Фредерик Марриет
Masterman Ready

Chapter Thirty Eight.

The construction of the fish-pond proceeded rapidly, and on the third day it was nearly complete. As soon as all the walls were finished, Ready threw out sand and shingle, so as to make the part next to the beach nearly as deep as the other; so that there might be sufficient water to prevent the gulls and man-of-war birds from darting down, and striking the fish. While Ready was thus employed, Mr Seagrave and William collected more rocks, so as to divide the pond into four parts, at the same time allowing a communication between each part. These inside walls, as well as the outside, were made of sufficient width to walk upon; by which means they would have all the fish within reach of the spear, in case they wished to take them out. The day after the pond was completed the weather changed. The rain poured down with great force, but it was not accompanied with such terrific thunder and lightning, nor were the storms of so long continuance, as at the commencement of the rainy season. In the intervals of fine weather they caught a great many fish, which they put into the pond, so that it was well stocked. But a circumstance occurred, which was the occasion of great alarm to them all; which was, that one evening William was taken with a shivering, and complained very much of a pain in his head. Ready had promised to continue his narrative on that evening, but William was too ill to sit up. He was put into bed, and the next morning he was in a violent fever. Mr Seagrave was much alarmed, as the symptoms were worse every hour; and Ready, who had sat up with him during the night, called Mr Seagrave out of the house, and said, “This is a bad case, sir: William was working yesterday with his hat off, and I fear that he has been struck by the sun.”

The poor boy was for many days in great danger; and the cheerful house was now one of gloom and silence. How fervent were now the morning and evening prayers; how often during the day did his parents offer up a petition to heaven for their dear boy’s recovery. The weather became finer every day, and it was almost impossible to keep Tommy quiet: Juno went out with him and Albert every morning, and kept them with her while she cooked; and, fortunately, Vixen had some young ones, and when Juno could no longer amuse them, she brought them two of the puppies to play with. As for the quiet, meek little Caroline, she would remain during the whole day holding her mother’s hand, and watching her brother, or working with her needle by the side of his bed.

Ready, who could not be idle, had taken the hammer and cold chisel to make the salt-pan, at which he worked during those portions of the day in which his services were not required indoors; and as he sat chipping away the rock, his thoughts were ever upon William, for he dearly loved the boy for his amiable disposition and his cleverness; and many a time during the day would he stop his work, and the tears would run down his cheeks as he offered up his petition to the Almighty that the boy might be spared to his afflicted parents. And those prayers were heard, for on the ninth day William was pronounced by Ready and Mr Seagrave to have much less fever, and shortly afterwards it left him altogether; but he was so weak that he could not raise himself in his bed for two or three days; and it was not till more than a fortnight after the fever had left him that he could go out of the house. The joy that was expressed by them all when the change took place may be imagined: nor were the thanksgivings less fervent than had been the prayers.

During his convalescence, as there was nothing else to do, Mr Seagrave and Ready, who now went gladly to their work, determined, as the salt-pan was finished, that they would make a bathing-place. Juno came to their assistance, and was very useful in assisting to drag the wheels which brought the rocks and stones; and Tommy was also brought down, that he might be out of the way while Mrs Seagrave and Caroline watched the invalid. By the time that William was able to go out of the house, the bathing-place was finished, and there was no longer any fear of the sharks. William came down to the beach with his mother, and looked at the work which had been done; he was much pleased with it, and said, “Now, Ready, we have finished everything at home for the present; all we have to do is to explore the island, and to go to the cove and examine our collection from the wreck.”

“Very true, William; and the weather has been so fine, that I think we may venture upon one or the other in a few days more; but not till you are stronger.”

“I shall soon be strong again, Ready.”

“I have no doubt of it, William; and we have good reason to thank God, for we could ill spare you.”

“It’s a long while since you have gone on with your story, Ready,” said William, after they had taken their supper; “I wish you would do so now, as I am sure I shall not be tired.”

“With pleasure, William,” replied Ready; “but can you remember where I left off, for my memory is none of the best?”

