Tom Cringle's Log

by Michael Scott

  We were anchored nearly in the centre of a shallow swampy lagoon, about a mile across, as near as I could judge; two very large schooners, heavily armed, were moored ahead of us—one on each bow—and another, rather smaller, lay close under our stern; they all had sails bent, and everything apparently in high order, and were full of men. The shore, to the distance of a bow-shot from the water all around us, was low, marshy, and covered with an impervious jungle of thick strong reeds and wild canes, with here and there a thicket of mangroves; a little farther off, the land swelled into lofty hills, covered to the very summit with heavy timber, but everything had a moist, green, steamy appearance, as if it had been the region of perpetual rain. “Lots of yellow fever here,” thought I, as the heavy rank smell of decayed vegetable matter came off, on the faint sickly breeze, and the sluggish fog-banks crept along the dull clay-coloured motionless surface of the tepid water. The sea view was quite shut out; I looked all round and could discern no vestige of the entrance. Right ahead there was about a furlong of land cleared at the only spot which one could call a beach, that is, a hard shore of sand and pebbles. Had you tried to get ashore at any other point your fate would have been that of the Master of Ravenswood—as fatal, that is, without the gentility; for you would have been suffocated in black mud in place of clean sea-sand. There was a long shed in the centre of this cleared spot, covered in with boards, and thatched with palm leaves; it was open below, a sort of capstan-house, where a vast quantity of sails, anchors, cordage, and most kinds of sea-stores, were stowed, carefully covered over with tarpauling. Overhead there was a flooring laid along the couples of the roof, the whole length of the shed, forming a loft of nearly sixty feet long, divided by bulkheads into a variety of apartments, lit by small rude windows in the thatch, where the crews of the vessels, I concluded, were occasionally lodged during the time they might be under repair. The boat was manned, and Obed took me ashore with him.

  We landed near the shed I have described, beneath which we encountered about forty of the most uncouth and ferocious-looking rascals that my eyes had ever been blessed withal; they were of every shade, from the woolly negro and long-haired Indian, to the sallow American and fair Biscayan; and as they intermitted their various occupations of mending sails, fitting and stretching rigging, splicing ropes, making spun-yarn, coopering gun-carriages, grinding pikes and cutlasses, and filling cartridges, to look at me, they grinned and nodded to each other, and made sundry signs and gestures which made me regret many a past peccadillo that in more prosperous times I little thought on or repented of, and I internally prayed that I might be prepared to die as became a man, for my fate appeared to be sealed. The only ray of hope that shot into my mind, through all this gloom, came from the respect the thieves, one and all, paid the captain; and, as I had reaped the benefit of assuming an outward recklessness and daring, which I really did not at heart possess, I screwed myself up to maintain the same port still, and swaggered along, jabbering in my broken Spanish, right and left, and jesting even with the most infamous-looking scoundrels of the whole lot, while, God he knows, my heart was palpitating like a girl’s when she is asked to be married. Obed led the way up a ladder into the loft, where we found several messes at dinner; and, passing through various rooms, in which a number of hammocks were slung, we at length arrived at the eastern end, which was boarded off into an apartment eighteen or twenty feet square, lighted by a small port-hole in the end, about ten feet from the ground. I could see several huts from this window, built just on the edge of the high wood, where some of the country people seemed to be moving about, and round which a large flock of pigs and from twenty to thirty bullocks were grazing. All beyond, as far as the eye could reach, was one continuous forest, without any vestige of a living thing; not even a thin wreath of blue smoke evinced the presence of a fellow-creature; I seemed to be hopelessly cut off from all succour, and my heart again died within me.

  “I am sorry to say you must consider yourself a prisoner here for a few days,” said Obed.

  I could only groan.

  “But the moment the coast is clear, I will be as good as my word, and land you at St Jago.”

  I groaned again. The man was moved.

