Фредерик Марриет
Peter Simple
Chapter Forty Three
Description of the coast of Martinique—Popped at for peeping—No heroism in making oneself a target—Board a miniature Noah’s ark, under Yankee colours—Capture a French slaver—Parrot soup in lieu of mock turtle
We found orders at Barbadoes to cruise off Martinique, to prevent supplies being furnished to the garrison of the island, and we proceeded there immediately. I do not know anything more picturesque than running down the east side of this beautiful island—the ridges of hill spreading down to the water’s edge, covered with the freshest verdure, divided at the base by small bays, with the beach of dazzling white sand, and where the little coasting vessels, employed to bring the sugar from the neighbouring estates, were riding at an anchor. Each hill, at its ajutment towards the sea, was crowned with a fort, on which waves the tri-colour—certainly, in appearance, one of the most warlike flags in the world.
On the third morning, we had rounded the Diamond Rock, and were scudding along the lee-side of the island, just opening Fort Royal bay, when, hauling rather too close round its eastern entrance, formed by a promontory called Solomon’s Point, which was covered with brushwood, we found ourselves nearer than agreeable to a newly-constructed battery. A column of smoke was poured along the blue water, and it was followed by the whizzing of a shot, which passed through our boom mainsail, first cutting away the dog-vane, which was close to old Swinburne’s head, as he stood on the carronade, conning the brig. I was at dinner in the cabin with O’Brien and the first lieutenant.
“Where the devil have they got the brig now?” said O’Brien, rising from his chair, and going on deck.
We both followed; but before we were on deck, three or four more shots passed between the masts. “If you please, sir,” said the master’s mate in charge of the deck, whose name was O’Farrel, “the battery has opened upon us.”
“Thank you very much for your information, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien; “but the French have reported it before you. May I ask if you’ve any particular fancy to be made a target of, or if you think that His Majesty’s brig Rattlesnake was sent here to be riddled for nothing at all? Starboard the helm, quarter-master.”
The helm was put up, and the brig was soon run out of the fire; not, however, until a few more shot were pitched close to us; and one carried away the fore-topmast backstay.
“No, Mr O’Farrel,” replied O’Brien, “I only wish to point out to you, that I trust neither I nor any one in this ship cares a fig about the whizzing of a shot or two about our ears, when there is anything to be gained for it, either for ourselves or for our country; but I do care a great deal about losing even the leg, or the arm, much more the life of any of my men, when there’s no occasion for it; so in future, recollect it’s no disgrace to keep out of the way of a battery, when all the advantage is on their side I’ve always observed that chance shots pick out the best men. Lower down the mainsail and send the sailmaker aft to repair it.”
When O’Brien returned to the cabin, I remained on deck, for it was my afternoon watch; and although O’Farrel had permission to look out for me, I did not choose to go down again. The bay of Fort Royal was now opened, and the view was extremely beautiful. Swinburne was still on the carronade, and as I knew he had been there before, I applied to him for information as to the locale. He told me the names of the batteries above the town, pointed out Fort Edward, and Negro Point, and particularly Pigeon Island, the battery at the top of which wore the appearance of a mural crown.
“It’s well I remember that place, Mr Simple,” said he. “It was in ’94 when I was last here. The sodgers had ’sieged it for a whole month, and were about to give it up, ’cause they couldn’t get a gun up on that ’ere hill you sees there. So poor Captain Faulkner says, ‘There’s many a clear head under a tarpaulin hat, and I’ll give any chap five doubloons that will hitch up a twenty-four pounder to the top of that hill.’ Not quite so easy a matter, as you may perceive from here, Mr Simple.”
“It certainly appears to me to have been almost impossible, Swinburne,” replied I.
