Captured: By Cannibals

By Cliff LeCleir

William Jackman, an English lad who runs away to sea at age eleven, endures violent mistreat by ship captains, is exploited by magistrates, and frequently sentenced to hard labor. Nothing could prepare him more for living in a hard cruel world than when he was shipwrecked & captured by a tribe of Australian cannibals. His determination for survival as a captive will hold the reader in suspense as you wonder how William can possibly endure in such circumstances.

The reader will laugh, scratch their head in disbelief, and discover the wonder of how hardship, when faced appropriately, can develop a person’s good character.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532050381

Cliff LeCleir

PERSONAL: Married for 50 years to the love of my life, had 3 children, 12 grandchildren, & 5 great grandchildren. -Have previously published 3 books: From the Outhouse to the Moon; The Making of a Man; & Escape from Tyranny. -Recently have started oil painting & have completed 32 paintings. People think painting is relaxing, but I am not a natural & must work at it very hard. -My wife & I have a strong faith in CHRIST as the ONLY means to attain eternity in heaven. As such, I enjoy teaching adult Bible studies & writing curriculum for Bible classes. BUSINESS INVOLVEMENT: *Presently the CEO & owner of Central States Warehouse & Office Suites, commercial properties, & a Hampton Inn & Suites. I have owned 8 businesses in my business career. We live in a rural area of La Crosse, WI where I enjoy cutting wood, building ponds & waterfalls, or anything that allows me to use my tractors, dump truck, & backhoe.

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Copyright © 2018 Cliff Lecleir.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-5037-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-5038-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 11/27/2018

CONTENTS

Introduction And Disclaimer

Dedication

Chapter 1 Runaway

Chapter 2 Convict

Chapter 3 Between Scylla and Charybdis or Out of the Frying Pan and into the Fire

Chapter 4 On the Road Again

Chapter 5 Where There’s Wit, There’s William

Chapter 6 Where Sailors Fear to Tread

Chapter 7 Shipwrecked

Chapter 8 Captivity

Chapter 9 Escape

Chapter 10 Attack

Chapter 11 Manhood

Chapter 12 Who Gives This Man?

Chapter 13 Vengeance

Chapter 14 Princely Death

Chapter 15 From Deception to Liberation

Chapter 16 Free at Last

Chapter 17 The China Connection

Chapter 18 Hoodwinked Again

Chapter 19 Regrets

Chapter 20 Redemption

Chapter 21 Run Aground

Chapter 22 Taking Leave—Again

Chapter 23 On the Sea Again

Chapter 24 Politics—A Contact Sport

Chapter 25 The Cure that Kills

Chapter 26 Pulled from the Sea

Chapter 27 Poetic Justice

Chapter 28 The Tie that Binds

Epilogue

About the Author

CAPTURED

The Australian Captive – Revisited

The life and escapades of William Jackman

INTRODUCTION AND DISCLAIMER

Peter Saxe and I. Chamberlayne, editors of the 1852 manuscript The Australian Captive, went to great effort to clarify—or as they preferred, to elucidate the relator—William Jackman’s escapades by describing him as strikingly shrewd, of quick perception, and with a strong retentive memory, in spite of being quite uneducated.

A concluding paragraph from the original preface sums up the editors’ apology for inaccuracies of geography, factual proof, and uncivilized descriptions of savage life.

This history of personal adventures goes to the public with admitted and great deficiencies. When the reader, however, finds it silent on topics in which would readily have suggested themselves to the literary adventurer, he will do well to reflect that it is one of the cases in which the editorship is not responsible, and for which it possesses no honorable remedy. Had the writer entered on his humble labor with the license of the fictionist; had he even felt at liberty to mend the record, it had certainly issued in a very different, and, possibly, a much more engaging relation. A governing aim has been, at all events, to leave the story a true one, in whatever graces of a more captivating character it may be found defective.

It was for the aforementioned reasons of literary boredom in the factual account of William Jackman that George Phillipps, the great-grandson of William Jackman, approached me with a request to rewrite the events of his great-grandfather’s life described in The Australian Captive. His desire was to keep the framework of the events but develop the characters and storyline to be more interesting, captivating, and readable, dispensing with the diary-like chronicle. The original was constructed with an older English writing style and vocabulary, which left the reader adrift amid facts, figures, and mundane explanations.