  “I would I could do so sooner,” he continued; “but you see by how precarious a tenure I hold my control over these people; therefore I must be cautious, for your sake as well as my own, or they would make little of murdering both of us, especially as the fellow who would have cut your throat this morning has many friends amongst them; above all, I dare not leave them for any purpose for some days. I must recover my seat, in which, by the necessary severity you witnessed, I have been somewhat shaken. So good-by; there is cold meat in that locker, and some claret to wash it down with. Don’t, I again warn you, venture out during the afternoon or night. I will be with you betimes in the morning. So good-by so long. Your cot, you see, is ready slung.”

  He turned to depart, when, as if recollecting himself, he stooped down, and taking hold of a ring, he lifted up a trap-door, from which there was a ladder leading down to the capstan-house.

  “I had forgotten this entrance; it will be more convenient for me in my visits.”

  In my heart I believe he intended this as a hint that I should escape through the hole at some quiet opportunity; and he was descending the ladder, when he stopped and looked round, greatly mortified, as it struck me.

  “I forgot to mention that a sentry has been placed, I don’t know by whose orders, at the foot of the ladder, to whom I must give orders to fire at you, if you venture to descend. You see how the land lies: I can’t help it.”

  This was spoken in a low tone, then aloud—”There are books on that shelf behind the canvass screen; if you can settle to them, they may amuse you.”

  He left me, and I sat down disconsolate enough. I found some Spanish books, and a volume of Lord Byron’s poetry, containing the first canto of Childe Harold, two numbers of Blackwood, and several other English books and magazines, the names of the owners on all of them being carefully erased.

  But there was nothing else that indicated the marauding life of friend Obediah, whose apartment I conjectured was now my prison, if I except a pretty extensive assortment of arms, pistols, and cutlasses, and a range of massive cases,—with iron clamps, which were ranged along one side of the room. I paid my respects to the provender and claret; the hashed chicken was particularly good; bones rather large or so, but flesh white and delicate. Had I known that I was dining upon a guana, or large wood lizard, I scarcely think I would have made so hearty a meal. Long cork, No. 2, followed ditto, No. 1; and as the shades of evening, as poets say, began to fall by the time I had finished it, I toppled quietly into my cot, said my prayers, such as they were, and fell asleep.

  It must have been towards morning, from the damp freshness of the air that came through the open window, when I was roused by the howling of a dog, a sound which always moves me. I shook myself, but before I was thoroughly awake, it ceased; it appeared to have been close under my window.

  I was turning to go to sleep again, when a female, in a small suppressed voice, sung the following snatch of a vulgar Port Royal ditty, which I scarcely forgive myself for introducing here to polite society:

  “Young hofficer come home at night,

  Him gave me ring and kisses;

  Nine months, one picaniny white,

  Him white almost like missis.

  But missis fum* my back wid switch,

  Him say de shild for massa;

  But massa say him—”

  The singer broke off suddenly, as if disturbed by the approach of some one.

  “Hush, hush, you old foolish ———” said a man’s voice, in the same low whispering tone; “you will waken de dronken sentry dere, when we shall all be put in iron. Hush, he will know my voice more better.”

  It was now clear that some one wished to attract my attention besides, I had a dreamy recollection of having heard both the male and female voices before. I listene
d, therefore, all alive. The man began to sing in the same low tone

  “Newfoundland dog love him master de morest

  Of all de dog ever I see;

  Let him starve him, and kick him, and cuff him de sorest,

  Difference none never makee to he.”

  There was a pause for a minute or two.

  “It no use,” the same voice continued; “him either no dere, or he won’t hear us.”

  “Stop,” said the female, “stop; woman head good for someting. I know who be shall hear.—Here, good dog, sing psalm; good dog, sing psalm,” and thereupon a long loud melancholy howl rose wailing through the night air.

  “If that be not my dear old dog Sneezer, it is a deuced good imitation of him,” thought I.

  The woman again spoke—”Youl leetle piece more, good dog,” and the howl was repeated.

  I was now certain. By this time I had risen and stood at the open window; but it was too dark to see anything distinctly below. I could barely distinguish two dark figures, and what I concluded was the dog sitting on end between them.

  “Who are you? what do you want with me?”

