Chapter Twenty Three.
Murray’s Mission.
“Hah! I did not mean this,” cried the lieutenant; and his eyes lit upon Murray, who winced and felt guilty as he stood dirk in hand panting and waiting for his superior officer’s reproof, which he felt must come. “Ah, Mr Murray,” he continued, as he took off his hat and wiped his forehead, “you there? Any one hurt?”
“I saw Tom May fall, sir,” replied the lad, as the incident was brought to his mind by his officer’s question.
“Picked him up again, sir,” came in a deep growl, “but two of our messmates has got it, I find.”
“That’s bad,” said the lieutenant. “Who are they?”
There was no response, and the lieutenant turned sharply upon the midshipman.
“Mr Murray,” he said, “take two men, May and another, and try if you can find your way down to the boat. Do you think you can?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Off with you, then, at the double. When you reach the boat, out oars, and with the two boat-keepers try and reach the sloop. Don’t run more risks than you can help. If you are cut off by enemies on the banks, retreat back to me here and help me hold this place until the captain sends a force to my relief. You will report to Captain Kingsberry that I did everything possible to avoid an encounter. But there—you know. I trust to your discretion, my lad, in spite of your late mistake. There, take May and Titely. Now off.”
Just at that moment Roberts, who had been standing close at hand, stepped forward, to cry eagerly—
“Did you say I was to go with Murray, sir?”
“What, you? Go with Murray?” cried the lieutenant. “No, sir. What! Do you want to leave me in the lurch?” Then, knowing from old experience the jealous motive which animated the lad who was left out of the commission, the officer clapped the midshipman on one shoulder warmly. “No, no, Roberts; I can’t spare you. I want your help, my lad; and besides, you will be safer with me than with Murray.”
Roberts winced and turned a reproachful look upon his officer.
“I wasn’t trying to make myself safe, sir,” he said bitterly. “I wanted to be in the thick of it all, sir, and not left out as usual.”
“Of course you did, my boy; and that’s where you are going to be, I expect.”
By this time Murray and his two men were passing out of sight, followed by the midshipman’s longing eyes; and directly after the lad had forgotten his disappointment in the orders he was busily trying to obey. For in the full belief that the overseer would return with his followers, the lieutenant set to work trying to put the house in a state of defence.
This was no easy task, for with four times the number of men that were at his service the officer would have found it difficult to bar and barricade the lower windows of the plantation house and secure the doors back and front.
Fortunately it was soon found that the occupant or builder of the house must have had some notion of the possibility of an attack being made upon the place, for the doors were strong, the lower windows were each furnished with stout shutters and bars, and these having been secured and the bottom of the staircase carefully barricaded, a better chance was offered for holding the house, that is, of defending the first floor from any attack that might be made from within or without.
“There, Mr Roberts,” cried the lieutenant, “I think that is all we can do for the present, and if our friend the overseer ventures to bring his men on we shall be able to give a good account of a few of them. Can you suggest anything more to strengthen the bottom of that staircase?”
“I think we might drag some of those chests out of the rooms, sir, on to the landing, ready to pile in front of the stairs.”
“Good, my lad; it shall be done,” cried the lieutenant; “but in addition let the lads fill up every bucket, can and jug we can find.”
“I did see to that, sir, and I am sure that we have more than the men can drink.”
“I was not thinking of drinking, my lad,” said the lieutenant, “but of quenching the fire that may be started by our enemies.”
“You don’t think that they will try to fire the place, sir?” said the lad.
“Indeed, but I do, my lad. But at any rate we must be prepared for such an attack.”
Roberts puckered up his forehead and looked aghast at his officer, and then bidding four of the men follow him, he did his best to collect together on the landing of the well-appointed building a pretty fair supply of the element necessary for extinguishing the first out-breakings of fire which might be started by the expected foe.
“Well done, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant; “but we’ve rather upset this Mr—Mr—What’s his name?”
“Allen, sir.”
“Yes—Allen. Upset Mr Allen’s house. It’s a bit of a surprise to find an English gentleman.—Yes, gentleman, Mr Roberts: he is evidently quite a gentleman, although he is completely under that Yankee scoundrel’s thumb. But what was I saying? Oh, it’s rather a surprise to find an English gentleman living like this in an out-of-the-way West Indian island?”
“That’s what I thought, sir,” replied Roberts.
