Story 1--Chapter XXXVI.
Retribution.
The supreme moment seemed to have come, and with her heart beating furiously Hester made up her mind to make one more effort to reach the deck, shouting the while for help, and then if no other help came, she told herself that she could seek it in the sea.
Her hands clasped those of Bessy for a moment convulsively, and then dropping them, she stood upon her guard as the lock was shot back, the door was flung open, and in an instant Lauré caught her in his arms, when, as her lips failed to utter a shriek, there was a heavy fall on deck, the noise of feet hurrying to and fro, a crash, and with an oath Lauré rushed across the cabin, and Hester staggered back trembling into Bessy’s arms.
“What does it mean?” the latter whispered hoarsely.
“Help at last,” panted Hester, as the noise on deck increased. Shots were fired, there was another heavy full, and the clashing together of steel, followed by the voice of Lauré culling to his men to come on.
Before they dared to hope for safely, Dutch literally leaped down into the cabin, with a cutlass in his hand, followed by Mr Meldon, both men pale with excitement and stained with blood.
“Quick!” cried Dutch, catching his wife by one hand; “the scoundrels may prove too many for us.”
“Bessy, darling,” whispered Mr Meldon, hoarsely; and for a moment he folded her in his arms before leading her hastily on deck after Dutch, who had already hurried Hester below into the main cabin.
Bessy followed her on the instant, and the two men rushed forward again to where a desperate fight was going on, which resulted in Lauré and his party being driven below, but not until some severe wounds had been given on either side.
Then hatches were clapped on, and cables coiled over them, before the party dared to breathe freely and congratulate themselves on their success.
“It is more than I dared to hope for,” said Dutch, as they stood clustered round a lantern placed upon the deck, “for it was a bitter struggle.”
“Bitter, indeed,” said Mr Parkley, with a sigh. “I little thought our silver was going to be so stained with blood.”
“It may be all washed off yet,” said John Studwick, who was standing by, looking ghastly pale.
“What do you mean?” said his father.
“That you have not got it home yet,” was the reply; “and will not while that scoundrel is on board.”
“Then he shall not stay on board long,” exclaimed the captain, angrily. “There is the land, and a boat shall take him, and all he likes to claim as his followers, as soon as morning dawns.”
Hester shuddered as she crept close to her husband, and felt as if she could never cease to fear as long as the villain was at large; but his words comforted her, and for the rest of the night long careful watch was kept, and not without need, for several attempts were made by those below to force their way on deck.
Morning came, though, at last, as bright and sunny as if man never troubled the earth with his struggles, and as the sun arose the extent of the past night’s troubles were more clearly seen; for the doctor’s account showed that of their own party four had rather serious wounds, while two of the enemy lay dead, having succumbed to their injuries during the night.
To get rid of the dangerous party below was the next thing; and at last surrounding the forecastle hatch, the cable was cast off, and as soon as the opening was laid bare Lauré darted up, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, but Dutch seized one hand, Captain Studwick the other, and he was disarmed, and roughly thrown down into the little cabin from which Hester had been rescued, and the hatch secured.
Having now no leader, the other men came sulkily on deck, and gave up their arms without a struggle, and all were ordered over the side into the boat, a plentiful supply of beef and biscuit was furnished to them, with a couple of guns and ammunition, and they were rowed ashore, to make the best of their way to any settlement they could find.
“And now for the señor,” said Captain Studwick, as he returned with his well-armed party, after setting Lauré’s followers ashore.
“We must not set him ashore with those scoundrels,” said Dutch, firmly, “or he will contrive some plot to get back with them and retake the ship.”
Hester shuddered as she heard his words.
“What would you do, then?” exclaimed Mr Parkley.
“Keep him on board until we find some place to set him ashore, a couple or three hundred miles away—anywhere away from here.”
There was so much reason in Dutch’s words that it was decided to follow his advice, repugnant as it was to have the villain with them in the ship.
“And now then,” said the captain, “my motto is, homeward bound; though we cannot sail with wind and tide like this.”
“But we must not stay so near the land,” exclaimed Mr Parkley, glancing uneasily towards the sands, where the followers of the Cuban had been landed.
“I’m afraid we must,” was the reply; “but surely we can contrive to keep our prize, now we have got the upper hand.”
The feeling that they could neither sail nor get rid of Lauré acted like some great depressing influence on board, but the matter was inevitable, for to have set him ashore would have been like putting fire to gunpowder, which was safe enough left alone, so careful arrangements were made, and these being in the face of them thoroughly secure, a more satisfactory influence began to pervade the vessel, and the partners congratulated one another on the escape they had had.
As for Oakum and Rasp, they went from one to the other, chuckling and enjoying the interpretation that had been placed upon their behaviour, Oakum in particular seeming to think it the height of human enjoyment to have been thought such a scoundrel when he was straining every nerve to save his friends.
