07 I Go to Sea in the Brig (Kidnapped)

01CHAPTER VII.

02I go to see in the brig covenant of Dysart.

03I came to myself in darkness, in great pain, bound hand and foot, and deafened by many unfamiliar noises.

04There sounded in my ears a roaring of water, as of a huge mill-dam, the thrashing of heavy sprays, the thundering of the sails, and the shrill cries of seamen.

05The whole world now heaved giddily up, and now rushed giddily downward.

06And so sick and hurt was I in body, and my mind so much confounded, that it took me a long while, chasing my thoughts up and down, and ever stunned again by a fresh stab of pain, to realize that I must be lying somewhere bound in the belly of that unlucky ship, and that the wind must have strengthened to a gale.

07With a clear perception of my plight there fell upon me a blackness of despair, a horror of remorse at my own folly, and a passion of anger at my uncle, that once more bereft me of my senses.

08When I returned again to life, the same uproar, the same confused and violent movements, shook and deafened me, and presently, to my other pains and distresses, there was added the sickness of an unused landsman on the sea.

09In that time of my adventurous youth I suffered many hardships, but none that was so crushing to my mind and body, or lit by so few hopes as these first hours aboard the brig.

10I heard a gun-fire, and supposed the storm had proved too strong for us and we were firing signals of distress.

11The thought of deliverance, even by death in the deep sea, was welcome to me.

12Yet it was no such matter, but, as I was afterwards told, a common habit of the captain's, which I here set down to show that even the worst man may have his kindlier side.

13We were then passing, it appeared, within some miles of Dysart, where the brig was built, and where old Mrs.

14Hoeseason, the captain's mother, had come some years before to live, and whether outward or inward bound, the covenant was never suffered to go by that place by day, without a gun fired and colours shown.

15I had no measure of time.

16Day and night were alike in that ill-smelling cavern of the ship's bowels, where I lay, and the misery of my situation drew out the hours to double.

17How long, therefore, I lay waiting to hear the ship split upon some rock, or to feel her reel head foremost into the depths of the sea, I have not the means of computation.

18But sleep at length stole from me the consciousness of sorrow.

19I was awakened by the light of a hand-lantern shining in my face.

20A small man of about thirty, with green eyes and a tangle of fair hair, stood looking down at me.

21"'Well,' said he, "'how goes it?' I answered by a sob, and my visitor then felt my pulse and temples, and set himself to wash and dress the wound upon my scalp.

22"'Aye,' said he, "'a sore dun't.

23What, man, cheer up?

24The world's no dun.

25You've made a bad start of it, but you'll make a better.

26Have you had any meat?' I said I could not look at it, and thereupon he gave me some brandy and water in a tin panikin, and left me once more to myself.

27The next time he came to see me I was lying betwixt sleep and waking, my eyes wide open in the darkness.

28The sickness quite departed, but succeeded by a horrid giddiness in swimming that were almost worse to bear.

29I ached, besides, in every limb, and the cords that bound me seemed to be of fire.

30The smell of the hole in which I lay seemed to have become a part of me, and during the long interval since his last visit I had suffered tortures of fear, now from the scurrying of the ship's rats that sometimes pattered on my very face, and now from the dismal imaginings that haunt the bed of fever.

31The glimmer of the lantern, as a trap opened, shone in like the heaven's sunlight, and though it only showed me the strong dark beams of the ship that was my prison, I could have cried aloud for gladness.

32The man with the green eyes was the first to descend the ladder, and I noticed that he came somewhat unsteadily.

33He was followed by the captain.

34Neither said a word, but the first sat to and examined me, and dressed my wound as before, while Ho-Season looked me in my face with an odd black look.

35Now, sir, you see for yourself, said the first, a high fever, no appetite, no light, no meat, you see for yourself what that means.

36I am no conjurer, Mr.

37Riach, said the captain.

38Give me leave, sir, said Riach.

39You have a good head upon your shoulders, and a good Scotch tongue to ask with, but I will leave you no manner of excuse.

40I want that boy taken out of this hole, and put in the forecastle.

