Sam then leaped down the gangway. Behind him loomed up three grimly determined figures, all from the Honolulu beach: Silas Payne, the tall, surly leader; John Oliver, the murderous Englishman; William Humphries, the suspicious Philadelphia Negro. Joseph Thomas, who otherwise would certainly have been with the mutineers, of course still lay in his bunk whimpering with a slashed back into which salt and sea water had been rubbed for therapeutic reasons.
There was a fourth man waiting, armed like a pirate of fiction with a monstrous knife and a hatchet, but when Comstock indicated that the murders were to begin, this would-be pirate gasped, dropped his weapons and galloped back to his berth. He had thought it all a joke and had tagged along only to scare somebody.
To Sam Comstock it was no joke. “This is the captain’s cabin,” he whispered. Exchanging the boarding knife for an ax that Payne had thoughtfully provided from the forecastle, Sam felt his way through the cabin door.
Things might have gone awry at this critical moment, for the night had turned unexpectedly warm and Captain Worth had forsaken the stuffy berth in his stateroom in favor of a hammock which he had slung from the low cabin ceiling. Thus his head provided only a gently swaying target, and a lesser man than Comstock might have turned away, afraid lest a false stroke merely wound and enrage the victim, whereupon the ship would be alerted. But the harpooner was well versed in striking a shifting target and for a moment his powerful arm swayed to match the motion of the hammock.
At the binnacle George Comstock heard the sickening crunch of the ax as it slashed into the captain’s head. The young steersman could not know it then, but that first blow had split Captain Worth’s head in two.
Sam Comstock, well launched on his mutiny, kept hacking at the offending head to make sure there was no outcry.
Next Silas Payne burst in the door of First Mate Beetle’s cabin and stabbed with his long boarding knife at the man lying asleep in his bunk. But Payne “boned” the knife, and Beetle awoke, wounded and terrified. “What? What? Is this—?” he stammered out. He recognized the grim faces. Was it possible that this nightmare was true? “Oh, Payne! Oh, Comstock! Don’t kill me, don’t! Haven’t I always—”
“Yes,” broke in Sam, “you have always been a damned rascal! Tell lies about me out of the ship, will you? It’s a damned good time to beg now—but you’re too late!”
At this Beetle shook off his despair, sprang up and grabbed Sam by the throat, knocking the stained ax to the floor. The lantern fell and went out. In the darkness Sam choked out an order to Payne to get back his ax, which Payne chanced upon and slipped into the murderer’s hand.
Sam broke loose from Beetle’s grip and struck the mate a tremendous ax blow that fractured his skull. Beetle fell into the pantry and lay groaning until Sam dispatched him with repeated axings. Oliver, the Englishman, put in a blow with a knife as often as he could, while the black steward from Philadelphia held aloft a lantern which illuminated the grisly scene.
Sam now ordered his henchmen to barricade the cabin where Lumbard and Fisher, the remaining mates, lay listening—fearful of the worst, but hoping to be spared. Comstock then went up to relight his own lantern at the binnacle. There his horrified brother asked if the mutineers were going to kill anyone else.
“Yes,” Sam hissed. “We’re going to kill them all.” At this young George started to cry.
“What are you blubbering about?” demanded Sam.
“I’m afraid they will hurt me!”
“I’ll hurt you, if you talk that way!” Sam threatened.
By this time the young mutineer had wearied of his ax, so he went to the captain’s cabin, took down and loaded two ship’s muskets and fixed a bayonet on one of them. Then he went to the room shared by Lumbard and Fisher. Through the door he heard Lumbard cry out: “Comstock, are you going to kill me?”
“Oh, I guess not,” Sam joked. He then raised a musket and fired a blast through the door in the direction of the berths. As the smoke cleared, he asked solicitously: “Any of you hurt?”
“Yes, I’m shot in the mouth,” mumbled Fisher.
Flinging open the door, Sam burst through and stabbed with his bayonet at Lumbard. But he missed, and staggered clumsily into the stateroom. Lumbard collared him. Sam wrested free. But Fisher had grabbed the musket and, spitting blood, pointed the bayonet full at the murderer’s breast.
