HOW CAPTAIN PAMPHILE PUT DOWN A MUTINY ON BOARD THE BRIG “ROXELANE,” AND WHAT WAS THE SEQUEL THEREOF
Tom was a native of Canada. He belonged to that herbivorous species of bear, which, while generally confined to the mountains lying between New York and Lake Ontario, sometimes in the winter, when driven down by the snow from among the ice-bound peaks, ventures to descend in famishing bands to the very outskirts of Portland and Boston.
Now, if our readers care to know how Tom managed to travel from the banks of the St. Lawrence to those of the Seine, they must be good enough to look back to the end of the year 1829, and to follow us to the northern extremity of the Atlantic Ocean, between the coast of Iceland and the promontory of Cape Farewell. There we shall show them, “walking the waters like a thing of life,” the brig of our old friend Captain Pamphile. The adventurer in question, forsaking for once his old love for the East, this time turned away towards the Pole, not, however, like Ross, or Parry, seeking to explore the North-west Passage, but with a more utilitarian and certainly a more lucrative aim. Captain Pamphile, having two years to wait for his cargoes of ivory, was making use of the time in attempting to introduce to the Northern Seas that system of barter which we have watched him practising with so much success in the waters of the Indian Archipelago. The theatre of his early exploits was becoming somewhat unproductive, in consequence of the frequent colloquies he had held with passing ships in those latitudes, and, moreover, he felt
the need of change of air. Only, this voyage, instead of seeking cargo of tea and spices, Captain Pamphile directed his attention to the acquisition of sperm oil.
Given the character of our worthy filibuster, it will be obvious that he would not waste time in selecting whaling hands for his crew, or in fitting out his ship with whaleboats, lines, and harpoons. He was quite satisfied with a careful inspection, as he put to sea, of the swivel guns, the carronades, and the long eights, which, as we have said, he made serve him for ballast. He had put his muskets in good order, sharpened up his boarding cutlasses, laid in provisions for six weeks, passed the Straits of Gibraltar, and in the month of September — that is to say, just when the fisheries are at their best — he was cruising about the 60th parallel of latitude, and forthwith began to ply his trade.
As we have seen, Captain Pamphile liked well-finished work. So, he gave special attention to such vessels as he conjectured, from the way they sailed, to hold good and sufficient cargoes.’ We know what his method of bargaining was in these delicate negotiations. He had made no appreciable change in his system, notwithstanding the change in locality. Thus it is needless to repeat the details to our readers.
We need only say that the success of the system was complete. Thus, he was returning with not more than fifty of his casks empty, when chance threw in his way, off the banks of Newfoundland, a barque returning from the cod fisheries. Captain Pamphile, while undertaking grand speculative ventures, by no means despised smaller transactions. He therefore did not let this opportunity of completing his cargo pass. The fifty empty casks were passed on board the fishing smack, and in exchange for them the fishermen kindly sent Captain Pamphile fifty full barrels. Policar brought to his notice the fact that the full casks were not so high by three inches as the empty ones. But Captain Pamphile was good enough to condone this irregularity, in consequence of the cod having been only just salted the day before. Only he examined the whole of the casks one by one, to satisfy himself as to the good quality of the fish. Then, after ordering the lot to be headed down, he had them lowered into the hold, with the exception of one cask which he kept out for his own ‘table.
