Prisoners and Captives

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Contents

I. Dead Waters 9

II. Against Orders. 20

III. Home 31

Chapter I. Dead Waters

The march of civilization has turned its steps aside from certain portions of the world. Day by day certain southern waters find themselves more and more forsaken.

The South Atlantic, the high-road of the world at one time, is now a by-lane.

One afternoon, some years ago, the copper-bright rays of a cruel sun burnt the surface of the tepid ocean. The stillness of the atmosphere was phenomenal, even in the latitudes where a great calm reigns from month to month. It is almost impossible to present to northern eyes this picture of a southern sea gleaming beneath a sun which had known no cloud for weeks ; impossible to portray the brilliant monotony of it all with any degree of reality to the imagination of those who only know our white-flecked heavens. Those who live up north in the cool '' fifties " can scarcely realize the state of an atmosphere where the sun rises day by day, week in week out, unclouded from the straight horizon ; sails right overhead, and at last sinks westward undimmed by thinnest vapor. Month after month, year after year, ay ! century after century, this day's work is performed. The scorching orb of light rises at the same monotonous hour and sets, just as he did when this world was one vast ocean, with but one ship sailing on it.

From the dark mysterious depths of the ocean wavering ripples mounting in radiation to the surface, broke at times the blue uniformity of its bosom. Occasionally a delicate nautilus floated along before some unappreciable breath, presently to fold its sails and disappear. Long trailers of seaweed floated idly almost seemed to be eru dowed with a sinuous life and movement.

No bird in the air, no fish in the sea ! Nothing to break the awful silence ! A wreck might float and drift, here or there, upon these aimless waters for years together and never be found.

But Chance, the fickle, ruled that two vessels should break the monotony of sea and sky on this particular afternoon, as I have said, some years ago. One, a mighty structure, with tall tapering masts, perfect in itself, an ideal merchantman. The other, small, of exquisite yacht-like form, and with every outward sign of a great speed obtainable.

There was obviously something amiss with the larger vessel. Instead of white sails aloft on every spar, bare poles and slack ropes stood nakedly against the blue ether. In a region of calms and light winds the merchantman had only her topsails set.

In contrast the other carried every foot of canvas.' Carried it literally ; for the white cloth hung mostly idre, only at times flapping softly to a breath of air that was not felt on deck. Even this was sufficient to move the little vessel through the water, which rippled past her copper-sheathed bows in long unctuous streamers. Wi^:h her tremendous spread of canvas the merchantman might perhaps have made a little weigh, but under heavy topsails

Dead Waters. ii

she lay like a log. Since dawn the smaller vessel had been steadily, though very slowly, decreasing the distance between them, and now there were signs of activity on her deck, as though a boat were about to be lowered. Across the silent waters trilled the call of a boatswain's whistle, but this confirmation would have been unnecessary to the veriest tyro in nautical matters. The vessel was plainly a man-of-war. As a matter of fact, she was one of the quick-sailing schooners built and designed by the British Government for the suppression of slave-trade on the West Coast of Africa.

Every knob of brass gleamed in the sun, every inch of deck was holystoned as white as milk. Aloft no rope was frayed, no seizing adrift. It was easy to see that this trim vessel carried a large crew under strict discipline ; and in that monotonous life the very discipline must itself have been a relief.

And now the melodious song of sailors hauling together, floated through the glittering air to the great vessel of the dead. No answering cry was heard — no expectant faces peered over the black bulwarks. The signal flags, " Do you want help ? " hung unnoticed, unanswered, from the mast of the little vessel. The scene was suggestive of that fable telling of a mouse proffering aid to a lion. The huge still merchantman could have taken the slave-catcher upon its broad decks.

Presently a boat left the smaller vessel and skimmed over the water, impelled by sharp regular strokes. The sound of the oars alone broke the silence of nature.

