No Defense, Complete - Gilbert Parker
Before the day was over, the whole ship was alive with anticipation, for,
in the far distance, could be seen the dark blue and purplish shadows
which told of land; and this brought the minds of all to the end of their
journey, with thoughts of the crisis near.
Word had been passed that all on board were considered safe--all except
the captain who had manoeuvred them to the entrance of the Caribbean Sea.
Had he been of their own origin, they would not have placed so much
credence in the rumour; but coming as he did of an ancient Irish family,
although he had been in jail for killing, the traditional respect for the
word of a gentleman influenced them. When a man like Ferens, on the one
hand, and the mutineer whose fingers had been mutilated by Dyck in the
Channel, on the other--when these agreed to bend themselves to the rule
of a usurper, some idea of Calhoun's power may be got.
On this day, with the glimmer of land in the far distance, the charges of
all the guns were renewed. Also word was passed that at any moment the
ship must be cleared for action. Down in the cockpit the tables were got
ready by the surgeon and the loblolly-boys; the magazines were opened,
and the guards were put on duty.
Orders were issued that none should be allowed to escape active share in
the coming battle; that none should retreat to the orlop deck or the
lower deck; that the boys should carry the cartridge-cases handed to them
from the magazine under the cover of their coats, running hard to the
guns. The twenty-four-pounders-the largest guns in use at the time-the
eighteen-pounders, and the twelve-pounder guns were all in good order.
The bags of iron balls called grape-shot-the worst of all--varying in
size from sixteen to nine balls in a bag, were prepared. Then the
canister, which produced ghastly murder, chain-shot to bring down masts
and spars, langrel to fire at masts and rigging, and the dismantling shot
to tear off sails, were all made ready. The muskets for the marines, the
musketoons, the pistols, the cutlasses, the boarding-pikes, the axes or
tomahawks, the bayonets and sailors' knives, were placed conveniently for
use. A bevy of men were kept busy cleaning the round shot of rust, and
there was not a man on the ship who did not look with pride at the guns,
in their paint of grey-blue steel, with a scarlet band round the muzzle.
To the right of the Ariadne was the coast of Cuba; to the left was the
coast of Haiti, both invisible to the eye. Although the knowledge that
they were nearing land had already given the officers and men a feeling
of elation, the feeling was greatly intensified as they came through the
Turk Island Passage, which is a kind of gateway to the Windward Passage
between Cuba and Haiti. The glory of the sunny, tropical world was upon
the ship and upon the sea; it crept into the blood of every man, and the
sweet summer weather gave confidence to their minds. It was a day which
only those who know tropical and semitropical seas can understand. It had
the sense of soaking luxury.
In his cabin, with the ship's chart on the table before him, Dyck Calhoun
studied the course of the Ariadne. The wind was fair and good, the
sea-birds hovered overhead. From a distant part of the ship came the
sound of men's voices in song. They were singing "Spanish Ladies":
"We hove our ship to when the wind was sou'west, boys,
We hove our ship to for to strike soundings clear;
Then we filled our main tops'l and bore right away, boys,
And right up the Channel our course did we steer.
"We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll range and we'll roam over all the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England
From Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues."
Dyck raised his head, and a smile came to his lips.
"Yes, you sing of a Channel, my lads, but it's a long way there, as
you'll find. I hope to God they give us some fighting! . . . Well, what
is it?" he asked of a marine who appeared in his doorway.
"The master of the ship begs to see you, sir," was the reply.
A moment afterwards Greenock entered. He asked Dyck several questions
concerning the possible fighting, the disposition of ammunition and all
that, and said at last:
"I think we shall be of use, sir. The ship's all right now."
"As right as anything human can be. I've got faith in my star, master."
A light came into the other man's dour face. "I wish you'd get into
uniform, sir."
"Uniform? No, Greenock! No, I use the borrowed power, but not the
borrowed clothes. I'm a common sailor, and I wear the common sailor's
clothes. You've earned your uniform, and it suits you. Stick to it; and
when I've earned a captain's uniform I'll wear it. I owe you the success
of this voyage so far, and my heart is full of it, up to the brim. Hark,
what's that?"
"By God, it's guns, sir! There's fighting on!"
"Fighting!"
Dyck stood for a minute with head thrust forward, eyes fixed upon the
distant mists ahead. The rumble of the guns came faintly through the air.
An exultant look came into his face.
