Peter Simple

But I had nearly forgotten to mention a circumstance which occurred on the day of our sailing, which will be eventually found to have had a great influence upon my after-life. It was this I received a letter from my father, evidently written in great vexation and annoyance, informing me that my uncle, whose wife I have already mentioned had two daughters, and was again expected to be confined, had suddenly broke up his housekeeping, discharged every servant, and proceeded to Ireland under an assumed name. No reason had been given for this unaccountable proceeding; and not even my grandfather, or any of the members of the family, had had notice of his intention. Indeed, it was by mere accident that his departure was discovered, about a fortnight after it had taken place. My father had taken a great deal of pains to find out where he was residing; but although my uncle was traced to Cork, from that town all clue was lost, but still it was supposed, from inquiries, that he was not very far from thence. “Now,” observed my father, in his letter, “I cannot help surmising, that my brother, in his anxiety to retain the advantages of a title to his own family, has resolved to produce to the world a spurious child as his own, by some contrivance or another. His wife’s health is very bad, and she is not likely to have a large family. Should the one now expected prove a daughter, there is little chance of his ever having another and I have no hesitation in declaring it my conviction, that the measure has been taken with a view of defrauding you of your chance of eventually being called to the House of Lords.”

I showed this letter to O’Brien, who, after reading it over two or three times, gave his opinion that my father was right in his conjectures. “Depend upon it, Peter, there’s foul play intended, that is, if foul play is rendered necessary.”

“But, O’Brien, I cannot imagine why, if my uncle has no son of his own, he should prefer acknowledging a son of any other person’s instead of his own nephew.”

“But I can, Peter: your uncle is not a man likely to live very long, as you know. The doctor says that, with his short neck, his life is not worth two years’ purchase. Now if he had a son, consider that his daughters would be much better off, and much more likely to get married; besides, there are many reasons which I won’t talk about now, because it’s no use making you think your uncle to be a scoundrel. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go down to my cabin directly, and write to Father McGrath, telling him the whole affair, and desiring him to ferret him out, and watch him narrowly, and I’ll bet you a dozen of claret, that in less than a week he’ll find him out, and will dog him to the last. He’ll get hold of his Irish servants, and you little know the power that a priest has in our country. Now give the description as well as you can of your uncle’s appearance, also of that of his wife, and the number of their family, and their ages. Father McGrath must have all particulars, and then let him alone for doing what is needful.”

I complied with O’Brien’s directions as well as I could, and he wrote a very long letter to Father McGrath, which was sent on shore by a careful hand. I answered my father’s letter, and then thought no more about the matter.

Our sealed orders were opened, and proved our destination to be the West Indies, as we expected. We touched at Madeira to take in some wine for the ship’s company; but as we only remained one day, we were not permitted to go on shore. Fortunate indeed would it have been if we had never gone there; for the day after, our captain, who had dined with the consul, was taken alarmingly ill. From the symptoms, the surgeon dreaded that he had been poisoned by something which he had eaten, and which most probably had been cooked in a copper vessel not properly tinned. We were all very anxious that he should recover; but, on the contrary, he appeared to grow worse and worse every day, wasting away, and dying, as they say, by inches. At last he was put in his cot, and never rose from it again. This melancholy circumstance, added to the knowledge that we were proceeding to an unhealthy climate, caused a gloom throughout the ship; and although the trade wind carried us along bounding over the bright blue sea—although the weather was now warm, yet not too warm—although the sun rose in splendour, and all was beautiful and cheering, the state of the captain’s health was a check to all mirth. Every one trod the deck softly, and spoke in a low voice, that he might not be disturbed; all were anxious to have the morning report of the surgeon, and our conversation was generally upon the sickly climate, the yellow fever, of death and the palisades where they buried us. Swinburne, the quarter-master, was in my watch, and as he had been long in the West Indies, I used to obtain all the information from him that I could.

