Читать книгу Men Against the Sea – Book Set - James Norman Hall - Страница 22

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The following morning our prison was cleaned for the first time since we had been confined there, and lighted with two additional candles. A bucket of sea water was then furnished us and we were permitted to wash our hands and faces. We were in a truly deplorable condition, only less filthy than the prison itself, and we begged the master-at-arms to allow us a complete bath.

“I have been ordered to give you one bucket of water and no more,” he said. “Make haste, for the captain is coming directly.”

We had no sooner finished our hurried toilet than Captain Edwards entered, followed by Lieutenant Parkin. The master-at-arms called out, “Prisoners! Stand!” We rose to our feet, and Edwards glanced around the compartment and from one to another of us. The stench of the place was frightful, and our naked bodies gleamed with sweat in the dim light. From the appearance of my fellow prisoners I knew what a disgusting appearance I myself must present. My intention had been to protest against the inhumanity of such a place of confinement; but believing that conditions would speak eloquently enough for themselves, I decided to say nothing. Edwards turned to the master-at-arms.

“Command them to hold out their hands,” he said.

“Prisoners, hold out your hands!”

We obeyed, and Edwards examined our handcuffs and leg irons. It chanced that Stewart’s manacles fitted somewhat loosely to his wrists, and Edwards noticed this.

“Mr. Parkin, see to it that the armourer inspects all of these irons,” he said. “I shall hold him responsible if any prisoner shall be able to free himself.”

“I shall attend to the matter immediately, sir,” Parkin replied.

Edwards continued to regard us coldly for a moment or two.

“Inform the prisoners that, in future, they may converse with one another. But let them understand this: they shall speak only in English. If I hear of as much as a single word passing between them in the Indian language, the permission I have granted shall be withdrawn.”

This information was conveyed to us through the proper channel.

“And under no circumstances whatever is any prisoner to speak to a sentinel or to any member of the ship’s company except Mr. Parkin or the corporal in charge of the guard. I shall severely punish any infringement of this order.”

Parkin was in general charge of us. I felt an instinctive aversion for this man. He was short, thickset, and excessively hairy, with eyebrows that met in an irregular line over his nose. The vice of cruelty was written plain on his face, and we had not been long in discovering the character of the man in whose power we were. Thus far he had displayed it in various small ways, but Edwards had now given him the kind of opportunity he craved. No sooner had the captain left us than Parkin himself made an inspection of our irons, beginning with Stewart, whom he ordered to lie down and stretch up his hands. He then grasped the chain connecting the handcuffs, and, placing his foot against Stewart’s chest, he strained and tugged with all his strength, succeeding at length in wrenching off the irons, taking the skin from Stewart’s knuckles and the backs of both hands as he did so. As the handcuffs came away he nearly fell over backward. In his anger, Stewart forgot his helpless position. He sprang to his feet, and had Parkin been within reach Stewart would have knocked him down.

“You filthy beast!” he said. “Do you call yourself an officer?”

Parkin had a high soft voice, almost feminine in quality, in strange contrast to his swarthy, hairy appearance.

“What did you say?” he asked. “Repeat that.”

“I called you a filthy beast,” said Stewart, “and so you are!”

He was as near to Parkin as his irons would permit him to go. The lieutenant took care to keep beyond reach.

“You will regret that,” he said. “I promise that you will repent of it more than once before you’re hung.”

I am unable to say whether he would have tried the irons of the rest of us in the same manner. I was resolved that he should not test mine in that fashion; but at that moment the armourer appeared and Parkin ordered him to carry on the examination. It would have been impossible for any of us to have freed ourselves from the leg irons, but Parkin ordered all the handcuffs to be altered so that they should fit more tightly. When they had been repaired and brought back, it was only with great difficulty that they could be fastened upon us.

Meanwhile, I told the others of my conversation with the surgeon. We forgot our wretched situation in the pleasure of being permitted to converse again, and the day passed more rapidly than the previous five had done. Realizing now that we had nothing to hope for until we reached England, we resolved to make the best of things, and to devise methods of passing the time. Of the four of us, Skinner alone had nothing to hope for, and yet he was the most cheerful of us all. I began to suspect, at this time, that the man was not wholly right in his mind. He said more than once that, if the decision were again to be made, he would give himself up to justice as he had done, and he seemed to look forward with pleasure to the day when he would be hung.

