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Pirate Island: A Story of the South Pacific

<h3>Chapter Four.</h3> <h4>The outward voyage.</h4> By eight o’clock next morning—at which hour the passengers sat down to breakfast—the Galatea was off Dungeness, which she rounded with a somewhat freshening breeze, and noon saw her fairly abreast of Beachy Head. The weather was magnificent; the breeze, whilst fresh enough to waft the good ship through the water at the rate of an honest ten knots in the hour, was not sufficiently strong to raise much sea; the only result, therefore, was a slight leisurely roll, which the passengers found agreeable rather than the reverse, and everybody was consequently in the most exuberant spirits, congratulating themselves and each other on so auspicious a commencement to their voyage. As for Bob, he was in the seventh heaven of delight. The noble proportions of the beautiful craft which bore him so gallantly over the summer sea, her spotless cleanliness, the perfect order and method with which the various duties were performed, and the consideration with which he was treated by his superiors, constituted for him a novel experience, in strong contrast to the wet and dirt, the often severe toil, and the rough-and-ready habits of the collier seamen on board the Betsy Jane. From the moment that Bob had assumed duty on board the Galatea Captain Staunton had taken pains to make matters pleasant for him; he had spoken freely of the heavy obligation under which he considered that Bob had laid him, and had extolled in the most laudatory terms the lad’s behaviour during that terrible winter night upon the Gunfleet; Bob, therefore, found himself the possessor of a reputation which commanded universal admiration and respect in the little community of which he was a member, with the result that he was quite unconsciously accorded a distinction which under other circumstances it would have been vain for him to hope. Thus, when our hero found himself, as he frequently did, a guest at the saloon dinner-table (Captain Staunton following the example of the commanders in the navy by occasionally inviting his officers to dine with him), the passengers almost unanimously received him into their midst with a friendly warmth which they accorded to none of the other subordinates on board, agreeing to regard in him as pleasant eccentricities those frequent lapses in grammar and pronunciation which they would have resented in others as the evidences of a decided inferiority, to be kept at a distance by the coldest and most studied disdain. Captain Staunton took an early opportunity to speak to Bob respecting his unfortunate lack of education and culture. They were alone together in the chart-room at the moment, whither the skipper had called Bob, in order that their conversation might be strictly private. “Robert,” said he—he always addressed Bob as “Robert” when what he had to say was unconnected with duty—“Robert, my boy, I wish to say a word or two to you respecting your education, which, I fear, has been somewhat neglected—as, indeed, might reasonably be expected, seeing how few educational advantages usually fall in the way of a fisher-lad. Now, this must be remedied as speedily as possible. I am anxious that you should become not only a first-rate seaman and thorough navigator, but also a polished gentleman, in order that you may be fitted to fill the highest posts attainable in the profession which you have chosen. When I was your age if a man knew enough to enable him to safely navigate his ship from place to place that was about all that was required of him. But times have changed since then; the English have become a nation of travellers; passenger-ships have enormously increased in number, and the man who now commands one is expected, in addition to his other duties, to play the part of a courteous and intelligent host to those who take passage with him. To enable him to perform this portion of his duties satisfactorily a liberal education and polished manners are necessary, and both of these you must acquire, my boy. There is only one way of attaining the possession of these requisites, and that is—study. The intelligent study of books will give you the education; and the study of your fellow-creatures, their speech, habits, and demeanour, will give you polish, by showing you what things to imitate and what to avoid. Now, you have an excellent opportunity to commence both these branches of study at once. Mr Eastlake, the missionary, takes the greatest interest in you, and has offered not only to lend you the necessary books, but also to give you two hours’ tuition daily, an offer which I have ventured to thankfully accept on your behalf. And in addition to this you have sixteen passengers to study. Some of them are perfect gentlemen, others, I am sorry to say, are anything but that. Your own good sense will point out to you what is worthy of imitation and what should be avoided in the manners of those around you, and I think you are sharp and intelligent enough to quickly profit by your observations. Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth as much as possible shut, just for the present, and I have no doubt you will soon make headway. In addition to the two hours’ tuition which Mr Eastlake has promised you I intend to give you two more; Mr Eastlake’s tuition will be in various branches of useful knowledge, and mine will be in navigation. Your studies will be conducted here in the chart-room, and I have very little doubt but that, if you are only half as willing to learn as we are to teach, you will have made a considerable amount of progress by the time that we arrive at Sydney; indeed, as far as navigation is concerned, it is by no means an intricate science, and there is no reason why you should not be a skilled navigator by the time that we reach Australia.” Bob had the good sense to fully appreciate the immense value of the advantages thus proffered to him. He was intelligent enough to at once recognise the vast intellectual distance which intervened between himself, a poor, ignorant fisher-lad, and the highly-educated men and women who were to be found among the saloon passengers, as well as the wide difference between his own awkward, embarrassed manner and the quiet, easy, graceful demeanour which distinguished some of the individuals to be seen daily on the poop of the Galatea. The sense of his inferiority already weighed heavily upon him; the opportunity now offered him of throwing it off was therefore eagerly and gratefully accepted, and he at once plunged con amore into the studies which were marked out for him. Mr Eastlake—the gentleman who had undertaken to remedy, as far as time permitted, the serious defects in Bob’s education—was exceptionally well qualified for the task. Educated at Cambridge, where he had won a double first; naturally studious, a great traveller, endowed with a singularly happy knack of investing the driest subject with quite an absorbing interest, and a perfect master in the art of instructing, he superintended Bob’s studies so effectively that the lad’s progress was little short of marvellous. Not content with the two hours of daily tuition which had originally been proposed, Mr Eastlake frequently joined the lad on the poop or in the waist for the first two or three hours of the first night-watch, when the weather happened to be fine and Bob’s services were not particularly required, and, promenading fore and aft with his pupil by his side, he was wont to launch into long and interesting disquisitions upon such topics as were best calculated to widen Bob’s sphere of knowledge and cultivate his intellect. Nor was Captain Staunton any less successful in that portion of Bob’s studies which he had undertaken to direct. Fortunately for our hero his skipper was not one of those men whose acquaintance with navigation consists solely in the blind knowledge that certain calculations if correctly performed will afford certain information; Captain Staunton had studied nautical astronomy intelligently and thoroughly, he knew the raison d’être of every calculation in the various astronomical problems connected with the science of navigation, and was therefore in a position to explain clearly and intelligently to his pupil every step which was necessary, as well in the simple as in the more abstruse and difficult calculations. Thus admirably circumstanced in the matter of instructors, and aided by his own anxiety to improve, Bob made such steady and rapid progress that by the time the ship rounded the Cape he could “work a lunar,” solve a quadratic equation or any problem in the first two books of Euclid, and write an intelligently expressed, correctly spelt, and grammatical letter, in addition to possessing a large store of knowledge on everyday subjects. Nor was this all. The majority of the passengers, moved by Captain Staunton’s frequent references to Bob’s exploit on the Gunfleet, had taken quite a fancy to the lad, and conversed so frequently and so freely with him that his mauvais honte gradually disappeared, and he found himself able to mingle with them with an ease and absence of self-consciousness which was as pleasing as it was novel to him. Meanwhile the Galatea sped rapidly and prosperously on her way. The breeze with which she had started lasted long enough to run her fairly into the north-east trades, and once in them the journey to the Line was a short and pleasant one. Here a delay of three days occurred, during which the ship had to contend with light baffling winds and calms, interspersed with violent thunder and rain squalls, the latter of which were taken advantage of to fill up the water-tanks. Then on again to the southward, braced sharp up on the larboard tack, with the south-east trade-wind blowing fresh enough to keep the royals stowed for the greater part of the time; and then, light easterly breezes, just at the time when they fully expected to fall in with strong westerly winds before which to run down their easting. Here occurred their first check, and instead of being thankful that they had been so greatly favoured thus far, everybody of course began forthwith to grumble. The passengers, perhaps, chafed under the delay quite as much as Captain Staunton, but their outward manifestations of impatience were confined for the most part to dissatisfied glances at the hard cloudless blue sky to windward, as it met their gaze morning after