The old fellow had a secret pleasure in frightening me as much as he could. “Really, Mr Simple, you ax so many questions,” he would say, as I accosted him while he was at his station at the conn, “I wish you wouldn’t ax so many questions, and make yourself uncomfortable—‘steady so’—‘steady it is;’—with regard to Yellow Jack, as we calls the yellow fever; it’s a devil incarnate, that’s sartain—you’re well and able to take your allowance in the morning, and dead as a herring ’fore night. First comes a bit of a headache—you goes to the doctor, who bleeds you like a pig—then you go out of your senses—then up comes the black vomit, and then it’s all over with you, and you go to the land crabs, who pick your bones as clean and as white as a sea elephant’s tooth. But there be one thing to be said in favour of Yellow Jack, a’ter all. You dies straight, like a gentleman—not cribbled up like a snow-fish, chucked out on the ice of the river St. Lawrence, with your knees up to your nose, or your toes stuck into your arm-pits, as does take place in some of your foreign complaints; but straight, quite straight, and limber, like a gentleman. Still Jack is a little mischievous, that’s sartain. In the Euridiscy we had as fine a ship’s company as was ever piped aloft—‘Steady, starboard, my man, you’re half a pint off your course;’—we dropped our anchor in Port Royal, and we thought that there was mischief brewing, for thirty-eight sharks followed the ship into the harbour, and played about us day and night. I used to watch them during the night watch, as their fins, above water, skimmed along, leaving a trail of light behind them; and the second night I said to the sentry abaft, as I was looking at them smelling under the counter—‘Soldier,’ says I, ‘them sharks are mustering under the orders of Yellow Jack;’ and I no sooner mentioned Yellow Jack, than the sharks gave a frisky plunge, every one of them, as much as to say, ‘Yes, so we are, damn your eyes.’ The soldier was so frightened, that he would have fallen overboard, if I hadn’t caught him by the scruff of the neck, for he was standing on the top of the taffrail. As it was, he dropped his musket over the stern, which the sharks dashed at from every quarter, making the sea look like fire—and he had it charged to his wages, 1 pound 15 shillings, I think. However, the fate of his musket gave him an idea of what would have happened to him, if he had fallen instead of it—and he never got on the taffrail again. ‘Steady, port—mind your helm, Smith—you can listen to my yarn all the same.’ Well, Mr Simple, Yellow Jack came, sure enough. First the purser was called to account for all his roguery. We didn’t care much about the land crabs eating him, who made so many poor dead men chew tobacco, cheating their wives and relations, or Greenwich Hospital, as it might happen. Then went two of the middies, just about your age, Mr Simple; they, poor fellows, went off in a sad hurry; then went the master—and so it went on, till at last we had no more nor sixty men left in the ship—The captain died last, and then Yellow Jack had filled his maw, and left the rest of us alone. As soon as the captain died, all the sharks left the ship, and we never saw any more of them.”

Such were the yarns told to me and the other midshipmen during the night-watches; and I can assure the reader that they gave us no small alarm. Every day that we worked our day’s work, and found ourselves so much nearer to the islands, did we feel as if we were so much nearer to our graves. I once spoke to O’Brien about it, and he laughed. “Peter,” says he, “fear kills more people than the yellow fever, or any other complaint of the West Indies. Swinburne is an old rogue, and only laughing at you. The devil’s not half so black as he’s painted—nor the yellow fever half so yellow, I presume.” We were now fast nearing the island of Barbadoes, the weather was beautiful, the wind always fair; the flying fish rose in shoals, startled by the foaming seas, which rolled away, and roared from the bows as our swift frigate cleaved through the water; the porpoises played about us in thousands—the bonetas and dolphins at one time chased the flying fish, and, at others, appeared to be delighted in keeping company with the rapid vessel. Everything was beautiful, and we all should have been happy, had it not been for the state of Captain Savage, in the first place, who daily became worse and worse, and from the dread of the hell which we were about to enter through such a watery paradise. Mr Falcon, who was in command, was grave and thoughtful; he appeared indeed to be quite miserable at the chance which would insure his own promotion. In every attention and every care that could be taken to insure quiet, and afford relief to the captain, he was unremitting; the offence of making a noise was now, with him, a greater crime than drunkenness, or even mutiny. “When within three days’ sail of Barbadoes, it fell almost calm, and the captain became much worse; and now, for the first time, did we behold the great white shark” of the Atlantic. There are several kinds of sharks, but the most dangerous are the great white shark and the ground shark. The former grows to an enormous length—the latter is seldom very long, not more than twelve feet, but spreads to a great breadth. We could not hook the sharks as they played around us, for Mr Falcon would not permit it, lest the noise of hauling them on board should disturb the captain. A breeze again sprang up. In two days we were close to the island, and the men were desired to look out for the land.