Night had fallen again, and to ensure against further surprise, Dutch, Mr Parkley, and the captain were all on deck, well-armed and watchful, meaning to keep their posts till daybreak, when the schooner was to start on the head of the tide.
Nothing more had been seen of the men set ashore, for they had plunged at once into the forest; and the Cuban was so well secured that little was to be feared from him; but all the same an uneasy feeling prevailed, and Dutch told himself that he should not feel satisfied till they were well at sea, and on reporting this to Mr Parkley, that individual replied:
“Neither shall I, Dutch Pugh, nor yet when we have got the treasure safe home; for you see if that scoundrel does not go to law. What’s that you say, Rasp?” he said, turning sharply, for the old man was close behind.
“Oh, don’t you take no notice of me. I was only chuntering to myself. I couldn’t help hearing what you said to Mr Pugh there.”
Almost contrary to their expectations, the night passed without any alarm, and at daybreak, the tide still not serving for a couple of hours, Dutch and his friends went to lie down, leaving the deck in charge of Oakum and Rasp, with instructions to call them at a specified time.
Dutch, however, felt that he could hardly have dropped asleep when a strange feeling of uneasiness came over him, and, reproaching himself for leaving the deck even now, he awoke fully to sit up and try to get rid of the confusion which oppressed him.
For a few moments he could not tell whether he was awake, or dreaming that he was once more busy diving, for there was the clanking of the air-pump, splashing of water beside him, and heavy feet passing overhead.
But it was no dream. Hardly had the deck been placed in charge of its deputies, than Rasp beckoned up ’Pollo and the two sailors who had been so faithful to them, and began to talk in a low voice, saying something which evidently gave them the greatest satisfaction, and Rasp softly chuckled and rubbed his hands as he turned to Oakum.
“I don’t like it,” said the old fellow; “it’s cowardly.”
“Not it,” said Rasp; “and if it is, what then? I only mean to give him a dose of it, and if he dies, why that’s his fault.”
“And ours,” said Oakum.
“Yah!” ejaculated Rasp. “Look here, old squeamish, that chap’s a tiger, and if he gets loose, he’ll be the death of all on us, won’t he?”
“Devil a doubt on it,” said Oakum.
“Very well, then: I’ve got a score to pay him off,” growled Rasp; “so’s them poor fellows who’ve got the mark of his knife on them; and, besides, I kep him from cutting my soots to pieces on purpose to give him a taste.”
“But it’s like murder,” said Oakum.
“It was like murder for him to cut that there chube when the best diver in England was down; and now we’ll see how he likes it.”
“What, and cut the toob?” said Oakum, with a look of horror on his honest face.
“Not I. I’ll only send the warmint down, and give him a quarter of an hour, that’s all.”
Oakum gave way, and felt a grim kind of satisfaction in helping to bring the Cuban on deck, where, in spite of his struggles, he was forced to assume one of the diving suits, and almost before he knew it the helmet was thrust over his head and secured, making him a complete prisoner, at the mercy of his tormentors.
“Now let the sharks have a go at him if they like,” said Rasp, as he forced the prisoner to the side. “I’ve a good mind not to give him a safety-line; but there, I won’t be shabby.”
As he spoke he secured the rope to the Cuban’s waist, and then, as he fully realised that they were going to send him overboard, he made a desperate struggle to free himself, but all in vain. There were five to one; the gangway was open, and, acting all together, Lauré was forced to the side, and fell backwards into the sea with a sullen plunge.
Story 1--Chapter XXXVII.
“Good-Bye.”
Rasp had placed a man at the pump and a supply of air was being kept up, a supply now augmented by another man being sent to help turn the wheel, while with a grim look of satisfaction Rasp took hold of the life-line and tightened it a little, to feel the unwilling diver’s movements.
“He’ll be pulling hard directly,” chuckled the old fellow. “Only let him see a shark—one of his first cousins—a villain. Wonder what Mr Dutch’ll say when he knows how we’ve been serving out the scoundrel as—”
“What does all this mean?” exclaimed Dutch, coming so suddenly upon the group that they started asunder, and the air-pump stopped.
“On’y giving that rascal a lesson in diving,” growled Rasp.
“Whom? What do you mean? You surely don’t mean to say that Lauré, the prisoner—”
“They’re on’y having a lark with him, sir,” said Oakum.
“Quick, there! Pump, you scoundrels,” exclaimed Dutch; and the wheel spun round once more. “Rasp, Oakum, pull here. You dogs, if mischief has befallen that man I can never forgive you.”
Setting the example he hauled upon the life-line, and ’Pollo running to his help, the Cuban was dragged to the surface, and lay motionless on the deck as Dutch freed him of his helmet and exposed his livid face.
“Quick! Call up Mr Meldon,” cried Dutch; but that gentleman was already on deck, and, to the great relief of Dutch, declared the Cuban to be still alive.
It had been a narrow escape for him, as, between dread and the want of air, another few seconds would have sufficed to finish his career. As it was, quite an hour escaped before he recognised those who had worked hard to restore him, and then it was with a malignant grin of disappointed malice.
