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Peter Simple

<h3>Chapter Thirty.</h3> <h4>Death of Captain Savage—His funeral—Specimen of true Barbadian born—“Sucking the monkey”—Effects of a hurricane.</h4> The next morning, having hove-to part of the night, land was discovered on the bow, and was reported by the mast-head man at the same moment that the surgeon came up and announced the death of our noble captain. Although it had been expected for the last two or three days, the intelligence created a heavy gloom throughout the ship; the men worked in silence, and spoke to one another in whispers. Mr Falcon was deeply affected, and so were we all. In the course of the morning, we ran into the island, and, unhappy as I was, I never can forget the sensation of admiration which I felt on closing with Needham Point to enter Carlisle Bay. The beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom—the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. Altogether the scene realised my first ideas of fairy land, for I thought I had never witnessed anything so beautiful. “And can this be such a dreadful place as it is described?” thought I. The sails were clewed up, the anchor was dropped to the bottom, and a salute from the ship was answered by the forts, adding to the effect of the scene. The sails were furled, the boats lowered down, the boatswain squared the yards from the jolly-boat ahead. Mr Falcon dressed, and his boat being manned, went on shore with the despatches. Then, as soon as the work was over, a new scene of delight presented itself to the sight of midshipmen who had been so long upon his Majesty’s allowance. These were the boats, which crowded round the ship, loaded with baskets of bananas, oranges, shaddocks, soursops, and every other kind of tropical fruit, fried flying fish, eggs, fowls, milk, and everything which could tempt a poor boy after a long sea voyage. The watch being called, down we all hastened into the boats, and returned loaded with treasures, which we soon contrived to make disappear. After stowing away as much fruit as would have sufficed for a dessert to a dinner given to twenty people in England, I returned on deck. There was no other man-of-war in the bay; but my attention was directed to a beautiful little vessel, a schooner, whose fairy form contrasted strongly with a West India trader which lay close to her. All of a sudden, as I was looking at her beautiful outline, a yell rose from her which quite startled me, and immediately afterwards her deck was covered with nearly two hundred naked figures with woolly heads, chattering and grinning at each other. She was a Spanish slaver, which had been captured, and had arrived the evening before. The slaves were still on board, waiting the orders of the governor. They had been on deck about ten minutes, when three or four men, with large panama straw hats on their heads, and long rattans in their hands, jumped upon the gunnel, and in a few seconds drove them all down below. I then turned round, and observed a black woman who had just climbed up the side of the frigate. O’Brien was on deck, and she walked up to him in the most consequential manner. “How do you do, sar? Very happy you come back again,” said she to O’Brien. “I’m very well, I thank you, ma’am,” replied O’Brien, “and I hope to go back the same; but never having put my foot into this bay before, you have the advantage of me.” “Nebber here before, so help me Gad! me tink I know you—me tink I recollect your handsome face—I Lady Rodney, sar. Ah, piccaninny buccra! how you do?” said she turning round to me. “Me hope to hab the honour to wash for you, sar,” curtsying to O’Brien. “What do you charge in this place?” “All the same price, one bit a piece.” “What do you call a bit?” inquired I. “A bit, lilly massa?—what you call um bit? Dem four sharp shins to a pictareen.” Our deck was now enlivened by several army officers, besides gentlemen residents, who came off to hear the news. Invitations to the mess and to the houses of the gentlemen followed, and as they departed, Mr Falcon returned on board. He told O’Brien and the other officers, that the admiral and squadron were expected in a few days, and that we were to remain in Carlisle Bay, and refit immediately. But although the fright about the yellow fever had considerably subsided in our breasts, the remembrance that our poor captain was lying dead in the cabin was constantly obtruding. All that night the carpenters were up making his coffin, for he was to be buried the next day. The body is never allowed to remain many hours unburied in the tropical climates, where putrefaction is so rapid. The following morning the men were up at daylight, washing the decks and putting the ship in order; they worked willingly, and yet with a silent decorum which showed what their feelings were. Never were the decks better cleaned, never were the ropes more carefully flemished down; the hammocks were stowed in their white cloths, the yards carefully squared, and the ropes hauled taut. At eight o’clock the colours and pennant were hoisted half-mast high. The men were then ordered down to breakfast, and to clean themselves. During the time that the men were at breakfast, all the officers went into the cabin to take a last farewell look at our gallant captain. He appeared to have died without pain, and there was a beautiful tranquillity in his face; but even already a change had taken place, and we perceived the necessity of his being buried so soon. We saw him placed in his coffin, and then quitted the cabin without speaking to each other. When the coffin was nailed down, it was brought up by the barge’s crew to the quarter-deck, and laid upon the gratings amidships, covered over with the Union