In the stern of the boat sat a square-shouldered little man, whose brown face and glistening chestnut beard, close-cropped to a point, were pleasantly suggestive of cleanly English refinement, combined with a readiness of resource and a cheery equanimity which are learnt more readily on British decks than elsewhere. His pleasant eyes were scarcely hazel, and yet could not be described as gray, because the two colors were mixed. The clean curve of his nose was essentially of Devonshire origin.

As the boat approached the great merchantman, this officer formed his two hands into a circle and raised his practised voice.

" Ahoy— there I "

There was no reply, and a moment or two later the small boat swung in beneath the high bulwarks. There was a rope hanging almost to the water, and after testing its powers, with a quick jerk the young fellow scrambled up the ship's side like a monkey. Three of the boat's crew prepared to follow him.

He sat for a moment balanced on the blistered rail, and then leaped lightly down on to the deck. This was of a light green, for moss had grown there in wet weather only to be parched by a subsequent sun. Between the planks the pitched had oozed up and glistened like jet, in some places the seasoned wood had warped.

He stood for a moment alone amidst the tangled ropes, and there were beads of perspiration on his brown forehead. It is no pleasant duty to board a derelict ship, for somewhere or other there will probably be an unpleasant sight, such as is remembered through the remainder of the beholder's life.

There was something crude and hard in the entire picture — di cynical contrast, such as a Frenchman loves to put upon his canvas. In the merciless, almost shadowless, light of a midday sun every detail stood out in hard outline. The perfect ship, with its forlorn, bedraggled deck ; the clean spars towering up into the heavens, with their loose cordage, their clumsily-furled sails ; and upon the moss-grown deck this square-shouldered little officer —

Dead Waters. 13

trim, seaman-like, prompt amidst the universal slackness — ^the sun gleaming on his white cap and gilt buttons.

While he stood for a moment hesitating, he heard a strange, unknown sound. It was more like the rattle in a choking man's throat than anything else that he could think of. He turned quickly, and stood gazing upon the saddest sight he had yet seen in all his life. Over the tangled ropes th^ gaunt figure of a white dog was creeping towards him. This poor dumb brute was most piteous and heartrending ; for the very dumbness of its tongue endowed its bloodshot staring eyes with a heaven-born eloquence.

As it approached there came from its throat a repetition of the sickening crackle. The young officer stooped over it with kindly word and caress. Then, and then only, did he realize that the black and shriveled object hanging from its open lips was naught else but the poor brute's tongue. This was more like a piece of dried-up leather than living flesh.

" Water ! " said the officer quickly to the man climbing over the rail behind him.

Some moments elapsed before the small beaker was handed up from the boat, and during these the officer moistened his finger at his own lips, touching the dog's tongue tenderly and skilfully.

" Look after the poor brute," he said to the man, who at length brought the water. " Don't give him too much at first."

A slight feeling of relief had come over them all. For some reason, they concluded, the vessel had been abandoned, and in the hurry of departure the dog had been left behind.

With a lighter step he walked aft, and climbed the brass-bound companion-ladder leading to the raised poop, while two of the boat's crew followed upon his heels.

Upon the upper deck he stopped suddenly, and the color left his lips. His face was so sunburnt that no other change was possible. Thus the three men stood in silence. There, at the wheel, upon an ordinary kitchenchair, sat a man. His two hands clutched the brass-bound spokes ; his head lay prone upon his arms. A large Panama hat completely hid his features, and the wide graceful brim touched his bent shoulders.

As the stately vessel slowly rocked upon the glassy sweep of rolling wave — ^the echo of some far-off storm in other waters — ^the great wheel jerked from side to side, swaying the man's body with it. From one muscular arm the shirt-sleeve had fallen back, displaying sinews like cords beneath the skin. Here was Death steering a dead ship through lifeless waters.