“Oh, yes; if you recollect, you had just arrived at a Dutch farmer’s house, in company with the savages, at a place called Graaff Reinet, I think.”

“Well then, the Dutch farmer came out when he saw us coming, and asked us who we were. We told him that we were English prisoners, and that we wished to give ourselves up to the authorities. He took away our arms and ammunition, and said that he was the authority in that part, which was true enough; and then he said, ‘You’ll not run away without arms and ammunition, that’s certain. As for sending you to the Cape, that I may not be able to do for months; so if you wish to be fed well, you must work well while you’re here.’ We replied, that we should be very glad to make ourselves useful, and then he sent us some dinner by a Hottentot girl. But we soon found out that we had to deal with an ill-tempered, brutal fellow; and that he gave us plenty of hard work, but by no means plenty of food. He would not trust us with guns, so the Hottentots went out with the cattle, but he gave us plenty of work to do about the house; and at last he treated us very cruelly. When he was short of provisions for the Hottentots and other slaves, of whom he had a good many, he would go out with the other farmers who lived near him, and shoot quaggas for them to eat. Nobody but a Hottentot could live upon such flesh.”

“What is quagga?”

“A wild ass, partly covered with stripes, but not so much as the zebra; a pretty animal to look at, but the flesh is very bad. At last he would give us nothing to eat but quaggas, the same as the Hottentots, while he and his family—for he had a wife and five children—lived upon mutton and the flesh of the antelope, which is very excellent eating. We asked him to allow us a gun to procure better food, and he kicked Romer so unmercifully, that he could not work for two days afterwards. Our lives became quite a burden to us; we were employed all day on the farm, and every day he was more brutal towards us. At last we agreed that we would stand it no longer, and one evening Hastings told him so. This put him into a great rage, and he called two of the slaves, and ordered them to tie him to the waggon wheel, swearing that he would cut every bit of skin off his body, and he went into his house to get his whip. The slaves had hold of Hastings, and were tying him up, for they dared not disobey their master, when he said to us, ‘If I am flogged this way, it will be all over with us. Now’s your time; run back behind the house, and when he comes out with the whip, do you go in and seize the muskets, which are always ready loaded. Hold him at bay till I get clear, and then we will get away somehow or other. You must do it, for I am sure he will flog me till I am dead, and he will shoot you, as runaway prisoners, as he did his two Hottentots the other day.’ As Romer and I thought this very probable, we did as Hastings told us; and when the Dutchman had gone towards him where he was tied up, about fifty yards from the house, we went in. The farmer’s wife was in bed, having just had an addition to her family, and the children we cared not for. We seized two muskets and a large knife, and came out just as the Dutchman had struck the first blow with the rhinoceros whip, which was so severe, that it took away poor Hastings’ breath. We went up; he turned round and saw us: we levelled our muskets at him, and he stopped. ‘Another blow, and we’ll shoot you,’ cried Romer. ‘Yes,’ cried I; ‘we are only boys, but you’ve Englishmen to deal with.’ When we came up, Romer kept his piece levelled at the Dutchman, while I passed him, and with the knife cut the thongs which bound Hastings. The Dutchman turned pale and did not speak, he was so frightened, and the slaves ran away. As soon as Hastings was free, he seized a large wooden mallet, used for driving in stakes, and struck the Dutchman down to the earth, crying out, ‘That for flogging an Englishman, you rascal!’

“While the man lay senseless or dead—I didn’t know which at the time—we tied him to the waggon wheels, and returning to the house, seized some ammunition and other articles which might be useful. We then went to the stables, and took the three best horses which the Dutchman had, put some corn in a sack for each of them, took some cord for halters, mounted, and rode away as fast as we could. As we knew that we should be pursued, we first galloped away as if we were going eastward to the Cape; and then, as soon as we were on ground which would not show the tracks of our horses’ hoofs, we turned round to the northward, in the direction of the Bushman country. It was dark soon after we had altered our course; but we travelled all night, and although we heard the roaring of the lions at a distance, we met with no accident. At daylight we rested our horses, and gave them some corn, and then sat down to eat some of the provision we had brought with us.”