At this point Comstock’s plan should have collapsed. Had Fisher used that bayonet, the mutiny would probably have been over on the spot. Payne and Oliver could truthfully have charged Comstock with the whole affair. But to the third mate, who could see the dead body of Captain Worth in the cabin beyond, it appeared that all was lost and that the whole crew was backing Comstock. At this desperate moment Sam started talking.
“The entire crew is on my side,” he said, “but I’m sure I can persuade them to save your life.”
After a pause of agonizing indecision, Fisher handed over the musket.
Sam grabbed it with a scream of revenge and immediately began stabbing Lumbard through the body. Again and again he slashed at the stricken second mate. Then, standing in triumph over the writhing Lumbard, Sam broke the news to Fisher.
“You’ve got to die. Remember how you threw me on the deck during the games? I said then I’d have your blood. Now I’ll have it!”
“Is there no hope?” pleaded the third mate.
“None!” Sam cried.
At Sam’s order he turned his back, and in a firm voice said, “I’m ready.” Sam put the muzzle behind an ear and fired. He almost blew Fisher’s head off.
Lumbard, on the floor of the cabin, was still begging for his life, but the fury of killing had driven Sam crazy. “I am a bloody man!” he shouted through the ship. “I have a bloody hand and will be revenged!” Thereupon he pierced the helpless officer several times more. Lumbard begged for water. “I’ll give you water!” Sam promised prophetically. He stabbed Lumbard once more and left him dying.
All of this—the gunshots, the screams, the deaths—took place while the Lyra drifted peacefully on through the soft Pacific night, only a short distance away. The Lyra lookout kept his eye upon the bobbing lights of the Globe, but saw nothing more.
The Globe’s second boat steerer, a man named Gilbert Smith, also ranked as an officer, so he too was marked as a victim. Sensing this, Smith had been lurking above. Now he heard Sam shout, “I am a bloody man! Where’s Smith?”
Smith tried to escape by running forward, but found no place to hide either below or aloft. So he returned bravely to face the ringleader.
To his amazement, Sam embraced him with bloody arms. “You are going to be with us, are you not, Smith?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll do anything you require,” Smith lied, and by that act saved his life for the tremendous adventure that marked the middle part of the Globe mutiny.
Will Lay, the youth who had been approached at the maintop, huddled in his bunk forward until summoned on deck. The mutineers had taken the ship. All hands must turn out. Mustered on the quarterdeck, Will and the rest heard Sam proclaim that he was now master and they must obey his rules. Anybody who would not swear to support him must step to the opposite side of the deck.
Sleepy and scared, not knowing how many of their number were involved in the plot, the poor fellows feared they would be killed at once if they did not swear loyalty to the man with the bloody hand. Each one vowed to follow Sam and obey him.
All hands were now ordered to make sail. Then, almost as if providence were guiding the mutiny, Comstock happened to recall that a light must be hung at the masthead to signal that all was well upon the Globe and that the Lyra should tack. But when this was done, the Globe, under Sam’s expert command, hoisted all sail and escaped straight ahead into the enveloping night.
Captain Worth’s body was now hauled on deck, where Sam performed a revolting deed. A boarding knife was rammed into the captain’s bowels, then driven by an ax until the point protruded at the throat. Then Sam kicked the bod
y overboard. Mate Beetle was found to be not quite dead, but nevertheless Sam shouted, “Throw him in the ocean anyway!”
The sickened crew were now forced to lash ropes around the feet of Fisher and Lumbard and haul them on deck to get the same treatment. But when Lumbard was about to be dropped overside, he miraculously came back to life and clung with both hands to the planksheer, crying, “Comstock, you promised you would save me!”
Sam yelled for the ax. “I’ll cut off his hands!” he screamed. When no ax was forthcoming, he kicked with his heavy boots until Lumbard’s fingers were completely crushed and the mate splashed into the waves.
But in the growing daylight Lumbard, stabbed repeatedly clean through the body, his hands smashed to pulp, continued, incredibly, to swim after the Globe. Sam sang out to lower a boat and he would finish Lumbard off in the water. But on second thought he realized that the boat’s crew might try to escape to the Lyra, and immediately he countermanded the order. So Second Mate John Lumbard continued to swim after the Globe, calling for help until his ship vanished in the pale morning haze and he into the vast bosom of the Pacific.
