A Bit O Justice or Of Tar and Feathers

From the book

The Life, Times & Adventures of

Sir George Henry Nichols

or

The Legend of Captain Outrageous

The July moon was on the rise when our third attempt at an escape came to a blazing finish. The first attempt was a raft that appeared to be a fine craft, until we put it in the brine and found that it moved on the water, like a piece of cloth, that it to say, it was not at all rigid and soon worked itself to pieces.

The second attempt was a piragua, which we cut from one of the larger trees up the creek a little ways. It was a very large tree, which was felled with the carpenters saw. In fact we had gotten a good many of his tools from the wreck, including an adze, which was very useful in this endeavor. After the tree was felled, all limbs were trimmed from it and hauled away, and an area cleared out around it. It was decided how long the craft should be, the top then cut from it to give us the proper length. We removed the bark and were ready to hollow it out and to give it shape.

With much chopping and burning it was cleared out quite well which indeed gave us a right nice piragua of about twenty-five feet in length, and sitting about seventy-five yards from the creek we were to use to float it down to the sea. But with much effort, and all seven of us at the strain, could not budge it in the slightest. In fact, we couldn't even pick up one end of the damn thing. It seems in an attempt to pick a good stout tree able to carry all of us safely, we had picked one all together too large, for if the truth be known, the piragua lay in the exact place it fell as a tree, and was now no more than a monument to our enterprise. This was something Bob felt he had to point out time and again. 'Pick a tree, the King's own army couldn't move, and shape it into a canoe, wit'out ever realizing it's too 'eavy. What bunch of dunderites are you.' This didn’t set well with those who had done most of the work.

I should point out all this work did pay off in one respect, our living quarters had improved greatly within the pail, as our huts grew in size and tables and chairs were fashioned, though they were crude, for none of us proved to be a carpenter, something Bob found joy in pointing out, most all the time, 'you dunderites couldn't build a chair if it fell out of a tree.' I began to sense that the bunch of us were just about to give Bob something to repine about, he liked it so much.

I, being quite the youngest of the group had little to say, mostly because I wasn't heard when I spoke, spent much time up one of the shoreline palms as a lookout for ships, and was part of the hunting and gathering party along with Willie Wimmer and John Blanchard. The other four did most of the work on the vessels, except Bob who was too busy telling us how it was all but a failed effort, 'We'll all drown, do all this work, build our ‘opes, then we'll drown, you'll see, you'll all see!'

On one of the hunting excursions, shooting small chicken like birds, which had made quite good eating, we ran across the ship's long boat. It was beat up a bit and half buried in the sand, but otherwise appeared to be all there. So John, Willie and I dug the sand from it, in order to free it up and have a closer look, and indeed, it appeared to be in right fine shape. So finishing our hunting, we returned to the pail with the good news of what we had found, along with a good many birds and some fruit.

With the word we had found the ship's long boat, there was much mirth in the camp that night, a bright, cool night as I remember it, with the rising June moon. The birds were roasted and the fruit passed about while we spoke of Jamaica. "Bah! We'll never see Jamaica, tis our fate to grow old and die 'ere on this God forsaken sandbar, you'll see, we'll all see!" Bob kept insisting, he reminded me of that dreadful bloke on the Wizard, and who met his fate in the maelstrom. I thought what an appalling way to view life. For the most part he was ignored, and he shut up for awhile after Lt. Chester told him, "Pipe down ya ole goat for I 'ave ya on a picket and roast ya up for the rest of us to eat, then we'll all 'ave a lit'le peace, and a bit of ole goat, hey." With that, we all did a little cheering, and had a good laugh at ole Bob's expense.

So the next day started our third effort to build a means of escape, except this time we didn't have to build it, just repair one the good Lord had chosen to bless us with. It took all seven of us to carry her from the beach, which was about three miles to the north of the southern point, back to the pail for repairs. She was about seventeen feet long and quite the heavy craft. I for one never dreamed it would be so heavy, it was no wonder we couldn't move the piragua.

The main problem with this craft was it had dried out, and there were gaps between the planks, and it leaked as though it wasn't a boat at all. To remedy this, we brewed up a vat of pitch, which we made from the sap of one of the local trees, which had a very sticky quality about it, and appeared to inure with age. We used this pitch along with coconut husks to make a caulking to fill these gaps between the planks, and seal the boat up. We had her bottom’s up across two logs so we could see and seal all the leaks there along her bottom.

So, after a couple of days, we were just about ready to put this boat in the water for trials, and if it held up, the plans were to rig it with a sail and rudder in order that we may determine a course, which was most desirable, for otherwise we would be at the will of the sea, or we should have to row it to Jamaica.

Bob, while stirring the pitch, was again telling us how this boat would never carry us all, and that we would most likely drown at sea. When he pulled the paddle from the mixture, he dragged a bit of the pitch into the flame, instead of scrapping it from the oar, as we all knew to do. This of course set the oar on fire, which gave Bob the fright. He began to run around, swinging the blazing paddle about in a most disconcerting manner. As he came around the vat of pitch he tripped over one of the tripod legs, and fell face first into the sand, sending the blazing oar flying thru the air and onto the boat, which set it to flaming right quick, for it was covered in fresh pitch, and burned quite hot indeed. All efforts to put it out failed, including water, which seemed to just roll off of it as though it were a blazing duck.

This upset all of us quite, and David Mitcham shouted, "you dunderite, I'll 'ave your 'ead I will, I'll not stay 'ere with the likes of you." Then picking up one of the swords, made a move for Bob.

That's when Chester stepped in and said, "Now David, we don't 'ave to 'ave 'is 'ead"

Then William said, "Let's tar 'im up like a big bird, and see if 'e don't suit us better!" Everyone froze, this idea played well, as they all mulled it over, I didn't know of what he spoke, but I could tell the rest did, and it appeared to suit them quite.

Then William looked at me and said, "George, go and get t’at sack o’ feat’ers in the ‘ut, we goin' 'ave some justice we are!" So I ran to the pail and got the sack of feathers, (from all the birds we'd been eating), as I did this I heard Bob start screaming. When I returned, they had him stripped down to nothing and was smearing him with hot pitch, Bob for his part was screaming and trying to put up a struggle, but they were angry indeed and not to be denied. When they had him covered in pitch, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, they hit Bob with the feathers, and the feathers stuck to him fast. By the time they turned him loose, he looked a bit like a battered wild goose, truly an amusing sight he was, as he ran about screaming what a bunch of heathens we all were, and this put us all in a better mood, save Bob, as our third attempt came to a blazing conclusion. ©

George Henry Nichols