“How long were you with the farmer at Graaff Reinet?”

“Nearly eight months, sir; and during that time we could not only speak Dutch, but we could make ourselves understood by the Hottentots and other natives. While we were eating we held a consultation how we should proceed. We were aware that the Dutchmen would shoot us if they came up with us, and that they would come out in strong force against us; and we were afraid that we had killed the man, and if so, they would hang us as soon as we got to the Cape; so we were at a great loss to know how to act. At last we decided that we would cross the country of the Bushmen, and get to the sea-side, to the northward of the Cape. We determined that it would be better to travel at night, as there would be less fear of the wild beasts, or of being seen; so we went fast asleep for many hours. Towards the evening, we found water for the horses, and then we fed them again, and proceeded on our journey. I won’t tell what passed every day for a fortnight, by which time we had pretty well killed our horses, and we were compelled to stop among a tribe of Gorraguas, a very mild, inoffensive people, who supplied us with milk, and treated us very kindly. We had some adventures, nevertheless. One day as we were passing by a tuft of small trees, a rhinoceros charged upon my horse, which very narrowly escaped by wheeling short round and getting behind him; the beast then made off without meddling with us any more. Every day we used to shoot some animal or other, for provision: sometimes it was a gnu, something between an antelope and a bull; at other times it was one of the antelope kind.

“Well, we stayed for three weeks with these people, and gave our horses time to refresh themselves; and then we set off again, keeping more towards the coast as we went southward, for the Gorraguas told us that there was a fierce native tribe, called Kaffers, to the northward, who would certainly kill us if we went there. The fact is, we did not know what to do. We had left the Cape without any exact idea where we should go to, like foolish boys as we were, and we became more entangled with difficulties every day. At last we decided that it would be better to find our way back to the Cape, and deliver ourselves up as prisoners, for we were tired out with fatigue and constant danger. All that we were afraid of was that we had killed the Dutch farmer at Graaff Reinet, who had treated us so brutally; but Hastings said he did not care; that was his business, and he would take his chance: so when we bade adieu to the Gorraguas, we turned our horses’ heads to the south-east, so as to make the sea and go to the southward at the same time.

“I have now to mention a most melancholy event which occurred. Two days after we had recommenced our travels, in passing through some high grass, we stumbled on a lion, which was devouring a gnu. Romer, who happened to be some ten yards foremost of the three, was so alarmed that he fired at the animal, which we had agreed never to do, as it was folly to enrage so powerful a beast, when our party was so small. The lion was slightly wounded; he gave a roar that might have been heard for a mile, sprang upon Romer, and with one blow of his paw knocked him off the saddle into the bushes. Our horses, which were frightened, wheeled round and fled, for the animal was evidently about to attack us. As it was, he did make one bound in our direction; we could not pull up until we had gone half a mile; and when we did, we saw the lion had torn down the horse which Romer had ridden, and was dragging away the carcass to the right at a sort of a canter, without any apparent effort on his part. We waited till he was well off, and then rode back to the spot where Romer had fallen: we soon found him, but he was quite dead; the blow with the lion’s paw had fractured his skull.

“I ought to have said that the Gorraguas told us not to travel by night, but by day; and we had done so in consequence of their advice. I believe it was very good advice, notwithstanding this unfortunate accident, for we found that when we had travelled all night the lions had more than once followed us the whole time; and indeed I have often thought since that we were altogether indebted to his mercy who ordereth all things, both in heaven and earth, that we escaped so well as we did. Three days after poor Romer’s death we first saw the wide ocean again. We kept near the coast, but we soon found that we could not obtain the supply of game, or fuel for our fires at night, so well as we could in the interior, and we agreed to get away from the coast again. We had a dreary plain to pass over, and we were quite faint for want of food—for we had been without any for nearly two days—when we came upon an ostrich. Hastings put his horse to his speed, but it was of no use—the ostrich ran much faster than the horse could. I remained behind, and, to my great joy, discovered his nest, with thirteen large eggs in it. Hastings soon came back, with his horse panting and out of wind. We sat down, lighted a fire, and roasted two of the eggs: we made a good dinner of them, and having put four more on our saddle-bows, we continued our journey. At last, one forenoon, we saw the Table Mountain, and were as glad to see it as if we had seen the white cliffs of Old England. We pushed on our horses with the hopes of being once more comfortably in prison before night; when, as we neared the bay, we noticed that English colours were flying on board of the vessels in the road. This surprised us very much; but soon after that we met an English soldier, who told us that the Cape had been taken by our forces more than six months ago. This was a joyful surprise, as you may suppose. We rode into the town, and reported ourselves to the main guard; the governor sent for us, heard our story, and sent us to the admiral, who took us on board of his own ship.”

