The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" GalleyKingston, William Henry Giles
General
The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley
Kingston, William Henry Giles
Sea stories
"I bring you dreadful news," he said. "I would thankfully not have to
alarm you, ladies, but it may be better to know the worst at once. I
had come over to Stillwater, having providentially left my family at
Kingston, when, as I was resting after my journey, Tom Yam, who had been
sent with a message to Fort Maria to ask Captain Torrens, commanding
there, to come over and dine with me, rushed into my room panting for
breath with the fearful news that the entire garrison and a number of
white people from different places assembled there at dinner had
suddenly been surprised by a whole host of blacks. The villains had
been lying in ambush near at hand, and rushing upon them without
warning, had put nearly every human being of the party to death. Among
the few survivors was a black servant of one of the officers, who had
given him the information. He himself had got near enough to see the
blacks in possession of the fort, some engaged in burning down the
buildings, and others carrying off the arms and ammunition. The boy
told him that the white men were at the supper-table, and that all had
there been butchered without being able to reach their arms or strike a
blow for their defence. He hurried back, and as he came along he heard
the negroes close at his heels, shouting and shrieking over their
victory, and threatening to attack Stillwater House. Scarcely had he
uttered the words than the cries of the barbarians reached my ears. Not
a moment was to be lost; I hastily threw on my clothes and followed Tom,
who entreated me to run for the stable, where we could get our horses
and gallop off as the best prospect of saving our lives, for if we
attempted to hide ourselves the rebels were nearly sure to find us--
many, indeed, of my own slaves having, as Tom assured me, joined them.
So close were they by this time that I was afraid they would see us as
we made our way to the stable. We reached it just as they broke into
the grounds on the opposite side. Some time was lost in saddling the
horses; as I led mine out, I saw several black faces peering out of the
windows above us. I threw myself on the animal's back, Tom having
mounted his horse inside the stable; a shower of bullets, happily ill
aimed, came whizzing about our ears--two, indeed, passed through my
jacket. Away I galloped, followed by Tom; though several more shots
were fired at us, we escaped them all. Fortunately, there were no other
horses in the stable or we should probably have been followed. As I
looked over my shoulder I saw smoke ascending from the roof of the
house, and ere I had got much further flames burst out from every part.
At first I proposed pushing for Kingston, but Tom expressed his belief
that we should find bands of rebels on the road, and I determined
therefore to come on in this direction, and to warn any friends on the
way. How our horses have done so much seems surprising, for you may be
sure we took but a short time to rest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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