morning when they came on deck, to shrugs of the shoulders whenever the subject happened to be mentioned, and to scornful, sarcastic, or despondent allusions to the proverbial longevity and obstinacy of easterly winds in general. Except Mr Forester Dale, and he, I regret to say, made himself a perfect nuisance to everybody on board by his snappishness and irascibility. The weather was “beastly,” the ship was “beastly,” and his demeanour was such as to suggest to the other passengers the idea that he considered them also to be “beastly,” a suggestion which they very promptly resented by sending him to Coventry. That his metaphorical seclusion in that ancient city was not of the very strictest kind was entirely due to the fact that his partner, Rex Fortescue, and the inimitable Brook wore on board. Rex bore the childish irritability of his senior partner with unparalleled good-humour; his strongest protest being a mere, “Shut up, there’s a good fellow, and let a man enjoy his book and his weed in peace for once in a while.” Factotum Brook attempted quite a different mode of soothing his superior. He demonstrated—to his own complete satisfaction if not to that of anybody else—that it was a physical impossibility for them to have anything but easterly winds where they were. But, he asserted, there was a good time coming; they had had easterly winds ever since they had started; this, by an unalterable law of nature, had been gradually creating a vacuum away there in the easterly quarter, which vacuum must now necessarily soon become so perfect that, by another unalterable law of nature, the wind would come careering back from the westward with a force sufficient to more than enable them to make up for all lost time. To do Captain Staunton justice he left no means untried whereby to wile away the time and render less oppressive the monotony of the voyage. He suggested the weekly publication of a newspaper in the saloon, and energetically promoted and encouraged such sports and pastimes as are practicable on board ship; al fresco concerts on the poop, impromptu dances, tableaux-vivants, charades, recitations, etcetera, for the evening; and deck-quoits, follow-my-leader, shooting at bottles, fishing, etcetera, during the day. By these means the murmurings and dissatisfaction were nipped in the bud, harmony and good-humour returning and triumphantly maintaining their position for the remainder of the voyage. The newspaper was a great success, every incident in the least out of the common being duly recorded therein. The editor was one O’Reilly, an Irishman, who enjoyed the reputation of being one of the most successful barristers in New South Wales, to which colony he was returning after a short holiday trip “home.” The paper was published in manuscript, and consisted of twenty foolscap pages, which O’Reilly prided himself upon completely filling at every issue. Interesting facts being for the most part very scarce commodities, fiction was freely indulged in, the contributors vieing with each other in the effort to produce humorous advertisements, letters to the editor upon real or imaginary grievances, and startling accounts of purely fictitious occurrences. In the meantime two of the passengers had discovered a species of amusement quite out of the line of the captain’s programme, and which caused that worthy seaman no small amount of anxiety and embarrassment. In a word, Rex Fortescue and Violet Dudley found in each other’s society a solace from the ennui of the voyage which onlookers had every reason to believe was of the most perfect kind. Such a condition of things was almost inevitable under the circumstances. There were four ladies on board, and thirteen gentlemen passengers, of whom no less than nine were bachelors. Of the four ladies one, Mrs Staunton, was married and therefore unapproachable. Miss Butler was an old maid, with a subdued expression and manner ill calculated to arouse any feeling warmer than respectful esteem, so that there remained only Blanche and Violet, both young, pretty, and agreeable, to act as recipients of all the ardent emotions of the bachelor mind. Although the art, science, or pastime—whichever you will—of love-making has many difficulties to contend with on board ship, in consequence of the lamentable lack of privacy which prevails there, it is doubtful whether it ever flourishes so vigorously anywhere else. Even so was it on board the Galatea; Violet and Blanche being waited upon hand and foot and followed about the decks from early morn to dewy eve, each by her own phalanx of devoted admirers. These attentions had at first been productive of nothing more serious than amusement to their recipients; but gradually, very gradually, Violet Dudley had manifested a partiality for the quiet unobtrusive courtesies and attentions of Rex Fortescue, which partiality at length became so clearly marked that, one after the other, the rest of her admirers retired discomfited, and sought solace for their disappointment in the exciting sport of rifle shooting at empty bottles dropped overboard and allowed to drift astern, or in such other amusements as their tastes led them to favour. Blanche, however, still kept her division of admirers in a state