“Stop a little.”

  At last the noise grew fainter, the fire died away, and gradually all was silent. Jack was still hanging over the gangway when Mesty came up to him. The new moon had just risen, and Jack’s eyes were fixed upon it.

  “Now, Massa Easy, please you come aft and lower down little boat; take your pistols and then we go on shore and bring off the cutter; they all asleep now.”

  “But why should we leave them without a boat, Mesty?” for Jack thought of the sharks, and the probability of the men attempting to swim off.

  “I tell you, sar, this night they get drunk, to morrow they get drunk again, but drunken men never keep quiet — suppose one man say to others, ‘Let’s go aboard and kill officer, and then we do as we please,’ they all say yes, and they all come and do it. No, sar — must have boat — if not for your sake, I must hab it, save my own life anyhow, for they hate me and kill me first; — by de powers, stop a little.”

  Jack felt the truth of Mesty’s observation; he went aft with him, lowered down the small boat, and they hauled it alongside. Jack went down with Mesty into the cabin and fetched his pistols— “And the Spaniard, Mesty, can we leave him on board alone?”

  “Yes, sar, he no got arms, and he see dat we have — but suppose he find arms he never dare do any thing — I know de man.”

  Our hero and Mesty went down into the boat and shoved off, pulling gently on shore; the men were in a state of intoxication, so as not to be able to move, much less hear. They cast off the cutter, towed her on board, and made her fast with the other boat astern.

  “Now, sar, we may go to bed; to-morrow morning you will see.”

  “They have everything they require on shore,” replied Easy; “all they could want with the cutter would be to molest us.”

  “Stop a little,” replied Mesty.

  Jack and Mesty went to bed, and as a precaution against the Spaniard, which was hardly necessary, Mesty locked the cabin door — but Mesty never forgot anything.

  Jack slept little that night — had melancholy forebodings which he could not shake off; indeed, Jack had reflected so much since he had left the ship, he had had his eyes so much opened, and had felt what a responsibility he had taken by indulging himself in a whim of the moment, that it might be almost said that in the course of one fortnight he had at once from a boy sprung up into a man. He was mortified and angry, but he was chiefly so with himself.

  Mesty was up at daylight and Jack soon followed him: they watched the party on shore, who had not yet left the tent. At last, just as Jack had finished his breakfast, one or two made their appearance: the men looked about them as if they were searching for something, and then walked down to the beach, to where the boat had been made fast. Jack looked at Mesty, who grinned, and answered with the words so often repeated:

  “Stop a little.”

  The men then walked along the rocks until they were abreast of the ship.

  “Ship ahoy!”

  “Halloo,” replied Mesty.

  “Bring the boat ashore directly, with a breaker of water.”

  “I knew dat,” cried Mesty, rubbing his hands with delight. “Massy Easy, you must tell them No.”

  “But why should I not give them water, Mesty?”

  “Because, sar, den they take boat.”

  “Very true,” replied Easy.

  “Do you hear on board?” cried the coxswain, who was the man who hailed— “send the boat immediately, or we’ll cut the throats of every mother’s son of you, by God!”

  “I shall not send the boat,” replied Jack, who now thought Mesty was right.

  “You won’t — won’t you? — then your doom’s sealed,” replied the man, walking up to the tent with the other. In a short time all the seamen turned out of the tent, bringing with them four muskets, which they had taken on shore with them.

  “Good heavens! they are not, surely, going to fire at us, Mesty.”

  “Stop a little.”

  The men then came down abreast of the ship, and the coxswain again hailed, and asked if they would bring the boat on shore.

  “You must say No, sar,” replied Mesty.

  “I feel I must,” replied Jack, and then he answered the coxswain, “No.”

  The plan of the mutineers had been foreseen by the wily negro — it was to swim off to the boats which were riding astern, and to fire at him or Jack, if they attempted to haul them up alongside and defend them. To get into the boats, especially the smaller one, from out of the water, was easy enough. Some of the men examined their priming and held the muskets at their hips all ready, with the muzzles towards the ship, while the coxswain and two men were throwing off their clothes.

  “Stop, for God’s sake, stop!” cried Jack “The harbour is full of ground sharks — it is, upon my soul!”

  “Do you think to frighten us with ground sharks?” replied the coxswain, “keep under cover, my lad; Jack, give him a shot to prove we are in earnest, and every time he or that nigger show their heads, give them another, my lads.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t attempt to swim,” said Jack, in an agony; “I will try some means to give you water.”

  “Too late now — you’re doomed;” and the coxswain sprang off the rock into the sea, and was followed by two other men: at the same moment a musket was discharged, and the bullet whistled close to our hero’s ear.

  Mesty dragged Jack from the gangway, who was now nearly fainting from agonising feelings. He sank on the deck for a moment, and then sprang up and ran to the port to look at the men in the water. He was just in time to see the coxswain raise himself with a loud yell out of the sea, and then disappear in a vortex, which was crimsoned with his blood.

  Mesty threw down his musket in his hand, of which he had several all ready loaded, in case the men should have gained the boats.

  “By the powers, dat no use now!”