Jack. The men came up from below without waiting for the pipe, and a solemnity appeared to pervade every motion. Order and quiet were universal, out of respect to the deceased. When the boats were ordered to be manned, the men almost appeared to steal into them. The barge received the coffin, which was placed in the stern sheets. The other boats then hauled up, and received the officers, marines, and sailors, who were to follow the procession. When all was ready, the barge was shoved off by the bow-men, the crew dropped their oars into the water without a splash, and pulled the minute stroke; the other boats followed, and as soon as they were clear of the ship, the minute guns boomed along the smooth service of the bay from the opposite side of the ship, while the yards were topped to starboard and to port, the ropes were slackened and hung in bights, so as to give the idea of distress and neglect. At the same time, a dozen or more of the men who had been ready, dropped over the sides of the ship in different parts, and with their cans of paint and brushes in a few minutes effaced the whole of the broad white riband which marked the beautiful run of the frigate, and left her all black and in deep mourning. The guns from the forts now responded to our own. The merchant ships lowered their colours, and the men stood up respectfully with their hats off, as the procession moved slowly to the landing-place. The coffin was borne to the burial-ground by the crew of the barge, followed by Mr Falcon as chief mourner, all the officers of the ship who could be spared, one hundred of the seamen walking two and two, and the marines with their arms reversed. The cortège was joined by the army officers, while the troops lined the streets, and the bands played the Dead March. The service was read, the volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we returned to the boats and pulled on board. It then appeared to me, and to a certain degree I was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last respects to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. The yards were again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all was activity and bustle. The fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. In a day or two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. Our first business was to water the ship by rafting and towing off the casks. I was in charge of the boat again, with Swinburne as coxswain. As we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf, bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. “Now, Mr Simple,” said Swinburne “see how I’ll make them niggers scamper.” He then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger, roared out, “A shark! a shark!” for the beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. Then, when we all laughed, they called us ‘all the hangman tiefs,’ and every other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. I was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the negroes who crowded round us when we landed. They appeared such merry fellows, always laughing, chattering, singing and showing their white teeth. One fellow danced round us snapping his fingers and singing songs without beginning or end. “Eh, massa, what you say now? Me no slave—true Barbadian born, sir, Eh! <blockquote> “Nebba see de day Dat Rodney run away, Nebba see um night Dat Rodney cannot fight. </blockquote> “Massa, me free man, sar. Suppose you give me pictareen, drink massa health. <blockquote> “Nebba see de day, boy, Pompey lickum de Caesar. </blockquote> “And you nebba see de day dat de Grasshopper run on de Warrington.” “Out of the way, you nigger!” cried one of the men who was rolling down a cask. “Eh! who you call nigger? Me free man, and true Barbadian born. Go along, you man-of-war man. <blockquote> “Man-of-war, buccra, Man-of-war, buccra. He de boy for me; Sodger, buccra, Sodger, buccra, Nebba, nebba do. Nebba, nebba do for me; Sodger give one shilling, Sailor give me two. </blockquote> “Massa, now suppose you give me only one pictareen now. You really handsome young gentleman.” “Now, just walk off,” said Swinburne, lifting up a stick he found on the beach. “Eh; walk off:— <blockquote> “Nebba see de day, boy, ’Badian run away, boy.” </blockquote> “Go, do your work, sar. Why you talk to me? Go, work, sar. I free man, and real Barbadian born. <blockquote> “Negro on de shore See de ship come in, De buccra come on shore, Wid de hand up to de chin; Man-of-war, buccra, Man-of-war, buccra, He de boy for me, Man-of-war, buccra, Man-of-war, buccra, Gib pictareen to me.” </blockquote> At this moment my attention was directed to another negro, who lay on the beach, rolling and foaming at the mouth, apparently in a fit. “What’s the matter with that fellow?” said I to the same negro, who continued close to me, notwithstanding Swinburne’s stick. “Eh! call him Sam Slack, massa. He ab um tic tic fit.” And such was apparently the case. “Stop, me cure him;” and he snatched the stick out of Swinburne’s hand, and running up to the man, who continued to roll on the beach, commenced belabouring him without mercy. “Eh, Sambo!” cried he at last, quite out of breath, “you no better yet,—try again—” He recommenced, until at last the man got up and ran away as fast as he could. Now, whether the man was shamming or whether it was real tic tic, or epileptic fit, I know not, but I never heard of such a cure for it before. I threw the fellow half a pictareen, as much for the amusement he had offered me as to get rid of him. “Tanky, massa; now man-of-war man, here de tick for you again to keep off all de dam niggers.” So saying, he handed the stick to Swinburne, made a polite bow, and departed. We were, however, soon surrounded