“He’ll do now,” said the doctor; and as the patient seemed disposed to sleep, they left him—Oakum, who was exceedingly penitent for the part he had taken, being stationed as sentry at the door.
Meanwhile Captain Studwick had taken advantage of the breeze and tide, and the schooner was once more under way, threading her course amongst the rocks, and gradually leaving the cocoanut-fringed strand behind.
Everyone was on deck watching the receding shores, and in full expectation of some new danger springing up to hinder their homeward journey, for with the treasure they had on board it was determined to tempt fortune no more, but to make all speed across the Atlantic as soon as they had cleared the inland sea.
Favourable winds sped the schooner at a rapid rate through the water, and all seemed so peaceful and happy that it raised a feeling of dread in those who had found the other portion of the voyage so rife with peril. Rasp shook his head, and said that they were not safe home yet, while Oakum was away; but as soon as Oakum began to croak and prognosticate evil, he changed his tone, and declared that they would soon be safely home.
The voyage home to Hester and Bessy seemed like a glimpse of heaven, for Hester was ever by the latter’s side, striving hard to make her forget the past, and revelling in her loving, grateful looks; while Bessy, though no words passed, knew that Meldon loved her with all his heart, though for her sake and lest he should arouse the jealous susceptibilities of her brother, he maintained silence. But she knew that the day must come when he would speak, and her heart leaped with joy as she saw his patient assiduity in attending to her brother, who now turned daily more and more towards him, and sought his help.
But the presence of two sick men was not without its influence on the little crew of the ship, and Captain Studwick, looked with nervous dread for what he saw must come ere long, and felt that the events might again be looked upon as an ill omen.
For though Mr Meldon said it not in so many words, he gave him fully to understand that poor John Studwick’s days were growing very few.
In fact the doctor felt that it was an open question whether Lauré or John Studwick would be the first to leave them, for the former seemed never to have recovered from the shock of his descent, but lay in a helpless, raving state, evidently growing weaker day by day, till, in place of getting up to sit and watch the sea from the cabin window, he now rarely rose, and then only with the assistance of old Rasp, who, as a kind of recompense for being the cause of his state, constituted himself his nurse, and waited on him night and day.
“I hate him like the very old ’un,” growled Rasp, when talking about him to Oakum; “but as I’ve had my bit of a go at him for what he did, I ain’t going to see him die like a dog for want of help.”
And so the days glided on till the schooner, with her freight of silver, was in mid-ocean, and still the fates favoured them. It was a lovely evening, and the sun was descending fast in the west, turning the sea into one heaving mass of orange and gold. Nearly every one was on deck—Mr Parkley and the captain together talking of the future of the voyage, and Mr Wilson seated with his chin resting on his hand gazing pensively at Bessy, who was kneeling beside the mattress on which her brother lay, his great eyes looking towards the golden-flooded sky. Dutch and Hester, too, were together, silent and thoughtful, while the solemn grandeur of the scene seemed to impress even the men forward, for they sat about the deck almost without a word.
It was with quite a start, then, that Dutch saw the doctor come up softly from below and approach him with a solemn look upon his face.
“Is anything wrong?” said Dutch, though he almost read what the other had to say.
“Your enemy will soon be powerless to work you evil, Mr Pugh,” was the reply; “he is dying, I think, fast.”
Hester shuddered and clasped her husband’s arm.
“Poor wretch!” exclaimed Dutch. “There,” he cried, impetuously, “don’t talk of enemies at such a time. I forgive him the ill he did to me. May God be merciful too!”
“Amen,” said Hester beneath her breath; and then she shuddered and clung more closely to her husband, for so shaken had her nerves been that it seemed to her even now they were not free from the Cuban’s influence.
“Can you not save his life?” said Dutch. “He should have time to repent.”
“But would he?” said Mr Meldon. “I fear life to him would only be the opportunity to work us all more ill.”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t think of that, man,” cried Dutch. “Have you tried all you could to save him?”
“I have tried all I know,” said the doctor earnestly. “I cannot think of one hour’s lapse of duty.”
“No, no, of course not,” said Dutch, holding out his hand. “I insult you by such a supposition.”
“Miss Studwick is beckoning to you, Mr Meldon,” exclaimed Hester suddenly; and turning they saw her upon her knees evidently in alarm.
“Poor fellow!” muttered the doctor almost in a whisper; but the young couple heard him, and stood watching anxiously, for though John Studwick’s death was expected, they had hoped that he might first reach home.
He had been gazing for quite an hour at the glorious sky, and had apparently been no worse than usual; but now the change had come suddenly, and no one knew it more than he.
For just as Bessy was bending over to speak to him, startled slightly by his lengthened silence, he turned to her and smiled lovingly and tenderly as his thin hand pressed hers.
“Kiss me, Bessy,” he said, in a low, strange voice; and as she gazed at him with dilating eyes, and pressed her lips to his, he said gently, “The doctor!”