It is with full disclosure that I inform the reader that I have exercised imaginative and creative license to recount the extraordinary life and events of seafarer William Jackman.

Approved by

_07.30.2018_Captured_Final%20MS_Page_002_Image_0001.jpg

George Phillipps

Great-grandson of William Jackman

DEDICATION

I would like to dedicate this book to the one who has shared the blessings that GOD has blessed us with over the past FIFTY YEARS and has been my supporter through the great times and the not so great times. The one who always believed in me and held me up when I was weak – My wife Sandy.

I love you with all my heart!

And to Christine Beaudry, who spent endless hours correcting, editing, and putting up with my language idiosyncrasies.

And to George Phillipps, my friend who excitedly came into my office one day saying, I read one of your books & I really liked it. Would you write the story of my great grandfather, William Jackman?

CHAPTER 1

Runaway

Gentlemen and ladies alike stood aside as a man, determined by his stride, made his way down the boardwalk past the pillory in the little village of Dartmouth, England. In tow, being dragged by the firm grip of his father’s weather-beaten hand, was scrawny, dark-haired, eleven-year-old William Jackman. The man and his reluctant son continued down Smith Street, so named for the smiths and shipwrights who worked on the deep-water port of the town’s Dart River, and proceeded toward the local mill.

As the pair walked, they passed flimsy, makeshift tenements built of scrap from the ship builders, with thin walls that barely retarded the cold ocean breeze. The first factories of the Industrial Age of 1832 drew job-seeking peasants from the countryside, producing a tremendous demand for housing; thus, families survived in cramped, deplorable conditions. William’s father, determined to lift his family from the squalor of tenement living, chose life as a sailor and sought an even better life for his son.

Upon arriving at the business establishment of the local miller, Mr. Jackman thrust the youngster through the front door commanding, Get in wit ya afore I comb da cat!¹

William stumbled into the facility and attempted to regain his balance, as the flour-smattered face of the miller, Buford Moore, jerked up in surprise at the abrupt intrusion. Eh, what ‘ave we here? he exclaimed.

Me name be Jackman, Mr. Moore. This here is me son. He’s taken a likin’ ta me seafarin’ ways and uh, well, I’d say it’s no way fer a family man out ta sea the best part o’ the year. I learned it the hard way. He needs a trade, don’t ya see, and I’s a wonderin’ if ya might take ‘im under yer wing.

Buford stroked his whisker stubble for a moment, flour dust softly falling across his double chins. Then, while resting his clasped hands across his rather robust midsection, replied, I got me a nephew takin’ up the trade, but I’ve considered takin’ another hand. Scratching the thinning hair atop his head, he pondered the thought for a moment then replied, Ya, I can take ‘im on if the lad be willin’. Bending low with squinted eyes, he looked directly at William and asked, Ye be agreein’, son?

A sharp jab in William’s ribs elicited, I guess so, followed by a stern look from his father encouraging a more respectful response. Ah, I mean yes, sir, William squeaked out.

So it was set. William was apprenticed and began the very next day.

The initial tasks assigned William were laborious grunt work, the kind commonly expected for a beginner but not particularly suited to William, who detested the mundane. The days passed by slowly as William toiled at his forced, monotonous indenture. Meanwhile, the smell of the sea, the sounds of ships docking in the nearby harbor, and the laughter of sailors passing by the miller’s shop created an intense longing for the free life of a seafarer. At night, dreams of standing on the deck of a sturdy vessel, its bow cutting through gigantic waves and effortlessly tossing them aside, occupied William’s mind. At other times, he dreamed of sailing into the harbor of a tropical island with native girls running along the shore calling out Welcome, welcome! Each morning he awoke with the hard reality that he was still trapped in a dusty old mill.

It was in the twelfth month of William’s apprenticeship when he happened to strike up a conversation with a sailor passing by.

Hey bloke! William called out. Where ya off ta?

Oh we’s off ta sail the seas, lad, the sailor replied. Ta see sights most only dream on.

William didn’t need any further description; his imagination had traversed the seas on many occasions.

Jerking his mind back to the present, William inquired, Who’s ya signed with?

"I’m wid Captain Griswold of a trawler goes by Friends."

Ya don’t chance ta know if he might be taken on hands, do ya?

