Peter the Whaler

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Chapter Eighteen.

I was allowed to remain on deck, under charge of a sentry, but was in no other way treated as a prisoner. Half-an-hour elapsed, during which the boats were probably looking for the pirate vessel, without a shot being heard. It was a time of the most intense anxiety. At length, as if to make amends for the previous silence, the roar of big guns and musketry was heard reverberating in quick succession among the rocks. One fancied that one could distinguish as each boat came up to the contest, and the schooner fired at her in return. The wreaths of smoke could be perceived in the atmosphere, rising above the trees. Once there was a cessation; and it appeared that the boats were driven back. One thing was certain, the pirates had not attempted to stop them at the narrow passage, as they might have done; or, if they had, they had successfully passed it.

Five minutes elapsed—they seemed an hour. Then again the hubbub recommenced, with greater fury than before. So excited did many of the men, and even the officers, become, that I almost thought they would leap into the water, and try to swim to shore, to join in the combat. I fancied that I could even hear the cries and shrieks of the combatants—that I could see the whole scene before me, through the trees; the boats at the mouth of the bight, firing away at the schooner, their officers cheering the men on; the pirates, stripped to the waist, working the guns of the schooner, some on board, and others on either point on shore, with small-armed men scattered in every direction around. The prolonged fight made me feel very doubtful of the result of the contest. There was a pause, and then a loud, fearful explosion, and the masts and spars and fragments of the pirate schooner could be seen rising in the air. She had blown up; but still it might be questioned who were the victors.

There was another interval of the most intense anxiety. In vain we waited for the reappearance of the boats, till the Neptune’s people began to fear that their brave shipmates had been all destroyed. There was only one small boat, the dinghy, remaining on board. The master, the only gun-room officer left besides the surgeon and purser, volunteered to go in and look for them. I was on the very point of offering to accompany him as pilot, when I remembered that I was supposed to know nothing of the place. The commander gave an unwilling consent, for he did not like to risk more of his people. He was just shoving off, when first one boat was seen to emerge from among the trees, then another, and lastly four appeared—thus one only was missing. They pulled slowly on board, and were seen to be heavily laden.

With a shout of joy and hearty congratulation, they were received alongside; but the entire satisfaction at the success of the expedition was somewhat mitigated when it was found that several of their numbers were missing. They had brought off ten prisoners, most of whom were wounded. Some of the packages which had been taken from the Mary were also brought on board. Neither Hawk nor Abraham Jones were among the prisoners: I therefore concluded that they were killed or had escaped. The prisoners, to my horror, at once recognised me and the rest of their comrades, addressing us familiarly by our names, and thus completely identified us with themselves. I suppose they did this from a feeling of revenge, from fancying that we had been the cause of their disaster. The captain, on this, ordered us all to be secured and treated as prisoners alike, till he had time to investigate the matter fully.

I heard an account of the expedition from one of the seamen who had been engaged in it, as he described it to a messmate. It appeared that the pirates had at once gone on board the schooner, which they had placed, just as I supposed they would, directly across the entrance of the bight. Here Hawk fought her most bravely, once compelling the boats to retreat.

On a second attempt to board, she was discovered to be on fire, notwithstanding which Hawk had remained in the vessel till the last moment, when, leaping into the boats, he and some of his crew escaped to the shore. Many of them, who could not, were blown up. Fortunately, one boat’s crew only of the Americans had got on board by the stern. Several of these poor fellows were lost; but, wonderful to relate, others, by leaping over the taffrail at the moment they felt it lifting under their feet, were saved and picked up by their friends. It was considered useless to pursue the fugitives. The prisoners taken were those picked up in the water, and a few found wounded on shore. Securing them, and attending to the wounded of both parties, as well as collecting some of the booty, had caused the delay. The guns, also, planted by the pirates at the two points of land on either side of the bight, were spiked and thrown into the water, and all arms found about were carried off.

Such was the end of the Foam; and such will, in every ease, probably be the concluding scene of piratical craft and their crews now-a-days. They certainly deserve no better; and although their captains, to rise to that unenviable post, must possess some of those fiercer qualities which people are apt to admire, I have no fancy for making them interesting characters, or heroes of romance.

On hearing that there was a considerable amount of booty on shore, the captain despatched fresh hands to bring it off. I longed to caution them that Hawk, if he was alive, was a man very likely to play them a trick, but I had no opportunity of doing so till they had gone. The boats were sent away, and I was afterwards had up for examination. I then, as the schooner was destroyed, no longer felt myself bound by my oath to keep silence; I therefore gave a rapid sketch of my adventures as the best way of accounting for being found in such bad company. The captain laughed at my statements, which, he said, were altogether incredible, and assured me that he fully believed that I deserved hanging as much as the rest.

I assured him that I had not deceived him, and requested him to confront the negro, Mark Anthony, with me, and that he would corroborate all my assertions. Had I known more of the worst part of human nature, I might not have made this request. When the black was brought up, he gave a malicious grin at me, and, putting his hand on his heart, assured the captain and officers that, as he spoke the truth, I was the most wicked, vicious youngster on board the schooner, to which he knew that it was useless to deny that he belonged—that he was perfectly innocent of any piratical act, having been carried off to act as cook—that he had at first taken an interest in me, and had done his best to reform me, but in vain, and that lately he had given my case up as hopeless.