It was then that Bessy beckoned anxiously to Mr Meldon, who came hastily across the deck and knelt down, taking the hand feebly stretched out to him.
“Not the pulse, doctor, the palm,” said John Studwick, his face lighting up with a strange unearthly smile.
“I’m not jealous now. Be kind to my darling sister. Good-bye.”
As Bessy burst into a fit of sobbing and lowered her head upon his breast, he laid his hand upon her glossy curls. Then seeing his father bending eagerly over him, he tried to raise his other hand, but it fell back, his lips formed the words “Good-bye” once more; and, as his eyes smiled up in his father’s face, the lines around them gradually hardened, the pupils dilated in a fixed stare, and those who gazed down upon him knew that the spirit had fled to its lasting home.
Story 1--Chapter XXXVIII.
A Puzzling Case.
It was about an hour later that the doctor went below to his other patient, to find him lying perfectly still and hardly breathing, so softly his pulsation seemed to rise and fall, while, faithful to his post, Rasp was by his side.
Lauré was evidently sleeping, and, after a brief examination, Mr Meldon turned thoughtfully away, for there were peculiarities in the case which he could not fathom.
As he reached the deck, he was touched on the shoulder, and, turning sharply, he found Rasp behind him.
“Is he going to die to-night, doctor, like t’other poor chap?”
“I can’t say, Rasp,” was the reply. “His case puzzles me. To-night he sleeps so easily that he seems to me better, and as if he were rallying fast.”
“Oh no, he ain’t,” said Rasp, shaking his head oracularly; “that’s the artfulness of his nature. He’s a-dying sharp.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause I heerd him a muttering to hisself when he thought as I warn’t listening, and then he got talking to hisself in his foreign lingo; and when I came into sight again he began picking at his blanket.”
“May be,” said Mr Meldon, “but all the same, he is certainly better.”
“Yah! stuff!” ejaculated Rasp, as he descended to the cabin. “He’s dying fast, and it’s going to be to-night. I can feel it as plain as can be, poor chap. But he’s an out and out bad ’un, and only got what he deserves.”
Rasp took several pinches of snuff in succession.
“How rum this snuff is to-night,” he muttered, as he settled himself on the locker opposite where Lauré lay, and then proceeded to watch the night through, after refusing the help of Oakum and ’Pollo, both of whom had offered to relieve him, and in the course of half-an-hour he was sleeping heavily.
And so a couple of hours glided away; when, just as all was perfectly silent on board the schooner, and all save the watch on deck slept soundly, Lauré, the Cuban, rose from his simulated sleep, and after a glance at Rasp stole to the locker in which lay his clothes, slipped them on silently, and then made softly for the deck.
It was no tottering walk of a feeble man, but the quick, soft cat-like tread of some one full of life and energy, and bent upon some set design. And so it was; for the time for the execution of the fell purpose upon which his mind had been fixed ever since he had lain there, feeble at first from the shock, but daily growing stronger and meditating revenge, had arrived.
He was too well acquainted with the routine of the schooner not to be fully aware of what he could do, and while the man bent drowsily over the wheel, and Oakum and another were on the look-out in the bows, he took the falls in his hands, and cleverly let the boat on the davits glide down and kiss the softly heaving wave almost without a sound, but not until he had secured the painter to one of the pins, after which he slid down the falls with the activity of a boy, unhooked the boat, and climbed back on deck.
Next he paused to listen for a few moments in the darkness, and then with cat-like step descended into the portion of the vessel which had been set apart for the store connected with the diving apparatus.
It was evident that he had often been here before, as he seemed to know where everything was kept; and after lifting down the large jar of the galvanic battery, which, from the care with which he took it was evidently half-full of acid, he bore it to the steps, and then placing his hand on a particular shelf he took down a canister of dynamite cartridges and placed it against the bulkhead.
This done he felt along the shelf to where, days before, he had placed a large reel of thin silk-covered wire, and tying it to the loop of metal in one of the cartridges, he backed slowly out of the cabin, unwinding the wire as he went till he reached the deck, where he continued his way to the side, and lowered the reel into the boat.
The next thing was the awkward jar of the battery; but his plans had all been made, and with a piece of cord he lowered it down carefully, raising it again and again until he felt that it rested safely in the bottom of the boat.
Water was already there, and provisions that he had been storing up for days; and now the first sound that had left his lips escaped in the form of a low demoniacal chuckle as, lightly raising himself upon the bulwark, he sat there for a moment, and he shook his fist in the direction of the cabin.
“Curse you!” he muttered. “You thought to outwit me, but you did not know your enemy. Sink! perish with the silver that carries you down, for revenge is sweet even at such a cost.”
He swung himself down by the ropes hanging from one of the davits, and there felt that he had outwitted himself for the boat was not beneath his feet, and he was getting nearly exhausted by his efforts.
“I shall have to let go,” he muttered; “and in the darkness I shall never reach the boat again.”
