"All gone down in the old Torch; and had it not been for the launch and our four-footed friend there, I should not have been here to have told it. All that the sharks have left of the captain and five seamen came ash.o.r.e last night. I have buried the poor fellows on the beach where they lay, as well as I could, with an oar-blade for a shovel, and the _bronze ornament_ there," pointing to the Indian, "for an a.s.sistant."

_II.--Perils on Land_

I was awakened by the low growling and short bark of the dog. The night was far spent, and the amber rays of the yet unrisen sun were shooting up in the east.

"That's a musket shot," said the lieutenant. The Indian crept to the door, and placed his open palms behind his ears. The distant wail of a bugle was heard, then three or four dropping shots again, in rapid succession. Mr. Splinter stooped to go forth, but the Indian caught him by the leg, uttering the single word "Espanoles" (Spaniards).

On the instant a young Indian woman, with a shrieking infant in her arms, rushed to the door. There was a blue gunshot wound in her neck, and her features were sharpened as if in the agony of death. Another shot, and the child's small, shrill cry blended with the mother's death shriek; falling backwards the two rolled over the brow of the hill out of sight. The ball had pierced the heart of the parent through the body of her offspring. By this time a party of Spanish soldiers had surrounded the hut, one of whom, kneeling before the low door, pointed his musket into it. The Indian, who had seen his wife and child shot down before his face, fired his rifle and the man fell dead.

Half a dozen musket b.a.l.l.s were now fired at random through the wattles of the hut, while the lieutenant, who spoke Spanish well, sung out l.u.s.tily that we were English officers who had been shipwrecked.

"Pirates!" growled the officer of the party. "Pirates leagued with Indian bravos; fire the hut, soldiers, and burn the scoundrels!"

There was no time to be lost; Mr. Splinter made a vigorous attempt to get out, in which I seconded him with all the strength that remained to me, but they beat us back again with the b.u.t.ts of their muskets.

"Where are your commissions, your uniforms, if you be British officers?"

We had neither, and our fate appeared inevitable.

The doorway was filled with brushwood, fire was set to the hut, and we heard the crackling of the palm thatch, while thick, stifling white smoke burst in upon us through the roof.

"Lend a hand, Tom, now or never." We laid our shoulders to the end wall, and heaved at it with all our might; when we were nearly at our last gasp it gave way, and we rushed headlong into the middle of the party, followed by Sneezer, with his s.h.a.ggy coat, full of clots of tar, blazing like a torch. He unceremoniously seized, _par le queue_, the soldier who had throttled me, setting fire to the skirts of his coat, and blowing up his cartridge-box. I believe, under Providence, that the ludicrousness of this attack saved us from being bayoneted on the spot. It gave time for Mr. Splinter to recover his breath, when, being a powerful man, he shook off the two soldiers who had seized him, and dashed into the burning hut again. I thought he was mad, especially when I saw him return with his clothes and hair on fire, dragging out the body of the captain. He unfolded the sail it was wrapped up in, and pointing to the remains of the naval uniform in which the mutilated corpse was dressed, he said sternly to the officer, "We are in your power, and you may murder us if you will; but _that_ was my captain four days ago, and you see at least _he_ was a British officer--satisfy yourself."

The person he addressed, a handsome young Spaniard, shuddered at the horrible spectacle.

When he saw the crown and anchor, and his Majesty's cipher on the appointments of the dead officer, he became convinced of our quality, and changed his tone.

"'Tis true, he is an Englishman. But, gentlemen, were there not three persons in the hut?"

There were, indeed, and the Indian perished in the flames, making no attempt to escape.

The officer, who belonged to the army investing Carthagena, now treated us with great civility; he heard our story, and desired his men to a.s.sist us in burying the remains of our late commander.

We stayed that night with the captain of the outpost, who received us very civilly at a temporary guard-house, and apologised for the discomfort under which we must pa.s.s the night. He gave us the best he had, and that was bad enough, both of food and wine, before showing us into the hut, where we found a rough deal coffin, lying on the very bench that was to be our bed. This he ordered away with all the coolness in the world, saying, "It was only one of his people who had died that morning of yellow fever."

"Comfortable country this," quoth Splinter, "and a pleasant morning we have had of it, Tom!"

_III.--The Piccaroon_

From the Spanish headquarters at Torrecilla we were allowed to go to the village of Turbaco, a few miles distant from the city for change of air.

"Why, Peter," said Mr. Splinter, addressing a negro who sat mending his jacket in one of the enclosures near the water gate of the a.r.s.enal, "don't you know me?"