of feverish suspense, manifesting no partiality whatever for any one of them above another. Indeed she seemed to take greater pleasure in questioning Bob about his former career, and in listening to his quaint but graphic descriptions of the curious incidents of fisher-life, than she did in the compliments or conversation of any of her admirers, a circumstance which caused Bob to be greatly envied. Whilst this was the state of things aft, matters were not all that they should be in the forecastle. The crew were a good enough set of men, and doubtless would have been all right under proper management, but, thanks to the surly and aggravating behaviour of Mr Carter, the starboard watch, over which he ruled, was in a state of almost open mutiny. And yet so acute was the aggressor that for a long time he gave the men no excuse for legitimate complaint; the utmost that could be said against him being that he was, in the opinion of the men, unduly particular as to the set and trim of the sails, and the superlative cleanliness of everything about the decks. This was all very well during the daytime, but when in the night-watches the men were hustled incessantly about the decks, taking a pull here, there, and everywhere at the halliards, sheets, and braces of the already fully distended and accurately trimmed sails, only to be ordered a few minutes later to ease up the lee braces half an inch and take a pull upon the weather ones; or alternately stowing and setting the “flying kites” or light upper canvas, they could not help seeing that these things were done less from zeal and anxiety to make a quick passage than for the purpose of indulging a spiteful and malicious temper. At length a crisis arrived. The ship was at the time somewhere about the latitude of the Cape; stretching to the southward and eastward close-hauled, with a fine steady breeze from east-north-east. It was the second mate’s eight hours out that night, and although the weather was beautifully fine, with a clear sky, full moon, and steady breeze, he had been indulging in his usual vagaries throughout the last two hours of the first watch (he never attempted anything out of the common when Captain Staunton or any of the passengers were on deck, as some of them generally were until midnight), and he began them again within a quarter of an hour of coming on deck at 4 a.m. The royals were set when he took charge of the deck, and these he had separately clewed up and furled, as well as one or two of the smaller stay-sails. He allowed the men just time enough to settle down comfortably, and then ordered the recently stowed sails to be loosed and set again, which was done. A short interval passed, and then he had the royals stowed once more, and finally he ordered them to be loosed and set again. Not a man took the slightest notice of the order. “Do you hear, there? Jump aloft, some of you, and loose the royals,” shouted Carter, thinking for a moment that he had failed to make himself heard. Still there was no response. “You, Davis, away aloft and loose the fore-royal. Boyd, jump up and loose the main; and you, Nichols, up you go and loose the mizzen. Look lively now, or I’ll rope’s-end the last man down from aloft,” exclaimed the second mate, his passion rapidly rising as he found himself thus tacitly opposed. As the last words left his lips the watch came aft in a body, pausing just forward of the main-mast. <ANTIMG src="images/pisle067.jpg" alt=""> “Look ’ee here, Mr Carter,” said Boyd, a fine active willing young fellow, stepping a pace or two in front of his messmates, “we thinks as them there r’yals ’ll do well enough as they am for the rest of the watch. They was set when we come ’pon deck, and that wouldn’t do, you had ’em stowed. Then you warn’t satisfied with ’em so, and you had ’em set. That wouldn’t do, so you had ’em stowed again; and stowed they will be for the rest of the watch, as far as I’m concarned. The night’s fine, and the breeze as steady as a breeze can be, and the old barkie ’d carry r’yals and skys’ls too for the matter o’ that, but if they was set we should have to stow ’em again five minutes a’terwards; so let ’em be, say I.” A low murmur of assent from the rest of the watch gave the second mate to understand that these were their sentiments also upon the subject. The foolish fellow at once allowed his temper to get the mastery of him. “Oh! that’s what you say, is it, my fine fellows? Very good; we’ll soon see whether, when I give an order, I am to be obeyed or not,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. Saying which he stepped hastily to the door of his cabin, which was situated on deck in the after house, entered, and in a few moments reappeared with a revolver in each hand. “Now,” he exclaimed, planting himself midway between the poop and the main-mast, “let me see the man who will dare to disobey me. I’ll shoot him like a dog. Boyd, go aloft and loose the main-royal,” pointing one of the revolvers full at him. “I refuse,” exclaimed the seaman. “I demand to be taken before Captain—” A flash, a sharp report, and the man staggered backwards and fell to the deck, while a crimson stain appeared and rapidly broadened on the breast of his check shirt. Two of his comrades