“Ah, well, you need not feel so again, for numbers of men of our best families have settled out like this in the plantations, built themselves good houses, and surrounded themselves with every comfort, and grown rich producing sugar, coffee, cotton and rum by means of a large staff of slaves. We have fallen upon one of these estates, but in this case the Yankee overseer seems to be the master, and the real master the slave.”
“It seems strange, sir, doesn’t it?” said Roberts, who was standing by one of the first floor windows keeping a sharp look out for danger.
“To a certain extent, my lad,” said the officer, “but I have made a shrewd guess at what has been going on, and it strikes me that our friend Mr Allen has been dabbling largely in the trade that we are here to suppress.”
“You think that, sir?”
“Yes, my lad—and repented of it when too late, and found himself, after growing disgusted with it, unable to draw back on account of this man, who has committed him deeply.”
“Yes, I see, sir,” cried Roberts eagerly. “That would account for the American’s overbearing insolence to this Mr Allen and to you, sir. But surely he cannot be right about the island here being under the American Government?”
“Certainly not, I think, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant decisively; “but I do think this, that he might have kept up the assertion that he was correct and made complaints to the Americans and called our visit here a trespass. This would have caused an enormous amount of trouble to the captain, and so much official correspondence that we should have bitterly repented coming here in search of a newly-run cargo of slaves.”
“Do you think we shall find one here, sir?” asked Roberts.
“I feel pretty certain, my lad, as certain as that we should not have dared to prosecute our search in face of the scoundrel’s defiance and bravado. But now the tide has completely set in our favour.”
“In our favour, sir?” said Roberts wonderingly.
“Why, of course, my lad. If our visit here had been aggression, all the rascal had to do was to call upon us, after his declaration, to withdraw; and that was what he meant to do, although the fellow’s natural insolence induced him to do so in that bullying way.”
“And instead of keeping to what he had a right to do, sir,” cried the middy eagerly, “he let his blackguardly followers attack us as they did.”
“That’s right, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant; “though I must give him the credit of saying that I am sure he never intended that attack. He has evidently such a loose rough lot of followers that they became out of control, and the result is that they have completely given their leader away and played into my hands.”
“Of course, sir. Nothing could excuse that attack.”
“Nothing, my lad. I am master here now, and I feel sure that we shall find more than I dared to expect. I believe now that this is a regular Western depot for slaves, and a find that will make up to Captain Kingsberry for all previous disappointments.”
“Glorious, sir!” cried Roberts. “But of course this Huggins can’t be the man we saw in the lugger off the African river.”
“Of course not, my lad; but he quite deceived me for the time. He is almost exactly the same in appearance, in voice, manner and speech, and the only way in which I can account for it is that both men are engaged in the same hideously brutal trade, and that has in time made them similar in habit.”
“There seems something in that, sir,” said Roberts thoughtfully.
“Seems, Roberts? Is,” said the lieutenant, smiling; “and you must add to it another point of resemblance: they are both Americans of the same degenerate type—little, thin, dark-haired, and speaking in the same tone of voice and in the same sneering contemptuous fashion. But of course if we had them both together we should see a strong difference. What are you looking at? See anything?”
“I fancied I could make out something moving across that opening yonder, sir,” said the lad, leaning a little out of the window.
“I trust not,” said the lieutenant, shading his eyes with his hand. “I was in hopes that we had given the fellows such a lesson that they would keep away for the present, at all events, for I want no fighting, no wounding the enemy, no injuries more than we have received upon our side. I want just to hold our own, Roberts, till our friend Mr Murray or Mr Munday brings us help.”
“Yes, sir, but there is some movement going on there just among the tall-growing coarse reeds.”
“Sugar-cane stems, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant firmly. “Yes, you are right; there is movement there, and the scoundrels have not taken their lesson to heart. Well, I do not see what more we can do to prepare for them. They cannot get up to us without ladders or poles, and from our sheltered position we ought to set firing at defiance, while they allow us plenty of opportunities for giving them another lesson.—What is it, my lad?”
The speaker turned to the big sailor who had just trotted up to the door.
“Beg pardon, sir, but Lang reports enemy creeping through the sugar-cane a bit for’ard here to the left, and Duncombe says he can see ’bout a dozen on ’em out at the back looking as if they meant a rush.”
“Hah! That is fresh,” said the lieutenant. “Mr Roberts here made out those amongst the canes. I’ll come and look. You, Mr Roberts have the goodness to keep your eye on them and hold your fire until they show a determination to come on. Then you must fire; but fire low. We must cripple and not kill.”