41What you may want, sir, is a matter of concern to nobody but yourself, returned the captain, but I can tell you that which is to be.

42Here he is, here he shall bide.

43Admitting that you have been paid in proportion, said the other, I will crave leave humbly to say that I have not.

44Paid I am, and none too much, to be the second officer of this old tub, and you can very well if I do my best to earn it, but I was paid for nothing more.

45If ye could hold back your hand from the tin-pan, Mr.

46Riach, I would have no complaint to make of you, returned the skipper, and instead of asking riddles, I make bold to say that you would hold your breath to cool your porridge.

47We'll be required on deck, he added in a sharper note, and set one foot upon the ladder.

48But Mr.

49Riach caught him by the sleeve.

50Admitting that you have been paid to do a murder, he began.

51Ho-Season turned upon him with a flash.

52What's that?

53he cried.

54What kind of talk is that?

55It seems it is the talk that you can understand, said Mr.

56Riach, looking him steadily in the face.

57Mr.

58Riach, I have sailed with ye three cruises, replied the captain.

59In all that time, sir, ye should have learned to know me.

60I'm a stiff man, and a dour man, but for what ye say the now, fie, fie, it comes from a bad heart and a black conscience.

61If ye say the lad will die—' "'Ay, he will,' said Mr.

62Riach.

63"'Well, sir, is that not enough?' said Ho-Season.

64"'Flit him where ye please.' Thereupon the captain ascended the ladder, and I, who had lain silent throughout this strange conversation, beheld Mr.

65Riach turn after him as low as to his knees in what was plainly a spirit of derision.

66Even in my then state of sickness I perceived two things—that the mate was touched with liquor, as the captain hinted, and that, drunk or sober, he was like to prove a valuable friend.

67Five minutes afterwards my bonds were cut, I was hoisted on a man's back, carried up to the forecastle, and laid in a bunk on some sea-blankets, where the first thing that I did was to lose my senses.

68It was a blessed thing, indeed, to open my eyes again upon the daylight, and to find myself in the society of men.

69The forecastle was a roomy place enough, set all about with berths, in which the men of the watch below were seated smoking, or lying down asleep.

70The day being calm and the wind fair, the scuttle was open, and not only the good daylight, but from time to time, as the ship rolled, a dusty beam of sunlight shone in, and dazzled and delighted me.

71I had no sooner moved, moreover, than one of the men brought me a drink of something healing, which Mr.

72Riach had prepared, and bade me lie still, and I should soon be well again.

73There were no bones broken, he explained.

74The clower on the head were nothing.

75Man, said he, it was me that gave it you.

76Here I lay for the space of many days a close prisoner, and not only got my health again, but came to know my companions.

77They were a rough lot, indeed, as sailors mostly are, being men rooted out of all the kindly parts of life, and condemned to toss together on the rough seas with masters no less cruel.

78There were some among them that had sailed with the pirates, and seen things it would be a shame even to speak of.

79Some were men that had run from the king's ships, and went with a halter round their necks, of which they made no secret, and all, as the saying goes, were at a word and a blow with their best friends.

80Yet I had not been many days shut up with them before I began to be ashamed of my first judgment, when I had drawn away from them at the ferry pier, as though they had been unclean beasts.

81No class of man is altogether bad, but each has its own faults and virtues, and these shipmates of mine were no exception to the rule.

82Rough they were, sure enough, and bad, I suppose, but they had many virtues.

83They were kind when it occurred to them, simple even beyond the simplicity of a country lad like me, and had some glimmerings of honesty.

84There was one man, of maybe forty, that would sit on my berthside for hours and tell me of his wife and child.

85He was a fisher that had lost his boat, and thus been driven to the deep sea voyaging.

86Well, it is years ago now, but I have never forgotten him.

87His wife, who was young by him, as he often told me, waited in vain to see her man return.

88He would never again make the fire for her in the morning, nor yet keep the baron when she was sick.

89Indeed, many of these poor fellows, as the event proved, were upon their last cruise.

90The deep seas and cannibal fish receive them, and it is a thankless business to speak ill of the dead.