  “Speak softly, massa, speak softly, or de sentry may hear us, for all de rum I give him.”

  Here the dog recognised me, and nearly spoiled sport altogether; indeed it might have cost us our lives, for he began to bark and frisk about, and to leap violently against the end of the capstan-house, in vain endeavours to reach the window.

  “Down, Sneezer, down, sir; you used to be a dog of some sense; down.”

  But Sneezer’s joy had capsized his discretion, and the sound of my voice pronouncing his name drove him mad altogether, and he bounded against the end of the shed, like a battering-ram.

  “Stop, man, stop,” and I held down the bight of my neckcloth, with an end in each hand. He retired, took a noble run, and in a trice hooked his forepaws in the handkerchief, and I hauled him in at the window. “Now, Sneezer, down with you, sir, down with you, or your rampaging will get all our throats cut.” He cowered at my feet, and was still as a lamb from that moment. I stepped to the window. “Now, who are you, and what do you want?” said I.

  “Ah, massa, you no know me?”

  “How the devil should I? Don’t you see it is as dark as pitch?”

  “Well, massa, I will tell you; it is me, massa.”

  “I make no great doubt of that; but who may you be?”

  “Lord, you are de foolis person now; make me talk to him,” said the female. “Massa, never mind he, dat stupid fellow is my husband, and surely massa know me?”

  “Now, my very worthy friends, I think you want to make yourselves known to me; and if so, pray have the goodness to tell me your names, that is, if I can in any way serve you.”

  “To be sure you can, massa; for dat purpose I come here.”

  The woman hooked the word out of his mouth. “Yes, massa, you must know me as Nancy, and dat old stupid is my husband, Peter Mangrove, him who—”

  Here Peter chimed in—”Yes, massa, Peter Mangrove is de person you have de honour to address, and—” here he lowered his voice still more, although the whole dialogue from the commencement had been conducted in no higher tone than a loud whisper—”we have secured one big large canoe, near de mout of dis dam hole, which, wid your help, I tink we shall be able to launch troo de surf; and once in smoot water, den no fear but we shall run down de coast safely before de wind till we reach St Jago.”

  My heart jumped against my ribs. Here’s an unexpected chance, thought I. “But, Peter, how, in the name of mumbo jumbo, came you here?”

  “Why, massa, you do forget a leetle, dat I am a Creole negro, and not a naked tatooed African, whose exploits, dat is de wonderful ting him never do in him’s own country, him get embroidered and pinked in gunpowder on him breech; beside, I am a Christian gentleman like youshef; so d——n mumbo jumbo, Massa Cringle.”

  I saw where I had erred. “So say I, Peter, d——n mumbo jumbo particularly; but how came you here, man? tell me that.”

  “Why, massa, I was out in de pilot-boat schooner, wid my wife here, and five more hands, waiting for de outward bound, tinking no harm, when dem piratical rascal catch we, and carry us off. Yankee privateer bad enough; but who ever hear of pilot being carry off?—blasphemy dat—carry off pilot! Who ever dream of such a ting? every shivilized peoples respect pilot!—oh Lord”—and he groaned in spirit for several seconds.

  “And the dog?” inquired I.

  “Oh, massa, I could not leave him at home; and since you was good enough to board him wid us, he has messed wid us, ay and slept wid us; and when we started last, although he showed some dislike at going on board, I had only to say, Sneezer, we go look for you massa; and he make such a bound dat he capsize my old woman dere, heel over head; oh dear, what display, Nancy, you was exhibit!”

  “Hold your tongue, Peter; you hab no decency, you old willain.”

  “Well, but, Peter, speak out; when are we to make the attempt? where are the rest of your crew?”

  “Oh dear! oh dear! dat is de worstest; oh dear!” and he began to cry and sob like the veriest child. “Oh, massa”—after he had somewhat recovered him-self;—”Oh massa, dese people debils. Why, de make all de oder on board walk de plank, wid two ten-pound shot, one at each foot, Oh, if you had seen de clear shining blue skin, as de became leetle and leetle, and more leetler, down far in de clear green sea! Oh dear! oh dear! Only to tink dat each wavering black spot was fellow-creature like one-shef, wid de heart’s blood warm in his bosom at de very instant of time we lost sight of him for ever!”