"Master, the game's with us--it is fighting! I know the difference
between the two sets of guns, English and French. Listen--that quick,
spasmodic firing is French; the steady-as-thunder is English. Well, we've
got all sail on. Now, make ready the ship for fighting."
"She's almost ready, sir."
An hour later the light mist had risen, and almost suddenly the Ariadne
seemed to come into the field of battle. Dyck Calhoun could see the
struggle going on. The two sets of enemy ships had come to close
quarters, and some were locked in deadly conflict. Other ships, still
apart, fired at point-blank range, and all the horrors of slaughter were
in full swing. From the square blue flag at the mizzen top gallant
masthead of one of the British ships engaged, Dyck saw that the admiral's
own craft was in some peril. The way lay open for the Ariadne to bear
down upon the French ship, engaged with the admiral's smaller ship, and
help to end the struggle successfully for the British cause.
While still too far away for point-blank range, the Ariadne's guns began
upon the French ships distinguishable by their shape and their colours.
Before the first shot was fired, however, Dyck made a tour of the decks
and gave some word of cheer to the men, The Ariadne lost no time in
getting into the thick of the fight. The seamen were stripped to the
waist, and black silk handkerchiefs were tightly bound round their heads
and over their ears.
What the French thought of the coming of the Ariadne was shown by the
reply they made presently to her firing. The number of French ships in
action was greater than the British by six, and the Ariadne arrived just
when she could be of greatest service. The boldness of her seamanship,
and the favour of the wind, gave her an advantage which good fortune
helped to justify.
As she drew in upon the action, she gave herself up to great danger; she
was coming in upon the rear of the French ships, and was subject to
fierce attack. To the French she seemed like a fugitive warrior returning
to his camp just when he was most needed, as was indeed the case. Two of
her shots settled one of the enemy's vessels; and before the others could
converge upon her, she had crawled slowly up against the off side of the
French admiral's ship, which was closely engaged with the Beatitude, the
British flagship, on the other side.
The canister, chain-shot, and langrel of the French foe had caused much
injury to the Ariadne, and her canvas was in a sore plight. Fifty of her
seamen had been killed, and a hundred and fifty were wounded by the time
she reached the starboard side of the Aquitaine. She would have lost many
more were it not that her onset demoralized the French gunners, while the
cheers of the British sailors aboard the Beatitude gave confidence to
their mutineer comrades.
On his own deck, Dyck watched the progress of the battle with the joy of
a natural fighter. He had carried the thing to an almost impossible
success. There had only been this in his favour, that his was an
unexpected entrance--a fact which had been worth another ship at least.
He saw his boarders struggle for the Aquitaine. He saw them discharge
their pistols, and then resort to the cutlass and the dagger; and the
marines bringing down their victims from the masts of the French
flag-ship.
Presently he heard the savagely buoyant shouts of the Beatitude men, and
he realized that, by his coming, the admiral of the French fleet had been
obliged to yield up his sword, and to signal to his ships--such as
could--to get away. That half of them succeeded in doing so was because
the British fleet had been heavily handled in the fight, and would have
been defeated had it not been for the arrival of the Ariadne.
Never, perhaps, in the history of the navy had British ships clamped the
enemy as the Aquitaine was clamped by the Beatitude and the Ariadne.
Certain it is that no admiral of the British fleet had ever to perform
two such acts in one day as receiving the submission of a French admiral
and offering thanks to the captain of a British man-of-war whom, while
thanking, he must at once place under arrest as a mutineer. What might
have chanced further to Dyck's disadvantage can never be known, because
there appeared on the deck of the Beatitude, as its captain under the
rear-admiral, Captain Ivy, who, five years before, had visited Dyck and
his father at Playmore, and had gone with them to Dublin.
The admiral had sent word to the Ariadne for its captain to come to the
Beatitude. When the captain's gig arrived, and a man in seaman's clothes
essayed to climb the side of the flag-ship, he was at first prevented.
Captain Ivy, however, immediately gave orders for Dyck to be admitted,
but without honours.
On the deck of the Beatitude, Dyck looked into the eyes of Captain Ivy.
He saluted; but the captain held out a friendly hand.
"You're a mutineer, Calhoun, but your ship has given us victory. I'd like
to shake hands with one that's done so good a stroke for England."
A queer smile played about Calhoun's lips.
"I've brought the Ariadne back to the fleet, Captain Ivy. The men have
fought as well as men ever did since Britain had a navy. I've brought her
back to the king's fleet to be pardoned."
"But you must be placed under arrest, Calhoun. Those are the orders--that
wherever the Ariadne should be found she should be seized, and that you
should be tried by court-martial."
