Olla Podrida

“The Channel was full of ships, for the westerly winds had detained them for a long time. I had followed the brig about an hour, when the agent went on shore in a pilot boat, and I expected my father would soon be ready; then the wind veered more towards the southward, with dirt: at last it came on foggy, and I could hardly see the brig, and as it rained hard, and blew harder, I wished that my father was ready, for my arms ached with steering the coble for so long a while. I could not leave the helm, so I steered on at a black lump, as the brig looked through the fog: at last the fog was so thick that I could not see a yard beyond the boat, and I hardly knew how to steer. I began to be frightened, tired, and cold, and hungry I certainly was. Well, I steered on for more than an hour, when the fog cleared up a little, and to my joy I saw the stern of the brig just before me. I expected that she would round-to immediately, and that my father would praise me for my conduct; and, what was still more to the purpose, that I should get something to eat and drink. But no: she steered on right down Channel, and I followed for more than an hour, when it came on to blow very hard, and I could scarcely manage the boat—she pulled my little arms off. The weather now cleared up, and I could make out the vessel plainly; when I discovered that it was not the brig, but a bark which I had got hold of in the fog, so that I did not know what to do; but I did as most boys would have done in a fright,—I sat down and cried; still, however, keeping the tiller in my hand, and steering as well as I could. At last. I could hold it no longer; I ran forward, let go the fore and jib haul-yards, and hauled down the sails; drag them into the boat I could not, and there I was, like a young bear adrift in a washing-tub. I looked around, and there were no vessels near; the bark had left me two miles astern, it was blowing a gale from the SE, with a heavy sea—the gulls and sea-birds wheeling and screaming in the storm. The boat tossed and rolled about so that I was obliged to hold on, but she shipped no water of any consequence, for the jib in the water forward had brought her head to wind, and acted as a sort of floating anchor. At last I lay down at the bottom of the boat and fell asleep. It was daylight before I awoke, and it blew harder than ever; and I could just see some vessels at a distance, scudding before the gale, but they could hardly see me. I sat very melancholy the whole day, shedding tears, surrounded by nothing but the roaring waves. I prayed very earnestly: I said the Lord’s Prayer, the Belief, and as much of the Catechism as I could recollect. I was wet, starving, and miserably cold. At night I again fell asleep from exhaustion. When morning broke, and the sun shone, the gale abated, and I felt more cheered; but I was now ravenous from hunger, as well as choking from thirst, and was so weak that I could scarcely stand. I looked round me every now and then, and in the afternoon saw a large vessel standing right for me; this gave me courage and strength. I stood up and waved my hat, and they saw me—the sea was still running very high, but the wind had gone down. She rounded-to so as to bring me under her lee. Send a boat she could not, but the sea bore her down upon me, and I was soon close to her. Men in the chains were ready with ropes, and I knew that this was my only chance. At last, a very heavy sea bore her right down upon the boat, lurching over on her beam ends, her main chains struck the boat and sent her down, while I was seized by the scruff of the neck by two of the seamen, and borne aloft by them as the vessel returned to the weather-roll. I was safe. And, as soon as they had given me something to eat, I told my story. It appeared that she was an East India-man running down Channel, and not likely to meet with anything to scud me back again. The passengers, especially the ladies, were very kind to me: and as there was no help for it, why, I took my first voyage to the East Indies.”

“And your father and your brother?”

“Why, when I met them, which I did about six years afterwards, I found that they had been in much the same predicament, having lost the coble, and the weather being so bad that they could not get on shore again. As there was no help for it, they took their first voyage to the West Indies; so there was a dispersion of an united family—two went west, one went east, coble went down, and mother, after waiting a month or two, and supposing father dead, went off with a soldier. All dispersed by one confounded gale of wind from the northward and eastward, so that’s the way that I went to sea, Bob. And now it’s time that Moonshine was back.”

