It was a lucky hit of mine, for in his sash I found about twenty
doubloons. He would have saved them, and held them tight, but after my
knife had entered his side about half an inch he surrendered the prize.
After we had plundered and stripped them of everything, we set to to
kick them, and we did it for half an hour so effectually that they were
all left groaning in a heap on the ballast, and we then found our way on
deck.
The privateer which had recaptured us proved to be the Hero, of New
Providence; the Frenchmen were taken out, and some of her own men put in
to take us to Port Royal; we, being wounded, and not willing to join
her, remained on board. On our arrival at Port Royal, we obtained
permission to go to the King's Hospital to be cured. As I went
up-stairs to the ward allotted to me, I met the French lady whose
husband had been killed, and who was still nursing her son at the
hospital, his wounds not having been yet cured. Notwithstanding my
altered appearance, she knew me again immediately, and seeing me pale
and emaciated, with my arm in a sling, she dropped down on her knees,
and thanked God for returning upon our heads a portion of the miseries
we had brought upon her. She was delighted when she heard how many of
us had been slain in the murderous conflict, and even rejoiced at the
death of poor Captain Weatherall, which, considering how very kind and
considerate he had been to her, I thought to be very unchristian.
It so happened that I was not only in the same ward, but in the cradle
next to her son; and the excitement I had been under when we were
recaptured, and my exertion in kicking the Frenchmen, had done me no
good. A fever was the consequence, and I suffered dreadfully, and she
would look at me, exulting in my agony, and mocking my groans; till at
last the surgeon told her it was by extreme favour that her son had been
admitted into the hospital instead of being sent to prison, and that if
she did not behave herself in a proper manner he would order her to be
denied admittance altogether; and that if she dared to torment suffering
men in that way, on the first complaint on my part, her son should go to
the gaol and finish his cure there. This brought her to her senses, and
she begged pardon, and promised to offend no more; but she did not keep
her word for more than a day or two, but laughed out loud when the
surgeon was dressing my arm, for a piece of bone had to be taken out,
and I shrieked with anguish. This exasperated one of my messmates so
much that, not choosing to strike her, and knowing how to wound her
still worse, he drove his fist into the head of her son as he lay in his
cradle, and by so doing reopened the wound that had been nearly healed.
"There's pain for you to laugh at, you French devil," he cried.
And sure enough it cost the poor young man his life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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