We were careful to obey Edwards’s order with respect to the sentinels. We had no desire to make trouble for them, and Parkin was spying about at all hours. But there was a seaman, James Good, whose name was an indication of his kindly nature. He was the man usually sent with our food, and he never failed to whisper to us welcome bits of news as he handed round our plates. “Mr. Parkin’s gone ashore, sir,” he would say; “you won’t be bothered this morning.” Or, “I’ll fetch you a bit of fresh meat for your supper.” Whenever possible he would bring us morsels of fresh pork or breadfruit or sweet potatoes wrapped in a handkerchief inside his blouse. This he did with the connivance of the cooks. Had any of these men been discovered, they would have been severely flogged, and yet they cheerfully ran the risk in order to lighten the misery of our situation.

But never had Good brought us such welcome news as on the evening when he informed us that we were to be moved to other quarters.

“Have you heard the knockin’ and ’ammerin’ on deck, sir?” he whispered to me. “The carpenters are makin’ a proper ’ouse for you up there.”

We had heard, at times, the sounds of hammering, and now that we knew it concerned us, it was music to our ears. The following day we were unshackled from the filthy planking of our dungeon, marched up the ladderway, along the lower deck, and up a second ladderway to the pure air of the upper deck. At first our eyes were so dazzled by the brilliance of the sunshine that we could scarcely see, and so lost half the pleasure of our moment in the open. It was, in fact, no more than a moment. Edwards was present, and the master-at-arms ordered us into our new prison at once. We mounted the ladder to the top of the box, which stood on the quarter-deck. There was a scuttle about eighteen inches square through which we descended inside.

This place was to be our prison for as long as we remained on the Pandora. It was called “the roundhouse,” but more often we prisoners referred to it as “Pandora’s Box.” It was eleven feet long at the deck and eighteen feet wide at the bulkhead. There were two scuttles, nine inches square, in the bulkhead, and these, with the one in the roof, were heavily barred and gave us what light we had. Across the deck midway between the walls was a line of fourteen heavy ringbolts to which the leg irons were to be attached. We were now made fast in the corners of the compartment, Stewart and Skinner next the bulkhead, and Coleman and I on the after side. Our leg irons were cylindrical bands three inches wide with a twelve-inch length of chain which passed through a ringbolt. One key unlocked all the leg irons and another the handcuffs. The keys were carried by the master-at-arms.

As in our former prison, we could stand up and move half a pace in either direction, and we had full headroom. The floor was the deck itself, and on either side were small scupper holes. In fair weather the roof scuttle was left open save for the iron grating, and two sentries continually paced the roof. The monotonous, everlasting tread of their feet so close overhead became a sound as wearisome to us as the clinking of our chains through the ringbolts.

We could not suppose that so large a prison had been prepared for four men, and by each of the unoccupied ringbolts lay a pair of leg irons ready for use. Evidently Captain Edwards had reason to believe that he would soon take others of the Bounty’s company. That Christian and his party had returned was so improbable as not to be worth considering. The only remaining possibility was that the departure of the Resolution from Papara had been delayed, and that she was either captured or about to be. We were not long kept in doubt. Two days later, the grating over the roof scuttle was raised, and Morrison, Norman, and Ellison were brought down and chained beside us.

This was a meeting such as none of us had hoped for. Morrison and Norman had not yet recovered from their astonishment at being treated as pirates. Ellison was the same scatterbrained youngster he had always been. Excitement in any form was the breath of life to him, and to be considered a desperate character, chained up like a wild beast, was his conception of a lark. Fortunately he had no sense of the gravity of his situation, and we did nothing to remind him of it. Of all those who had taken part in the mutiny, he was the one I most hoped would escape capture.

The armourer, supervised by Parkin, fitted handcuffs to the new captives, and Ellison being no more than a boy, Parkin tried upon him the same measures he had used with Stewart. Ordering him to lie down, he placed one foot on his chest and tried to draw the handcuffs over his hands. For a moment Ellison endured this treatment in silence; then he said, smiling, “Leave off, sir. I’ll give you these things if you want them, but you can’t get them that way.”