“And so it did to most of us, Mr Simple; but there was one Dick Smith, mate of a transport, who had come on shore, and he steps out, saying, ‘I’ve been looking at your men handling that gun, and my opinion is, that if you gets a butt, crams in a carronade, well woulded up, and fill it with old junk and rope yarns, you might parbuckle it up to the very top.’ So Captain Faulkner pulls out five doubloons, and gives them to him, saying, ‘You deserve the money for the hint, even if it don’t succeed.’ But it did succeed, Mr Simple; and the next day, to their surprise, we opened fire on the French beggars, and soon brought their boasting down. One of the French officers, after he was taken prisoner, axed me how we had managed to get the gun up there but I wasn’t going to blow the gaff, so I told him as a great secret, that we got it up with a kite; upon which he opened all his eyes, and crying ‘Sacre bleu!’ walked away, believing all I said was true; but a’n’t that a sail we have opened with the point, Mr Simple?”
It was so, and I reported it to O’Brien, who came up, and gave chase. In half-an-hour we were alongside of her, when she hoisted American colours, and proved to be a brigantine laden up to her gunwale, which was not above a foot out of the water. Her cargo consisted of what the Americans called notions; that is, in English, an assorted cargo. Halfway up her masts, down to the deck, were hung up baskets containing apples, potatoes, onions, and nuts of various kinds. Her deck was crowded with cattle, sheep, pigs, and donkeys. Below was full of shingle lumber, and a variety of different articles too numerous to mention. I boarded her, and asked the master whither he was bound.
“Why,” replied he, “I’m bound for a market—nowise particular; and I guess you won’t stop me.”
“Not if all’s right,” replied I; “but I must look at your log.”
“Well, I’ve a notion there’s no great objection to that,” replied he; and he brought it up on deck.
I had no great time to examine it, but I could not help being amused at the little I did read, such as—“Horse latitudes—water very short—killed white-faced bullock—caught a dolphin, and ate him for dinner—broached molasses cask, Number 1, letter A. Fine night—saw little round things floating on the water—took up a bucket full—guessed they were pearls—judge I guessed wrong, only little Portuguese men-of-war—threw them overboard again—heard a scream, guessed it was a mermaid—looked out, saw nothing. Witnessed a very strange rippling a-head—calculated it might be the sea-serpent—stood on to see him plain, and nearly ran on Barbuda. Hauled off again—met a Britisher—treated politely.”
Having overhauled his log, I then begged to overhaul his men, to ascertain if there were any Englishmen among his crew. This was not pleasing, and he grumbled very much; but they were ordered aft. One man I was satisfied was an Englishman, and told him so; but the man, as well as the master, persisted to the contrary. Nevertheless I resolved to take him on board for O’Brien to decide, and ordered him into the boat.
“Well, if you will use force, I can’t help it: my decks a’n’t clear, as you see, or else—I tell you what, Mr Lieutenant, your vessel there will be another Hermione, I’ve a notion, if you presses true-blooded Yankees; and what’s more, the States will take it up, as sure as there’s snakes in Virginny.”
Notwithstanding this remonstrance, I took them on board to O’Brien, who had a long conversation with the American in the cabin. When they returned on deck, he was allowed to depart with his man, and we again made sail. I had the first watch that night, and as we ran along the coast, I perceived a vessel under the high land, in what the sailors called the doldrums; this is, almost becalmed, or her sails flapping about in every direction with the eddying winds. We steered for her, and were very soon in the same situation, not more than a quarter of a mile from her. The quarter-boat was lowered down, and I proceeded to board her; but as she was large and rakish, O’Brien desired me to be careful, and if there were the least show of resistance to return.
As I pulled up to her bows, they hailed me in French, and desired me to keep off, or they would fire. This was quite sufficient; and, in obedience to my orders, I returned to the brig and reported to O’Brien. We lowered down all the quarter-boats, and towed round the brig’s broadside to her, and then gave her half-a-dozen carronades of round and grape. Hearing great noise and confusion on board, after we had ceased firing, O’Brien again sent me to know if they had surrendered. They replied in the affirmative; and I boarded her. She proved to be the Commerce de Bordeaux, with three hundred and thirty slaves on board, out of five hundred embarked from the coast, bound to Martinique. The crew were very sickly, and were most of them in their hammocks. Latterly, they had been killing parrots to make soup for them; a few that were left, of the grey species, spoke remarkably well. When they left the coast, they had nearly one thousand parrots on board.
