Wolves of the Sea - Randall Parrish
WOLVES OF THE SEA
Being a Tale of the Colonies From the Manuscript of One Geoffry
Carlyle, Seaman, Narrating Certain Strange Adventures Which Befell Him
Aboard the Pirate Craft "Namur"
BY RANDALL PARRISH
Author of "When Wilderness Was King," "The Last Voyage of the Donna
Isabel" "Beyond the Frontier" "Contraband" etc.
Frontispiece By FRANK E. SCHOONOVER
1918
FOREWORD
Anson Carlyle, aged twenty-three, the ninth in descent from Captain
Geoffry Carlyle, of Glasgow, Scotland, was among the heroic Canadian
dead at Vimy Ridge. Unmarried, and the last of his line, what few
treasures he possessed fell into alien hands. Among these was a
manuscript, apparently written in the year 1687, and which, through
nine generations, had been carefully preserved, yet never made public.
The paper was yellowed and discolored by years, occasionally a page
was missing, and the writing itself had become almost indecipherable.
Much indeed had to be traced by use of a microscope. The writer was
evidently a man of some education, and clear thought, but exceedingly
diffuse, in accordance with the style of his time, and possessing
small conception of literary form. In editing this manuscript for
modern readers I have therefore been compelled to practically rewrite
it entirely, retaining merely the essential facts, with an occasional
descriptive passage, although I have conscientiously followed the
original development of the tale. In this reconstruction much
quaintness of language, as well as appeal to probability, may have
been lost, and for this my only excuse is the necessity of thus making
the story readable. I have no doubt as to its essential truth, nor do
I question the purpose which dominated this rover of the sea in his
effort to record the adventures of his younger life. As a picture of
those days of blood and courage, as well as a story of love and
devotion, I deem it worthy preservation, regretting only the
impossibility of now presenting it in print exactly as written by
Geoffry Carlyle.
_R.P._
CONTENTS
I Sent into Servitude
II The Prison Ship
III Dorothy Fairfax
IV The Shores of Virginia
V The Waters of the Chesapeake
VI Fairfax Speaks with Me
VII The Lieutenant Unmasked
VIII A Victory, and a Defeat
IX A Swim to the _Namur_
X On the Deck of the _Namur_
XI The Return of the Boat
XII A Friend in the Forecastle
XIII I Accept a Proposal
XIV I Warn Dorothy
XV The Cabin of the _Namur_
XVI In Dorothy's Stateroom
XVII A Murder on Board
XVIII A New Conspiracy
XIX Laying the Trap
XX The Deck Is Ours
XXI In Full Possession
XXII The Crew Decides
XXIII The Prisoners Escape
XXIV In Clasp of the Sea
XXV The Open Boat
XXVI A Floating Coffin
XXVII On Board the Slaver
XXVIII A New Plan of Escape
XXIX A Struggle in the Dark
XXX Opening the Treasure Chest
XXXI The Boat Attack
XXXII The Last of the _Namur_
XXXIII Before the Governor
WOLVES OF THE SEA
CHAPTER I
SENT INTO SERVITUDE
Knowing this to be a narrative of unusual adventure, and one which may
never even be read until long after I have departed from this world,
when it will be difficult to convince readers that such times as are
herein depicted could ever have been reality, I shall endeavor to
narrate each incident in the simplest manner possible. My only purpose
is truth, and my only witness history. Yet, even now lately as this
all happened it is more like the recollections of a dream, dimly
remembered at awakening, and, perchance, might remain so, but for the
scars upon my body, and the constant memory of a woman's face. These
alone combine to bring back in vividness those days that were--days of
youth and daring, of desperate, lawless war, of wide ocean peril, and
the outstretched hands of love. So that here, where I am writing it
all down, here amid quietness and peace, and forgetful of the past, I
wander again along a deserted shore, and sail among those isles of a
southern sea, the home for many a century of crime and unspeakable
cruelty. I will recall the truth, and can do no more.
I can recall that far-away dawn now as the opening portals of a
beautiful morning, although at the time my thought was so closely
centered upon other things, the deep blue of the sky, and the
glimmering gold of the sun scarcely left an impression on my mind. It
was still early morning when we were brought out under heavy guard,
and marched somberly forth through the opened gates of the gaol. There
had been rain during the night, and the cobble-stones of the village
street were dark with moisture, slipping under our hob-nailed shoes as
we stumbled along down the sharp incline leading to the wharf. Ahead
we could perceive a forest of masts, and what seemed like a vast crowd
of waiting people. Only the murmur of voices greeting us as we
emerged, told that this gathering was not a hostile one, and this
truth was emphasized to our minds by the efforts of the guard to
hasten our passage. That we had been sentenced to exile, to prolonged
servitude in some foreign land, was all that any of us knew--to what
special section of the world fate had allotted us remained unknown.