  Jack had covered his face with his hands. But the tragedy was now complete: the other men, who were in the water, had immediately turned and made for the shore; but before they could reach it, two more of those voracious monsters, attracted by the blood of the coxswain, had flown to the spot, and there was a contention for the fragments of their bodies.

  Mesty, who had seen this catastrophe, turned towards our hero, who still hid his face.

  “I’m glad he no see dat, anyhow,” muttered Mesty.

  “See what?” exclaimed Jack.

  “Shark eat ’em all.”

  “Oh, horrid, horrid!” groaned our hero.

  “Yes, sar, very horrid,” replied Mesty, “and dat bullet at your head very horrid. Suppose the sharks no take them, what then? They kill us, and the sharks have our body. I think that more horrid still.”

  “Mesty,” replied Jack, seizing the negro convulsively by the arm, “it was not the sharks — it was I — I who have murdered these men.”

  Mesty looked at Jack with surprise.

  “How dat possible?”

  “If I had not disobeyed orders,” replied our hero, panting for breath, “if I had not shown them the example of disobedience, this would not have happened. How could I expect submission from them? It’s all my fault — I see it now — and, O God! when will the sight be blotted from my memory?”

  “Massa Easy, I not understand that,” replied Mesty: “I think you talk foolish — might as well say, suppose Ashantee men not make war, this not happen; for suppose Ashantee not make war, I not slave — I not run away — I not come board Harpy — I not go in boat with you — I not hinder men from getting drunk — and that why they make mutiny — and the mutiny why the shark take um?”

  Jack made no reply, but he felt some consolation from the counter-argument of the negro.

  The dreadful death of the three mutineers appeared to have had a sensible effect upon their companions, who walked away from the beach with their heads down and with measured steps. They were now seen to be perambulating the island, probably in search of that water which they required. At noon, they returned to their tent, and soon afterwards were in a state of intoxication, hallooing and shouting as the day before. Towards the evening they came down to the beach abreast of the ship, each with a vessel in their hands, and perceiving that they had attracted the notice of our hero and Mesty, tossed the contents of the vessels up in the air to show that they had found water, and hooting and deriding, went back, dancing, leaping, and kicking up their heels, to renew their orgies, which continued till after mid night, when they were all stupified as before.

  The next day Jack had recovered from the first shock which the catastrophe had given him, and he called Mesty into the cabin to hold a consultation.

  “Mesty, how is this to end?”

  “How do you mean, sar? — end here, or end on board of de Harpy?”

  “The Harpy! — there appears little chance of our seeing her again — we are on a desolate island, or what is the same thing; but we will hope that it will be so: but how is this mutiny to end?”

  “Massa Easy, suppose I please I make it end very soon, but I not in a hurry.”

  “How do you mean, Mesty, not in a hurry?”

  “Look, Massa Easy, you wish take a cruise, and I wish the same ting: now because mutiny you want to go back — but, by all de powers, you tink that I, a prince in my own country, feel wish to go back and boil kettle for de young gentlemen. No, Massa Easy, gib me mutiny — gib me anyting — but — once I was prince,” replied Mesty, lowering his voice at the last few emphatic words.

  “You must one of these days tell me your history, Mesty,” replied Jack; “but just now let us argue the point in question. How could you put an end to this mutiny?”

  “By putting an end to all wine. Suppose I go shore after they all drunk, I spile the casks in three or four places, and in the morning all wine gone — den dey ab get sober, and beg pardon — we take dem on board, put away all arms ‘cept yours and mine, and I like to see the mutiny after dat. Blood and ‘ounds — but I settle um, anyhow.”

  “The idea is very good, Mesty — why should we not do so?”

  “Because I not like run de risk to go ashore — all for what? to go back, boil de kettle for all gentlemans — I very happy here, Massa,” replied Mesty carelessly.

  “And I am very miserable,” replied Jack; “but, however, I am completely in your power, Mesty, and I must, I suppose, submit.”

  “What you say, Massa Easy — submit to me? — no, sar, when you are on board Harpy as officer, you talk with me as a friend, and not treat me as negro servant. Massa Easy, I feel — I feel what I am,” continued Mesty, striking his bosom, “I feel it here — for all first time since I leave my country, I feel dat I am someting; but, Massa Easy, I love my friend as much as I hate my enemy — and you neber submit to me — I too proud to allow dat, ‘cause, Massa Easy — I am a man — and once I was a prince.”

  Although Mesty did not perhaps explain by words half so well as he did by his countenance, the full tide of feeling which was overflowing in his heart, Jack fully understood and felt it. He extended his hand to Mesty, and said:

  “Mesty — that you have been a prince, I care little about, although I doubt it not, because you are incapable of a lie; but you are a man, and I respect you, nay, I love you as a friend — and with my will we never part again.”

  Mesty took the hand offered by Jack. It was the first peace-offering ever extended to him, since, he had been torn away from his native land — the first compliment, the first tribute, the first acknowledgment, perhaps, that he was not an inferior being; he pressed it in silence, for he could not speak; but could the feelings which were suffocating the negro but have been laid before sceptics, they must have acknowledged that at that moment they were all and only such as could do honour, not only to the prince, but even to the Christian. So much was Mesty affected with what had happened, that when he dropped the hand of our hero, he went down into the cabin, finding it impossible to continue the conversation, which was not renewed until the next morning.