Chapter Thirty Nine.

The next morning, as there was no particular work on hand, Ready and Mr Seagrave took the lines to add to the stock of the fish-pond. As the weather was fine and cool, William accompanied them, that he might have the benefit of the fresh air. As they passed the garden, they observed that the seeds sown had already sprung up an inch or two above the ground, and that, apparently none of them had missed. While Ready and Mr Seagrave were fishing, and William sitting near them, William said to his father—

“Many of the islands near us are inhabited; are they not, papa?”

“Yes, but not those very near us, I believe. At all events, I never heard any voyagers mention having seen inhabitants on the isles near which we suppose the one we are on to be.”

“What sort of people are the islanders in these seas?”

“They are various. The New Zealanders are the most advanced in civilisation. The natives of Van Diemen’s Land and Australia are some portions of them of a very degraded class—indeed, little better than the beasts of the field.”

“I have seen them,” said Ready; “and I think I can mention a people, not very numerous indeed, who are still more like the beasts of the field. I saw them once; and, at first, thought they were animals, and not human beings.”

“Indeed, Ready; where may that be?”

“In the Great Andaman Isles, at the mouth of the Bay of Bengal. I once anchored in distress in Port Cornwallis, and the morning after we anchored, we saw some black things going upon all fours under the trees that came down to the water’s edge. We got the telescope, and perceived then that they were men and women, for they stood upright.”

“Did you ever come into contact with them?”

“No, sir, I did not; but I met, at Calcutta, a soldier who had; for at one time the East India Company intended making a settlement on the island, and sent some troops there. He said that they caught two of them; that they were not more than four feet high, excessively stupid and shy; they had no houses or huts to live in, and all that they did was to pile up some bushes to keep the wind off.”

“Had they any arms?”

“Yes, sir, they had bows and arrows; but so miserably made, and so small, that they could not kill anything but very small birds.”

“Where did the people come from who inhabited these islands, papa?”

“That is difficult to say, William; but it is supposed that they have become inhabited in much the same way as this our island has been—that is, by people in canoes or boats driven out to sea, and saving their lives by effecting a landing, as we have done.”

“I believe that’s the truth,” replied Ready; “I heard say that the Andaman Isles were supposed to have been first inhabited by a slaver full of negroes, who were wrecked on the coast in a typhoon.”

“What is a typhoon, Ready?”

“It is much the same as a hurricane, William; it comes on in India at the change of the monsoons.”

“But what are monsoons?”

“Winds that blow regular from one quarter so many months during the year, and then change round and blow from another just as long.”

“And what are the trade-winds, which I heard poor Captain Osborn talking about after we left Madeira?”

“The trade-winds blow on the equator, and several degrees north and south of it, from the east to the west, following the course of the sun.”

“Is it the sun which produces these winds?”

“Yes, the extreme heat of the sun between the tropics rarefies the air as the earth turns round, and the trade-winds are produced by the rushing in of the less heated air.”

“Yes, William; and the trade-winds produce what they call the Gulf Stream,” observed Ready.

“How is that? I have heard it spoken of, papa.”