instantly raised the wounded man and bore him forward; the remainder rushed with a shout upon the second mate and disarmed him, though not before he had fired again and sent a bullet through the left arm of one of his assailants. The men were still struggling with the second mate when a figure sprang up through the companion, closely followed by a second, and Captain Staunton’s voice was heard exclaiming— “Good heavens! Mr Carter, what is the meaning of this? Back men; back, for your lives. How dare you raise your hands against one of your officers?” The men had by this time wrenched the pistols out of Carter’s hands, and they at once fell back and left him as Captain Staunton and Mr Bowles advanced to his rescue. The new-comers placed themselves promptly one on each side of the second mate, and then the two parties stood staring somewhat blankly at each other for something like a minute. “Well, Mr Carter,” at last exclaimed Captain Staunton, “have you nothing to say by way of explanation of this extraordinary scene? What does it mean?” “Mutiny, sir; that and nothing less,” gasped Carter, whose passion almost deprived him of speech. “I thank you, sir, and you too, Mr Bowles, for coming to my rescue; but for that I should have been a dead man by this time.” “Oh, no, you wouldn’t, Mr Carter,” exclaimed one of the men. “We ain’t murderers; and we shouldn’t ha’ touched you if you hadn’t touched us first.” “That will do,” exclaimed Captain Staunton. “If any of you have anything to say you shall have an opportunity of saying it in due time; at present I wish to hear what Mr Carter has to say,” turning inquiringly once more toward that individual. Thus pressed, Carter related his version of the story, which was to the effect that the men had refused to obey orders, and had come aft in so menacing a manner that in self-defence he had been compelled to arm himself; and further, that hoping to check the mutiny in the bud, he had shot down the “ringleader.” “So that is the explanation of the shots which awoke me,” exclaimed Captain Staunton. “And where is the wounded man?” “In his bunk, sir; bleeding like a stuck pig,” replied one of the men, resorting to simile to aid his description, as is the wont of seafaring men generally. “Phew!” whistled the skipper. “This is serious. Run, Bowles, and rouse out the doctor at once, if you please.” Mr Bowles sped to the doctor’s cabin, and found that individual already “roused out,” with an open case of surgical instruments on the table, and a drawer open, from which he was hastily selecting lint, bandages, etcetera; the medico having been awakened by the first pistol-shot, and, like a sensible man, bestirring himself at once in preparation for the repair of damages, without waiting to learn first whether there were any damages to repair or not. “Well, Bowles,” he exclaimed, as the worthy “chief” made his appearance, “you want me, eh? What’s the nature of the case?” “A man shot,” briefly replied Mr Bowles. “Just so; heard the shots. Where is the seat of the injury? Don’t know? Well, never mind, we’ll soon find out. Let me see—tourniquet—probe—splints—lint—bandage—um—um—yes; just carry these for me, Bowles, there’s a good fellow, and lead the way.” So saying the worthy man put a quantity of splints, etcetera, into Mr Bowles’ hands, and, gathering up the rest of his chattels, followed the mate to the forecastle, where he at once busied himself in ascertaining the extent of and finally dressing poor Boyd’s injury. In the meantime Captain Staunton, assisted by Mr Bowles, who had speedily rejoined him, had been holding a sort of court of inquiry into the case; and after much skilful interrogation, and the giving of a most patient hearing to the statement of each member of the watch, he had succeeded in arriving at a very near approach to the actual truth of the matter. “This,” he said, “is clearly a case wherein both parties have been gravely in fault. I am compelled in justice to admit that you,” turning to the members of the watch, “appear to have received great provocation, inasmuch as there can be no doubt that you have been greatly harassed by Mr Carter’s habit of unnecessarily interfering with the disposition of the canvas set on the ship. I have, indeed, myself noticed this, my attention often having been arrested by the sounds of making and shortening sail during the night-watches, when you all doubtless thought me fast asleep in my berth; and I have had it on my mind for some time past to speak to Mr Carter on the subject; I should have done so long ago but for my great repugnance to interfere with my officers except upon the most urgent grounds. I confess I had no idea that the provocation had been going on for so long a time; the master of a ship, like other mortals, requires sleep; and doubtless many things are said and done whilst he is taking his rest of which he can know nothing unless they are brought to his notice by others. It was therefore manifestly your duty, in justice to me as well as in obedience to the law, to make complaint to me of any grievances of which you may have considered yourselves the victims; and that, instead of doing so, you took it upon yourselves to resent your grievances by refusing obedience to