O’Brien perceiving that I had taken possession, sent another boat to know what the vessel was. I desired the surgeon to be sent on board, as some of the men, and many of the poor slaves, were wounded by our shot. Of all the miserable objects, I know of none to be compared to the poor devils of slaves on board of a slave-vessel; the state of suffocation between decks—the dreadful stench arising from their filth, which is hardly ever cleared away—the sick lying without help, and looked upon by those who are stronger with the utmost indifference—men, women and children, all huddled and crowded together in a state of nudity, worn to skin and bone from stench, starvation, and living in an atmosphere that none but a negro could exist in. If all that occurs on a slave-ship were really known, I think it would be acknowledged that to make the slave-trade piracy would be nothing more than a just retribution; and this is certain, that unless it be made piracy, it never will be discontinued.
By daylight the vessel was ready, and O’Brien determined to take her to Dominica, so that the poor devils might be immediately set on shore. We anchored with her, in a few days, in Prince Rupert’s Bay, where we only had twenty-four hours, to obtain some refreshments and arrange about our prize, which I hardly need say was of some value.
During the short time that I was on shore, purchasing some fowls and vegetables for O’Brien and our own mess, I was amused at witnessing a black sergeant drilling some of his regiment of free negroes and mulattoes. He appeared resolved to make the best appearance that he could, for he began by saying, “You hab shoe and ’tocking, stand in front—you hab shoe no ’tocking, stand in centre—you hab no shoe no ’tocking, stand in um rear. Face to mountain—back to sea-beach. Why you no ’tep out, sar?—you hangman!”
I was curious to count the numbers qualified for the front rank; there were only two mulattoes. In the second rank there were also only two. No shoe and no ’tocking appeared to be the fashion. As usual, we were surrounded by the negroes; and although we had been there but a few hours, they had a song composed for us, which they constantly repeated:
“Don’t you see the Rattlesnake
Coming under sail?
Don’t you see the Rattlesnake
With prizes at um tail?—
Rattlesnake hab all the money, ding ding—
She shall hab all that’s funny, ding, ding!”
Chapter Forty Four
Money can purchase anything in the new country—American information not always to be depended upon—A night attack; we are beaten off—It proves a “cut up,” instead of a “cut out”—After all, we save something out of the fire
The next morning we weighed anchor, and returned to our station off Martinique. We had run within three miles of St. Pierre’s, when we discovered a vessel coming out under jury-masts. She steered directly for us, and we made her out to be the American brigantine which we had boarded some time before. O’Brien sent a boat to bring the master of her on board.
“Well, captain,” said he, “so you met with a squall?”
“I calculate not,” replied he.
“Why, then, what the devil have you been about?”
“Why, I guess I sold all my cargo, and, what’s more, I’ve sold my masts.”
“Sold your masts! whom did you sell them to?”
“To an almighty pretty French privateer lying in St. Pierre’s, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I’ve a notion they paid pretty handsomely too.”
“But how do you mean to get home again?”
“I calculate to get into the stream, and then I’ll do very well. If I meet a nor-wester, why then I’ll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, I guess.”
“Well,” replied O’Brien, “but step down into the cabin, and take something, captain.”
“With particular pleasure,” replied this strange mortal; and down they went.
In about half-an-hour, they returned on deck, and the boat took the American on board. Soon afterwards, O’Brien desired Osbaldistone and myself to step down into the cabin. The chart of the harbour of St. Pierre’s lay on the table, and O’Brien said, “I have had a long conversation with the American, and he states that the privateer is at anchor in this spot” (pointing to a pencil-mark on the chart). “If so, she is well out; and I see no difficulty in capturing her. You see that she lies in four fathoms water, and so close under the outer battery, that the guns could not be pointed down upon the boats. I have also inquired if they keep a good look-out, and the American says that they feel so secure, that they keep no look-out at all; that the captain and officers belonging to her are on shore all night, drinking, smoking, and boasting of what they will do. Now the question is, whether this report be correct. The American has been well-treated by us, and I see no reason to doubt him; indeed he gave the information voluntarily, as if he wished to serve us.”
