Perils of Certain English Prisoners | Page 2

"O! The Island!" says I, turning my eyes towards it. "True. I forgot the
Island."
"Forgot the port you're going to? That's odd, ain't it?"
"It is odd," says I.
"And odd," he said, slowly considering with himself, "ain't even. Is it,
Gill?"
He had always a remark just like that to make, and seldom another. As
soon as he had brought a thing round to what it was not, he was
satisfied. He was one of the best of men, and, in a certain sort of a way,
one with the least to say for himself. I qualify it, because, besides being
able to read and write like a Quarter-master, he had always one most
excellent idea in his mind. That was, Duty. Upon my soul, I don't
believe, though I admire learning beyond everything, that he could
have got a better idea out of all the books in the world, if he had learnt
them every word, and been the cleverest of scholars.
My comrade and I had been quartered in Jamaica, and from there we
had been drafted off to the British settlement of Belize, lying away
West and North of the Mosquito coast. At Belize there had been great

alarm of one cruel gang of pirates (there were always more pirates than
enough in those Caribbean Seas), and as they got the better of our
English cruisers by running into out-of-the-way creeks and shallows,
and taking the land when they were hotly pressed, the governor of
Belize had received orders from home to keep a sharp look-out for
them along shore. Now, there was an armed sloop came once a-year
from Port Royal, Jamaica, to the Island, laden with all manner of
necessaries, to eat, and to drink, and to wear, and to use in various ways;
and it was aboard of that sloop which had touched at Belize, that I was
a-standing, leaning over the bulwarks.
The Island was occupied by a very small English colony. It had been
given the name of Silver-Store. The reason of its being so called, was,
that the English colony owned and worked a silver-mine over on the
mainland, in Honduras, and used this Island as a safe and convenient
place to store their silver in, until it was annually fetched away by the
sloop. It was brought down from the mine to the coast on the backs of
mules, attended by friendly Indians and guarded by white men; from
thence it was conveyed over to Silver-Store, when the weather was fair,
in the canoes of that country; from Silver-Store, it was carried to
Jamaica by the armed sloop once a-year, as I have already mentioned;
from Jamaica, it went, of course, all over the world.
How I came to be aboard the armed sloop, is easily told.
Four-and-twenty marines under command of a lieutenant--that officer's
name was Linderwood--had been told off at Belize, to proceed to
Silver-Store, in aid of boats and seamen stationed there for the chase of
the Pirates. The Island was considered a good post of observation
against the pirates, both by land and sea; neither the pirate ship nor yet
her boats had been seen by any of us, but they had been so much heard
of, that the reinforcement was sent. Of that party, I was one. It included
a corporal and a sergeant. Charker was corporal, and the sergeant's
name was Drooce. He was the most tyrannical non-commissioned
officer in His Majesty's service.
The night came on, soon after I had had the foregoing words with
Charker. All the wonderful bright colours went out of the sea and sky
in a few minutes, and all the stars in the Heavens seemed to shine out
together, and to look down at themselves in the sea, over one another's
shoulders, millions deep. Next morning, we cast anchor off the Island.

There was a snug harbour within a little reef; there was a sandy beach;
there were cocoa-nut trees with high straight stems, quite bare, and
foliage at the top like plumes of magnificent green feathers; there were
all the objects that are usually seen in those parts, and I am not going to
describe them, having something else to tell about.
Great rejoicings, to be sure, were made on our arrival. All the flags in
the place were hoisted, all the guns in the place were fired, and all the
people in the place came down to look at us. One of those Sambo
fellows--they call those natives Sambos, when they are half-negro and
half-Indian--had come off outside the reef, to pilot us in, and remained
on board after we had let go our anchor. He was called Christian
George King, and was fonder of all hands than anybody else was. Now,
I confess, for myself,