by others, particularly some dingy ladies, with baskets of fruit, and who, as they said, “sell ebery ting.” I perceived that my sailors were very fond of cocoa-nut milk, which, being a harmless beverage, I did not object to their purchasing from these ladies, who had chiefly cocoa-nuts in their baskets. As I had never tasted it, I asked them what it was, and bought a cocoa-nut. I selected the largest. “No, massa, dat not good for you. Better one for buccra officer.” I then selected another, but the same objection was made—“No, massa, dis very fine milk. Very good for de ’tomac.” I drank off the milk from the holes on the top of the cocoa-nut, and found it very refreshing. As for the sailors, they appeared very fond of it indeed. But I very soon found that if good for de ’tomac, it was not very good for the head, as my men, instead of rolling the casks, began to roll themselves in all directions, and when it was time to go off to dinner, most of them were dead drunk at the bottom of the boat. They insisted that it was the sun which affected them. Very hot it certainly was, and I believed them at first, when they were only giddy; but I was convinced to the contrary, when I found that they became insensible; yet how they had procured the liquor was to me a mystery. When I came on board, Mr Falcon, who, although acting captain, continued his duties as first lieutenant almost as punctually as before, asked how it was that I had allowed my men to get so tipsy. I assured him that I could not tell, that I had never allowed one to leave the watering-place, or to buy any liquor: the only thing that they had had to drink was a little cocoa-nut milk, which, as it was so very hot, I thought there could be no objection to. Mr Falcon smiled and said, “Mr Simple, I’m an old stager in the West Indies, and I’ll let you into a secret. Do you know what ‘sucking the monkey’ means?” “No, sir.” “Well, then, I’ll tell you; it is a term used, among seamen for drinking rum out of cocoa-nuts, the milk having been poured out, and the liquor substituted. Now do you comprehend why your men are tipsy?” I stared with all my eyes, for it never would have entered into my head; and I then perceived why it was that the black woman would not give me the first cocoa-nuts which I selected. I told Mr Falcon of this circumstance, who replied, “Well, it was not your fault, only you must not forget it another time.” It was my first watch that night, and Swinburne was quarter-master on deck. “Swinburne,” said I, “you have often been in the Indies before, why did you not tell me that the men were ‘sucking the monkey,’ when I thought that they were only drinking cocoa-nut milk?” Swinburne chuckled, and answered, “Why, Mr Simple, d’ye see, it didn’t become me as a shipmate to peach. It’s but seldom that a poor fellow has an opportunity of making himself a ‘little happy,’ and it would not be fair to take away the chance. I suppose you’ll never let them have cocoa-nut milk again?” “No, that I will not; but I cannot imagine what pleasure they can find in getting so tipsy.” “It’s merely because they are not allowed to be so, sir. That’s the whole story in few words.” “I think I could cure them, if I were permitted to try.” “I should like to hear how you’d manage that, Mr Simple.” “Why, I would oblige a man to drink off a half pint of liquor, and then put him by himself. I would not allow him companions to make merry with, so as to make a pleasure of intoxication. I would then wait until next morning when he was sober, and leave him alone with a racking headache until the evening, when I would give him another dose, and so on, forcing him to get drunk until he hated the smell of liquor.” “Well, Mr Simple, it might do with some, but many of our chaps would require the dose you mention to be repeated pretty often before it would effect a cure; and what’s more, they’d be very willing patients, and make no wry faces at their physic.” “Well, that may be, but it would cure them at last. But tell me, Swinburne, were you ever in a hurricane?” “I’ve been in everything, Mr Simple, I believe, except a school, and I never had no time to go there. Did you see that battery at Needham Point? Well, in the hurricane of ’82, them same guns were whirled away by the wind, right over to this point here on the opposite side, the sentries in their sentry-boxes after them. Some of the soldiers who faced the wind had their teeth blown down their throats like broken ’baccy pipes, others had their heads turned round like dog vanes; ’cause they waited for orders to the ‘right about face,’ and the whole air was full of young niggers, blowing about like peelings of ingons.” “You don’t suppose I believe all this, Swinburne?” “That’s as may be, Mr Simple; but I’ve told the story so often, that believe it myself.” “What ship were you in?” “In the Blanche, Captain Faulkner, who was as fine a fellow as poor Captain Savage, whom we buried yesterday; there could not be a finer than either of them. I was at the taking of the Pique, and carried him down below after he had received his mortal wound. We did a pretty thing out here when we took Fort Royal by a coup-de-main, which means, boarding from the main-yard of the frigate, and dropping from it into the fort. But what’s that under the moon?—that a sail in the offing.” Swinburne fetched the glass and directed it to the spot. “One, two, three, four. It’s the admiral, sir, and the squadron hove-to for the night. One’s a line-of-battle ship, I’ll swear.” I examined the vessels, and agreeing with Swinburne, reported them to Mr Falcon. My watch was then over, and as soon as I was released I went to my hammock. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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