In spite of curses, and an occasional blow, we advanced slowly,
marching four abreast, with feet dragging heavily, the chains binding
us together clanking dismally with each step, and an armed guard
between each file. Experiences have been many since then, yet I
recall, as though it were but yesterday, the faces of those who walked
in line with me. I was at the right end of my file, and at my shoulder
was a boy from Morrownest, a slim, white-faced lad, his weak chin
trembling from fear, and his eyes staring about so pleadingly I spoke
a word of courage to him, whispering in his ear, lest the guard behind
might strike. He glanced aside at me, but with no response in the
depths of his eyes, in which I could perceive only a dumb anguish of
despair. Beyond him marched Grover, one time butcher at Harwich, a
stocky, big-fisted fellow, with a ghastly sword wound, yet red and
unhealed on his face, extending from hair to chin, his little pig eyes
glinting ugly, and his lips cursing. The man beyond was a soldier, a
straight, athletic fellow, with crinkly black beard, who kept his eyes
front, paying no heed to the cries. The guard pressed the people back
as we shuffled along, but there was no way of keeping them still. I
heard cries of encouragement, shouts of recognition, sobs of pity, and
occasionally a roar of anger as we passed.
"Good lads! God be with yer!"
"Thet one thar is sore hurted--it's a damn shame."
"Thar's Teddy--poor laddie! Luck go with yer, Teddy."
"Ter hell with Black Jeffries, say I!"
"Hush, mon, er ye'll be next ter go--no, I don't know who sed it."
"See thet little chap, Joe; lots ther lad bed ter do with the war."
"They all look mighty peaked--poor devils, four months in gaol."
"Stand back there now. Stand back!"
The guards prodded them savagely with the butts of their musketoons,
thus making scant room for us to shuffle through, out upon the far end
of the wharf, where we were finally halted abreast of a lumping brig,
apparently nearly ready for sea. There were more than forty of us as I
counted the fellows, and we were rounded up at the extremity of the
wharf in the full blaze of the sun, with a line of guards stretched
across to hold back the crowd until preparations had been completed to
admit us aboard. As those in front flung themselves down on the
planks, I got view of the brig's gangway, along which men were still
busily hauling belated boxes and barrels, and beyond these gained
glimpse of the hooker's name--ROMPING BETSY OF PLYMOUTH. A moment
later a sailor passed along the edge of the dock, dragging a coil of
rope after him, and must have answered some hail on his way, for
instantly a whisper passed swiftly from man to man.
"It's Virginia, mate; we're bound fer Virginia."
The ugly little pig eyes of the butcher met mine.
"Virginia, hey?" he grunted. "Ye're a sailorman, ain't ye, mate? Well,
then, whar is this yere Virginia?"
The boy was looking at me also questioningly, the terror in his face
by no means lessened at the sound of this strange word.
"Yes, sir, please; where is it, sir?"
I patted him on the shoulder, as others near by leaned forward to
catch my answer.
"That's all right, mates," I returned cheerfully. "It's across the
blue water, of course, but better than the Indies. We'll fall into the
hands of Englishmen out there, and they'll be decent to us."
"But whar is the bloomin' hole?"
"In America. That is where all the tobacco comes from; likely that
will be our job--raising tobacco."
"Have ever yer bin thar?"
"Ay, twice--and to a land beyond they call Maryland. Tis a country
not so unlike England."
"Good luck that then; tell us about it, matie."
I endeavored to do so, dwelling upon what I remembered of the
settlements, and the habits of the people, but saying little of the
great wilderness of the interior, or how I had seen slaves toiling in
the fields. The group of men within range of my voice leaned forward
in breathless attention, one now and then asking a question, their
chains rattling with each movement of a body. The deep interest shown
in their faces caused me unconsciously to elevate, my voice, and I had
spoken but a moment or two before a hard hand gripped my shoulder.
"Yer better stow that, my man," growled someone above me, and I looked
up into the stern eyes of the captain of the guard "or it may be the
'cat' for ye. Yer heard the orders."
"Yes, sir; I was only answering questions."
