38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LITTLE JULE SAILS WITHOUT US.
To make good the hint thrown out by the consul upon the
conclusion of the Farce of the Affidavits, we were again brought
before him within the time specified.
It was the same thing over again: he got nothing out of us,
and we were remanded; our resolute behavior annoying him
prodigiously.
What we observed, led us to form the idea, that on first learning
the state of affairs on board the Julia, Wilson must have addressed
his invalid friend, the captain, something in the following
style:
“Guy, my poor fellow, don't worry yourself now about those
rascally sailors of yours. I'll dress them out for you—just
leave it all to me, and set your mind at rest.”
But handcuffs and stocks, big looks, threats, dark hints, and
depositions, had all gone for naught.
Conscious that, as matters now stood, nothing serious could
grow out of what had happened; and never dreaming that our
being sent home for trial, had ever been really thought of, we
thoroughly understood Wilson, and laughed at him accordingly.
Since leaving the Julia, we had caught no glimpse of the
mate; but we often heard of him.
It seemed that he remained on board, keeping house in the
cabin for himself and Viner; who, going to see him according
to promise, was induced to remain a guest. These two cronies
now had fine times; tapping the captain's quarter-casks, playing
cards on the transom, and giving balls of an evening to the
ladies ashore. In short, they cut up so many queer capers,
that the missionaries complained of them to the consul; and
Jermin received a sharp reprimand.
This so affected him, that he drank still more freely than
before; and one afternoon, when mellow as a grape, he took
umbrage at a canoe full of natives, who, on being hailed from
the deck to come aboard and show their papers, got frightened,
and paddled for the shore. Lowering a boat instantly, he
equipped Wymontoo and the Dane with a cutlass apiece, and
seizing another himself, off they started in pursuit, the ship's
ensign flying in the boat's stern. The alarmed islanders,
beaching their canoe, with loud cries fled through the village,
the mate after them, slashing his naked weapon to right and
left. A crowd soon collected; and the “Karhowree toonee,”
or crazy stranger, was quickly taken before Wilson.
Now, it so chanced, that in a native house hard by, the consul
and Captain Guy were having a quiet game at cribbage by
themselves, a decanter on the table standing sentry. The obstreperous
Jermin was brought in; and finding the two thus
pleasantly occupied, it had a soothing effect upon him; and he
insisted upon taking a hand at the cards, and a drink of the
brandy. As the consul was nearly as tipsy as himself, and the
captain dared not object for fear of giving offense, at it they
went,—all three of them—and made a night of it; the mate's
delinquencies being summarily passed over, and his captors
sent away.
An incident worth relating grew out of this freak.
There wandered about Papeetee, at this time, a shriveled
little fright of an Englishwoman, known among sailors as “Old
Mother Tot.” From New Zealand to the Sandwich Islands,
she had been all over the South Seas; keeping a rude hut of
entertainment for mariners, and supplying them with rum and
dice. Upon the missionary islands, of course, such conduct
was severely punishable; and at various places, Mother Tot's
establishment had been shut up, and its proprietor made to quit
in the first vessel that could be hired to land her elsewhere.
But, with a perseverance invincible, wherever she went, she
always started afresh; and so became notorious everywhere.
By some wicked spell of hers, a patient, one-eyed little cobbler
followed her about, mending shoes for white men, doing
the old woman's cooking, and bearing all her abuse without
grumbling. Strange to relate, a battered Bible was seldom out
of his sight; and whenever he had leisure, and his mistress' back
was turned, he was forever poring over it. This pious propensity
used to enrage the old crone past belief; and oftentimes
she boxed his ears with the book, and tried to burn it. Mother
Tot and her man Josy were, indeed, a curious pair.
But to my story.
A week or so after our arrival in the harbor, the old lady
had once again been hunted down, and forced for the time to
abandon her nefarious calling. This was brought about chiefly
by Wilson, who, for some reason unknown, had contracted the
most violent hatred for her; which, on her part, was more than
reciprocated.
Well: passing, in the evening, where the consul and his party
were making merry, she peeped through the bamboos of the
house; and straightway resolved to gratify her spite.
The night was very dark; and providing herself with a huge
ship's lantern, which usually swung in her hut, she waited till
they came forth. This happened about midnight; Wilson making
his appearance, supported by two natives, holding him up by
the arms. These three went first; and just as they got under a
deep shade, a bright light was thrust within an inch of Wilson's
nose. The old hag was kneeling before him, holding the
lantern with uplifted hands.
