CHAPTER I.

THE MUTINY.

I was nearly fifteen and my brother Tom was a little over sixteen when father died. There were no more of us, for our mother had died when I was so little that I could scarcely remember her. The only relation we had in the world was an uncle whom we had never seen and who lived in America, in the colony of the Carolinas.

Father was a British channel pilot, and Tom and I were born and had lived except for one week, all our lives, in Bristol. This I have been told is the finest city in England, though, of course, everybody knows that it is not quite so big as London. Father owned a share in a pilot boat, and he often took us out with him when he was cruising for a homeward-bound ship. We used to help the men work the boat, and we were better sailors than either of the two apprentices.

Once a man hired father to sail a new brig from Bristol round to Penzance, and we went with him. That was the one week when we did not live in Bristol, which I just mentioned. We enjoyed it very much and learned a good deal about square-rigged vessels while we were in the brig.

Pilots did not make much profit in those days, and father left us nothing except half a crown and his share of the pilot boat. Before he died he told his partners to sell his share and use the money to send Tom and me to our uncle in America. The two partners bought the share themselves for thirty pounds, which was all it was worth, for they were good honest men, and when they had paid our passage to America on the brig Swansea, they gave us two pounds ten and threepence, which was all the money that was left.

The captain of the Swansea agreed to take us as if we were gentlemen passengers. We were to live with him in the great cabin and were not to do any work. Not that we were not quite willing to work our passage, but Captain Robinson, father’s oldest partner, said, “No; it was our late pardner’s orders that you was to be sent to America, and that did not mean that you should work your way; and it shall be done accordin’ to orders, for a dead man’s wishes ought for to be carried out, providin’ it can be done; you don’t want to have ghosts a-visitin’ you.”

The Swansea was a fine brig of four hundred tons. She carried four guns on a side besides a big gun amidships. These guns were to keep off pirates, though, as it turned out, they were the very reason why we fell into the hands of pirates; for if we had not been so well armed I doubt not that we should have sailed straight to Charleston and the poor captain would have been alive at this day.

We had two mates and a crew of twelve men besides the cook and the cabin boy, so, for the size of the brig, we were strong-handed.

The captain, whose name was Fearing, was a Bristol man, who had known father for many years. He was a good, kind man, but he was not severe enough to keep a bad crew in order, and, what was worse, he often drank too much spirits, and then acted so foolishly that the men had no respect for him. I do not like to say this, because Captain Fearing was always kind to Tom and me. He was a brave man, too, and always ready to do his duty when he was sober, but it is the truth, and there is no help for it.

The mate was a smart, active seaman, but I did not like him, for I always felt that he could not be trusted. Instead of keeping spirits from the captain, he would often bring a bottle with him on deck and offer it to the poor man who could not resist the temptation to drink when the stuff was, as you might say, held up to his lips. But I had no reason to complain of the mate’s treatment of Tom and me. He was always pleasant and respectful, treating us indeed like young gentlemen, and he would sometimes tell us wonderful stories of the exploits of great pirates, such as Captain John Morgan, and other like bloody men.

The second mate, Mr. Otway, was a hard, brutal man, who was fond of knocking the men about and of using dreadful language; but one night, after we had been at sea about three weeks, he fell overboard. At least he was missing, and it was supposed he had fallen overboard, though I now believe that he was murdered by the crew.

And surely a worse crew never sailed out of Bristol. They were shipped because sailors were scarce at the time, and Captain Fearing had to take such men as he could get. They were mostly Englishmen, but a drunken, vagabond set, and there were three or four foreigners among them, Spaniards and such—wicked-looking men who were fit for any desperate work. The men obeyed Mr. Otway because they were afraid of him, and they generally treated the mate respectfully, but they would insult the captain to his face.

We had pleasant weather all the voyage, for it was the month of June, when the winter was over and the summer hurricanes had not begun. The brig was a very fast sailer, and was not heavily loaded, but I heard that her cargo was a very valuable one, although I never knew what it was.

There is a strong current called the Gulf Stream that sets up the American coast, and when we were approaching it the captain kept to the southward in order to make allowance for it; for he was not an expert navigator with instruments, and used to say that he valued dead reckoning and the hand-lead more than all the brass instruments and mathematics that were ever invented. As it afterwards turned out, he was mistaken in his reckoning, and we were much further south than we ought to have been, though I think the mate knew it all the time.

Early one morning Tom and I were awakened by a noise in the cabin, and turning out in a hurry, we found the cabin filled with men. The captain was sitting in a chair with his hands and feet tied, and the mate was standing in front of him making a speech. Nearly all the crew were there, some of them grinning and passing low jokes, but more of them looking fierce and excited. The captain was quite sober and had evidently been seized and bound while he was asleep, for he was in his night-clothes. Nobody paid any attention to Tom and me, and we tried not to attract any notice.

“I’m very sorry that this has happened, Captain Fearing,” said the mate, “for I’ve nothing in the world against you, but you must see that it’s a shame that a smart brig like the Swansea, and a stout crew should be wasted in trading when we could make our fortunes out of hand in a few months as gentlemen rovers.”

“You’re a scoundrel, John March,” replied the captain, “a mutinous, piratical hound.”

“Now, don’t use such language, Captain, for I want to be friendly with you, though, in course, I knew that you’re ruffled a bit at being lashed up in your own cabin. But it’s this way, you see. The men are determined to make a cruise or two in the brig, and as I’m the only navigator on board, except you, they naturally want me to take charge of her, knowing that you’ve a prejudice against a roving life. I’d have continued the voyage to Charleston if I’d had my way, but when it’s a choice between commanding as brave a set of men as ever I sot eyes on, or having my head split open, why, in course, I chooses the first.”