And yet in the dramatic picture there was a strange sense of purpose. The man was lashed to the chair. If life had left him, this lonely mariner had at least fought a good fight. Beneath the old Panama hat an unusual brain had at one time throbbed and planned and conceived a purpose. This was visible in the very simplicity of his environments, for he was at least comfortable. Some biscuits lay upon the grating beside him — there was bunting on the seat and back of the chair — while the rope loosely knotted round his person seemed to indicate that sleep, and perhaps death, had been provided for and foreseen.

Gently and with excusable hesitation the English naval officer raised the brim of the large hat and displayed the face of a living man. There could be no doubt about it. The strong British face bore the signs of perfect health — the brown hair and closely-cropped beard were glossy with life.

*' He's asleep ! " whispered one of the sailors — a young man who had not known discipline long.

Dead Waters. iS

This statement, if informal, was at least correct ; for the steersman of the great vessel was peacefully slumbering, alone on an abandoned ocean, beneath the blaze of anequatorial sun.

" Hulloa, my man ! Wake up ! " called out the young officer, clapping the sleeper on the back.

The effect was instantaneous. The sleeper of)ened his eyes and rose to his feet simultaneously, releasing himself from the rope which was hitched over the back of his chair. Despite ragged shirt and trousers, despite the old Panama hat with its limp brim, despite bare feet and tarry hands, there was something about this sailor which placed him on a par — not with the able-seamen standing openmouthed before him — but with the oflficer. These social distinctions are too subtle for most of us. We can feel them, but to explain is beyond us. We recognize a gentleman, but we can in no wise define one. One may meet a gentleman in the forecastle of a coasting schooner, but he would be sadly out of place in a ball-room. Again the spurious article is to be found in a ball-room, and he would still be a cad had his lines been cast in the forecastle of a coasting-schooner.

This sailor's action was perfectly spontaneous and natural as he faced the officer. It was an unconscious assertion of social equality.

" An English officer ! " he exclaimed, holding out his hand. " 1 am glad to see the uniform again."

The small man nodded his head without speaking, but he grasped the brown hand somewhat ceremoniously. The form of greeting was also extended to the two seamen by the ragged sailor.

*' Are you in command of this vessel ? " inquired Lieutenant Grace, looking round critically.

** I am — at present. I shipped as second mate, but have now the honor of being captain . . . crew . . . and . . . bottle-washer."

The men moved away looking about them curiously. The younger made for the deck-house, seeking the companion-way below.

" Halloa ! " exclaimed the solitary mariner, '* where are your men going to ? Hold hard there, you fellows ! Let me go down first."

The stoutly-built little officer held up a warning hand to his men, which had the effect of stopping abruptly their investigations. Then he turned and looked keenly into his companion's face. The glance was returned with the calm speculation of a man who had not yet found his moral match.

" Yellow fever ? " interrogated Grace.

"Yellow fever," answered the other, with a short nod.

" I ain't afeerd of Yellow Jack ! " said one of the seamen who had approached.

" That I can quite well believe, but it is useless to run an unnecessary risk. I will go first."

Suiting the action to the word, he led the way, and the young officer followed closely. The latter was vaguely conscious of a certain strain in this man's manner, as if his nerves were at an undue tension. His eyes were those of a person overwrought in mind or body, and Lieutenant Grace watched him very keenly.

At the head of the companion-ladder the sailor stopped.

" What is to-day ? " he inquired, abruptly.

" Thursday."

They were standing close together, and the short man looked up uneasily into his companion's face.

*' Why do you inquire ? " he said, gently.

Dead Waters. 17

'* It was Tuesday when I lashed myself to that chair. I must have been sleeping forty-eight hours."

*' And you have had no food since then ? "

" I don't know. I really cannot tell you. I remember taking the wheel at midday on Tuesday ; since then I don't exactly know what I have done."

The little officer had a peculiar way of looking at persons who were addressing him. It gave one the impression that he was searching for a fuller meaning in the eyes than that vouchsafed by the tongue alone.

He made no reply, but stepping closer to his companion he placed his arm around him.

*' You are a little overdone/' he said. " I imagine you have been too long without food. Just sit down on these steps and I will get you something."