The sailor just shrugged his shoulders and continued down the walk, not wanting to spend his shore leave jawing with some boy.

As William lay on his cot that night, the stale flour odor in the mill permeated his nostrils, while thoughts of adventure ran through his head. He tossed and turned until early morn, when relenting to blind impulse, he stole quietly to the rear of the mill and slowly opened the door, being ever so cautious not to let the squeaky hinges reveal his departure.

Moonlight caressed the images on the wharf, throwing their ghostly shadows across the pier. Finally, his heart pounding with excitement and a tinge of fear, William discovered the dock where the trawler was tied.

Ahoy the ship! he called out, desperately trying to lower his youthful voice. Receiving no answer except the slapping of the waves against the dock, he called out again in a louder voice. Ahoy the ship! but received the same result. Finding a piece of wood lying on the dock, he sent it flying onto the ship’s deck.

A gruff voice, slurred from being awakened, shouted out, Who goes dere?!

William Jackman, a sailor looking to sign on. Where abouts be Captain Griswold? the lad responded, hoping that knowing the captain’s name would lend authority.

Come back in da daylight when I’m not on watch, the crotchety voice bellered.

Sensing he was at a point of no return, William shot back, Listen ya rummy, iffen the captain needs hands there’s one standin’ right here. How’s he gonna take it iffen I come at daylight and tell ’im his watchman turned me away?

An indiscernible grumble was emitted and finally a command, Arrr. Come aboard den.

As William stepped on the plank extending from the ship over to the dock, the waves rocked the ship, causing the plank to heave up and down. This sent a thrill through William, giving him a sense of being a genuine sailor. He jumped down to the deck and nearly bumped into a rather rotund man, apparently the captain, wearing a uniform that had at one time been quite exquisite.

Shiver me timbers! the man exclaimed. You’s nuttin’ but a street urchin. You be takin’ me from me slumber. Off wit ya and don’t ya be comin’ round again.

I’s sorry sir, but I aim ta be a sailor and I came ta sign up.

Why you can’t be over the ten mark, I’s guessing.

I’s eleven, almost twelve, and I be raised in a seagoing family.

The captain scratched at his scruffy beard, cast a glance at the sailor on watch, shrugged his shoulders, and said, We are a might short. Tell ya what, we’ll give ya a go. We’re ta deposit our catch at Portsmouth, then ta Brixham to refit for Ramsgate where we be headin’ fer the North Sea. Iffen ya pull yer own fer the run, ya can sail wit us. Mind ya, if ya turn inta a lead anchor we’ll scuttle yer behind at the nearest port!

Yes sir, ya won’t be disappointed, William replied, standing straight and giving the captain a sharp salute. The captain responded with a wave of the hand, intended to mean, Off with ya, rather than a return of the courtesy.

*********

The wind blew lightly the next day as William began his first pull at sea life. He worked hard learning the duties assigned, which were usually anything no one else wanted to do; however, the whoosh of the ship cutting through the waves and the shouts of the sailors adjusting sails put a vigorous spring in William’s step despite his being the ship’s lackey. When the trawler put in to Brixham, William spotted an acquaintance from his hometown.

Chalmers! he called out, Chalmers Taylor, what brings you ta Brixham?

I’m here on a school outing. We ‘ave an hour break, so I decided ta come down and see the wharf. What are you doin’?

William threw his head back and with a sense of pride said, "I be a sailor now. Signed with the Friends!"

Chalmers eyes widened as he practically whispered, Does yer mum know what ya done?

No, William replied, but Chalmers, would ya be a good bloke and carry news of me whereabouts to her?

Sure, I can do that. Say, I ‘ave ta get back ta my group now. I’ll tell yer mum, you can count on it. Bye! Good sailin’! Chalmers called as he ran back toward town.

A couple of days passed as the sailors set about refitting the ship for Ramsgate, and just before the ship was about to sail, William’s mother, a rather sturdy, no-nonsense woman, had received word of his whereabouts and made her way to Brixham with a neighbor lady. Upon locating the trawler, she intercepted William, who was working on the dock, and with a firm grip on her son’s ear, marched him before Captain Griswold and proceeded to give the ole sea dog a tongue-lashing.

Captain Griswold, I’ve a mind ta turn ya in ta the constable fer kidnappin’. This boy o’ mine is but eleven years and he’s apprenticed ta the local miller.