Here some of the men began to murmur that there had been enough talk, and that they couldn’t wait all day for soft speeches.

“What do you mean to do with me?” asked the Captain. “And what do you mean to do with the two young gentlemen?”

“We are going to treat you very handsome, Captain,” replied the mate. “The brig is at this identical moment hove to in sight of the coast of Florida. There’s a boat all ready for you, and you and the two young gentlemen can take it and pull ashore, or steer for Charleston, just as you please. We’ll give you provisions and arms, and you’ll find fresh water ashore; and I think you’ll admit that this is more than you’ve any right to expect.”

“Let the kids join in with us, if so be that they want to make their fortins,” said one of the men.

“They don’t want to join; they wouldn’t be of no use except to share our earnings, and besides it was in our bargain that they were to be put ashore with the captain. I sticks to my bargain, my lads, and I expect you to stick to yours,” said the mate.

I was very glad to hear this said, for I was beginning to have a terrible fear that I should be made to stay with the pirates.

“And now, Captain,” continued the mate, “if you’ll pass your word to go ashore quiet and peaceable, I’ll cast off these lashin’s, and you shall dress yourself and leave us, for there’s a nice breeze springing up.”

The captain wanted to burst out in violent language; but he saw it was no use, so he presently said, “I’m in your power and I must submit.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the mate; “I do like to see a man act smooth and appreciate a kindness when it’s shown to him. Now, men, you can go on deck and I’ll stay here till the captain and the young gentlemen are ready.”

Tom and I dressed in a hurry, and as soon as the captain was ready we all went on deck, and the mate invited us to get into one of the quarter boats. The men stood near by, silent and scowling.

“You’ll find everything comfortable in the boat,” said the mate, as pleasantly as if we had hired it of him for a pleasure trip. “There’s two hams, and some biscuit, and there’s two guns and ammunition, and there’s blankets, and a lantern. Why, you might go a pirating yourself, Captain, with that craft. I really envy you, I do.”

All the while he was talking the mate was pushing us into the boat, and passing one of the falls to the captain and one to me. “Now lower away smartly,” he added, “for we want to make sail on the brig.”

“This is all foolishness,” cried one of the sailors, with a lot of wicked words which I won’t mention. “Cut one of the falls, and drown the lot of them, I say.”

March jumped on the rail, holding on by one of the davits, and drew a pistol. “I’ve passed my word that they shall go ashore safe,” he said, “and you know me and know I’m a man of my word. The first man that touches one of those falls is a dead man.”

The men said no more, and we lost no time in getting clear of the brig. As we pulled away the mate waved his hat to the captain, and then jumped down from the rail and we saw him no more.

We pulled straight for the shore, Tom and I taking the oars and the captain steering. The shore was only about ten miles away, and the sea was quite smooth, with a nice light breeze that helped to keep us cool. The captain said nothing for a long while, but kept looking back at the brig. The pirates had filled the main topsail as soon as we had left, and were now standing to the south’ard, and we never expected to see them or the brig again.

“It’s the bottle that has done this,” exclaimed the captain after a while. “If I’d have kept sober I could have seen this mutiny brewing, and stopped it, but now I am a ruined man. All I had in the world was in that vessel.”

As he seemed to be talking to himself and not to us, neither Tom nor I said anything to him.

“And John March, too, a man whose life I had saved. To think that he should turn against me and seize my brig. But he never had any conscience, and he is sure to come to the gallows.”

“But if it hadn’t been for him, sir,” I ventured to say, “we should all have been drowned.”

“I suppose so,” answered the captain; “but it would have been better for me if I had been. Take warning by me, boys, and never touch spirits. I’ve taken my last drink, but I’ve mended my ways when it is too late to undo the ruin that I have brought on myself. Before you ever take a glass of spirits, you jump overboard and drown yourself, for you’d much better be dead than a drunkard.”

I was very glad to hear that the captain had resolved never to drink again, for I liked him very much, all but his one bad habit.

But before very long he began to overhaul the things in the stern sheets, as if he were searching for something, and could not find it. Then he said, “Boys, just look about you and see if there is a bottle in the boat.” We couldn’t find any, and then the captain broke out against the mate, saying that he had purposely set him ashore without a drop of spirits, though he knew he couldn’t live without it. So I saw that the captain’s reformation would only last till he could get at the bottle again. It was very lucky for us that the mate had not put any strong liquors in the boat; for if he had done so the captain would certainly have made himself unfit to manage the boat and would very likely have capsized it and drowned us all.

I had noticed a little piece of white paper lying on the bottom of the boat, and when the breeze fluttered it I saw it had writing on it. So I pointed it out to the captain, and he read it out loud, for he was a poor scholar and could not read unless he pronounced every word, and spelled all the long ones. I picked the note up afterwards and have kept it to this day. Here it is:

HONORED CAPTAIN:

I take the great liberty of saying that we are now in latitude 29°, your calculations not having been quite right, through no fault of yours. You will find a small river, if you pull straight ashore, but the entrance to it won’t be easy to find unless you bring two tall pine trees in a line. If I may humbly advise I would say don’t stop on this coast, for you might meet some bad characters, but steer northerly for about eighty miles, where you will find a settlement. With my duty to the young gentlemen, and wishing you health and a prosperous voyage I am your humble servant,

JOHN MARCH.