  “What is your opinion, Mesty? — tell me, and I will be governed by it.”

  “Den, sar, I tell you I tink it right that they first come and ask to come on board before you take them — and, sar, I tink it also right, as we are but two and they are five, dat they first eat all their provision — let ’em starve plenty, and den dey come on board tame enough.”

  “At all events,” replied Jack, “the first overtures of some kind or another must come from them. I wish I had something to do — I do not much like this cooping up on board ship.”

  “Massa, why you no talk with Pedro?”

  “Because I cannot speak Spanish.”

  “I know dat, and dat why I ask de question. You very sorry when you meet the two pretty women in the ship, you not able to talk with them — I guess that.”

  “I was very sorry, I grant,” replied Jack.

  “Well, Massa Easy, by-and-by we see more Spanish girl. Why not talk all day with Pedro, and den you able to talk with dem.”

  “Upon my word, Mesty, I never had an idea of your value. I will learn all the Spanish that I can,” replied Jack, who was glad to have employment found for him, and was quite disgusted with the articles of war.

  As for the men on shore, they continued the same course, if not as before, one day succeeded another, and without variety. It was, however, to be observed, that the fire was now seldomer lighted, which proved their fuel scarce, and the weather was not so warm as it had been, for it was now October. Jack learnt Spanish from Pedro for a month, during which there was no appearance of submission on the part of the mutineers, who, for the first fortnight, when intoxicated, used to come down and fire at Jack or Mesty, when they made their appearance. Fortunately drunken men are not good marksmen, but latterly this had been discontinued, because they had expended their ammunition — and they appeared to have almost forgotten that the ship was there, for they took no notice of her whatever.

  On the other hand, Jack had decided that if he waited there a year, the overtures should come from them who had mutinied; and now, having an occupation, he passed his time very quietly, and the days flew so fast that two months had actually been run off the calendar, before he had an idea of it.

  One evening, as they were down in the cabin, for the evenings had now become very cold, Jack asked Mesty whether he had any objection to give him a history of his life. Mesty replied, that if he wished he was ready to talk; and at a nod from our hero, Mesty commenced as follows.

  Chapter Fifteen.

  In which mutiny, like fire, is quenched for want of fuel and no want of water.

  Although we have made the African negro hitherto talk in his own mixed jargon, yet, as we consider that, in a long narration, it will be tedious to the reader, we shall now translate the narrative part into good English, merely leaving the conversation with which it may be broken in its peculiar dialect.

  “The first thing I recollect,” said Mesty, “is that I was carried on the shoulders of a man with my legs hanging down before, and holding on by his head.

  “Every one used to look at me, and get out of the way, as I rode through the town and market place, so loaded with heavy gold ornaments that I could not bear them, and was glad when the women took them off: but, as I grew older I became proud of them, because I knew that I was the son of a king — I lived happy, I did nothing but shoot my arrows, and I had a little sword which I was taught to handle, and the great captains who were about my father showed me how to kill my enemies. Some times I lay under the shady trees, sometimes I was with the women belonging to my father, sometimes I was with him and played with the skulls, and repeated the names of those to whom they had belonged, for in our country, when we kill our enemies, we keep their skulls as trophies.

  “As I grew older, I did as I pleased; I beat the women and the slaves; I think I killed some of the latter — I know I did one, to try whether I could strike well with my two-handed sword made of hard and heavy wood — but that is nothing in our country. I longed to be a great captain, and I thought of nothing else but war and fighting, and how many skulls I should have in my possession when I had a house and wives of my own, and I was no longer a boy. I went out in the woods to hunt, and I stayed for weeks. And one day I saw a panther basking in the sun, waving his graceful tail. I crept up softly till I was behind a rock within three yards of it, and drawing my arrow to the head I pierced him through the body. The animal bounded up in the air, saw me, roared and made a spring, but I dropped behind the rock, and he passed over me. He turned again to me, but I had my knife ready, and, as he fixed his talons into my shoulder and breast, I pierced him to the heart. This was the happiest day of my life; I had killed a panther without assistance, and I had wounds to show. Although I was severely hurt, I thought nothing of it. I took off the skin as my blood dropped down and mixed with that of the beast — but I rejoiced in it. Proudly did I go into the town dripping with gore and smarting with pain. Every one extolled the feat, called me a hero and a great captain. I filed my teeth, and I became a man.

  “From that day I ranked among the warriors, and, as soon as my wounds were healed, I went out to battle. In three fights I had gained five skulls, and when I returned they weighed me out gold. I then had a house and wives, and my father appointed me a Caboceer. I wore the plume of eagle and ostrich feathers, my dress was covered with fetishes, I pulled on the boots with bells, and with my bow and arrows slung on my back, my spear and blunderbuss, my knives and my double-handed sword, I led the men to battle and brought back skulls and slaves. Every one trembled at my name, and, if my father threatened to send me out, gold-dust covered the floor of his hall of council — Now, I boil the kettle for the young gentlemen.