The other man smiled in a peculiar way and put the proffered arm aside in such a manner as to remove any suspicion of ridicule at the idea of aid coming from such a quarter.

" Oh, no," he answered, " I am all right. It is just a little giddiness — ^the effect of this hot sun, no doubt. There is some brandy down below. I am a great believer in brandy."

He had descended the brass-bound steps, and as he spoke the last words he led the way into the saloon. A sail had been cast over the open skylight, so that the full glare of day failed to penetrate into the roomy cabin. Uppn the oilcloth-covered table lay a rolled sheet of brown paper in the rough form of a torch, and beside it a box of matches.

"I burn brown pai>er," said the sailor, quietly, as he struck a light and ignited the paper — *' it is the only disinfectant I have left.'*

" By God — you need it ! " exclaimed the officer in his handlcerchief.

In the meantime the other had advanced farther into the cabin. Upon the floor, beyond the table, with their heads resting upon the hatch of the lazarette, lay two men whose forms were distinguishable beneath the dusky sheets cast over them.

" Those are the last of nineteen,*' said the ragged man, waving aside the acrid smoke. " I have buried seventeen myself — ^and nursed nineteen. That is the steward, this the first mate. They quarreled when they were . . . alive. It seems to be made up now ... eh ? I did my best, but the more I got to know of yellow fever the greater was my respect for it. I nursed them to the best of my knowledge, and then I . . . played parson."

He pointed to an open Bible lying on the floor, and a ghastly grin flickered across his face.

The little officer was watching him with that peculiar and continuous scrutiny which has already been noticed. He barely glanced at the Bible or at the still forms beneath the unwashed sheet. All his attention was concentrated upon the survivor.

" And now," he said, deliberately, " if you will kindly go on board the Foam^ I shall take charge of this ship."

They stood looking at each other. It is rather a difficult task for a small man to look up into a face that is considerably above him, with a continued dignity, but this square-shouldered representative of British Majesty accomplished it with undoubted success.

"I take command of the ship," he said, soothingly; *• you are only fit for the sick-list."

Across the long and sunken face there gleamed again an unpleasant smile — a mere contraction of the features, for

Dead Waters. 19

the eyes remained terribly solemn. Then he looked round the cabin in a dreamy way and moved towards the base of the mizzenmast.

" I have navigated her almost single-handed for a fortnight," he said ; " I am • . . glad you came."

Then the officer led him away from the cabin.

CHAPTER 11.

AGAINST ORDERS.

This is no record of horrors. It is not my intention to expatiate upon the interior of a fever-stricken ship, found in the midst of a torrid ocean. There are many of us who seem to labor under the impression that in telling our woes, detailing our sorrows and describing such unpleasant sights as have come before us, we are in some vague way fulfilling a social duty. But upon reflection it will appear manifest that the love of notoriety which is in these days more than ever prominent among human motives, has a great share in the work of beneficence. For instance, I take absolutely no interest in the death-bed scene of the late spouse of my washerwoman, but that afflicted female never fails to seize such opportunities as present themselves to detail most harrowing incidents of such a nature. She is an intelligent woman, and it seems scarcely probable that she should imagine me to be greatly interested or impressed — ^therefore one is forced to come to the conclusion that her motive is simply to demonstrate that by reason of her sorrows she is quite different from other slaves of the wash-tub. Even in the laundry the love of notoriety hovers in the atmosphere.

It is, however, questionable whether that fame which might attach itself to the display of an intimate knowledge of the horrors and revulsions of yellow fever is worth striving after ; and it is quite certain that no man, woman^ or child is the better for the i>erusal of such matters.

Among the many peculiar characteristics of the generation ornamented by ourselves, there is a growing love for the investigation of the seamy side. Young girls seek realism in hospitals, young men read and write realistic books. Now, this so-called realism is no new thing. It was there when the Psalms were written, but in those days writers and poets had the good taste and the wisdom to slur over it.

