Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 April 1880 — THE ILL-FATED BROTHERS. [ARTICLE]

THE ILL-FATED BROTHERS.

BY WILLIAM COMSTOCK.

Some sixty years ago, when only fifteen summers and winters had passed over my head, I was going home to dinntir one afternoon, and had arrived as far as the corner of Front and R<x>sevelt streets when I paused on seeing a considerable crowd collected in front of M & Co. ’s store. Above the heads of the bystanders loomed that of a big cartman Whom I had often seen in that vicinity, and ever and anon he lifted a rattan as if threatening some person with severe chastisement. I pressed forward to take a look at the victim, but that was not accomplished till I had got inside the ring, for the individual who had incurred the wrath of the gigantic cartman was a small negro boy—a mere child; and there ho stood, trembling like a leaf, and almost white with terror, as he momentarily expected the scourge to descend upon his head and shoulders. The surrounding throng laughed and jeered; they wore highly entertained by the terror of the little black boy. A number of sacks filled with cinnamon were piled on the sidewalk; they had just been landed from an East India rilip that lay at the wharf near by. The boys, finding little holes in these sacks through which the cinnamon projected, had improved the occasion to supply themselves gratis. When the big cartman pounced upon them they scattered, and all escaped except the little black boy, and of him the cartman had thought proper to make an example. As he stood there cowering and friendless, I placed myself at his side, saying, “Don’t bo frightened, little fellow, he dare not hurt you.” Down came the rattan upon one of my legs, and the delighted crowd gloried in finding a new subject for their mirth, while an enormous fat woman still further contributed to their merriment by placing in front of me, glaring in my face, and demanding in the shrillest of tones: “Are you a nigger whitewashed, that you take a nigger’s part ?” The little negro, taking advantage of this diversion in his favor, glided through the crowd, and, putting all his legs to the ground, got off clear. The blow which I received from the cartman’s rattan was no great thing, but the insult was something, and, as Hooked up at him resentfully, he said, “Oh, I don’t care who your father is—l don’t cure who your'father is.” Of course not; what should he care for fathers, mothers, uncles or aunts ? Was he not the favorite cartman of the wealthy house of M & Co. ? Had he not a good, round salary and a permanent situation ? Thus established for lift}, could he not afford to be perfectly independent of everybody except his Wealthy employers ? Three years from that time I went my first voyage to sea. On my return home at the end of three years and four months, among the first news that I heard was that the big cartman called Dobbins had hung himself. “ How is that?” I asked.

“Why, you see,” was the reply ; “he qad long been in the service of M & Co., and, when they failed, nobody else cared to employ him. The consequence was that he became miserably poor, and, finally, he has hung himself in despair. ” That was sad news, and, as it was a disagreeable subject of contemplation, I banished it from my memory in the belief that the fate of Big Dobbins would soon be forgotten. I was mistaken. Doing adrift in Valparaiso, three or four years afterward, I entered the navy, and signed the papers on board the United States ship B , which lay in the harbor. After writing my name, and holding a brief conference with the First Lieutenant, I was passing along the gun deck when an object that met my view caused me to start. Was I dreaming ? There stood before mo a gigantic seaman, with a colt in his hand, with the form and features of Big Dobbins. It not only seemed to be the man himself, but he also fixed an evil eye on my countenance, as if he recognized me. “Who is that man?” demanded I of a seaman, m soon as I had passed forward. “What—that boatswain’s mate yonder? Why, that’s Big Dobbins, and—” “Big Dobbins!” cried I. “Can it be possible that I was misinformed, or was he cut down before life was extinct?” “Cut down!” exclaimed the sailor, staring in his turn; and then, after a moment’s reflection, he added: “Oh, I know what you are thinking of now; ’he had a brother that drove a cart in New York who hung himself. ” “But this is the exact likeness of his brother. I could not tell them apart; and he looked at me as though he knew me.” “Well, ” replied the mariner, ** I would not advise you to cultivate his acquaintance. There may be worse men in the world than Big Dobbins; but, if so, they’ve never crossed my hawse. When he flogs a man he strikes with all his might; you’d think he was going to cut you in two. He does this to favor with the officers, and every man on board hates him. He never dares to go on shore with any of the crew. If he should go ashore, and the boys had caught him away from the ship, he’d stand no more chance than a cat in a ratpit without claws.” The time passed on, I saw many