In the evening the doctor entered his cabin just as he was sitting down to supper. He came to ask, in the name of the crew, for three or four casks of fresh cod. For the space of nearly a month, the ship being short of food, the sailors had been living on whale steaks and seal cutlets. The Captain asked if they were out of provisions. The doctor replied that they still had a certain amount of the kind we have mentioned, but that this sort of food, anything but good when fresh, was far from being improved by being salted down. Pamphile, upon this, remarked that he was very sorry indeed to refuse, but he had an order from the firm of Breda and Company, of Marseilles, for exactly forty-nine barrels of salt cod, and he could not disappoint such good customers. Moreover, if the crew wanted fresh cod, they had only to fish for them, as they were quite at liberty to do, he, Captain Pamphile, placing no obstacle whatever in their way. The doctor went back to the crew. In ten minutes’ time Captain Pamphile heard the sound of a great commotion on board the brig “Roxelane.” A hubbub of voices shouted, “Boarding pikes! Cutlasses!” and one sailor cried, “Hurrah for Policar! Down with Captain Pamphile! “Captain Pamphile judged it was about time to show himself. He got up from his seat, put a brace of pistols in his belt, lit his short pipe, which he never smoked but in very stormy weather, and took in his hand a sort of full-dress cat-o’- nine-tails, elaborately constructed, which he carried only on very great occasions. He went on deck and found a mutiny in active progress. Captain Pamphile walked forward into the middle of the ship’s company, who were gathered about in groups, looking to right and left the while for any man bold enough to say the first word. A stranger would merely have supposed Captain Pamphile to be making an ordinary tour of inspection, but to the crew of the “Roxelane,” who well knew his long arm, it was something quite different. They knew that Captain Pamphile was never so near a dangerous outburst as when he said nothing; and his silence was terrifying. At last, after two or three turns up and down, he stopped in front of his first officer, who seemed to be mixed up in the disaffection along with the others.
“Policar, my lad,” said he, “can you tell me which way the wind is?”
“But — Captain,” said Policar, “the wind is... You said the wind?”
“Yes, I said the wind. How’s the wind?”
“Upon my word!” said Policar, “I don’t know.”
“Very well, I am going to tell you, I am! “. And Captain Pamphile looked aloft at the sky, which was overcast, with an air of serious consideration; then, holding up his head towards the breeze, he whistled as sailors do. Finally, turning to his first officer: “Well, Policar, my fine fellow, I can tell you what the wind’s doing, I can. It’s going to blow a gale.”
“I thought as much,” said Policar. “And now, Policar, my man, will you have the goodness to tell me what is going to fall?”
“What is going to fall?”
“Yes, to come down like hail.”
“Upon my word and honour, I don’t know what’s going to come down,” said Policar.
“Well, I’ll tell you; rope’s ends and cat-o’-nine-tails are. So, friend, Policar, if you want to keep out of the storm look sharp and get into your cabin, and don’t come out again till I tell you. Do you understand me, Policar?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Policar, going below. “That’s a very intelligent young man,” said Captain Pamphile to himself. Then he paced up and down the deck two or three times more and presently stopped dead in front of the carpenter, who held a pike in his hand. “Good-day to you, Georges,” said he to the carpenter. “What is that little plaything you’ve got there, my lad?”
“Why! Captain...” stammered the carpenter. “Lord a’ mercy, why, it’s my broom!” suddenly cried the Captain.
The carpenter dropped the pike, the Captain picked it up and broke it into two halves as he might have snapped a willow wand. “I see how it was,” continued Captain Pamphile, “you wanted to brush your clothes. Very good, my friend, very good indeed. Cleanliness is next to godliness, so they say.” He made a sign for two of the crew to come to him.
“Come here, you two; each of you lay hold of one of these bits of stick and dust his jacket for poor old Georges; and Georges, my boy, mind you stay inside your jacket during the operation!”
“How many lashes, sir?” asked the men. “Well, say five-and-twenty each of you.” The flogging began, the two fellows striking blow for blow with the regularity of a pair of Virgilian shepherds. The Captain counted the strokes, and at the thirtieth Georges fainted.
“That will do, said the Captain. “Carry him to his hammock. He can have the rest to-morrow. Give every man his due.”
The Captain’s orders were obeyed. Then he paced three times up and down the deck again, finally stopping in front of the sailor who had shouted, “Hurrah for Policar! Down with Captain Pamphile.”
“Well,” said he, “how’s that sweet voice of yours getting on, Gaetâno, my boy?”
Gaetano tried to speak, but, hard as he tried, nothing came of the effort but indistinct gurgles and mutterings.
“Goodness me!” said the Captain, “the man’s lost his voice. Gaetano, my son, this is dangerous, and calls for prompt treatment. Doctor, tell off four dressers for the job this minute.” The doctor chose four men, who came round Gaetano. “Come here, my dear boys,” said the Captain, “and mind you follow my directions carefully. You must get a line and reeve it through a block; then you will take one end and knot it round this honest lad’s neck for a cravat; then you must haul in the slack till you’ve lifted our man thirty feet in the air. You will keep him there for ten minutes, and when you lower him, he’ll talk like a starling and sing like a blackbird. Look alive, my hearties, look alive!”