the orders of your officer, constitutes your offence—an offence which, in my opinion, has been sufficiently punished by the wounds inflicted upon two of your number. You have satisfied me that your lapse of duty was in reality a matter strictly between yourselves and the second officer, and in no wise a defiance of my authority, or I suppose I need scarcely say I should not take this lenient view of your conduct. As for you, Mr Carter,” the skipper resumed after a pause, “you have placed me in the very unpleasant position of being compelled to suspend you from duty until the arrival of the ship at Sydney. You have proved yourself incompetent to command a watch with that tact and moderation which is so essential to the safety of a ship and the comfort of those on board; and, led away by your heat of temper, you have hastily and unnecessarily resorted to measures of extreme violence, which might, had the men been of a similar temper, have led to a dreadful disaster. You may retire to your cabin, sir. Mr Bowles, do me the favour to call Mr Dashwood.” Young Dashwood was found sitting on his chest, dressed and ready for any emergency, the entire occupants of the ship being by this time on the qui vive, and he was therefore in the presence of the skipper within a minute of the mention of his name. To him Captain Staunton at once delegated the command of the starboard watch, saying at the same time a few words expressive of confidence in his prudence and seamanship. “One word more, men,” said the skipper, again addressing the watch. “I have suspended Mr Carter not because I regard you as in the right, or as in any way justified in your behaviour, but because he was manifestly wrong. I must therefore very earnestly caution you, one and all, against again refusing obedience to any commands issued by your officers. If those commands are such as to constitute a substantial grievance, or if they should by any chance be such as to manifestly imperil the safety of the ship or the lives of any of those on board, I am always to be found, and the matter must at once be referred to me. I shall always be ready to protect you from tyranny or intemperate treatment; but remember from this time forward there must be nothing even remotely resembling insubordination. Now, go back to your duty.” The men walked quietly away forward, and Captain Staunton, accompanied by Mr Bowles, retired below to make an immediate entry of the occurrence in the official log-book. The occupants of the saloon were naturally greatly exercised by the event, which formed the staple of conversation next day. It was interesting to observe the way in which the subject was regarded by the various members of the little community. O’Reilly, the editor of the “Galatea Free Press,” was wild with excitement at contemplation of the narrow escape they had had from a mutiny and its attendant fight; and he exhibited a curious study of mingled irritation and satisfaction—of irritation that the fight had not come off, and of satisfaction that he had not been compelled to take up arms against any of the forecastle hands, every one of whom he regarded in his free-hearted way as a personal friend, and with every one of whom he was a prime favourite. The ladies, who really understood nothing whatever of the merits of the case, with that unerring instinct which invariably leads them to a right conclusion, sided unanimously with the seamen; while a few of the more timid among the male passengers regarded Carter as a sort of hero-martyr, Mr Dale being especially loud and indiscreet in his denunciations of the recklessness manifested in “encouraging the mutinous rascals in their defiance of authority.” “It will end,” he dismally prophesied, “in our all being murdered in our beds some night. Oh, dear! I wish I had never come to sea.” Brook and one or two more, though they said little, went about the ship for some few days afterwards in evident perturbation of mind, though, to do them justice, had they been obliged they would have doubtless fought and fought well. Rex Fortescue, perhaps, took matters the most coolly of any. He not only went himself forward as usual to hear the yarn-spinning and smoke his cigar on the forecastle during the dog-watches, but he also took Violet with him (he having noticed long before that the presence of a lady was always sufficient to ensure the strictest decorum on the part of the men); thus showing the crew, as clearly as he could, that he at least had no doubt of their loyalty. Carter’s suspension from duty removed the only discordant element which had ever revealed itself on board, as far as the crew of the ship were concerned; and thenceforward matters went smoothly enough on board the Galatea for the remainder of the passage, which proved to be a rapid one, notwithstanding the delay experienced in rounding the Cape. It was also an uneventful one—the foregoing occurrence excepted. Nothing further need therefore be said respecting it, than that in good time the ship safely arrived in Sydney’s noble harbour, and, landing her passengers, began forthwith the humdrum operation of discharging cargo. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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