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- 2026-01-30T20:48:15.149Z
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- 3650
- text
- aft, sir, sick and well: I have a word to say to them.”
“Now, men,” said he, “you think it’s all well with you, I suppose. You
wished the ship in, and here she is. Captain Guy’s ashore, and you
think you must go too: but we’ll see about that—I’ll miserably
disappoint you.” (These last were his very words.) “Mr. Jermin, call
off the names of those who did not refuse duty, and let them go over to
the starboard side.”
This done, a list was made out of the “mutineers,” as he was pleased to
call the rest. Among these, the doctor and myself were included; though
the former stepped forward, and boldly pleaded the office held by him
when the vessel left Sydney. The mate also—who had always been
friendly—stated the service rendered by myself two nights previous, as
well as my conduct when he announced his intention to enter the
harbour. For myself, I stoutly maintained that, according to the tenor
of the agreement made with Captain Guy, my time aboard the ship had
expired—the cruise being virtually at an end, however it had been
brought about—and I claimed my discharge.
But Wilson would hear nothing. Marking something in my manner,
nevertheless, he asked my name and country; and then observed with a
sneer, “Ah, you are the lad, I see, that wrote the Round Robin; I’ll
take good care of you, my fine fellow—step back, sir.”
As for poor Long Ghost, he denounced him as a “Sydney Flash-Gorger”;
though what under heaven he meant by that euphonious title is more than
I can tell. Upon this, the doctor gave him such a piece of his mind
that the consul furiously commanded him to hold his peace, or he would
instantly have him seized into the rigging and flogged. There was no
help for either of us—we were judged by the company we kept.
All were now sent forward; not a word being said as to what he intended
doing with us.
After a talk with the mate, the consul withdrew, going aboard the
French frigate, which lay within a cable’s length. We now suspected his
object; and since matters had come to this pass, were rejoiced at it.
In a day or two the Frenchman was to sail for Valparaiso, the usual
place of rendezvous for the English squadron in the Pacific; and
doubtless, Wilson meant to put us on board, and send us thither to be
delivered up. Should our conjecture prove correct, all we had to
expect, according to our most experienced shipmates, was the fag end of
a cruise in one of her majesty’s ships, and a discharge before long at
Portsmouth.
We now proceeded to put on all the clothes we could—frock over frock,
and trousers over trousers—so as to be in readiness for removal at a
moment’s warning. Armed ships allow nothing superfluous to litter up
the deck; and therefore, should we go aboard the frigate, our chests
and their contents would have to be left behind.
In an hour’s time, the first cutter of the Reine Blanche came
alongside, manned by eighteen or twenty sailors, armed with cutlasses
and boarding pistols—the officers, of course, wearing their side-arms,
and the consul in an official cocked hat borrowed for the occasion. The
boat was painted a “pirate black,” its crew were a dark, grim-looking
set, and the officers uncommonly fierce-looking little Frenchmen. On
the whole they were calculated to intimidate—the consul’s object,
doubtless, in bringing them.
Summoned aft again, everyone’s name was called separately; and being
solemnly reminded that it was his last chance to escape punishment, was
asked if he still refused duty. The response was instantaneous: “Ay,
sir, I do.” In some cases followed up by divers explanatory
observations, cut short by Wilson’s ordering the delinquent to the
cutter. As a general thing, the order was promptly obeyed—some taking a
sequence of hops, skips, and jumps, by way of showing not only their
unimpaired activity of body, but their alacrity in complying with all
reasonable requests.
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