Dyck nodded. "I understand. When did you get word?"
"About forty-eight hours ago. The king's mail came by a fast frigate."
"We took our time, but we came straight from the Channel to find this
fleet. At the mouth of the Thames we willed to find it, and to fight with
it--and by good luck so we have done."
"Let me take you to the admiral," said Captain Ivy.
He walked beside Dyck to the admiral's cabin. "You've made a terrible
mess of things, Calhoun, but you've put a lot right to-day," he said at
the entrance to the cabin. "Tell me one thing honestly before we part
now--did you kill Erris Boyne?" Dyck looked at him long and hard.
"I don't know--on my honour I don't know! I don't remember--I was drunk
and drugged."
"Calhoun, I don't believe you did; but if you did, you've paid the
price--and the price of mutiny, too." In the clear blue eyes of Captain
Ivy there was a look of friendliness. "I notice you don't wear uniform,
Calhoun," he added. "I mean a captain's uniform." Dyck smiled. "I never
have."
The next moment the door of the admiral's cabin was opened.
"Mr. Dyck Calhoun of the Ariadne, sir," said Captain Ivy.
CHAPTER XV
THE ADMIRAL HAS HIS SAY
The admiral's face was naturally vigorous and cheerful, but, as he looked
at Dyck Calhoun, a steely hardness came into it, and gave a cynical twist
to the lips. He was a short man, and spare, but his bearing had dignity
and every motion significance.
He had had his high moment with the French admiral, had given his
commands to the fleet and had arranged the disposition of the captured
French ships. He was in good spirits, and the wreckage in the fleet
seemed not to shake his nerve, for he had lost in men far less than the
enemy, and had captured many ships--a good day's work, due finally to the
man in sailor's clothes standing there with Captain Ivy. The admiral took
in the dress of Calhoun at a glance--the trousers of blue cloth, the
sheath-knife belt, the stockings of white silk, the white shirt with the
horizontal stripes, the loose, unstarched, collar, the fine black silk
handkerchief at the throat, the waistcoat of red kerseymere, the shoes
like dancing-pumps, and the short, round blue jacket, with the flat gold
buttons--a seaman complete. He smiled broadly; he liked this mutineer and
ex-convict.
"Captain Calhoun, eh!" he remarked mockingly, and bowed satirically.
"Well, you've played a strong game, and you've plunged us into great
difficulty."
Dyck did not lose his opportunity. "Happily, I've done what I planned to
do when we left the Thames, admiral," he said. "We came to get the chance
of doing what, by favour of fate, we have accomplished. Now, sir, as I'm
under arrest, and the ship which I controlled has done good service, may
I beg that the Ariadne's personnel shall have amnesty, and that I alone
be made to pay--if that must be--for the mutiny at the Nore."
The admiral nodded. "We know of your breaking away from the mutinous
fleet, and of their firing on you as you passed, and that is in your
favour. I can also say this: that bringing the ship here was masterly
work, for I understand there were no officers on the Ariadne. She always
had the reputation of being one of the best-trained ships in the navy,
and she has splendidly upheld that reputation. How did you manage it, Mr.
Calhoun?"
Dyck briefly told how the lieutenants were made, and how he himself had
been enormously indebted to Greenock, the master of the ship, and all the
subordinate officers.
The admiral smiled sourly. "I have little power until I get instructions
from the Admiralty, and that will take some time. Meanwhile, the Ariadne
shall go on as she is, and as if she were--and had been from the first, a
member of my own squadron."
Dyck bowed, explained what reforms he had created in the food and
provisions of the Ariadne, and expressed a hope that nothing should be
altered. He said the ship had proved herself, chiefly because of his
reforms.
"Besides, she's been badly hammered. She's got great numbers of wounded
and dead, and for many a day the men will be busy with repairs."
"For a man without naval experience, for a mutineer, an ex-convict and a
usurper, you've done quite well, Mr. Calhoun; but my instructions were,
if I captured your ship, and you fell into my hands, to try you, and hang
you."
At this point Captain Ivy intervened.
"Sir," he said, "the instructions you received were general. They could
not anticipate the special service which the Ariadne has rendered to the
king's fleet. I have known Mr. Calhoun; I have visited at his father's
house; I was with him on his journey to Dublin, which was the beginning
of his bad luck. I would beg of you, sir, to give Mr. Calhoun his parole
on sea and land until word comes from the Admiralty as to what, in the
circumstances, his fate shall be."