He swung himself to and fro, and struggled hard to reach the boat, but though he nearly touched it each time, he was never near enough to trust himself to lose his hold, and with the perspiration running down his face, and his hair bristling with horror, he began to thoroughly realise that his long rest in bed had weakened him terribly. The thought was horrible now that he had been brought face to face with it—that he who had been so careful in laying his plans for the destruction of others had been caught in his own trap, and was himself called upon to die. The idea was terrible. He was not fit to die. When roused by his passions to fight desperately, he could, perhaps, have faced death with a certain amount of manly composure, but now swinging at the end of this rope, to hold on till he could cling no longer, and then plunge suddenly into the sea to feel the black rushing and thundering waters close over his head—it was too horrible to be borne.
He made a desperate struggle to get his legs up, and cling with them to the rope, but his strength was gone, and he only weakened himself, and hanging now at the full stretch of his arms, feeling, as the sinews of his wrists seemed ready to crack, that any moment he must leave go, he—
The thought was too horrible. He could not face death; sooner must he shriek for help and forego his revenge—anything to be saved.
His lips parted, and he tried to yell loudly, but a harsh gurgle was all that came now from his dry throat. He tried again and again, but horror had paralysed him, and he could do nothing but pant hoarsely like one in a nightmare, and believe that, after all, this was but some fearful dream from which he would awaken, as he often had before, bathed with perspiration, and shivering with dread.
At last he tried to close his starting eyes, and hide from his distorted vision the horrible resemblance of the davit above him to the gallows, as he swung to and fro by the rope. But even this relief was denied him, for it seemed as if the whole muscular strength of his body was condensed in his arms, by which he clung to the fall, and power had left him to perform any other act than that of clinging for life. The deadly sense of terror increased, and with men at either end of the vessel ready to come to his help—men who, by the slightest effort of will, could have saved him—he felt he must die. He would have called them to his help now regardless of the exposure of his plans, but it was too late: he could do no more than hold on, and wait till he fell.
No torture could possibly have been greater than that felt by this wretch as he softly swung to and fro within a few inches of the safety he had provided, and yet unable to reach it. A thousand thoughts rushed through his brain, but they were mostly regrets that he had been unable to compass his revenge; that he had neglected his opportunities when he might have made himself the master of Hester, seeing how thoroughly he had her in his power, and his bared teeth glistened in the darkness as a wave curled and, splashing against the side of the schooner, sent forth a phosphorescent flash.
And now he told himself that it was all over; he must die unrevenged, unable to make a single struggle, for the last moments had come, his muscles were relaxing, the sense of terror was growing more dull, and he must fall. His eyes were staring straight up at the davit, now black above his head, just faintly seen through the darkness, and it seemed more than ever the instrument of his death as the slipping rope for a moment scorched his hands, his eyes convulsively closed as the strain on the muscles of his arms ceased, and he fell.
But not to plunge into the black waters beneath him, and only a few feet from where he had hung, for the wave that curled against the side, and with its phosphorescent glare shewn his distorted features, swept the boat beneath his feet, and he sank all of a heap in the bows, to lie there motionless as the boat rose and fell. For he was utterly prostrate, and it was some minutes before he could realise that he was still alive.
When, however, by slow degrees the feeling came upon him that he was safe, no thanks rose to his cracked, dry lips, but a smile of malignant satisfaction, for revenge was still open to him, and as soon as he could recover himself somewhat, he might put his plan into execution.
For fully half-an-hour Lauré lay there crouching in the bows of the boat waiting for the strength that would enable him to achieve his nefarious ends, while the watch hung drowsily over the bulwarks, and those below slept peacefully, in ignorance of the horrible fate that was in store.
At last, like some deadly monster uncoiling its folds, the Cuban began to move, and his first attempt was to reach a bottle of spirits, from whose gurgling throat he drank with avidity, the potent fluid giving him the restoration he sought. Then as the blood began to tingle in his veins, he sat up, looked round, and gently chafed his benumbed arms.
A slight motion in the fore part of the ship roused him to the necessity for immediate action, and now with eager haste he cautiously felt about, and placed the galvanic battery in a convenient spot, took hold of the reel of fine silk-covered wire, arranged it so that it was not entangled, and then, having assured himself that all was right, he took out his knife and cut the boat’s painter, floating now gently away in the wake of the schooner, while as he did so he let the wire run rapidly out so that a connection was kept up.
There must have been at least a hundred yards of wire, and the schooner glided away so gently that there was never any stress on the frail metal cord, till the last rings ran off the reel, when Lauré, with a cry of exultation, checked the progress softly and felt for the wire’s end.
The schooner could hardly be distinguished now, and there was not a moment to lose, for if the wire were tightened till it dragged on the boat it must part, so with trembling eagerness the Cuban twisted the slight metal strand twice round his left hand, while with his right he placed the end against the brass connection of the plates in the battery.
The work was instantaneous.