Chapter Thirty

Death of Captain Savage—His funeral—Specimen of true Barbadian born—“Sucking the monkey”—Effects of a hurricane

The next morning, having hove-to part of the night, land was discovered on the bow, and was reported by the mast-head man at the same moment that the surgeon came up and announced the death of our noble captain. Although it had been expected for the last two or three days, the intelligence created a heavy gloom throughout the ship; the men worked in silence, and spoke to one another in whispers. Mr Falcon was deeply affected, and so were we all. In the course of the morning, we ran into the island, and, unhappy as I was, I never can forget the sensation of admiration which I felt on closing with Needham Point to enter Carlisle Bay. The beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom—the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. Altogether the scene realised my first ideas of fairy land, for I thought I had never witnessed anything so beautiful. “And can this be such a dreadful place as it is described?” thought I. The sails were clewed up, the anchor was dropped to the bottom, and a salute from the ship was answered by the forts, adding to the effect of the scene. The sails were furled, the boats lowered down, the boatswain squared the yards from the jolly-boat ahead. Mr Falcon dressed, and his boat being manned, went on shore with the despatches. Then, as soon as the work was over, a new scene of delight presented itself to the sight of midshipmen who had been so long upon his Majesty’s allowance. These were the boats, which crowded round the ship, loaded with baskets of bananas, oranges, shaddocks, soursops, and every other kind of tropical fruit, fried flying fish, eggs, fowls, milk, and everything which could tempt a poor boy after a long sea voyage. The watch being called, down we all hastened into the boats, and returned loaded with treasures, which we soon contrived to make disappear. After stowing away as much fruit as would have sufficed for a dessert to a dinner given to twenty people in England, I returned on deck.

There was no other man-of-war in the bay; but my attention was directed to a beautiful little vessel, a schooner, whose fairy form contrasted strongly with a West India trader which lay close to her. All of a sudden, as I was looking at her beautiful outline, a yell rose from her which quite startled me, and immediately afterwards her deck was covered with nearly two hundred naked figures with woolly heads, chattering and grinning at each other. She was a Spanish slaver, which had been captured, and had arrived the evening before. The slaves were still on board, waiting the orders of the governor. They had been on deck about ten minutes, when three or four men, with large panama straw hats on their heads, and long rattans in their hands, jumped upon the gunnel, and in a few seconds drove them all down below. I then turned round, and observed a black woman who had just climbed up the side of the frigate. O’Brien was on deck, and she walked up to him in the most consequential manner.

“How do you do, sar? Very happy you come back again,” said she to O’Brien.

“I’m very well, I thank you, ma’am,” replied O’Brien, “and I hope to go back the same; but never having put my foot into this bay before, you have the advantage of me.”

“Nebber here before, so help me Gad! me tink I know you—me tink I recollect your handsome face—I Lady Rodney, sar. Ah, piccaninny buccra! how you do?” said she turning round to me. “Me hope to hab the honour to wash for you, sar,” curtsying to O’Brien.

“What do you charge in this place?”

“All the same price, one bit a piece.”

“What do you call a bit?” inquired I.

“A bit, lilly massa?—what you call um bit? Dem four sharp shins to a pictareen.”

Our deck was now enlivened by several army officers, besides gentlemen residents, who came off to hear the news. Invitations to the mess and to the houses of the gentlemen followed, and as they departed, Mr Falcon returned on board. He told O’Brien and the other officers, that the admiral and squadron were expected in a few days, and that we were to remain in Carlisle Bay, and refit immediately.

But although the fright about the yellow fever had considerably subsided in our breasts, the remembrance that our poor captain was lying dead in the cabin was constantly obtruding. All that night the carpenters were up making his coffin, for he was to be buried the next day. The body is never allowed to remain many hours unburied in the tropical climates, where putrefaction is so rapid. The following morning the men were up at daylight, washing the decks and putting the ship in order; they worked willingly, and yet with a silent decorum which showed what their feelings were. Never were the decks better cleaned, never were the ropes more carefully flemished down; the hammocks were stowed in their white cloths, the yards carefully squared, and the ropes hauled taut. At eight o’clock the colours and pennant were hoisted half-mast high. The men were then ordered down to breakfast, and to clean themselves. During the time that the men were at breakfast, all the officers went into the cabin to take a last farewell look at our gallant captain. He appeared to have died without pain, and there was a beautiful tranquillity in his face; but even already a change had taken place, and we perceived the necessity of his being buried so soon. We saw him placed in his coffin, and then quitted the cabin without speaking to each other. When the coffin was nailed down, it was brought up by the barge’s crew to the quarter-deck, and laid upon the gratings amidships, covered over with the Union Jack. The men came up from below without waiting for the pipe, and a solemnity appeared to pervade every motion. Order and quiet were universal, out of respect to the deceased. When the boats were ordered to be manned, the men almost appeared to steal into them. The barge received the coffin, which was placed in the stern sheets. The other boats then hauled up, and received the officers, marines, and sailors, who were to follow the procession. When all was ready, the barge was shoved off by the bow-men, the crew dropped their oars into the water without a splash, and pulled the minute stroke; the other boats followed, and as soon as they were clear of the ship, the minute guns boomed along the smooth service of the bay from the opposite side of the ship, while the yards were topped to starboard and to port, the ropes were slackened and hung in bights, so as to give the idea of distress and neglect. At the same time, a dozen or more of the men who had been ready, dropped over the sides of the ship in different parts, and with their cans of paint and brushes in a few minutes effaced the whole of the broad white riband which marked the beautiful run of the frigate, and left her all black and in deep mourning. The guns from the forts now responded to our own. The merchant ships lowered their colours, and the men stood up respectfully with their hats off, as the procession moved slowly to the landing-place. The coffin was borne to the burial-ground by the crew of the barge, followed by Mr Falcon as chief mourner, all the officers of the ship who could be spared, one hundred of the seamen walking two and two, and the marines with their arms reversed. The cortège was joined by the army officers, while the troops lined the streets, and the bands played the Dead March. The service was read, the volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we returned to the boats and pulled on board.