"Questions! What the hell difference does it make to this scum whar
they go? Do yer talkin' aboard, not here. So ye've been ter the
Virginia plantation, hev ye?"
"Twice, sir."
"As a sailor?"
"In command of vessels."
His eyes softened slightly, and a different tone seemed to creep into
his voice.
"Then ye must be Master Carlyle, I take it. I heerd tell about ye at
the trial, but supposed ye ter be an older man."
"I am twenty-six."
"Ye don't look even thet. It's my notion ye got an overly hard dose
this time. The Judge was in ill humor thet day. Still thet's not fer
me ter talk about. It's best fer both of us ter hold our tongues. Ay,
they're ready fer ye now. Fall in there--all of yer. Step along, yer
damn rebel scum."
We passed aboard over the narrow gang-plank, four abreast, dragging
our feet, and were halted on the forward deck, while artificers
removed our chains. As these were knocked off, the released prisoners
disappeared one by one down the forward hatch, into the space between
the decks which had been roughly fitted up for their confinement
during the long voyage. As my position was in one of the last files, I
had ample time in which to gaze about, and take note of my
surroundings. Except for the presence of the prisoners the deck
presented no unusual scene. The _Romping Betsy_ was a large,
full-rigged brig, not overly clean, and had evidently been in
commission for some time. Not heavily loaded she rode high, and was a
broad-nosed vessel, with comfortable beam. I knew her at once as a
slow sailor, and bound to develop a decidedly disagreeable roll in any
considerable sea. She was heavily sparred, and to my eye her canvas
appeared unduly weather-beaten and rotten. Indeed there was
unnecessary clutter aloft, and an amount of litter about the deck
which evidenced lack of seamanship; nor did the general appearance of
such stray members of the crew as met my notice add appreciably to my
confidence in the voyage.
I stared aft at the poop deck, seeking to gain glimpse of the skipper,
but was unable to determine his presence among the others. There were
a number of persons gathered along the low rail, attracted by the
unusual spectacle, and curiously watching us being herded aboard, and
dispatched below, but, to judge from their appearance, these were
probably all passengers--some of them adventurers seeking the new land
on their first voyage, although among them I saw others, easily
recognized as Virginians on their way home. Among these I picked out a
planter or two, prosperous and noisy, men who had just disposed of
their tobacco crop, well satisfied with the returns; some artisans
sailing on contract, and a naval officer in uniform. Then my eyes
encountered a strange group foregathered beside the lee rail.
There were four in the little party, but one of these was a negress,
red-turbaned, and black as the ace of spades, a servant evidently,
standing in silence behind the others. Another was clearly enough a
Colonial proprietor, a heavily built man of middle age, purple faced,
and wearing the broad hat with uplifted brim characteristic of
Virginians. I passed these by with a glance, my attention
concentrating upon the other two--a middle-aged young man, and a young
woman standing side by side. The former was a dashing looking blade,
of not more than forty, attired in blue, slashed coat, ornamented with
gilt buttons, and bedecked at collar and cuffs with a profusion of
lace. A saffron colored waist-coat failed to conceal his richly
beruffled shirt, and the hilt of a rapier was rather prominently
displayed. Such dandies were frequently enough seen, but it was this
man's face which made marked contrast with his gay attire. He was
dark, and hook-nosed, apparently of foreign birth, with black
moustache tightly clipped, so as to reveal the thin firmness of his
lips, and even at that distance I could perceive the lines of a scar
across his chin. Altogether there was an audacity to his face, a
daring, convincing me he was no mere lady's knight, but one to whom
fighting was a trade. He was pointing us out to his companion,
apparently joking over our appearance, in an endeavor to amuse.
Seemingly she gave small heed to his words, for although her eyes
followed where he pointed, they never once lighted with a smile, nor
did I see her answer his sallies. She was scarcely more than a girl,
dressed very simply in some clinging dark stuff, with a loose gray
cloak draping her shoulders, and a small, neat bonnet of straw perched
upon a mass of coiled hair. The face beneath was sweetly piquant, with
dark eyes, and rounded cheeks flushed with health. She stood, both
hands clasping the rail, watching us intently. I somehow felt as
though her eyes were upon me, and within their depths, even at that
distance, I seemed to read a message of sympathy and kindness. The one
lasting impression her face left on my memory was that of innocent
girlhood, dignified by a womanly tenderness.