The executioners went about their work in dead silence, and the Captain’s orders were followed out from start to finish without the faintest protest being raised. Captain Pamphile watched it with so much care that he let his pipe go out. In ten minutes’ time the body of the rebellious sailor was let down on the deck perfectly rigid. The doctor came up and satisfied himself that he was really dead; then they tied one cannonball to the neck of the corpse and two to the feet, and pitched it into the sea.
“Now,” said Captain Pamphile, taking his cutty out of his mouth, “all of you go and relight my pipe, and take care that only one man brings it back.” The nearest sailor took the relic of antiquity from the hand of his superior, with signs of the most profound respect, and descended the main hatchway, followed by the whole crew, leaving the Captain alone with the doctor. A moment afterwards Double-Bouche appeared, carrying the relighted cutty.
“Ah, it’s you, you young brigand,” said the Captain. “And what were you doing while these good people were walking about the deck discussing their business? Answer me that, you little blackguard.”
“My word,” said Double-Bouche, seeing from the Captain’s manner that he had nothing to fear, “I was dipping a crust of bread into the stew-pan to see if the stew was good, and my fingers into the saucepan to see if the sauce was properly seasoned.”
“Very well, you young imp, you may take the best of the stew and the sauce, and turn out the rest of it as soup for my dog. As for the sailors, they can eat dry bread and drink plain water for three days. That is a good preventive against scurvy. Let us go to dinner, doctor.”
And the Captain went back to his cabin, called for another plate for his guest, and resumed his dinner of fresh cod as if there had been no interruption between the first and second courses. At the end of dinner the Captain went on deck again to make his evening round. Everything seemed in perfect order, the quartermaster at his post, the steersman at the helm, and the look out in the fore-top. The brig was under full sail, and was doing her steady eight knots an hour, having to port the banks of Newfoundland and to starboard the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The wind was west-north-west, and seemed likely to hold. So that Captain Pamphile, after a stormy day, counting on a quiet night, went below to his cabin, took off his coat, lit his pipe, and leaned out of the stern-ports, following with his eyes now the trail of his tobacco smoke, now the wake of the vessel.
Captain Pamphile, as the reader will have noticed, was more of a man of action than of poetry and picturesque imagination; still, like the true sailor he was, he could not be a spectator of the cloudless moon silvering the waves of ocean without dropping into that sympathetic and pensive mood that comes over every seaman when contemplating the element on which he lives and moves.
He had been leaning thus for perhaps two hours, his body half in, half out of the port, hearing nothing but the wash of the passing waves, seeing nothing but the Cape of St. John disappearing on the horizon like a sea mist, when he suddenly was recalled to himself by some one gripping him by the collar of his shirt and the seat of his breeches. At the same time that he was seized, the hands which had taken this liberty with him appeared to execute a sort of see-saw movement, the one on his collar bearing down, the other lifting, so that Captain Pamphile’s feet were raised considerably higher than his head. The captain tried to call for help, but he had not time to do so. As he opened his mouth the individual who guided his movements, having brought his body into the desired degree of inclination, let go simultaneously both shirt and breeches, so that Captain Pamphile, obeying, in spite of himself, the laws of equilibrium and gravity, took a nearly vertical plunge, and disappeared in the silvery wake of the “Roxelane,” which continued on her rapid and even course without the least consciousness that she had been widowed of her captain.
Next day, at ten o’clock, as Captain Pamphile had not, according to his invariable custom, started on his round of inspection on deck, the doctor entered his cabin, and found it empty. In a moment, the news of the Captain’s disappearance flew round the crew. The command of the vessel devolved as a matter of right upon the mate; consequently they ran to bring Policar from the cabin in which he was conscientiously keeping his arrest; and he was proclaimed captain.
The first act of authority on the part of the new skipper was to serve out to each man a share of the cod and a double ration of brandy, and to remit in Georges’ favour the twenty stripes which remained of his sentence.
Three days later than the events we have just described, not a soul on board the brig “Roxelane “troubled either more or less about Captain Pamphile than would have been the case had that worthy mariner never existed.