As he touched the connection with the tiny point of copper there was a hissing noise in the jar, a little point of light darted at the end of the wire, and simultaneously a hundred yards away in the darkness there was a tremendous flash, the darkness was illuminated by a fountain of sparks, which rose high in air, driven by a fan-like wave of flame; the fire curved over, and the sparks fell hissing into the sea.
As the flame rose, spreading wider and wider, there was a roar as of thunder, a rush as of the wind in a tempest struck Lauré, the boat rocked to and fro, shipping no small amount of water, and the wire twisted round the Cuban’s hand cut and bit into the flesh ere it snapped short off.
But he did not feel the pain, and saw not the danger to which he was exposed as he gazed straight beyond him at the doomed ship, and exulted in the wild shriek of horror that he had heard as the noise of the explosion died away.
He heard no more, for an awful silence fell upon the ocean, now blacker than ever, and rising up in the boat he held out one hand, shaking his fist in the direction where a faint glow told him of burning fragments of the wreck, and then with a shriek of exultation he cried—
“Sink, sink, with your accursed freight. Who wins now?”
He tottered as he spoke, and though straining his voice to hurl out his curse at the schooner and those on board, it was but a feeble cry, and he fell back senseless over the thwarts to lie in the bottom of the boat, with the water that had been shipped washing over him.
Story 1--Chapter XXXIX.
The Catastrophe.
The occupants of the cabin had sat long that night, talking of poor John Studwick’s peaceful end, and then separated, feeling low-spirited and heavy, as if some fresh trouble were in store; but Bessy had said good-night to Meldon, with her hands resting lovingly in his, and she did not shrink away when he pressed his lips to her forehead.
It had been arranged that the remains of the dead should be committed to the deep next day, and at last all had retired, after the captain and Dutch had heard the doctor’s report of Lauré’s state, which caused them some uneasiness, for if he recovered they felt that much trouble was in store.
But there was not the faintest suspicion of danger: trusty men were at the look-out and helm, and it had been arranged that Dutch was to take turns with the doctor and captain to visit the deck during the night, the doctor having his patient to watch. Then there was Rasp, too, who would be on the move several times during the night, and all promised well.
And so the time wore on till Dutch, who had lain down in his clothes, rose and kissed his sleeping wife as she lay there peacefully dreaming. All was very still, and on reaching the deck he found the darkness intense, but, guided by the faint glow from the binnacle lantern, he went aft to where Lennie was softly crooning to himself some old ditty about “Coming back to Sairey in the good ship Jane.”
“Yes, sir, all right,” said the sailor; “the breeze keeps nice and steady, only it’s like sailing in a tar barrel, it’s so awful black.”
Dutch went forward and found Sam Oakum leaning with his elbows on the bulwark, matched by his companion on the other side of the bowsprit gazing straight out ahead.
“Right as nails, sir,” said the old sailor, “only I was a thinking, being a man as never used it, if this here sea looked as black in the sunshine as it do now, what a fortune a man might make in bottles o’ ink. You might go on filling ’em up, sir, for ever and ever, amen, and there’d be plenty left to sail the ships in all the same.”
“It is black, Sam,” said Dutch, “and I often wonder that you sailors are not afraid of being run down, or of running into some other vessels.”
“There’s plenty o’ room,” said Sam, “and as to being afraid, what’s the use? We’re too busy. ’Course there is a collision sometimes, but not often, thank goodness.”
“Keep a sharp look-out,” said Dutch, turning to go.
“Ay, ay, I’ll keep a sharp look-out,” said the old fellow. “Lord, it’s ticklish work, sailing with all this silver aboard, and I shall be glad when we’re safe in. How’s the prisoner, sir?”
“I’m going down to see,” replied Dutch; and going to the hatch, he descended, to find Rasp sleeping soundly, and the lamp burned down to a dim light, that did not show the state of the Cuban’s berth.
Dutch shook the old diver roughly, and he started up muttering, while, as the former turned up the lamp, he started with surprise.
“Where is—”
The words had not left his lips when there was a tremendous concussion, a deafening roar, and the two men were thrown down, to struggle up again, with the air of the little cabin filled with a strange choking vapour, which nearly suffocated them before they had staggered up the steps to sink helplessly on the deck, now covered with burning fragments which kept showering down.
As Dutch fell, stunned and confused, on the fore part of the deck it seemed to him that he heard wild shrieks and cries for help from the direction of the stern cabins, but he was too helpless to comprehend what had taken place till he heard Oakum speaking to him and shaking his arm.
“Are you killed, Mr Dutch?” said the old fellow. “Oh, do say you ain’t.”
“I don’t think I’m hurt, Sam,” faltered Dutch, as he struggled to his feet. “I feel stunned, though,” and he clung to the old sailor to keep from falling backwards.
“Here’s poor old Rasp killed,” exclaimed Oakum, “and the ship sinking. Quick, to the boat.”
“You’re an obstinate old liar,” exclaimed Rasp, staggering to his feet. “I ain’t killed. Who’s been a-doing of this?”