What were those two to each other? I could not guess, for they seemed
from two utterly different worlds. Not brother and sister surely; and
not lovers. The last was unthinkable. Perhaps mere chance
acquaintances, who had drifted together since coming aboard. It seems
strange that at such a moment my attention should have thus centered
on these two, yet I think now that either one would have awakened my
interest wherever we had met. Instinctively I disliked the man, aware
of an instant antagonism, realizing that he was evil; while his
companion came to me as revealment of all that was true and worthy,
in a degree I had never known before. I could not banish either from
my mind. For months I had been in prison, expecting a death sentence,
much of the time passed in solitary confinement, and now, with that
cloud lifted, I had come forth into a fresh existence only to be
confronted by this man and woman, representing exact opposites. Their
peculiarities took immediate possession of a mind entirely unoccupied,
nor did I make any effort to banish them from my thought. From the
instant I looked upon these two I felt convinced that, through some
strange vagary of fate, we were destined to know more of each other;
that our life lines were ordained to touch, and become entangled,
somewhere in that mystery of the Western World to which I had been
condemned. I cannot analyze this conception, but merely record its
presence; the thought took firm possession of me. Under the
circumstances I was too far away to overhear conversation. The
shuffling of feet, the rattling of chains, the harsh voices of the
guard, made it impossible to distinguish any words passing between the
two. I could only watch them, quickly assured that I had likewise
attracted the girl's attention, and that her gaze occasionally sought
mine. Then the guards came to me, and, with my limbs freed of fetters,
I was passed down the steep ladder into the semi-darkness between
decks, where we were to be confined. The haunting memory of her face
accompanied me below, already so clearly defined as to be
unforgettable.
It proved a dismal, crowded hole in which we were quartered like so
many cattle, it being merely a small space forward, hastily boxed off
by rough lumber, the sides and ends built up into tiers of bunks, the
only ventilation and light furnished by the open hatch above. The
place was clean enough, being newly fitted for the purpose, but was
totally devoid of furnishings, the only concession to comfort visible
was a handful of fresh straw in each bunk. The men, herded and driven
down the ladder, were crowded into the central space, the majority
still on their feet, but a few squatting dejectedly on the deck. In
the dim twilight of that bare interior their faces scarcely appeared
natural, and they conversed in undertones. Most of the fellows were
sober and silent, not a bad lot to my judgment, with only here and
there a countenance exhibiting viciousness, or a tongue given to
ribaldry. I could remember seeing but few of them before, yet as I
observed them more closely now, realized that these were not criminals
being punished for crime, but men caught, as I had been, and condemned
without fair trial, through the lies of paid informers. I could even
read in their actions and words the simple stories of their former
lives--the farm laborer, the sailor, the store-keeper, now all on one
common level of misfortune and misery--condemned alike to exile, to
servitude in a strange land, beyond seas.
The ticket given me called by number for a certain berth, and I sought
until I found this, throwing within the small bundle I bore, and then
finding a chance to sit down on the deck beneath. The last of the
bunch of prisoners dribbled down the ladder, each in turn noisily
greeted by those already huddled below. I began to recognize the
increasing foulness of air, and to distinguish words of conversation
from the groups about me. There was but little profanity but some
rough horse-play, and a marked effort to pretend indifference. I could
make out gray-beards and mere boys mingling together, and occasionally
a man in some semblance of uniform. A few bore wounds, and the clothes
of several were in rags; all alike exhibited marks of suffering and
hardship. The butcher from Harwich, and the white-faced lad who had
marched beside me down the wharf, were not to be seen from where I
sat, although beyond doubt they were somewhere in the crowd. The hatch
was not lowered, and gazing up through the square opening, I obtained
glimpse of two soldiers on guard, the sunlight glinting on their guns.
Almost immediately there was the sound of tramping feet on the deck
above, and the creaking of blocks. Then a sudden movement of the hull
told all we were under way. This was recognized by a roar of voices.
CHAPTER II
THE PRISON SHIP
The greater portion of that voyage I would blot entirely from memory
if possible. I cannot hope to describe it in any detail---the foul
smells, the discomfort, the ceaseless horror of food, the close
companionship of men turned into mere animals by suffering and
distress, the wearisome days, the black, sleepless nights, the
poisonous air, and the brutality of guards. I can never forget these
things, for they have scarred my soul, yet surely I need not dwell
upon them now, except as they may bear some direct reference to this
tale I seek to tell. As such those weeks cannot be wholly ignored, for
they form a part of the events to follow--events which might not be
clearly understood without their proper picturing.
