Old Jack

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The wind heading us, we had to stand in-shore, so as to beat up towards Kingston. There was a little sea on, but not enough to prevent our observing objects some way below the surface. Peter and I were looking over the side—one of the other men being at the helm—when we noticed a dark pointed object floating alongside; another came up near it. Looking down, we with a shudder discovered the long tapering bodies of two sharks swimming just on our quarter. Nothing is so hateful to a sailor, even when he has a sound plank under his feet, as a sight of those tigers of the deep. Happening shortly after to go over to the other side, and glancing my eye over the bulwarks, with almost a thrill of horror I saw two others precisely in the same relative position. At first I thought they must be the same, but going back to the other side, there were those first seen just as they had been before.

“I don’t like the look of those brutes,” said Peter. “I am not superstitious, but I never have seen sharks swimming along as those are but what some mischief or other has happened—a man has fallen overboard, or something of that sort!”

I, as may be supposed, shared fully in Peter’s feelings, and set to work wondering what the harm would be.

I had not long to wait. The schooner had tacked, and was laying pretty well along-shore, with her head off it, and about a mile distant. One of the pirates, with drunken gravity, had insisted that he was not going to be idle, and that he would tend the fore-sheet. The state of things on board had made the captain doubly anxious to get in before night, and we were, therefore, carrying on perhaps even more sail than the little craft could well bear. We were taking the water in well over our bows; but that seemed in no way to inconvenience the hardy pirates, as they sat on the deck at their levels. I will not attempt to paint the picture presented by the pirates. The horrid oaths and blasphemy, the obscene songs, the shouts of maniac laughter, may be better imagined than described.

Peter and I and the other men had gone aft, where was also the captain, while Mr Gale stood at the helm. The sun was perhaps an hour above the horizon. Frequently the captain had turned his eyes in the direction of Kingston Harbour. A sail was seen standing out of the harbour, steering towards us, for the purpose, evidently, of getting a good offing before nightfall. As her topsails appeared above the horizon, we could make out very clearly that she was a brig.

“Hand me up my glass, Jack,” said the captain with animation. He took a long, steady look at her, and then handed the glass to Mr Gale, whose place Peter took at the helm.

While they were all looking eagerly at the approaching brig, I felt the schooner heel over even more than she had been doing. The captain likewise became sensible of the movement. He looked round—

“Let go the fore-sheet!” he shouted loudly. Mr Gale at the same moment sprang forward to execute the order; but the pirate who was tending it held it on tight with drunken stupidity. Mr Gale tried to drag him away from it; but the man, instead of letting go, gave a turn, and jammed the sheet. Down came the squall on us with redoubled strength. The little vessel heeled over till her gunwale was buried in the sea. The water rose higher and higher up her deck. It was too late to cut the sheet. No skill could save her.

Down, down went the vessel! Shrieks and cries arose, but they were no longer the sounds of revelry. They were those of horror and hopeless dismay, uttered by the pirates as they found the vessel sinking under their feet and they were thrown struggling into the water. So suddenly did she go over, and so rapidly did she fill, that even the most sober had no time to consider how they could save themselves, much less had those wretched drunken men. Overloaded as they were with clothes and booty, they could neither swim nor struggle towards the spars, and planks, and oars, and boats, which were floating about on every side.

When Mr Gale found that it was too late to save the schooner, he sprung back towards one of the boats which had been stowed right aft on the weather-side; the captain, Peter, and I, with our men, had been cutting the lashings which had secured it with our knives; and giving it a shove as the deck of the vessel touched the water, we were able to get clear just as she went down. The mate had not quite reached the boat, but Peter, leaning forward, hauled him in before he was drawn into the vortex made by the schooner as she sunk. To clear her, we had of necessity to shove astern, and this drove us still further from the spot where the rest of the people were still struggling in the waves. Some of the soberest had managed to disencumber themselves of their clothing, and to clutch hold of spars to support themselves; but they had another danger, from the seaman’s remorseless enemy, to contend with. We now guessed why the sharks had been accompanying us; or could they have scented the dead body of the pirate chief, which we had still on board? Why the captain had not buried him I do not know.