“Here, quick, Oakum,” exclaimed Dutch, who, now that he could think, had his first thoughts for his wife and friends, “the ship must be going down. Help me to reach those astern.”
“There’s no getting to them, if they’re alive,” exclaimed Oakum; “the whole of the schooner’s blown out amidships.”
“Ahoy!” there came a voice from beyond the great black gulf in the centre of the schooner, which now began to blaze.
“Who’s that? Ahoy!” shouted Dutch. “Captain Studwick?”
“Right! Who’s with you there?”
“Oakum, Rasp, and one of the men,” cried Dutch. “Who’s with you?”
“I think all,” replied the captain, shouting across the gulf.
“Is my wife—Miss Studwick—safe?” faltered Dutch; and on receiving a reply in the affirmative, he muttered a prayer of thankfulness.
The question then arose—was the schooner sinking?
“I think not,” shouted the captain, for a disposition was shown to get out the boats. “If she was sinking, she would not begin to blaze like that down in the hold. It seems to me that the explosion struck upwards, and that she is sound below—for the present.”
And so it proved; for the dynamite had ripped up the deck and snapped off the mainmast as if it had been the stem of a flower, and it now lay alongside, with such of its ropes as were out of water blazing.
Not a moment was to be lost, and buckets being brought into requisition, the flames were attacked, for portions of the wreck below began now to blaze fiercely. One of the pumps, too, was set to work, and for long hours nothing was heard but the hissing of the flames as they were attacked by the water; but all that could be done was to keep them from increasing, and when at last the morning broke, it was to show two groups, one forward, the other astern, sullenly drawing buckets of water and dashing them into a hissing gulf of fire in the centre of the schooner, from which rose a column of black smoke to spread overhead and form a cloud like a funeral pall for the unlucky ship.
As the wind wafted the smoke on one side, Dutch waved his hand in token of encouragement to his wife, who stood with Bessy by the wheel, their task being to keep the ship’s head in one direction, so that the flames and heated vapour should not be driven astern. But all was done now in a hopeless duty-driven fashion, for those on board now realised the fact that it was only a matter of hours before the fire would eat its way through the side, and the work they tried so hard to do would be accomplished by the ship sinking beneath the waves.
“It’s of no use,” said Captain Studwick at last. “Dutch Pugh, Oakum, lower down that boat and come aft.”
This was done in a steady, deliberate manner, although at any moment a fresh explosion might have taken place, and the schooner gone down. And into the boat Oakum, Rasp, the sailor, and Dutch lowered themselves, paddled along the side, and joined their companions in misfortune aft.
As Oakum made fast the painter, and they all stood on the deck, Captain Studwick exclaimed:
“Where is Lauré? We must not leave him to perish.”
“Is he not with you?” said Dutch.
“No,” said the captain, bitterly.
“Has the poor wretch, then, been blown up in the explosion?”
“Heaven knows,” cried Mr Parkley, “but if he is missing, that explains all. It is his work.”
“It was those blowing-up cartridges o’ yourn,” growled Oakum.
“Of course it was, stupid,” snarled Rasp, turning on the old sailor fiercely, “but the cartridges wouldn’t go off by themselves, would they?”
“You said he was better, doctor,” said the captain.
“Yes, so much so that the change was puzzling.”
“This was his work, then,” cried the captain. “He was well enough to take some terrible revenge upon us.”
“And to perish himself in accomplishing it,” said Dutch.
“Don’t know that,” said the captain. “One of the boats has gone.”
“But it may have been destroyed in the explosion.”
The captain shook his head and walked to the side where the ropes and blocks hanging from the davits showed plainly enough that a boat had been lowered down.
As he pointed to this the diabolical plot was made perfectly manifest, and its objects saw plainly enough how the villain had compassed their destruction.
“And I was so deceived,” exclaimed the doctor, stamping upon the deck in his rage. “The scoundrel was ill at first, but the latter part of the time it was subterfuge. Dutch Pugh, this is my fault. I must go back to hospital to learn my profession.”
“Suppose, gentlemen, we begin to load the boat with necessaries and construct a raft,” said the captain, bluntly. “It strikes me that we have but little time to spare. Mr Parkley, your silver is going back to its home at the bottom of the sea.”
“Yes,” said that gentleman, “and where it will lie, for there seems to be a curse with it all along.”
The boat already launched was as rapidly as possible supplied with water, cold provisions, compass, and sail; and, as soon as these were in, Dutch suggested, and his proposal was agreed to, that his wife and the captain’s daughter should be lowered down in—case of any sudden disposition shown by the ship to sink; but they objected to leave yet until one sad duty that had to be attended to was done.
A funeral at sea is a sad event, and it was more painful here at such a time, when it was a question whether before long everyone present would not have to seek a resting-place in the sea. Below lay the body of poor John Studwick, just as the doctor and Sam Oakum had arranged it, wrapped in a piece of sail-cloth, with a few heavy pieces of iron at the feet, waiting to take its last plunge.