These savage events left the crew dazed and barely able to function. Furthermore, Sam was the only navigator left alive on the ship, so he was forced to assume control of everything. Yet one night’s work had brought him to his goal. Almost single-handed, this youthful desperado had murdered all four of the officers of the whale ship Globe, had captured her on the open sea, and had set forth to find his island kingdom.
Early next morning, he ordered the cabins washed down and the bloodstained furnishings brought on deck to air away the smell of mutiny and death. The crew was put to work getting the small arms of the ship ready to repel any attack, and making cartridge boxes.
Brother George was promoted to the job of steward, possibly to protect Sam’s food supply. Going into the messroom, George saw the former steward William Humphries, now promoted to purser, secretly loading a pistol. When asked why, the Negro declared: “I have heard something very strange, and I am going to be ready for it.”
George at once reported to Sam, who summoned Silas Payne. The two leaders went to the messroom. The black mutineer, who still stood there with pistol in hand, repeated that he had heard something that made him afraid for his life. Pressed, he admitted that a rumor was afloat that the second boat steerer, Gilbert Smith, and Peter Kidder, an ineffective man noted for his timidity, were plotting to retake the ship.
At once these two denied such intentions. The matter, Sam decided, should be settled by a jury trial, with proper legal counsel for both sides—S. Comstock, captain, v. W. Humphries, purser, all fair and aboveboard. Sam chose as his advocate the renowned pleader, Silas Payne, while Humphries picked sixteen-year-old Rowland Coffin, the youngest and least influential hand in the crew. The trial was announced for the following morning before an impartial jury.
The next day was one of fair weather for a foul deed. Sam assumed the role not only of plaintiff but of judge. Before evidence could be presented, he stood in front of Humphries, who was guarded by six men with muskets, and declaimed as follows: “It appears that William Humphries has been accused guilty of a treacherous and base act, in loading a pistol for the purpose of shooting Mr. Payne and myself. Now that he’s been tried, the jury will give their verdict, whether guilty or not guilty. If guilty, Humphries shall be hanged to a studding-sail boom, slung out eight feet upon the fore-yard. But if he is found not guilty, Smith and Kidder shall be hung upon the aforementioned gallows.”
The two-man jury had been primed the night before. In a flash Humphries was judged guilty. His watch was taken from him, and he was dragged forward. A rope was slung around his neck, a cap pulled over his rolling eyes. Sam ordered every man of the crew to help haul at the rope of execution.
In the bright, peaceful sunlight, Sam asked Humphries if he had anything to say. He would be allowed just fourteen seconds to say it in; Sam held a sandglass to measure that brief fraction of time. Humphries barely had begun to gasp out, “Little did I think I was born to come to this—” when Sam impatiently rang a little bell. All hands pulled, and the Negro was slung to the yardarm.
He died quickly, but when he was cut down the gallows rope tangled in the rigging and his body was towed behind the ship for some while, until the rope could be cut. Humphries’ sea chest was examined, and in it was found fourteen dollars that he had stolen from Captain Worth. Sanctimoniously, all hands agreed that the hanging had come too late, for the purser was obviously a thief. Thus died the first of the mutineers—executed with pomp and pious justice by his co-plotters.
Now the ship began a zigzagging course along the Equator, headed by navigator Sam in a general westerly direction. Sam invited his henchmen to move, for comfort, into the officers’ quarters aft. Here the mutineers sang and feasted and caroused to keep up their spirits. A favorite game involved trying to frighten one another by telling over the details of the murders and relating how their dreams had been troubled by ghosts. Sam in particular gloried in such narrations. He claimed that once the ghost of Captain Worth had appeared to him in a dream and had shown him his wounded, gory head. But, Sam boasted, he had ordered the captain to go away and never return—or he would kill him all over again!
At this point Sam wrote out the new laws of his seaborne kingdom. Everyone who saw a sail and did not report it immediately, and everyone who refused to fight another ship, would be put to death. “They shall be bound hand and foot,” Sam decreed, “and boiled in the try-pots of boiling oil.” Each man aboard had to sign this document. The ringleaders appended seals of bold black; those still innocent of blood used seals of chaste blue and white.