“The winds, constantly following the sun across the Atlantic Ocean, and blowing from east to west, have great effect upon the sea, which is forced up into the Gulf of Mexico (where it is stopped by the shores of America), so that it is many feet higher in the Gulf than in the eastern part of the Atlantic. This accumulation of water must of course find a vent somewhere, and it does in what is called the Gulf Stream, by which the waters are poured out, running very strong to the northward, along the shores of America, and then (westward) eastward, passing not far from Newfoundland, until its strength is spent somewhere to the northward of the Azores.”

“The Gulf Stream, William,” said Ready, “is always several degrees warmer than the sea in general, which is, they say, owing to its waters remaining in the Gulf of Mexico so long, where the heat of the sun is so great.”

“What do you mean by the land and sea breezes in the West Indies, and other hot climates, papa?”

“It is the wind first blowing off from the shore, and then blowing from the sea towards the shore, during certain hours of the day, which it does regularly every twenty-four hours. This is also the effect of the heat of the sun. The sea breeze commences in the morning, and in the afternoon it dies away, when the land breeze commences, which lasts till midnight.”

“There are latitudes close to the trade-winds,” said Ready, “where the wind is not certain, where ships have been becalmed for weeks; the crews have exhausted the water on board, and they have suffered dreadfully. We call them the Horse latitudes—why, I do not know. But it is time for us to leave off, and for Master William to go into the house.”

They returned home, and after supper Ready went on with his narrative.

“I left off at the time that I was sent on board of the man-of-war, and I was put down on the books as a supernumerary boy. I was on board of her for nearly four years, and we were sent about from port to port, and from clime to clime, until I grew a strong, tall lad, and was put into the mizen-top. I found it very comfortable. I did my duty, and the consequence was, I never was punished; for a man may serve on board of a man-of-war without fear of being punished, if he only does his duty, and the duty is not very hard either; not like on board of the merchant vessels, where there are so few hands—there it is hard work. Of course, there are some captains who command men-of-war who are harsh and severe; but it was my good fortune to be with a very mild and steady captain, who was very sorry when he was obliged to punish the men, although he would not overlook any improper conduct. The only thing which was a source of constant unhappiness to me was, that I could not get to England again, and see my mother. I had written two or three letters, but never had an answer; and at last I became so impatient that I determined to run away the very first opportunity which might offer. We were then stationed in the West Indies, and I had very often consultations with Hastings on the subject, for he was quite as anxious to get away as I was; and we had agreed that we would start off together the very first opportunity. At last we anchored in Port Royal, Jamaica, and there was a large convoy of West India ships, laden with sugar, about to sail immediately. We knew that if we could get on board of one, they would secrete us until the time of sailing, for they were short-handed enough, the men-of-war having pressed every man they could lay their hands upon. There was but one chance, and that was by swimming on board of one of the vessels during the night-time, and that was easy enough, as they were anchored not a hundred yards from our own ship. What we were afraid of was the sharks, which were so plentiful in the harbour. However, the night before the convoy was to sail we made up our minds that we would run the risk, for we were so impatient to escape that we did not care for anything. It was in the middle watch—I recollect it, and shall recollect it all my life, as if it were last night—that we lowered ourselves down very softly from the bows of the ship, and as soon as we were in the water we struck out for one of the West Indiamen close to us. The sentry at the gangway saw the light in the water made by our swimming through it, and he hailed, of course; we gave no answer, but swam as fast as we could; for after he had hailed we heard a bustle, and we knew that the officer of the watch was manning a boat to send after us. I had just caught hold of the cable of the West Indiaman, and was about to climb up by it, for I was a few yards before Hastings, when I heard a loud shriek, and, turning round, perceived a shark plunging down with Hastings in his jaws. I was so frightened, that for a short time I could not move: at last I recovered myself, and began to climb up by the cable as fast as I could. I was just in time, for another shark made a rush at me; and although I was clear out of the water more than two feet, he sprung up and just caught my shoe by the heel, which he took down with him. Fear gave me strength, and in a second or two afterwards I was up at the hawse-holes, and the men on board, who had been looking over the bows, and had witnessed poor Hastings’ death, helped me on board, and hurried me down below, for the boat from our ship was now nearly alongside. When the officer of the boat came on board, they told him they had perceived us both in the water, close to their vessel, and that the sharks had taken us down. As the shriek of Hastings was heard by the people in the boat, the officer believed that it was the case, and returned to the ship. I heard the drum beat to quarters on board of the man-of-war, that they might ascertain who were the two men who had attempted to swim away, and a few minutes afterwards they beat the retreat, having put down D.D. against my name on the books, as well as against that of poor Hastings.”