The captain puffed up his chest at her accusation and let loose with a diatribe in his defense. Listen here, Missus, afore ya get yer bloomers in a tangle, know this: We captains ‘ave ta fight ole Davy’s locker every time we set out on these waters. It’s me job ta see that we’s got enough hands ta bring ’er back safe ‘n’ sound. Afore ya get yer back up on me signings, take a gander in the mirror and ask yerself why this boy was hell-bent ta run off ta sea in da first place.

Don’t ya turn the tale on me, ya miserable ole goat, Mrs. Jackman countered. Ye knew the boy was a runaway! He has a master who has apprenticed him and by no way will allow his service to be taken without just compensation.

Ma, William objected, I don’t want ta be penned up in a dusty old mill all me life. I want ta be free ta ride the waves.

Mrs. Jackman released William’s ear from her grasp and gave him a look of desperation.

The captain, sensing a solution, stated, Ma’am, I’m ready to put out to sea this afternoon. If William has yer permission ta sail he will be treated as is proper, and when we return I’ll make good ta ‘is master whatever he thinks is right.

Mrs. Jackman sized up her position. On one hand she was up against a crusty old seaman who was used to having his way. Being married to the like, she knew firsthand the battle that was before her. On the other hand, she knew her headstrong lad was not to stay put if he had a mind against it. Mustering as much control as a mother can have under the circumstances, she replied, It be against me better judgment, but I’ll take ya at yer word as a gentleman, as I hopes ya are, and I’ll let the lad go with the promise ta bring ’im back whole and make the miller happy.

The captain bowed to the ladies and stated, It shall be as said. Now excuse me, fer I ‘ave a voyage ta prepare fer.

William jumped for joy, hugged his mama, and dashed for the ship.

*********

It was December 19, 1833, and the crew of the Friends was off to Ramsgate. It took two days to refit the trawler before sail was made for the North Sea where the plan was to troll for three months. In speaking with William’s mother, the captain had promised kind treatment for her boy, but at sea his true character emerged, which was that of a tyrant.

As the trolling lines captured their fill, the crew heaved up the catch, and William was to stand down in the hold and coil away the nine-inch hawser. Grunting and pulling, kicking his feet on the side wall for leverage and trying as he might, his youthful stature did not produce the speed demanded by the captain.

Ya blasted blow! hollered the captain, I might throw ya ta the fish if ya can’t keep up, and he ordered a crewman down in the hold as he grabbed William by the collar and whacked him across the head with a handspike. I’s never seen such a slacker, he shouted, holding the boy over the rail as if to make good on his threat. Ya be spendin’ da night wit a lantern on the masthead. Let that serve ta boost a little life in yer limbs. The captain didn’t make good on his threat to toss William overboard, but he did have to spend the night on watch.

Some time later, on another occasion, the crew had pulled in the nets and was lying about the deck after all was shipshape. It was a quiet night on the sea. The waves rolled the ship, gently rocking it like a babe in its cradle. Adding to the evening’s serenity was a full moon casting a peaceful glow across the water. The captain joined the men on deck and—in gaining a generous mood after considerable imbibing—called William to his side.

Hey you! Runaway.

Yes Captain, William responded.

Fetch me brandy from below and tip out a glass fer the men.

Yes sir, Captain.

And boy, the captain admonished, mind that ya aren’t tempted ta taste a lick yerself.

William complied and went to retrieve the captain’s stash. As he lifted the bottle from its locker he thought, "Self, if the captain won’t ask me ta take a glass wit da crew, I be askin’ meself," and placing the bottle to his lips, he took a huge slug.

Aah, he gasped, as the liquor burned its way to his gullet. Arrgh, he wheezed, ’Ow can one enjoy the likes o’ this? Wiping his mouth of the burning liquid, he made his way to the top deck.

Unknown to William, the captain sent a crewman to spy on him, figuring the lad might yield to temptation. As the boy returned to the upper deck, a huge hand seized him by the collar and demanded, Ya rotten little thief, where da ya get wit drinking me grog?

William squirmed under the tight grasp and whined, I only ’ad a taste, Captain. Honest, just a taste.

