, about two o’clock—I had just been relieved from my trick at the helm. The weather was thick and squally, and the night very dark. The look-out was careless, or had bad eyesight; and the mate, knowing this, was constantly going forward himself. I was leisurely going along the deck, when I heard him sing out,—“A sail on the starboard-bow! Luff!—luff all you can!” I sprang forward. The ship was nearer to us than he supposed. Right stem on she came, towering like a huge mountain above us. In an instant the brig’s bows were cut down to the water’s edge. I sung out to those on deck to follow me, and clung on to whatever I could first get hold of. It proved to be the ship’s bobstay. I climbed up it on to the bowsprit, and, as I looked down, I saw her going right over the vessel I had just left—her decks sinking from sight beneath the dark waters. The tall masts, and spars, and sails followed: down, down they went, drawn by an irresistible force! It seemed like some dreadful dream. Before I could secure myself on the bowsprit, they had disappeared in the unfathomable abyss. Not a cry or a groan reached my ears from my drowning shipmates—unwarned, unprepared they died. Such has been many a hapless seaman’s fate. One only escaped. He had hold of the dolphin-striker. I could just distinguish his form through the darkness as he followed me. I slid down to help him, and with difficulty hauled him up on the bowsprit. He seemed horror-struck at what had occurred; and so, indeed, we might both well be, and thankful that we had been preserved. Such was the end of the old Rainbow.

I now first sung out, and gave notice of our escape to those on board the ship. Several of the crew had rushed forward, and now helped poor Mr Sims and me off the bowsprit. We heard, meantime, the officers of the ship ordering the boats to be lowered; and she being hove up into the wind, one from each quarter was soon manned and in the water. While the two mates of the ship, anxious to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, pulled about in every direction near where the brig was supposed to have gone down, I was looking over the bows, hoping that some of my poor shipmates might yet survive; but no answering cry was made to the repeated shouts of the boats’ crews. At last the boats returned on board, and I found that the mate and I were the only survivors of the Rainbow. Had she not been an old vessel, I do not think that she would so easily have foundered from the blow she received.