Parkin’s only reply was to let go the chain so suddenly that Ellison fell back, striking his head heavily on the deck. Parkin’s eyes shone with delight as Ellison sat up, rubbing his head. He ordered him to stretch up his hands again, but this time Ellison was prepared, and when Parkin let go the chain the boy fell back on one shoulder and avoided striking his head.

“That’s one for me, sir,” he said with a grin.

The lieutenant was breathing heavily, not so much from exertion as from emotion. The fact that a common seaman and a mutineer beside had dared to speak to him was more than he could endure.

“Lie down!” he ordered.

A look of fear came into Ellison’s eyes as he obeyed. He stretched up his arms, expecting Parkin to grasp the chain again. Instead of that he kicked Ellison in the side, as cruel a blow as was ever given a defenseless man.

“That will teach you how to speak to an officer,” he said, in his soft bland voice. The armourer was a witness of this foul proceeding. “Good God, sir!” he exclaimed in spite of himself. By a happy chance Parkin stood within reach of Morrison, who drew back his manacled fists and gave him a blow which sent him staggering in my direction. I had barely time to fetch him another that knocked him off his balance, and as he fell he struck his head against one of the ringbolts. He got up slowly and looked from one to another of us without speaking. Presently he turned to the armourer.

“You may go, Jackson,” he said. “I shall know how to deal with this.” The armourer went up the ladder, and Parkin stood looking down at Ellison, who was lying on his belly with his hands pressed against his side.

“Oh, you dogs!” he exclaimed softly, as though speaking to himself. “I could have you flogged to death for this. But I’m to see you hung! Remember that—I’m to see you hung!” He then went up the ladder, the grating was lifted for him, and he climbed out.

Had not the armourer witnessed the brutal assault upon Ellison, I have no doubt that we should have suffered for our rebellious conduct. But evidently Parkin feared that the truth would come out if complaint should be made to the captain. At any rate, no action was taken, and for several days we saw no more of the man. Ellison suffered great pain, but youth and natural toughness of body were in his favour, and he quickly recovered.

As soon as we were alone again, Morrison gave us an account of the taking of the schooner. Having called at Papara to pick up McIntosh, Hillbrandt, and Millward, they had decided to take advantage of the fine weather to salt down some extra casks of pork. Several days were spent in this work, and on the morning of what was to have been their last day on the island, most of the men made an excursion far up the Papara Valley for a supply of mountain plantains. Morrison, Ellison, and Norman remained with the schooner, and toward noon word reached the district of the arrival of a vessel at Matavai. Before any action could be taken, a ship’s launch filled with marines appeared.

“Norman and I could have danced for joy at sight of the English uniforms,” Morrison went on; “but when we thought of the others we felt less happy. They were certain of capture now and I had no time to send them warning. The launch was upon us five minutes after she had rounded the point. She came alongside and you can imagine our astonishment when we saw that Thomas Hayward, in a lieutenant’s uniform, was in charge of her.”

“I suppose you fell on each other’s necks, Morrison,” Stewart put in.

“He didn’t condescend to speak to me, but ordered his men to clap me in irons. He remained with the schooner with most of the marines. We were sent back with the launch.”

“Mr. Hayward is in a difficult position; we must remember that,” said Coleman.

“In a position that precisely suits the little cad,” said Stewart, hotly. “He knows that we are as innocent as he himself.”

“Do you remember how he whimpered when Christian ordered him into the launch?” asked Morrison.

“So he did, Coleman,” said Norman. “Him and Mr. Hallet both begged to stay with the ship, and that’s something none of us was guilty of.”

Hayward’s superior, contemptuous attitude was naturally resented by all of us who had taken no part in the mutiny. Making all possible allowances for him, we still found it inexcusable.