"To be kept on the Beatitude on parole!" exclaimed the admiral.
"Land or sea, Captain Ivy said. I'm as well-born as any man in the king's
fleet," declared Dyck. "I've as clean a record as any officer in his
majesty's navy, save for the dark fact that I was put in prison for
killing a man; and I will say here, in the secrecy of an admiral's cabin,
that the man I killed--or was supposed to kill--was a traitor. If I did
kill him, he deserved death by whatever hand it came. I care not what you
do with me"--his hands clenched, his shoulders drew up, his eyes
blackened with the dark fire of his soul--"whether you put me on parole,
or try me by court-martial, or hang me from the yard-arm. I've done a
piece of work of which I'm not ashamed. I've brought a mutinous ship out
of mutiny, sailed her down the seas for many weeks, disciplined her,
drilled her, trained her, fought her; helped to give the admiral of the
West Indian squadron his victory. I enlisted; I was a quota man. I became
a common sailor--I and my servant and friend, Michael Clones. I shared
the feelings of the sailors who mutinied. I wrote petitions and appeals
for them. I mutinied with them. Then at last, having been made leader of
the ship, with the captain and the lieutenants sent safely ashore, and
disagreeing with the policy of the Delegates in not accepting the terms
offered, I brought the ship out, commanding it from the captain's cabin,
and have so continued until to-day. If I'm put ashore at Jamaica, I'll
keep my parole; if I stay a prisoner here, I'll keep my parole. If I've
done you service, admiral, be sure of this, it was done with clear
intent. My object was to save the men who, having mutinied and fled from
Admiralty control, are subject to capital punishment."
"Your thinking came late. You should have thought before you mutinied,"
was the sharp reply.
"As a common sailor I acted on my conscience, and what we asked for the
Admiralty has granted. Only by mutiny did the Admiralty yield to our
demands. What I did I would do again! We took our risks in the Thames
against the guns that were levelled at us; we've taken our risks down
here against the French to help save your squadron, and we've done it.
The men have done it, because they've been loyal to the flag, and from
first to last set to make the Admiralty and the people know they have
rights which must be cherished. If all your men were as faithful to the
Crown as are the men on the Ariadne, then they deserve well of the King.
But will you put for me on paper the written word that every man now
aboard the Ariadne shall be held guiltless in the eyes of the admiral of
this fleet; that the present officers shall remain officers, that the
reforms I have made shall become permanent? For myself, I care not; but
for the men who have fought under me, I want their amnesty. And I want
Michael Clones to be kept with me, and Greenock, the master, and Ferens,
the purser, to be kept where they are. Admiral, I think you know my
demands are just. Over there on the Ariadne are a hundred and fifty
wounded at least, and fifty have been killed. Let the living not suffer."
"You want it all on the nail, don't you?"
"I want it at this moment when the men who have fought under me have
helped to win your battle, sir." There was something so set in Dyck's
voice that the admiral had a sudden revulsion against him, yet, after a
moment of thought, he made a sign to Captain Ivy. Then he dictated the
terms which Dyck had asked, except as to the reforms he had made, which
was not in his power to do, save for the present.
When the document had been signed by the admiral, Dyck read the contents
aloud. It embodied nearly all he had asked.
"Now I ask permission for one more thing only, sir--for the new captain
of the Ariadne to go with me to her, and there I will read this paper to
the crew. I will give a copy of it to the new captain, whoever he may
be."
The admiral stood for a moment in thought. Then he said:
"Ivy, I transfer you to the Ariadne. It's better that some one who
understands, as you do, should be in control after Calhoun has gone. Go
with him now, and have your belongings sent to you. I appoint you
temporary captain of the Ariadne, because I think no one could deal with
the situation there so wisely. Ivy, every ship in the squadron must treat
the Ariadne respectfully. Within two days, Mr. Calhoun, you shall be
landed at Jamaica, there to await the Admiralty decree. I will say this:
that as the sure victory of our fleet has come through you, you shall not
suffer in my report. Fighting is not an easy trade, and to fight
according to the rules is a very hard trade. Let me ask you to conduct
yourself as a prisoner of war on parole."