I allowed Osbaldistone to speak first; he coincided with O’Brien, I did not: the very circumstance of her requiring new masts made me doubt the truth of his assertion, as to where she lay; and if one part of his story were false, why not the whole? O’Brien appeared struck with my argument, and it was agreed that if the boats did go away, it should be for a reconnaissance, and that the attempt should only be made, provided it was found that the privateer lay in the same spot pointed out by the American master. It was, however, decided that the reconnaissance should take place that very night, as allowing the privateer to be anchored on the spot supposed, there was every probability that she would not remain there, but haul further in, to take in her new masts. The news that an expedition was at hand was soon circulated through the ship, and all the men had taken their cutlasses from the capstan to get them ready for action. The fighting boats’ crews, without orders, were busy with their boats, some cutting up old blankets to muffle the oars, others making new grummets. The ship’s company were as busy as bees, bustling and buzzing about the decks, and reminding you of the agitation which takes place in a hive previous to a swarm. At last Osbaldistone came on deck, and ordered the boats’ crews to be piped away, and prepare for service. I was to have the command of the expedition in the launch—I had charge of the first cutter—O’Farrel of the second, and Swinburne had the charge of the jolly-boat. At dusk, the head of the brig was again turned towards St. Pierre’s, and we ran slowly in. At ten we hove-to, and about eleven the boats were ordered to haul up, O’Brien repeating his orders to Mr Osbaldistone, not to make the attempt if the privateer were found to be anchored close to the town. The men were all mustered on the quarter-deck, to ascertain if they had the distinguishing mark on their jackets, that is, square patches of canvas sewed on the left arm, so that we might recognise friend from foe—a very necessary precaution in a night expedition; and then they were manned, and ordered to shove off. The oars were dropped in the water, throwing out a phosphorescent light, so common in that climate, and away we went. After an hour’s pulling, Osbaldistone lay on his oars in the launch, and we closed with him.
“We are now at the mouth of the harbour,” said he, “and the most perfect silence must be observed.”
“At the mouth of the harbour, sir!” said Swinburne; “I reckon we are more than half-way in; we passed the point at least ten minutes ago, and this is the second battery we are now abreast of.”
To this Osbaldistone did not agree, nor indeed did I think that Swinburne was right; but he persisted in it, and pointed out to us the lights in the town, which were now all open to us, and which would not be the case if we were only at the mouth of the harbour. Still we were of a different opinion, and Swinburne, out of respect to his officers, said no more.
We resumed our oars, pulling with the greatest caution; the night was intensely dark, and we could distinguish nothing. After pulling ten minutes more, we appeared to be close to the lights in the town; still we could see no privateer or any other vessel. Again we lay upon our oars, and held a consultation. Swinburne declared that if the privateer lay where we supposed, we had passed her long ago; but while we were debating, O’Farrel cried out, “I see her;” and he was right—she was not more than a cable’s length from us. Without waiting for orders, O’Farrel desired his men to give way, and dashed alongside of the privateer. Before he was half-way on board of her, lights flew about in every direction, and a dozen muskets were discharged. We had nothing to do but to follow him, and in a few seconds we were all alongside of her; but she was well prepared and on the alert. Boarding nettings were triced up all round, every gun had been depressed as much as possible, and she appeared to be full of men. A scene of confusion and slaughter now occurred, which I trust never again to witness. All our attempts to get on board were unavailing; if we tried at a port, a dozen pikes thrust us back; if we attempted the boarding nettings, we were thrown down, killed or wounded, into the boats. From every port, and from the decks of the privateer, the discharge of musketry was incessant. Pistols were protruded and fired in our faces, while occasionally her carronades went off, stunning us with their deafening noise, and rocking the boats in the disturbed water, if they had no other effect.
For ten minutes our exertions never ceased; at last, with half our numbers lying killed and wounded in the bottom of the boats, the men, worn out and dispirited at their unavailing attempts, sat down most of them on the boats’ thwarts, loading their muskets, and discharging them into the ports. Osbaldistone was among the wounded; and perceiving that he was not in the launch, of whose crew not six remained, I called to Swinburne, who was alongside of me, and desired him to tell the other boats to make the best of their way out of the harbour. This was soon communicated to the survivors, who would have continued the unequal contest to the last man, if I had not given the order. The launch and second cutter shoved off—O’Farrel also having fallen; and, as soon as they were clear of the privateer, and had got their oars to pass, I proceeded to do the same, amidst the shots and yells of the Frenchmen, who now jumped on their gunwale and pelted us with their musketry, cheering and mocking us.