The second boat, only a small one, had also been laden with provisions and water, so that in case of emergency there was nothing to do but to leap into one or the other and push off; and though Captain Studwick proposed making a raft, that was deferred until after the funeral.
It was a solemn scene as the body was reverently brought up from below and laid by the open gangway. The fire still burned slowly and steadily, and the smoke rose and floated away like a great black plume far over the golden water, on whose long swell the schooner rose and fell as easily as if there was no ruin in her midst. All was perfectly still and peaceful as, the arrangements having been made, Captain Studwick stood at the head of the silent, muffled figure, book in hand, and with trembling voice read the prayers for the dead, while those who clustered round forgot their sufferings and all dangers as they listened to the solemn words.
At last the captain stopped and made a sigh, when Sam Oakum gently raised the end of the hatch upon which the body lay, and with a slight rustling noise it glided off with a heavy plunge into the sea, Bessy uttering now a low wail and throwing herself on the deck.
She lay motionless there as, struggling hard to maintain his firmness, the captain finished the solemn words laid down for such an occasion, and then, closing the book, he was the stern man of business again. He gave his orders sharply, and Dutch took his wife in his arms, made fast a rope round her, and lowered her into the larger boat, Bessy submitting herself, as Mr Meldon helped, to be lowered to her side.
Mr Wilson and the doctor followed, Oakum and one of the sailors being the next, so as to take the management of the boat, with orders to push off and lie at about a hundred yards’ distance.
Hester half rose, with outstretched hands, but a word from Dutch reassured her as he set to with the captain and the rest on board to lower down such necessaries as the cabin contained to freight the second boat.
This work had been going on for about half-an-hour; the boat had been loaded as far as was safe, and coops, spars, rope, casks, and hatches were being thrown over, with axes and a saw lashed to them, so as to construct a kind of raft from the boats, whose object was to bear the heavier portion of their freight, and also to act as a kind of breakwater in case the sea should roughen, when the boats could lie to leeward and wait until some vessel hove in sight to rescue them from their perilous position.
The fire still blazed furiously, melting down the silver, old Rasp said, and this latter worthy had given a great deal of trouble, from the fact that he considered that the only thing worth saving was the diving apparatus. He had strewed the deck with various articles which he had brought up, only to be peremptorily rejected. And now all left on board found that their minutes there were numbered; but still they toiled on, till a warning cry from Oakum in the further boat drew their attention to a strange hissing noise where the fire burned most fiercely.
“She’s sinking,” cried Dutch, as the schooner gave a heavy roll.
“Yes, quick! over with you all,” cried the captain. Then, with a groan, “Poor old schooner! she deserved a better fate.”
One by one they slid down the rope left ready into the boat, till all were in save the captain and Dutch, neither of whom would go first.
“Quick, quick!” cried Mr Parkley, “or we shall be sucked down.”
“Push off!” roared the captain, who saw their peril; and as they hesitated he seized the rope and swung himself down, Dutch leaping headlong into the water at the same moment.
It was a close shave, for as Dutch rose and caught at the boat’s gunwale the oars were dipped and plied manfully, while the schooner blazed now with suddenly increased fury, as if the flames meant to secure all they could before the waters seized their prey. The vessel had begun to roll heavily, and the flames, which had now caught the mizen and fore masts, were running rapidly up the rigging, starting in tongues of fire from the tarry ropes, and curling up the masts till they were perfect pyramids of fire.
Three more heavy rolls succeeded, with the hissing of the fire increasing to a shriek, when a cloud of steam began to rise, and the schooner careened over, so that those in the last boat, as they toiled to get sufficiently far away, could see right down into the burning hold. This lasted but for a few moments though, and then the burning masts, with their fluttering sheets of flame, rose up perpendicular, and with a dive forward the vessel plunged down, there was a rushing sound, a tremendous explosion as the steam and confined air blew up the stern deck, and then the hull disappeared, followed slowly by the burning masts, while the small boat, with all the spars and raft material, was drawn towards the vortex.
“Pull,” shouted Captain Studwick, and the oars bent as every possible effort was made, but slowly and surely the boat was drawn back towards where coops and hatches, casks and planks, eddied round for a few minutes, and then disappeared.
Dutch had been dragged on board, and, like the captain, he helped at an oar, wondering the while at the power with which they were sucked towards the whirlpool, round which they at last began to sail.
No earthly power could have saved them had they not been able to delay their backward progress for a few minutes; as it was, when they neared the vortex, and over which a barrel was drawn, the bows of the boat were about to plunge down, but by a tremendous effort. Dutch dragged the little vessel round, and a succession of fierce tugs sent her once more away from the centre, and another minute’s struggle saved them, for the waters were less troubled now, and the danger past.
As they lay off, though, they saw very few of the objects selected return to the surface, and at last, heartsick, but thankful for their escape, they gave up the idea of the raft as hopeless, and now steadily rowed to join their consort.