  “God bless me,” said I; “and how did you escape, and the black dog, and the black—ahem—beg pardon—your wife I mean; how were you spared?”

  “Ah, massa! I can’t say; but bad as de were, de seemed to have a liking for brute beasts, so dem save Sneezer, and my wife, and myshef; we were de only quadrupeds saved out of de whole crew—Oh dear! oh dear!”

  “Well, well; I know enough now. I will spare you the pain of any further recital, Peter; so tell me what I am to do.”

  “Stop, massa, till I see if de sentry be still sound. I know de fellow, he was one on dem; let me see”—and I heard him through the loose flooring boards walk to the foot of the trap ladder leading up to my berth. ‘The soliloquy that followed was very curious of its kind. The negro had excited himself by a recapitulation of the cruelties exercised on his unfortunate shipmates, and the unwarrantable caption of himself and rib—a deed that in the nautical calendar would rank in atrocity with the murder of a herald or the bearer of a flag of truce. He kept murmuring to himself, as he groped about in the dark for the sentry—”Catch pilot! who ever hear of such a ting? I suppose dem would have pull down lighthouse, if dere had been any for pull.—Where is dis sentry rascal?—him surely no sober yet?”

  The sentry had fallen asleep as he leant back on the ladder, and had gradually slid down into a sitting position, with his head leaning against one of the steps, as he reclined with his back towards it, thus exposing his throat and neck to the groping paw of the black pilot.

  “Ah—here him is, snoring heavy as my Nancy—well, dronk still; no fear of him overhearing we—nice position him lie in—quite convenient—could cut his troat now—slice him like a pumpkin—de debil is surely busy wid me, Peter. I find de wery clasp-knife in my starboard pocket beginning to open of himshef.”

  I tapped on the floor with my foot.

  “Ah, tank you, Massa Tom—de debil nearly get we all in a scrape just now. However, I see him is quite sound—de sentry dat is, for de oder never sleep, you know.” He had again come under the window. “Now, lieutenant, in two word, to-morrow night at two bells, in de middle watch, I will be here, and we shall make a start of it; will you venture, sir?”

  “Will I?—to be sure I will; but why not now, Peter? why not now?”

  “Ah, massa, you no smell de daylight; near daybreak already, sir. Can’t make try dis night, but to-morrow night I shall be here punctual.�
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  “Very well, but the dog, man? If he be found in my quarters, we shall be blown, and I scarcely think he will leave me.”

  “Garamighty! true enough, massa! what is to be done? De people know de dog was catch wid me, and if he be found wid you, den de will sospect we communication togidder. What is to be done?”

  I was myself not a little perplexed, when Nancy whispered, “De dog have more sense den many Christian person. Tell him he must go wid us dis one night, no tell him dis night, else him won’t; say dis one night, and dat if him don’t, we shall all be deaded; try him, massa.”

  I had benefited by more extraordinary hints before now, although, well as I knew the sagacity of the poor brute, I could not venture to hope it would come up to the expectations of Mrs Mangrove. But I’ll try.—”Here, Sneezer, here, my boy; you must go home with Peter to-night, or we shall all get into a deuced mess; so here, my boy, here is the bight of the handkerchief again, and through the window you must go; come, Sneezer, come.”

  To my great joy and surprise, the poor dumb beast rose from where he had coiled himself at my feet, and after having actually embraced me, by putting his fore paws on my shoulders, as he stood on his hind legs, and licked my face from ear to ear, uttering a low, fondling, nuzzling sort of whine like a nurse caressing a child, he at once leapt on the window sill, put his fore paws through the handkerchief, and was dropped to the ground again. I could immediately perceive the two dark figures of the pilot and his wife, followed by the dog, glide away as noiselessly as if they had been spirits of the night, until they were lost under the shade of the thick jungle.