“Stop, sir,” cried Swinburne, “we’ll have a bit of revenge;” so saying, he hauled-to the launch, and wending her bow to the privateer, directed her carronade—which they had no idea that we had on board, as we had not fired it—to where the Frenchmen were crowded the thickest.
“Stop one moment, Swinburne; put another dose of cannister in.” We did so, and then discharged the gun, which had the most murderous effect, bringing the major part of them down upon the deck. I feel convinced, from the cries and groans which followed, that if we had had a few more men, we might have returned and captured the privateer; but it was too late. The batteries were all lighted up, and although they could not see the boats, fired in the direction where they supposed us to be; for they were aware, from the shouting on board the vessel, that we had been beaten off. The launch had but six hands capable of taking an oar; the first cutter had but four. In my own boat I had five. Swinburne had two besides himself in the jolly-boat.
“This is a sorry business, sir,” said Swinburne; “now what’s best to he done? My idea is, that we had better put all the wounded men into the launch, man the two cutters and jolly-boat, and tow her off. And, Mr Simple, instead of keeping on this side, as they will expect in the batteries, let us keep close inshore, upon the near side, and their shot will pass over us.”
This advice was too good not to be followed. It was now two o’clock, and we had a long pull before us, and no time to lose. We lifted the dead bodies and the wounded men out of the two cutters and jolly-boat into the launch. I had no time for examination, but I perceived that O’Farrel was quite dead, and also a youngster of the name of Pepper, who must have smuggled himself into the boats. I did, however, look for Osbaldistone, and found him in the stern sheets of the launch. He had received a deep wound in the breast, apparently with a pike. He was sensible, and asked me for a little water, which I procured from the breaker, which was in the launch, and gave it to him. At the word water, and hearing it poured out from the breaker, many of the wounded men faintly called out for some. Having no time to spare, I left two men in the launch, one to steer, and the other to give them water, and then taking her in tow, pulled directly in for the batteries, as advised by Swinburne, who now sat alongside of me.
As soon as we were well in-shore, I pulled out of the harbour, with feelings not by any means enviable. Swinburne said to me in a low voice, “This will be a hard blow for the captain, Mr Simple. I’ve always been told, that a young captain losing his men without bringing any dollars to his admiral, is not very well received.”
“I am more sorry for him than I can well express, Swinburne,” replied I; “but—what is that a-head—a vessel under weigh?”
Swinburne stood up in the stern of the cutter, and looked for a few seconds. “Yes, a large ship standing in under royals—she must be a Frenchman. Now’s our time, sir; so long as we don’t go out empty-handed, all will be well. Oars all of you. Shall we cast off the launch, sir?”
“Yes,” replied I, “and now, my lads, let us only have that vessel, and we shall do. She is a merchantman, that’s clear (not that I was sure of it), Swinburne, I think it will be better to let her pass us in-shore; they will all be looking out of the other side, for they must have seen the firing.”
“Well thought of, sir,” replied Swinburne.
We lay on our oars, and let her pass us, which she did, creeping in at the rate of two miles an hour. We then pulled for her quarter in the three boats, leaving the launch behind us, and boarded. As we premised, the crew were on deck, and all on the other side of the vessel, so anxiously looking at the batteries, which were still firing occasional random shot, that they did not perceive us until we were close to them, and then they had no time to seize their arms. There were several ladies on board: some of the people protected them, others ran below. In two minutes we had possession of her, and had put her head the other way. To our surprise we found that she mounted fourteen guns. One hatch we left open for the ladies, some of whom had fainted, to be taken down below; the others were fastened down by Swinburne. As soon as we had the deck to ourselves, we manned one of the cutters, and sent it for the launch; and as soon as she was made fast alongside, we had time to look about us. The breeze freshened, and, in half-an-hour we were out of gun-shot of all the batteries. I then had the wounded men taken out of the launch, and Swinburne and the other men bound up their wounds, and made them as comfortable as they could.
