“No, Jack,” said old Tom, “you remain with me. If we all go, the captain may be playing us some trick.” I don’t know what side old Tom would have taken if it had not been for young Sam. Judging by his usual conduct, I suspect that he would have stood with his arms folded, and let the rest, as he would have said, fight it out by themselves.
At daylight the boat pulled away with Mr McIvor and another additional hand, taking a couple of muskets with them. Shortly afterwards the captain appeared on deck—though he cast frequent angry glances towards the shore, he said nothing—probably he could not afford to lose so many hands, as there were now four away, besides the two gentlemen, while the aspect of old Tom, with the rest of the crew, kept him from attempting to carry out his evil intentions. Two or three times, notwithstanding this, I thought he was about to order the anchor to be hove up; but again he seemed to hesitate, and at length, towards noon, the boat was seen coming off, with Mr Duncan and Sam in her. The captain said nothing to the gentlemen, but, as soon as the boat was hoisted up, he began to belabour poor Sam with a rope’s end. He was still striking the lad, when old Tom stepped between them, grasping a handspike. “What has the lad done, sir?” he exclaimed. “Why not attack Mr Duncan? If anyone is to blame for the delay, he is the person, not young Sam.” The gentlemen were advancing while old Tom was speaking, and several of the crew cried out shame. The captain again found himself in the minority, and, without replying to old Tom, walked aft, muttering between his teeth.
These incidents will give some idea of the state of matters on board the ship.
We now made sail, with a gentle breeze right aft, but scarcely had we lost sight of the islands when a heavy gale sprang up. The lighter canvas was instantly handed—young Sam and one of the men who had gone in the boat were ordered out on the jibboom to furl the flying-jib. As they were about this work, a tremendous sea struck the bows, the gaskets got loose, the jibboom was carried away, and with it the two poor fellows who were endeavouring to secure the sail. The captain, who had seen the accident, took no notice of it, but the first mate, not wishing to have their death on his conscience, sprang aft and ordered the ship to be brought to, while others hove overboard every loose piece of timber, empty casks, or hencoops, which they could lay hands on, to give our shipmates a chance of escape. Old Tom and I instantly ran to the jolly-boat, and were easing off the falls, when I felt myself felled to the deck by a blow on the head, the captain’s voice exclaiming, “What, you fools, do you wish to go after them and be drowned too?” When I came to myself I saw the boat made fast, and could just distinguish the articles thrown overboard floating astern, while old Tom was standing gazing at them with sorrowful looks, the eyes of all on board, indeed, being turned in the same direction.
“It would have been no use, Jack,” he said, heaving a deep sigh; “the captain was right, the boat couldn’t have lived two minutes in this sea, but I would have risked my life to try and save young Sam, though, for your sake, my boy, it’s better as it is.”
After this the ship was put on her course, and we stood on, plunging away into the heavy seas which rose around us, and threatened every instant to break on board the brig. The passengers looked, and, I daresay, felt very melancholy at the accident, for young Sam especially, was liked by them, and on that account Mr Duncan had taken him on his expedition. Old Tom could scarcely lift up his head, and even the rest of the crew refrained from their usual gibes and jokes. The captain said nothing, but I saw by the way he treated the first mate that he was very savage with him for the part he had taken in attempting to save the poor fellows.
After this old Tom was kinder than ever to me, and evidently felt towards me as he had towards young Sam, whose duties as everybody’s servant I had now to take, being the youngest on board, and least able to hold my own against the captain’s tyranny, and the careless and often rough treatment of the crew.
I had some time before told poor young Sam how I used to be called “Happy Jack,” and he went and let out what I had said among the men. When one of them started me with a rope’s end, he would sing out, “That’s for you, ‘Happy Jack.’” Another would exclaim, “Go and swab the deck down, ‘Happy Jack;’” or, “‘Happy Jack,’ go and help Mungo to clean out the caboose, I hope you are happy now—pleasant work for a young gentleman, isn’t it?”
“Look you,” I replied one day, when this remark was made to me, “I am alive and well, and hope some day to see my home and friends, so, compared to the lot of poor young Sam and Dick Noland, who are fathoms deep down in the ocean, I think I have a right to say I am happy—your kicks and cuffs only hurt for a time, and I manage soon to forget them. If it’s any pleasure to you to give them, all I can say is, that it’s a very rum sort of pleasure; and now you have got my opinion about the matter.”
“That’s the spirit I like to see,” exclaimed old Tom, slapping me on the back soon afterwards, “You’ll soon put a stop to that sort of thing.” I found he was right; and, though I had plenty of dirty work to do, still, after that, not one of the men ever lifted his hand against me. The captain, however, was not to be so easily conquered, and so I took good care to stand clear of him whenever I could.