NO DEFENSE
By Gilbert Parker
BOOK III
XVI. A LETTER
XVII. STRANGERS ARRIVE
XVIII. AT SALEM
XIX. LORD MALLOW INTERVENES
XX. OUT OF THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES
XXI. THE CLASH OF RACE
XXII. SHEILA HAS HER SAY
XXIII. THE COMING OF NOREEN
XXIV. WITH THE GOVERNOR
XXV. THEN WHAT HAPPENED
CHAPTER XVI
A LETTER
With a deep sigh, the planter raised his head from the table where he was
writing, and looked out upon the lands he had made his own. They lay on
the Thomas River, a few hours' horseback travelling from Spanish Town,
the capital, and they had the advantage of a plateau formation, with
mountains in the far distance and ravines everywhere.
It was Christmas Day, and he had done his duty to his slaves and the folk
on his plantation. He had given presents, had attended a seven o'clock
breakfast of his people, had seen festivities of his negroes, and the
feast given by his manager in Creole style to all who came--planting
attorneys, buccras, overseers, bookkeepers, the subordinates of the local
provost-marshal, small planters, and a few junior officers of the army
and navy.
He had turned away with cynicism from the overladen table, with its
shoulder of stewed wild boar in the centre; with its chocolate, coffee,
tea, spruce-beer, cassava-cakes, pigeon-pies, tongues, round of beef,
barbecued hog, fried conchs, black crab pepper-pod, mountain mullet, and
acid fruits. It was so unlike what his past had known, so "damnable
luxurious!" Now his eyes wandered over the space where were the
grandilla, with its blossom like a passion-flower, the black Tahiti plum,
with its bright pink tassel-blossom, and the fine mango trees, loaded
half with fruit and half with bud. In the distance were the guinea
cornfields of brownish hue, the cotton-fields, the long ranges of negro
houses like thatched cottages, the penguin hedges, with their beautiful
red, blue, and white convolvuluses; the lime, logwood, and breadfruit
trees, the avocado-pear, the feathery bamboo, and the jack-fruit tree;
and between the mountains and his own sugar-estates, negro settlements
and pens. He heard the flight of parrots chattering, he watched the
floating humming-bird, and at last he fixed his eyes upon the cabbage
tree down in the garden, and he had an instant desire for it. It was a
natural and human taste--the cabbage from the tree-top boiled for a
simple yet sumptuous meal.
He liked simplicity. He did not, as so many did in Jamaica, drink claret
or punch at breakfast soon after sunrise. In a land where all were
bon-vivants, where the lowest tradesmen drank wine after dinner, and rum,
brandy and water, or sangaree in the forenoon, a somewhat lightsome view
of table-virtues might have been expected of the young unmarried planter.
For such was he who, from the windows of his "castle," saw his domain
shimmering in the sun of a hot December day.
It was Dyck Calhoun.
With an impatient air he took up the sheets that he had been reading.
Christmas Day was on his nerves. The whole town of Kingston, with its
twenty to thirty thousand inhabitants, had but one church. If he entered
it, even to-day, he would have seen no more than a hundred and fifty to
two hundred people; mostly mulattoes--"bronze ornaments"--and peasants in
shag trousers, jackets of coarse blue cloth, and no waistcoats, with one
or two magistrates, a dozen gentlemen or so, and probably twice that
number of ladies. It was not an island given over to piety, or to
religious habits.
Not that this troubled Dyck Calhoun; nor, indeed, was he shocked by the
fact that nearly every unmarried white man in the island, and many
married white men, had black mistresses and families born to the black
women, and that the girls had no married future. They would become the
temporary wives of white men, to whom they were on the whole faithful and
devoted. It did not even vex him that a wretched mulatto might be whipped
in the market-square for laying his hands upon a white man, and that if
he was a negro-slave he could be shot for the same liberty.
It all belonged to the abnormal conditions of an island where black and
white were in relations impossible in the countries from which the white
man had come. It did not even startle Dyck that all the planters, and the
people generally in the island, from the chief justice and custos
rotulorum down to the deckswabber, cultivated amplitude of living.
But let Dyck tell his own story. The papers he held were sheets of a
letter he was writing to one from whom he had heard nothing since the
night he enlisted in the navy, and that was nearly three years before.
This was the letter:
MY DEAR FRIEND:
You will see I address you as you have done me in the two letters I
have had from you in the past. You will never read this letter, but
I write it as if you would. For you must know I may never hope for
personal intercourse with you. I was imprisoned for killing your
father, Erris Boyne, and that separates us like an abysss. It
matters little whether I killed him or not; the law says I did, and
the law has taken its toll of me. I was in prison for four years,
and when freed I enlisted in the king's navy, a quota man, with my
servant-friend, Michael Clones. That was the beginning of painful
and wonderful days for me. I was one of the mutineers of the Nore,
and--