The captain, who already had his fair share of drink, roared to his crew, Git me the tiller rope! and spotting a barrel fastened to the deck, he bent William over it. Ya think me grog warmed yer belly, me rope will warm yer outers! he shouted, laying the rope across William with as much force as his wobbly condition could muster. With each crack, William gritted his teeth, trying with great difficulty not to cry out. The beating continued until a particularly brutal blow drove William to his knees, causing him to cry out with a whimper, Please Captain, no more!

At the pathetic sight of this drunken brute whaling relentlessly on the youth, a crewman, emboldened by drink, decided the punishment had crossed the line. Staggering to his feet, he grabbed hold of the captain’s arm as he was about to strike again. ’E’s ’ad enough, Captain.

Who’s ya ta tell me? I’m the captain and I’ll decide what’s enough!

Feeling a surge of bravery, the crewman pressed his face into the captain’s nose and let loose. If ya strike that boy again I’ll take da cat and whip ya meself. Now back away from the boy!

The captain, with his arm still up in the air, looked to his side. Every crewman’s eyes were on him, but not a word was spoken. Sensing he could win this battle but lose the war, Captain Griswold muttered, I guess ‘e’s learned ‘is lesson, and threw the rope to the deck.

That encounter seemed to have an impact on the old captain. Whether he feared a mutiny or was a bully put to the challenge no one knew, but the kicks and cuffs to William had a diminished frequency.

*********

In April 1834, a strong easterly blew them to their destination and they anchored at Ramsgate. The captain and crew were anxious to go ashore for relaxation, as they termed it, so William and another boy were left on board as sole security. The harsh treatment William had received set him to looking for a way to take leave of these surroundings. Waiting for dusk to settle over the port, he thought, "Now is the time," and bounded for shore like a rabbit. Once ashore it dawned on him: he was a stranger in a strange place without a farthing. Needing shelter from the cool spring breezes but unable to pay, he put his quick wit to the test.

Seeing a stranger all bundled against the stiff wind, he called out, Excuse me, mister! Mister! he called again after getting no response. The man slowed his pace and nodded recognition. William quickly asked, Could ya direct me ta the nearest steam house?

Taking as little time as possible, the stranger gestured behind him and said, Right at the next corner and two blocks.

William’s pace quickened, his feet making a hollow thump-thump sound on the boardwalk in front of the businesses facing the street. After rounding the corner and proceeding down the block, he spotted a weather-beaten sign reading, Shaw’s Steamer. Slipping around to the back, he discovered a door leading to the heat supply. There he found his lodging amid the only warm and free space in port, the boiler room of a steam house. Positioning himself next to the sweating tanks, he thankfully considered the alternative of braving the cold air outside.

As the morning sun reflected through a crack in the outside door, William awoke. Water was dripping in his face and his dark hair was plastered tight to his head. He felt his shirt and trousers clinging to his young frame as though they had been painted on. As he lay there in a bed of steam, a thought crossed his mind, If I ’ad bore up till Brixham I could ‘ave pulled me wages. I suppose a wiser one would ‘ave put up wit a beatin’ or two fer the pay. Then after a moment of reflection he decided, Nah! No man’s gonna put the whip ta me hide and get away wit it! And so it was, a strong-willed, independent spirit sprouted that would take bloom and be honed with similar decisions for the rest of his life.

William left his lodging place and browsed in and out of various stores in an attempt to dry his clothes out of reach of the cool north wind. When he was sufficiently dried out, he prowled along the docks scouting for a passage to Brixham but being careful so as not to encounter a crewman or the captain from his previous ship. Upon inquiry, he found a vessel carrying oranges from St. Michaels that was leaving for Brixham the next afternoon. William asked as to the whereabouts of the captain, and having been directed, approached him concerning signing on.

Captain, sir, could you use another hand?

I can always use someone with two hands iffen they know ’ow ta use ’em.

I be yer man then, Captain.

You might be the man, but you look like a boy. ‘Sides, I haven’t the means ta put on another crewman, but if ya wanna work fer passage I might oblige.

Under the circumstances, the young adventurer willingly accepted. As they were hauling out of the basin, William spotted his old skipper scouring the bay from the pier head to see if his wayward mate was on any ship going out with the tide. Having little desire to be dragged back to his former employer, William ducked below until the ship was well under way.

On May 7 they arrived at Brixham. William bid good-bye to the captain and expressed his gratitude for the passage, especially grateful that it took place without a single