“Ha, ha! my fine counselor,” she shrieked; “ye persecute
a lone old body like me for selling rum—do ye? And here ye
are, carried home drunk—Hoot! ye villain, I scorn ye!” And
she spat upon him.
Terrified at the apparition, the poor natives—arrant believers
in ghosts—dropped the trembling consul, and fled in all directions.
After giving full vent to her rage, Mother Tot hobbled
away, and left the three revelers to stagger home the best way
they could.
The day following our last interview with Wilson, we learned
that Captain Guy had gone on board his vessel, for the purpose
of shipping a new crew. There was a round bounty offered;
and a heavy bag of Spanish dollars, with the Julia's articles
ready for signing, were laid on the capstan-head.
Now, there was no lack of idle sailors ashore, mostly “Beach-combers,”
who had formed themselves into an organized gang,
headed by one Mack, a Scotchman, whom they styled the Commodore.
By the laws of the fraternity, no member was allowed
to ship on board a vessel, unless granted permission by the rest.
In this way the gang controlled the port, all discharged seamen
being forced to join them.
To Mack and his men our story was well known; indeed,
they had several times called to see us; and of course, as sailors
and congenial spirits, they were hard against Captain Guy.
Deeming the matter important, they came in a body to the
Calabooza, and wished to know, whether, all things considered,
we thought it best for any of them to join the Julia.
Anxious to pack the ship off as soon as possible, we answered,
by all means. Some went so far as to laud the Julia to the
skies, as the best and fastest of ships. Jermin too, as a good
fellow, and a sailor every inch, came in for his share of praise;
and as for the captain—quiet man, he would never trouble any
one. In short, every inducement we could think of was presented;
and Flash Jack ended by assuring the beachcombers
solemnly, that now we were all well and hearty, nothing but a
regard to principle, prevented us from returning on board ourselves.
The result was, that a new crew was finally obtained, together
with a steady New Englander for second mate, and three good
whalemen for harponeers. In part, what was wanting for the
ship's larder was also supplied; and as far as could be done in
a place like Tahiti, the damages the vessel had sustained
were repaired. As for the Mowree, the authorities refusing
to let him be put ashore, he was carried to sea in irons,
down in the hold. What eventually became of him, we never
heard.
Ropey, poor, poor Ropey, who a few days previous had fallen
sick, was left ashore at the sailor hospital at Townor, a small
place upon the beach between Papeetee and Matavai. Here,
some time after, he breathed his last. No one knew his complaint:
he must have died of hard times. Several of us saw
him interred in the sand, and I planted a rude post to mark his
resting-place.
The cooper, and the rest who had remained aboard from the
first, of course, composed part of the Julia's new crew.
To account for the conduct, all along, of the consul and captain,
in trying so hard to alter our purpose with respect to the
ship, the following statement is all that is requisite. Beside an
advance of from fifteen to twenty-five dollars demanded by
every sailor shipping at Tahiti, an additional sum for each man
so shipped, has to be paid into the hands of the government, as
a charge of the port. Beside this, the men—with here and
there an exception—will only ship for one cruise, thus becoming
entitled to a discharge before the vessel reaches home;
which, in time, creates the necessity of obtaining other men, at a
similar cost. Now, the Julia's exchequer was at low-water
mark, or rather, it was quite empty; and to meet these expenses,
a good part of what little oil there was aboard, had to
be sold for a song to a merchant of Papeetee.
It was Sunday in Tahiti, and a glorious morning, when Captain
Bob, waddling into the Calabooza, startled us by announcing
“Ah—my boy—shippy you, harree—maky sail!” In other
words, the Julia was off.
The beach was quite near, and in this quarter altogether uninhabited;
so down we ran, and, at a cable's length, saw little
Jule gliding past—top-gallant-sails hoisting, and a boy aloft
with one leg thrown over the yard, loosing the fore-royal. The
decks were all life and commotion; the sailors on the forecastle
singing “Ho, cheerly men!” as they catted the anchor; and the
gallant Jermin, bareheaded as his wont, standing up on the bowsprit,
and issuing his orders. By the man at the helm, stood
Captain Guy, very quiet and gentlemanly, and smoking a cigar.
Soon the ship drew near the reef, and altering her course, glided
out through the break, and went on her way.
Thus disappeared little Jule, about three weeks after entering
the harbor; and nothing more have I ever heard of her.