Nor is this a seafaring record. The good ship Martial has been introduced here because her deck was the meeting-place of two men, whose lives having hitherto been cast in very different places, drifted at last together upon the broad waters in precisely the same aimless, incomprehensible way that the two vessels found each other upon the breathless ocean.

In life as in the Gulf of Guinea there are many currents drawing us back when the wind is fair, urging us insensibly onwards when we think our progress slow ; and like ships upon the sea we drift together, and in the night-time lose each other again without definite rhyme or reason.

From the moment that the ragged steersman opened his mournful gray eyes and looked upon the sunburnt face of Lieutenant Grace, he had felt himself insensibly drawn towards his rescuer. This feeling was not the mere sense of gratitude which was naturally awakened, but something stronger. It was almost a conviction that this chance meeting on the deck of a fever-stricken ship was something more than an incident. It was a beginning — ^the beginning of a new influence upon his life.

When Grace laid his sunburnt hand upon the sleeper's shoulder he had felt pleasantly conscious of a contact which had further import than mere warm flannel and living muscle. It was distinctly sympathetic in its influence, for there is a meaning in touch. All hands are not the same within the grasp of our fingers.

As the two men emerged on deck the officer turned towards his companion.

*' In another hour," he said, *' that small dog would have been dead."

"Ah 1 you've saved him ? " exclaimed the other, with a sudden change of manner — a change which the first speaker had in some degree expected. They were beginning to understand each other, these two, for sailors soon read the hearts of men ; and it will be generally found that he who loves a dog is the first to discover a similar love in the heart of another.

*' Yes ! He will recover. I know dogs."

** He's had no water since Tuesday."

*' He looked rather like it. Tell me — do you feel better after that brandy ? "

'* Yes ; thanks," replied the big man with a slow smile.

" Come, then. We will go on board my ship and report to the old man, while you get a meal — some soup I should think will be best. You will have to be careful." .

He led the way aft, towards the rail where the men, having found a rope-ladder, were lowering it over the side. Before reaching them he turned.

"By the way," he said, quietly, " what Is your name ? "

" Tyars— Claud Tyars."

*' Claud Tyars," repeated the little officer musingly, as if searching in his mind for some recollection. '* There was a Tyars in the Cambridge boat two years ago — a Trinity man."

" Yes— there was."

Lieutenant Grace looked up in his singular, searching way.

'* You are the man ? *'

" I am the man."

With a little nod the young officer continued his way. They did not speak again until they were seated in the gig on the way towards the Foam.

" 1 had a cousin," the officer remarked then in a cheerfully conversational manner, '' at Cambridge. He would be a contemporary of yours. My name is Grace."

The rescued man acknowledged this neat introduction with a grave nod.

** 1 remember him well," he replied. ** A great mathematician."

" I believe he was," answered Grace. He was looking towards his ship, which was now near at hand. The crew were grouped amidships, peering over the rail, while a tall old man on the quarterdeck, stopping in his meditative promenade occasionally, watched their approach with the aid of a pair of marine glasses.

" The skipper is on the lookout for us," continued the young officer in a low tone of voice requiring no reply.

'* A slaver ? " inquired Tyars, following the direction of his companion's eyes.

" Yes ; a slaver, and the quickest ship upon the coast."

Propelled by strong and willing arms the boat soon reached the yacht-like vessel, and in a few minutes Claud Tyars was repeating his story to her captain — ^a genial, white-haired, red-faced old sailor.

Lieutenant Grace was present, and certain entries were made in the log-book. The two servants of her Majesty were prompt and businesslike in their questions. Tyars had taken the precaution of bringing the log-book. of the Martial, in which the deaths of the whole crew excepting himself were faithfully recorded. The proceedings were ship-shape and businesslike, but as the story progressed the old commander became more and more interested, to the detriment of his official punctilio. When at last Tyars finished his narrative with the words —

" And this afternoon Lieutenant Grace found me asleep on the wheel," the old sailor leant forward across the little cabin-table, and extended an unsteady, curved hand.