91Among other good deeds that they did, they returned my money, which had been shared among them, and though it was about a third short, I was very glad to get it, and hoped great good from it in the land I was going to.

92The ship was bound for the Carolinas, and you must not suppose that I was going to that place merely as an exile.

93The trade was even then much depressed, since that, and with the rebellion of the colonies and the formation of the United States, it has, of course, come to an end.

94But in those days of my youth, white men were still sold into slavery on the plantations, and that was the destiny to which my wicked uncle had condemned me.

95The cabin-boy Ransom, from whom I had first heard of these atrocities, came in at times from the roundhouse, where he birthed and served, now nursing a bruised limb in silent agony, now raving against the cruelty of Mr.

96Shuan.

97It made my heart bleed, but the men had a great respect for the chief mate, who was, as they said, the only seaman of the whole Jing Bang, and none such a bad man when he was sober.

98Indeed, I found there was a strange peculiarity about our two mates, that Mr.

99Riach was sullen, unkind and harsh when he was sober, and Mr.

100Shuan would not hurt a fly, except when he was drinking.

101I asked about the captain, but I was told drink made no difference upon that man of iron.

102I did my best in the small time allowed me to make something like a man, or rather, I should say, something like a boy, of the poor creature Ransom.

103But his mind was scarce truly human.

104He could remember nothing of the time before he came to sea, only that his father had made clocks, and had a starling in the parlour, which could whistle the north country.

105All else had been blotted out in these years of hardship and cruelties.

106He had a strange notion of the dry land, picked up from sailors' stories, that it was a place where lads were put to some kind of slavery called a trade, and where apprentices were continually lashed and clapped into foul prisons.

107In a town he thought every second person a decoy, and every third house a place in which seamen would be drugged and murdered.

108To be sure I would tell him how kindly I had myself been used upon that dry land he was so much afraid of, and how well fed and carefully taught, both by my friends and my parents.

109And if he had been recently hurt, he would weep bitterly and swear to run away.

110But if he was in his usual crack-brain humour, or, still more, if he had had a glass of spirits in the round-house, he would deride the notion.

111It was Mr.

112Riach, heaven forgive him, who gave the boy drink, and it was, doubtless, kindly meant.

113But besides that it was ruin to his health.

114It was the pitifulest thing in life to see this unhappy, unfriended creature staggering, and dancing, and talking he knew not what.

115Some of the men laughed, but not all.

116Others would grow as black as thunder, thinking perhaps of their own childhood, or their own children, and bid him stop that nonsense, and think what he was doing.

117As for me, I felt ashamed to look at him, and the poor child still comes about me in my dreams.

118All this time, you should know, the Covenant was meeting continual head-winds, and tumbling up and down against head-seas, so that the scuttle was almost constantly shut, and the forecastle lighted only by a swinging lantern on a beam.

119There was constant labour for all hands.

120The sails had to be made and shortened every hour, the strain told on the men's temper.

121There was a growl of quarrelling all day, long from birth to birth, and as I was never allowed to set my foot on deck, you can picture to yourselves how weary of my life I grew to be, and how impatient for a change.

122And a change I was to get, as you shall hear, but I must first tell of a conversation I had with Mr.

123Riach, which put a little heart in me to bear my troubles.

124Getting him in a favourable stage of drink, for indeed he never looked near me when he was sober, I pledged him to secrecy, and told him my whole story.

125He declared it was like a ballad, that he would do his best to help me, that I should have paper, pen, and ink, and write one line to Mr.

126Campbell, and another to Mr.

127Rankeiler, and that if I had told the truth, ten to one, he would be able, with their help, to pull me through and set me in my rights.

128"'And in the meantime,' says he, "'keep your heart up.

129You're not the only one, I'll tell you that.

130There's many a man hoeing tobacco overseas that should be mounting his horse at his own door at home, many and many.

131And life is all a very oram, at the best.

132Look at me.

133I'm a laird's son, and more than half a doctor, and here I am, man jacked a hoe season.' I thought it would be civil to ask him for a story.

134He whistled loud.

135"'Never had one,' said he.

136"'I like fun, that's all.' And he skipped out of the forecastle." End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter End of chapter