"Cannot say dat I do," rejoined the negro, very gravely. "Have not de honour of your acquaintance, sir."

"Confound you, sir! But I know you well enough, my man; and you can scarcely have forgotten Lieutenant Splinter of the Torch, one would think?"

The name so startled the poor fellow, that in his hurry to unlace his legs, as he sat tailor-fashion, he fairly capsized and toppled down on his nose.

"Eh!--no--yes, him sure enough! And who is de piccaniny hofficer? Oh! I see, Ma.s.sa Tom Cringle! Where have you dropped from, gentlemen? Where is de old Torch? Many a time hab I, Peter Mangrove, pilot to him Britannic Majesty's squadron, taken de old brig in and through amongst de keys at Port Royal."

"She will never give you that trouble again, my boy--foundered--all hands lost, Peter, but the two you see before you."

"Werry sorry, Ma.s.sa 'Plinter, werry sorry. What? de black cook's-mate and all? But misfortune can't be help. Stop till I put up my needle, and I will take a turn wid you. Proper dat British hofficers in distress should a.s.sist one anoder--we shall consult togeder. How can I serve you?"

"Why, Peter, if you could help us to a pa.s.sage to Port Royal, it would be serving us most essentially. Here we have been for more than a month, without a single vessel belonging to the station having looked in; our money is running short, and in another six weeks we shall not have a shot left in the locker."

The negro looked steadfastly at us, and then carefully around before he answered.

"You see, Ma.s.sa 'Plinter, I am desirable to serve you; it is good for me at present to make some friend wid the hofficer of de squadron, being as how dat I am absent widout leave. If you will promise dat you will stand my friends, I will put you in de way of getting a shove across to de east end of Jamaica; and I will go wid you, too, for company. But you must promise dat you will not seek to know more of de vessel, nor of her crew, than dey are willing to tell you, provided you are landed safe."

Mr. Splinter agreed and presently Peter Mangrove went off in a canoe to a large, shallow vessel, to reappear with another blackamoor, of as ungainly an exterior as could well be imagined.

"Pray, sir, are you the master of that vessel?" said the lieutenant.

"No, sir, I am the mate; and I learn you are desirous of a pa.s.sage to Jamaica." This was spoken with a broad Scotch accent.

"Yes, we do," said I, in very great astonishment; "but we will not sail with the devil; and who ever saw a negro Scotchman before?"

The fellow laughed. "I am black, as you see; so were my father and mother before me. But I was born in the good town of Glasgow, notwithstanding; and many a voyage I have made as cabin-boy and cook with worthy old Jock Hunter. But here comes our captain. Captain Vanderbosh, here are two shipwrecked British officers who wish to be put ash.o.r.e in Jamaica; will you take them, and what will you charge for their pa.s.sage?"

The man he spoke to was a sun-burnt, iron-visaged veteran.

"Vy for von hundred thaler I will land dem safe in de bay."

The bargain was ratified, and that same evening we set sail. When off the San Domingo Gate two boats full of men joined us, and our crew was strengthened by about forty as ugly Christians, of all ages and countries, as I ever set eyes on. From the moment they came on board Captain Vanderbosh sank into the petty officer, and the Scottish negro took the command, evincing great coolness, energy, and skill.

When night had fallen the captain made out a sail to windward.

Immediately every inch of canvas was close furled, every light carefully extinguished, a hundred and twenty men with cutla.s.ses at quarters, and the ship under bare poles. The strange sail could be seen through the night-gla.s.ses; she now burned a blue light--without doubt an old fellow-cruiser of ours, the Spark.

"She is from Santa Martha with a freight of specie, I know," said Williamson. "I will try a brush with her."

"I know the craft," Splinter struck in, "a heavy vessel of her cla.s.s, and you may depend on hard knocks and small profit if you do take her; while, if she takes you----"

"I'll be hanged if she does," said Williamson, and he grinned at the conceit; "or, rather, I will blow the schooner up with my own hand before I strike; better that than have one's bones bleached in chains on a quay at Port Royal. But you cannot control us, gentlemen; so get down below, and take Peter Mangrove with you. I would not willingly see those come to harm who have trusted me."

However, there was no shot flying as yet, and we stayed on deck. All sail was once more made, and presently the cutter saw us, tacked, and stood towards us. Her commander hailed: "Ho, the brigantine, ahoy! What schooner is that?"

"Spanish schooner, Caridad," sung out Williamson.

"Heave-to, and send your boat on board."

"We have none that will swim, sir."

"Very well, bring to, and I will send mine."