men flogged, both with the cats and the colt, Those who were flogged with the cate told me that, after a few blows had been given, the back felt as if melted lead was pour ed upon jf; and yet they said they preferraOM ®ste to the colt. The latter is a about as thick as a man’s Generally no more than six blovffi werergiven with the colt, the victim being compelled to take off his jacket only. The cate have nine strings, which do no more than take off the skin, and leave the ba<;k raw and bloody; but the colt is said to bruise, as well as cut the flesh. Experienced hands would, when possible, put on a backer. Hearing their names called by a boatswain's mate, and expecting to be flogged with the colt, they would hastily get a friend to shove several thicknesses of cloth under their shirts. The backer deadened the blows, and thus rendered the punishment more endurable. One day I went down on the berthdeck to get something out of my bag. The place was solitary, except the mas-ter-at-arms in the other end of the ship —there seemed to be nobody on the berth-deck but myself. While I was leisurely overhauling my bag, I heard a strange, smothered sound, as of some one in great distress, and this sound was followed by the shrill cry of “ murder !” which rang through the frigate and startled every one on the gun-deck. I turned hastily, and saw two men—both of them noted pugilists—beating Big Dobbins in the most furious manner. These two men had seen the giant descend from the gun-deck to the berthdeck ; they had quietly slipped down after him, seized his jacket by the collar, drawn it over his head and face, and had then given it to him, right and left, with their fists. As soon as Dobbins yelled murder, half a dozen Midshipmen came running to the rescue, while the two assailants darted up the ladder to the gun-deck, but they were not quick enough to escape recognition by the foremost Midshipmen. Their names were immediately called by a boatswain’s mate, the ruffles were placed on their wrists, and they were consigned to the brig to wait trial by a court-mar-tial. The offense was a serious one; attacking your superior officers is called mutiny m the navy. These two men were tried and sentenced to receive 100 lashes each, on the bare back, with the cat-o’-nine tails. As for Big Dobbins, both his eyes were blacked, and his face was swelled to twice its usual size. The two culprits bore their punishment without flinching or complaining, and, two days afterward, Big Dobbins, on going to his chest, found it full of coal tar. All his clothes were completely ruined. No one knew who committed this dastardly act, but every one could guess. Poor Dobbins sat down by his open chest, surveying the ruin of all his little property, the picture of despair. From that hour Big Dobbins never smiled. Indeed, he was not a smiling man. One would almost as soon have expected the features of the stone image in front of St. Paul’s to relax into a smile as that dolefid countenance which surmounted the shoulders of Big Dobbins. In a few days Dobbins was missed. No one could tell what had become of Dobbins. Had he deserted ? “Yes,” was the general answer. Finding himself persecuted by the crew, and hated alike by the crew and officers, it was thought he had left us all in disgust. Another boatswain’s mate took his place on the gun-deck, but Dobbins had left a great hole in the air which his successor but partially filled. But a few days passed when some of us were out in the launch getting up a cage. At a little distance from us we perceived there was something on the surface of the water which attracted the notice of the birds, who kept diving down, raising in the air, and then alighting again, till quite a swarm of them were gathered there. The men took little notice of it; but, when we had finished our work, the Midshipman in command of the boat gave orders to head for the place where the birds were flocking in such great numbers.

As we approached the spot the birds rose from the water, giving us a clear view of the object which was floating on the surface. It was the blue, swollen corpse of Big Dobbins. The body was much decayed, and taking it into the boat was no pleasant job. As we dragged the huge carcass over the side of the launch the flesh tore, and huge chunks of it came off in our hands. The body was taken on board the frigate, wrapped in the American flag, and deposited on the larboard side of the gun-deck, where, when living, the deceased had been accustomed to pursue his daily walk. No one went to view the remains. There was no Marc Antony to mourn the death of this Caesar. He was soon buried on the Island of San Lorenzo, at the mouth of the harbor of Callao, where more than a dozen of our crew were already sleeping in their sandy graves. . Whether Dobbins committed suicide or fell overboard accidentally will never be known. Some of the crew whispered their suspicion that he had been gagged diu-ing the night and thrown overboard. At any rate it is very strange that the sentinel on duty at the gangway never perceived his plunge into the water. Perhaps he did perceive it, and kept his own counsel, for Big Dobbins had no friends on board that frigate.