A fortnight passed and the Globe breezed westward, always seeking the perfect island hideaway. On February 7, 1824, she stood off one of the Kingsmill Islands in the Gilberts. Next day she passed the channel between the Gilbert and the Marshall islands, two groups which had been discovered by the captains of the first convict transports returning from Botany Bay in Australia.
Sam dispatched a whaleboat to a nearby island but the crew did not land, for the natives seemed hostile. Those who came out to the boat tried to steal everything in sight and plunge away with their loot. In return, the boat fired a volley of musketry into the canoe fleet. One canoe fled, pursued by the men in the whaleboat, who on overtaking it found one of the two occupants to be mortally wounded by their musket balls. The children of nature held up a jacket, made of a kind of flag, as a bribe to spare their lives, but the whaleboat sheered off and left the wounded man to die in convulsions.
Comstock recalled the whaleboat and ordered the Globe to make sail for what turned out to be the kingdom he was seeking. It was a spreading group of beautiful low islands, fringed with coco palms and with heavy white surf breaking on coral reefs. Probably never before visited by a whale ship, it bore the quaint early name of Lord Mulgrave’s Range, but later it became better known by its native title of Mili Atoll.*
Because so many men in nations across the world have dreamed of escaping to some South Sea isle, it might be instructive to pause here and examine the particular paradise Sam Comstock chose. Mili Atoll was a perfect example of the classic atoll. It lay at about 6° north and 172° east, and was thus not far from the Equator but beyond the present date line from Hawaii It was a small atoll and ran only some twenty-two nautical miles east to west and about twelve across.
Only a small portion, of course, was land, and this consisted of a series of about seventy named islands, all extremely low, and strung together upon a coral reef in the way small green beads might be strung upon a golden necklace cord. The lagoon enclosed by this ring of coral resembed a lake. Below its blue, placid surface lurked dangerous coral heads that could cut a man or a canoe into pieces, but it served two useful purposes: it held many fish upon which the islanders lived, and it formed a pleasant highway from one perimeter island to another. One rarely walked between the reef islets, even when low tide permitted this, for it
was simpler to jump into a canoe and cross the lagoon. And, of course, only a fool would try to travel from island to island by means of the outside ocean, for there great waves surged upon the coral as if seeking to engulf the land and the lagoon both, as storms often did.
The islands that clung to Mili Atoll were minute things, only one of which was more than four hundred yards wide. Their highest points did not exceed a man’s height above sea level. The white coral sand was blazing and often blinded men unused to it. Land crabs were a nuisance. Drinking water was usually brackish. There was never enough food, and rats fought for what was available. When the weather was good and the trade winds blew, the atoll was magnificent. When storms came they might last for a week and throw great ocean waves completely across the islets, washing away years of work.
The population of Mili was never great, certainly less than a thousand, for there was not enough soil to feed more. What food grew on Mili? Only breadfruit, pandanus and coconuts, plus such meager vegetables as could be painfully nursed along in plots that had to be built up by hand upon a hard coral base. The only animals were the rats, but there were fish, which seemed to desert the lagoon at periodic intervals, when everyone came close to starvation.
Harpooner Comstock first glimpsed his future kingdom on February 11, 1824, when the Globe coasted the edge of Mili Atoll. As dusk approached Sam sent ashore a whaleboat which returned with a cargo of fish, coconuts and—to the joy of the mutineers—women, who were dressed tastefully in tiny woven aprons, each the size of a very small handkerchief. The delightful presence of these women through the soft tropical night quite obliterated the realities that the mutineers would have to face the next morning, when they tried to find a safe anchorage along the forbidding outer edges of the atoll.
Next day the women were put ashore, each with her apron, and the Globe began ranging up and down the atoll seeking a haven. Two days later, in some desperation, Sam Comstock was forced to cast anchor in a rocky expanse off the principal islet, which like its atoll was named Mili. Sam was rowed ashore to a spot near the native village, and upon touching land exulted in his triumph. This would be the site of his realm, an island whose total area was less than one square mile.