We were fifty-three days at sea, driven once so far to the southward
by a severe storm, which struck us the second day out, as to sight the
north coast of Africa before we were able to resume our westward
course. To those of us who were tightly shut into those miserable
quarters below these facts came only as floating rumors, yet the
intense suffering involved was all real enough. For forty-two hours we
were battened down in darkness, flung desperately about by every mad
plunge of the vessel, stifled by poisoned air and noxious odors, and
all that time without a particle of food. If I suffered less than
some others it was simply because I was more accustomed to the sea. I
was not nauseated by the motion, nor unduly frightened by the wild
pitching of the brig. Lying quietly in my berth, braced to prevent
being thrown out, amid a darkness so intense as to seem a weight,
every sound from the deck above, every lift of the vessel, brought to
my mind a sea message, convincing me of two things--that the _Romping
Betsy_ was a staunch craft, and well handled. Terrific as the gale
became I only grew more confident that she would safely weather it.
Yet God knows it was horrible enough even to lie there and listen, to
feel the hurling plunges downward, the dizzy upsweeping of the hull;
to hear the cries, groans and prayers of frightened men, unseen and
helpless in the darkness, the creaking timbers, the resounding blows
of the waves against the sides, the horrid retching of the sick, the
snarling, angry voices as the struggling mass was flung back and
forth, the curses hurled madly into the darkness. They were no longer
men, but infuriated brutes, so steeped in agony and fear as to have
lost all human instincts. They snarled and snapped like so many
beasts, their voices unrecognizable, the stronger treading the weaker
to the deck. I could not see, I could only hear, yet I lay there,
staring blindly about, conscious of every horror, and so weak and
unnerved as to tremble like a child.
Yet the complete knowledge of what had actually occurred in that
frightful hole was only revealed when the violence of the storm
finally ceased, and the guards above again lifted the hatch. The gray
light of dawn faintly illumined the inferno below, and the sweet
breath of morning air swept down among us. Then I saw the haggard,
uplifted faces, the arms tossed aloft, and heard the wild yell as the
stronger charged forward struggling for the foot of the ladder. The
place was a foul, reeking shambles, so filthy as to be positively
sickening, with motionless bodies stretched here and there along the
deck. Sailors and guards fought their way down among us, driving back
the unarmed wretches who sought to oppose their progress, while others
bore to the deck above those who were too helpless to rise. There were
five dead among them, and twice as many more who had lost
consciousness. These were all removed first and then, feeling helpless
to resist the rush, the others were permitted to clamber up the
ladder. Surging out upon the deck, we were hurdled against the lee
rail, menaced by leveled guns, and thus finally fed, while the filthy
quarters below were hastily cleansed.
It was a dark, lowering morning, the desolate sea still threateningly
rough, the heavy clouds hanging low. The _Romping Betsy_ was hove to,
under bare poles, a bit of the jib alone showing, with decks and spars
exhibiting evidence of the terrific struggle to keep afloat. I never
witnessed wilder pitching on any vessel, but the fresh air brought new
life to the wretches about me, and a species of cheerfulness was
quickly manifested. Bad as the food was we ate it gladly, nor did the
memory of the dead, already laid out on the main deck, long depress
us. Why should we mourn for them? We scarcely knew any among them by
name, and, facing the uncertainty of our own fate, each man secretly
felt that these had possibly found the easier way. Our own misery was
now greater than theirs. So we hung on to whatever would help us to
keep erect, and ate the food given us like famished animals. Rough and
threatening as the surroundings still were, I was seaman enough to
realize that the backbone of the storm had broken, and so rejoiced
when the skipper ordered sail set. In a few moments the brig was once
again headed on a westerly course, and riding the heavy seas much more
steadily.
We were permitted to remain on deck scarcely more than an hour, and
during that time only a very few passengers made their appearance aft.
Although watching eagerly I perceived no flutter of a skirt in the
wind, but the Spanish looking man emerged from below, and clung to the
rail for several minutes before we were ordered from deck. He spoke
with the Captain, pointing and gesticulating, and the few detached
words blown to me on the wind were sufficient to convince me that the
fellow knew ships and the sea. I had thought him a mere dandy, but now
saw in him harder stuff, even getting close enough to learn that he
had visited America before, and possessed knowledge of its shores and
currents. Ay, and he spoke English well, with never pause for a word,
even to terms of seamanship a bit obscure.