The other men were soon brought in from Papara. There were seven of them: McIntosh, Hillbrandt, Burkitt, Millward, Sumner, Muspratt, and Byrne. The roundhouse was none too large, now, for our accommodation. Eight men were chained so that they slept with their heads at the bulkhead, and six on the opposite side. I was in the corner, on the starboard side aft, with Muspratt on my left. I had reason to be grateful for my chance position in the roundhouse. Two or three days after we had been confined there, I discovered in one of the wall planks a knot that had become loosened as the green lumber dried in the sun. I tried for several nights, without success, to draw it out. James Good, our steward, came to my assistance. He pushed the knot in to me, and thereafter I had a tiny window through which I had a glimpse of the bay and the shore line beyond. Sometimes, as the Pandora shifted her position with the current, I had Stewart’s house directly opposite my window, and although we were too far distant to enable me to distinguish the people moving about there, I could easily imagine who they were.

I watched canoes and the ship’s boats coming and going. Many of the people in the canoes I knew; they were old friends of one or another of us. As they approached, I could see them more and more distinctly until they were cut off from view by the side of the vessel. Several times I saw Peggy, Stewart’s wife, being paddled around the ship by her father or one of her brothers. With what longing she gazed in our direction! Her father, wisely, never brought her within earshot. She would have been certain to cry out to her husband had she thought him within hearing, only adding to the misery of them both. I said nothing to Stewart of the matter. I had no desire to harrow his feelings any more than was already the case with him.

One morning while I was standing on lookout, Muspratt, who was keeping watch for me, gave the warning, “Hatchway!” and I had barely time to thrust in the knot before the master-at-arms descended the ladder, followed by Edwards. It was an unexpected visit, the first we had had from the captain since our confinement in the roundhouse. Our prison had not been cleaned in all that time, and I will say no more of its condition than that fourteen chained men were obliged to obey the calls of nature in that close-walled space.

Edwards halted at the foot of the ladder.

“Master-at-arms, why is this place in such a filthy state?”

“Mr. Parkin’s orders were that it was to be cleaned once a week, sir.”

“Have it washed out immediately, and report to me when it is done.”

“Very good, sir.”

Edwards lost no time in leaving the place; then, to our great joy, swabs were handed down to us, and bucket after bucket of salt water. When we had scoured our quarters thoroughly, passing the swabs from hand to hand, we scrubbed each other. To be clean once more had a wonderful effect upon our spirits. Some of the men sang and whistled at the work, sounds that contrasted strangely with the clinking of manacles, but these cheerful noises were cut short by a curt order from the master-at-arms. In half an hour we had the place as clean as salt water and good will could make it, whereupon the master-at-arms returned, followed, this time, by Dr. Hamilton. The surgeon threw a quick glance in my direction, and there was a friendly glint in his eyes; otherwise he gave no indication that we had met before. He passed along the line, glancing over our bodies in a professional manner, and stopped before Muspratt.

“That needs attention, my man,” he said, indicating a great boil on Muspratt’s knee. “Have him sent to the sick-bay at ten, Mr. Jackson.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Hamilton had fully as much dignity as the captain, but he did not feel it necessary to address us through an inferior officer.

“Are any of the rest of you suffering from boils or other humours?” he asked. “If so, speak up, and I attend to you at the same time. Remember, it is my duty to care for your health as well as that of the ship’s company. You must not hesitate to inform me when you need my services.”

“May I speak, sir?” Stewart asked.

“Certainly.”

“Would it be possible, while the ship remains here, for us to be supplied now and then with fresh food?”

Morrison eagerly seconded this request.

“We have friends among the Indians, sir, who would be only too glad to send us fruit and cooked vegetables if this could be permitted.”

“And it would save the ship’s stores, sir,” Coleman added.

Dr. Hamilton glanced from one to another of us.

“But you’re having fresh food,” he said.

“No, sir, begging your pardon,” said Coleman. “Only salt beef and hard bread.”

Dr. Hamilton looked at the master-at-arms.

“That’s been their victuals, sir. Mr. Parkin’s orders.”

“I see,” the surgeon replied. “I’ll look into the matter. Perhaps it can be arranged.”

We thanked him warmly, and he went on deck again.

It was plain from the events of that morning that Parkin’s treatment of us had been without the knowledge of the captain or of Dr. Hamilton. Edwards was willing to be ignorant of the lieutenant’s cruelty, but from that day forth Dr. Hamilton made us frequent visits. We were never again compelled to lie in our own filth, and our food was the same as that given to the seamen of the Pandora.