*' Your hand, sir. I should like to take by the hand a man with such a record as yours. You have done a wonderful thing in navigating that ship almost single-handed as far as this. In nursing the poor fellows you have acted with the tenderness of a woman ; in the management of your ship you have proved yourself a good sailor, and in your marvelous pluck you have shown yourself an English gentleman — ^for such I think you must be, though you shipped as second mate of a merchantman."

Tyars took the proffered hand, smiling his slow, unconsciously mournful smile.

"But," he saidj. calmly ignoring the interrogation of the old man's glance, " you must not give me the whole credit. There are other records as good as mine, but they are finished, and so the interest suffers. Some of the men behaved splendidly. One poor fellow actually dropped dead at the wheel, refusing to go below until it was too late. He knew it was hopeless, but he took a peculiar sort of pride in dying with his fingers round the spokes. There was only one coward on board, and I am glad to say he was not an Englishman."

" Now, what was he ? " asked the old sailor, who, being of a school almost extinct to-day, upheld the Anglo-Saxon race far above all other nations.

" That is hardly a fair question/' interposed the more modern first officer.

" A German," answered Tyars, shortly.

Then the young surgeon of the Foam appeared and took charge of his second patient ; for the terrier " Muggins " had, by Tyars' request, been attended to first.

In the quiet days that followed, the rescued man and his dog recovered from the effects of their hardship with wonderful rapidity. Youth is the greatest healer of wounds, fatigue, or hardship that the frame, human or canine, can well desire, and in this matter Muggins had a decided disadvantage of his master. He was older as a dog than Tyars as a man ; moreover his hardships had been greater, for thirst is a terrible enemy and leaves his mark deep-sunken. It is not for us to say that the man suffered mentally, which the dog could not do. Tyars had passed through a most trying period, but Providence had chosen to place within his broad chest a heart semi-indifferent, semi-stubborn — ^the hard heart of a fearless man. In his place nine out of ten would have lost their reason ; Grace found him as nearly hysterical as a strong will could well be.

Many there are who will say that Muggins escaped this, that his hardships were purely physical. Some would perhaps go so far as to assert that he could in no way participate in the gloom of the striken crew — that to his unreasoning mind the melancholy ceremonies that took place almost daily on the main deck, were of no greater import than the discharge of cargo over the ship's side. All that there is to record is that he attended every funeral, standing gravely by the ship's bulwark, with his strong lithe legs trembling perceptibly. Nor did he after the ominous splash scamper aft with a cheery bark to peer out under the stem-rail, as he did when the steward threw away his refuse. I think Muggins knew what the roughly-sewn canvas hid from view. It is my opinion, that as the great ship glided slowly forward through the becalmed waters, sowing in her wake the grains of that human seed which the Anglo-Saxon race delights to cast abroad in many strange places, the dog knew that the hand of God was upon the good merchantman Martial. I believe that he, in his dumb way, fought his small fjght among the men fighting their greater battles; reasoning in his lesser way, and trusting, as bravely as they trusted that a better time was coming.

Muggins was naturally of a grave and thoughtful habit, inclining perhaps to melancholy during the morning hours, when his so-called betters are equally liable to pensiveness. In his life there had been a great break, and it is just possible that his sadness of demeanor was to be ascribed in some degree to dyspeptic symptoms. No dog had rejoiced more thankfully in ratty sedges, in succulent grasses, and other botanical delicacies ; and now behold I he was a seafarer. This had been the break in his life. Although he accepted the sea and its privations with the philosophic calm inherent in all bull-terriers, he made no pretensions to being a sailor. He could not bring himself to contemplate the Martial as other than a mere conveyance. Her deck-work and cabin fittings possessed in their familiarity no homelike sympathy ; and in bad weather, life from Muggins' sea-water-ridden point of view was w^ hardly worth the living.