It then appeared to me, and to a certain degree I was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last respects to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. The yards were again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all was activity and bustle. The fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. In a day or two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. Our first business was to water the ship by rafting and towing off the casks. I was in charge of the boat again, with Swinburne as coxswain. As we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf, bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. “Now, Mr Simple,” said Swinburne “see how I’ll make them niggers scamper.” He then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger, roared out, “A shark! a shark!” for the beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. Then, when we all laughed, they called us ‘all the hangman tiefs,’ and every other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. I was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the negroes who crowded round us when we landed. They appeared such merry fellows, always laughing, chattering, singing and showing their white teeth. One fellow danced round us snapping his fingers and singing songs without beginning or end. “Eh, massa, what you say now? Me no slave—true Barbadian born, sir, Eh!

“Nebba see de dayDat Rodney run away,Nebba see um nightDat Rodney cannot fight.

“Massa, me free man, sar. Suppose you give me pictareen, drink massa health.

“Nebba see de day, boy,Pompey lickum de Caesar.

“And you nebba see de day dat de Grasshopper run on de Warrington.”

“Out of the way, you nigger!” cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask.

“Eh! who you call nigger? Me free man, and true Barbadian born. Go along, you man-of-war man.

“Man-of-war, buccra,Man-of-war, buccra.He de boy for me;Sodger, buccra,Sodger, buccra,Nebba, nebba do.Nebba, nebba do for me;Sodger give one shilling,Sailor give me two.

“Massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. You really handsome young gentleman.”

“Now, just walk off,” said Swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach.

“Eh; walk off:—

“Nebba see de day, boy,’Badian run away, boy.”

“Go, do your work, sar. Why you talk to me? Go, work, sar. I free man, and real Barbadian born.

“Negro on de shoreSee de ship come in,De buccra come on shore,Wid de hand up to de chin;Man-of-war, buccra,Man-of-war, buccra,He de boy for me,Man-of-war, buccra,Man-of-war, buccra,Gib pictareen to me.”

At this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach, rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit.

“What’s the matter with that fellow?” said I to the same negro, who continued close to me, notwithstanding Swinburne’s stick.

“Eh! call him Sam Slack, massa. He ab um tic tic fit.”

And such was apparently the case. “Stop, me cure him;” and he snatched the stick out of Swinburne’s hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy.

“Eh, Sambo!” cried he at last, quite out of breath, “you no better yet,—try again—”

He recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. Now, whether the man was shamming or whether it was real tic tic, or epileptic fit, I know not, but I never heard of such a cure for it before. I threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had offered me as to get rid of him.

“Tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all de dam niggers.” So saying, he handed the stick to Swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. We were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies, with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, “sell ebery ting.”

I perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, I did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets.

As I had never tasted it, I asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. I selected the largest.

“No, massa, dat not good for you. Better one for buccra officer.”

I then selected another, but the same objection was made—“No, massa, dis very fine milk. Very good for de ’tomac.”

I drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. As for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. But I very soon found that if good for de ’tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. They insisted that it was the sun which affected them. Very hot it certainly was, and I believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but I was convinced to the contrary, when I found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery.

When I came on board, Mr Falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that I had allowed my men to get so tipsy. I assured him that I could not tell, that I had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, I thought there could be no objection to.

Mr Falcon smiled and said, “Mr Simple, I’m an old stager in the West Indies, and I’ll let you into a secret. Do you know what ‘sucking the monkey’ means?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, I’ll tell you; it is a term used, among seamen for drinking rum out of cocoa-nuts, the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. Now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?”