But Moonshine kept us waiting for some time: when he returned it was then quite dark, and we had lighted candles, anxiously waiting for him; for not only was the bottle empty, but we were very hungry. At last we heard a conversation at the gate, and Moonshine made his appearance with the two bottles of spirits, and appeared himself to be also in high spirits. The pork and peas-pudding soon were on the table. We dined heartily, and were sitting over the latter part of the first bottle in conversation, it being near upon the eleventh hour, when we heard a noise, at the gate—observed some figures of men, who stayed a short time and then disappeared. The door opened, and Moonshine went out. In a few seconds he returned, bringing in his arms an anker of spirits, which he laid on the floor, grinning so wide that his head appeared half off. Without saying a word, he left the room and returned with another.

“Why, what the devil’s this?” cried Cockle.

Moonshine made no answer, but went out and in until he had brought six ankers in, one after another, which he placed in a row on the floor. He then shut the outside door, bolted it, came in, and seating himself on one of the tubs, laughed to an excess which compelled him to hold his sides; Cockle and I looking on in a state of astonishment.

“Where the devil did all this come from?” cried Cockle, getting out of his easy chair. “Tell me, sir, or by—”

“I tell you all, Massa Cockle:– you find me better friend dan Missy O’Bottom. Now you hab plenty, and neber need scold Moonshine ’pose he take lilly drap. I get all dis present to you, Massa Cockle.”

Feeling anxious, I pressed Moonshine to tell his story.

“I tell you all, sar. When I come back wid de two bottle I meet plenty men wid de tubs: dey say, ‘Hollo there, who be you?’ I say, ‘I come from station: bring massa two bottel, and I show um.’ Den dey say, ‘Where you massa?’ and I say, ‘At um house at Ryde’—(den dey tink dat you my massa, Massa Farren)—so dey say, ‘Yes, we know dat, we watch him dere, but now you tell, so we beat you dead.’ Den I say, ‘What for dat; massa like drink, why you no gib massa some tub, and den he neber say noting, only make fuss some time, ’cause of Admirality.’ Den dey say, ‘You sure of dat?’ and I say, ‘Quite sure massa neber say one word.’ Den dey talk long while; last, dey come and say, ‘You come wid us and show massa house.’ So two men come wid me, and when dey come to gate I say, ‘Dis massa house when he live at Ryde, and dere you see massa;’—and I point to Massa Cockle, but dey see Massa Ferran—so dey say. ‘All very good; tree, four hour more, you find six tub here; tell you massa dat every time run tub, he alway hab six;’ den dey go way, den dey come back, leave tub; dat all, massa.”

“You rascal!” exclaimed I, rising up, “so you have compromised me; why I shall lose my commission if found out.”

“No, sar; nobody wrong but de smuggler; dey make a lilly mistake; case you brought to court-martial, I give evidence, and den I clear you.”

“But what must we do with the tubs, Cockle?” said I, appealing to him.

“Do Bob?—why they are a present—a very welcome one, and a very handsome one into the bargain. I shall not keep them, I pledge you my word; let that satisfy you—they shall be fairly entered.”

“Upon that condition, Cockle,” I replied, “I shall of course not give information against you.” (I knew full well what he meant by saying he would not keep them.)

“How I do, Massa Cockle,” said Moonshine, with a grave face; “I take um to the Custom-house to-night or to-morrow morning.”

“To-morrow, Moonshine,” replied Cockle; “at present just put them out of sight.”

I did not think it prudent to make any further inquiries; but I afterwards discovered that the smugglers, true to their word, and still in error, continued to leave six tubs in old Cockle’s garden whenever they succeeded in running a cargo, which, notwithstanding all our endeavours, they constantly did. One piece of information I gained from this affair, I found that the numbers of the cargoes which were run compared to those which were seized during the remainder of the time I was on that station, was in the proportion of ten to one. The cargoes run were calculated by the observations of old Cockle, who, when I called upon him, used to say very quietly, “I shouldn’t wonder if they did not run a cargo last night, Bob, in spite of all your vigilance—was it very dark?”

“On the contrary,” replied I, looking at the demure face of the negro; “I suspect it was Moonshine.”