“What does D.D. mean?”

“D stands for discharged from the service; D.D. stands for dead,” replied Ready; “and it was only through the mercy of Providence that I was not so.”

“It was a miraculous escape indeed,” observed Mr Seagrave.

“Yes, indeed, sir; I can hardly describe my sensations for some hours afterwards. I tried to sleep, but could not—I was in agony. The moment I slumbered, I thought the shark had hold of me, and I would start up and shriek; and then I said my prayers and tried to go to sleep again, but it was of no use. The captain of the West Indiaman was afraid that my shrieks would be heard, and he sent me down a tumbler of rum to drink off; this composed me, and at last I fell into a sound sleep. When I awoke, I found that the ship was under weigh and with all canvas set, surrounded by more than a hundred other vessels; the men-of-war who took charge of the convoy, firing guns and making signals incessantly. It was a glorious sight, and we were bound for Old England. I felt so happy, that I thought I would risk the jaws of another shark to have regained my liberty, and the chance of being once more on shore in my own country, and able to go to Newcastle and see my poor mother.”

“I am afraid that your miraculous escape did you very little good, Ready,” observed Mrs Seagrave, “if you got over it so soon.”

“Indeed, madam, it was not so; that was only the feeling which the first sight of the vessels under weigh for England produced upon me. I can honestly say that I was a better and more serious person. The very next night, when I was in my hammock, I prayed very fervently; and there happened to be a very good old Scotchman on board, the second mate, who talked very seriously to me, and pointed out how wonderful had been my preservation, and I felt it. It was he who first read the Bible with me, and made me understand it, and, I may say, become fond of it. I did my duty on our passage home as a seaman before the mast, and the captain was pleased with me. The ship I was in was bound to Glasgow, and we parted company with the convoy at North Foreland, and arrived safe in port. The captain took me to the owners, who paid me fifteen guineas for my services during the voyage home; and as soon as I received the money, I set off for Newcastle as fast as I could. I had taken a place on the outside of the coach, and I entered into conversation with a gentleman who sat next to me. I soon found out that he belonged to Newcastle, and I first inquired if Mr Masterman, the ship-builder, was still alive. He told me that he had been dead about three months. ‘And to whom did he leave his money?’ I asked, ‘for he was very rich, and had no kin.’ ‘He had no relations,’ replied the gentleman, ‘and he left all his money to build an hospital and almshouses. He had a partner in his business latterly, and he left the yard and all the stores to him, I believe, because he did not know whom to leave it to. There was a lad whom I knew for certain he intended to have adopted and to have made his heir—a lad of the name of Ready; but he ran away to sea, and has never been heard of since. It is supposed that he was lost in a prize, for he was traced so far. Foolish boy that he was. He might now have been a man of fortune.’

“‘Very foolish indeed,’ replied I.

“‘Yes; but he has harmed more than himself. His poor mother, who doted upon him, as soon as she heard that he was lost, pined away by degrees, and—’

“‘You don’t mean to say that she is dead?’ interrupted I, seizing the gentleman by the arm.

“‘Yes,’ replied he, looking at me with surprise; ‘she died last year of a broken heart.’

“I fell back on the luggage behind me, and should have fallen off the coach if the gentleman had not held me. He called to the coachman to pull up the horses, and they took me down, and put me inside; and as the coach rolled on, I cried as if my heart would break.”

Ready appeared so much affected, that Mr Seagrave proposed that he should leave off his history for the present.

“Thank you, sir, it will be better; for I feel my old eyes dim with tears, even now. It’s a dreadful thing in after-life to reflect upon, that your foolish conduct has hastened the death of a most kind mother; but so it was, William, and I give you the truth for your advantage.”