The Wreck of the Grosvenor, Volume 1 of 3: An account of the mutiny of the crew and the loss of the ship when trying to make the BermudasRussell, William Clark
General
The Wreck of the Grosvenor, Volume 1 of 3: An account of the mutiny of the crew and the loss of the ship when trying to make the Bermudas
"I guess the fellow at the wheel grinned when he saw it. But I'll be
raising bigger lumps than this on some of 'em before I'm done. This is
the most skulking, snivelling, mutinous ship's crew that ever I sailed
with--I'd rather work the vessel with four Lascars; and as to that rat
in the hole there, if it wasn't for the colour of the bunting we sail
under, I reckon we'd have made an ensign of him at the mizzen-peak
some days ago, by the Lord, with the signal halliards round his neck,
for he's born to be hanged; and I guess, though he knocked me down when
I wasn't looking, I'm strong enough to hoist _him_ thirty feet, and let
him drop with a run."
All this was said in a loud voice for my edification, but I must own it
did not frighten me very greatly. To speak the truth, I thought more
of the old man and his daughter than myself; for if they should hear
this bragging bully from their cabins, they would form very alarming
conclusions as to the character of the persons who had rescued them,
and scarcely know, indeed, whether we were not all cut-throats.
Shortly after this, Duckling came out on to the main-deck, and
observing me looking through the window, bawled at the top of his voice
for the carpenter, who presently came, and Duckling, pointing to my
window, gave him some instructions, which he went away to execute. A
young ordinary seaman--an Irish lad named Driscoll--was coiling a rope
over one of the belaying-pins around the mainmast. Duckling pointed up
aloft, and his voice sounded, though I did not hear the order. The lad
waited to coil the rest of the rope--a fathom or so--before obeying:
whereupon Duckling hit him a blow on the back, slewed him round, caught
him by the throat, and backed him savagely against the starboard
bulwarks, roaring, in language quite audible to me now--"Up with you,
you skulker! I'll teach you to wait when I give an order. Up with you,
I say, or I'll pound you to pieces."
At this moment the carpenter approached my window, provided with a
hammer and a couple of planks, which he proceeded to nail upon the
framework. Duckling watched him with a grin upon his ugly face, the
lump over his eye not improving the expression, as you may believe.
I was now in comparative darkness; for the port-hole admitted but
little light, and, unlike the rest of the cuddy berths, my cabin had no
bull's-eye.
I reached the door with a great deal of trouble, for the iron-bar
hampered my movements excessively, and found it locked outside; but by
whom and when I did not know, for I had not heard the key turned. But
I might depend that Duckling had done this with cat-like stealthiness,
and that he probably had the key in his pocket.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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