“Yes, sir,” said Roberts, and he sheltered himself behind one of the curtains of the well-furnished English-looking bedroom where he and the officer had been watching. And then, as the latter walked quickly out, followed by the sailor who had made his report, a terrible sense of loneliness fell upon the youth, accompanied by a shortness of breath, as his heart began to beat with a heavy dull throb that sounded loud and strange.
He was gazing out at a scene of tropical beauty, the wild and the cultivated blending so that at another time he could have stood in the perfect silence dwelling upon the loveliness of the place. But now there was a feeling of awe that seemed to over-master everything, while the very fact that where he had plainly made out the movement of figures as they evidently sought concealment, all was now motionless, and not a leaf waved or was pressed aside, added to the weirdness of his position, and made him draw farther back in the full expectation that the next moment the vivid green of the surroundings would be cut by a flash of light and then turn dim as it was deadened by the rising smoke of a shot.
“I wish I wasn’t such a coward,” he muttered. “I do try hard to stand it all, and get on beautifully when the firing and spear-throwing are going on, but now, when the enemy may be going to throw a spear or fire a shot at one, it does seem so hard to bear. No worse for me than for other fellows,” he muttered bitterly, “but I am myself and they are other fellows. Ugh! I suppose it’s a very beautiful place, but it seems very horrible, and it makes a fellow wish that if he is to be wounded it would come off at once so that one could get it over. There’s some one creeping along there now,” he muttered. “I’ll shout a warning to Mr Anderson. No, whoever it is doesn’t seem to be coming on, and it looks so stupid to shout for help when there’s no need.”
For all was perfectly motionless amongst the vivid green leaves, save where from time to time there was a flash of light—red light—topaz light—and that changing to a vivid green that looked as if it were blazing in the burning sun, and he grasped the fact that he was gazing at some lovely humming bird that darted here and there and then poised itself, apparently motionless, till he made out that there was a faint haze visible which must be caused by the rapid vibration of the tiny creature’s wings.
“Yes,” he said to himself, “it’s as beautiful as can be—that is, it would be if everything wasn’t so silent and still and one didn’t know that people were ready at any moment to take aim at one with rifle or musket. He said that they used rifles—the wretch! It’s a nasty sensation, when you don’t want to shoot any one, to feel that they want to shoot you.”
“Oh, what a while Mr Anderson is!” muttered the lad again. “He might make haste back to a fellow. He can’t be obliged to stop away watching, and he ought to visit his posts regularly so as to give each of us a bit of company.”
Roberts gazed from his sheltering curtain as far as his eyes could sweep to left and round to right, going over and over again the arc of the circle formed by his vision where he had plainly seen movement going on and people creeping amidst the rich growth of the huge saccharine grass; but all was motionless and still, and the silence seemed to grow more and more awful as he watched.
“Oh,” he groaned to himself, “why didn’t I make a dash for it and follow old Murray without saying a word? It wouldn’t have been half so bad as this, and even if it had been a more risky task—no, it couldn’t have been more risky than this—I could have borne it better. Wonder where he is, and whether he would have felt as bad as I do now if he had had my job. Ugh! It’s horribly still, and if old Anderson doesn’t come soon I shall make some excuse and go to him.”
“Yes,” he continued, “Franky would have felt just as bad as I do. He must have done. No one could help it. No man could stand this terrible silence and the sensation that a shot was coming at him. No man could bear it—no man. Oh, I say, doesn’t it seem bumptious for one to think of himself as a man? Well, why shouldn’t I be? It’s man’s work, at all events. Oh, I can’t stand it. I must make some excuse. I’ll ask Mr Anderson to come and see if he doesn’t think there is some one crawling along there to the right. No, I won’t—I can’t—I must master it. It’s sheer cowardice! And if it is,” he added, after a few moments’ pause, “it’s Nature’s fault for making a fellow like this. I don’t want to be a coward; I want to be as brave as brave—well, as brave as Murray is. I wouldn’t care if I was just as full of pluck as he is. Anyhow I won’t be a sham and go and pretend that some one is coming. I could never look him in the eyes again for fancying that he was reading me through and through. And he would—I’m sure he would.”
“Oh!” ejaculated the lad excitedly, for just then one of the floor-boards gave out a sharp crack.
“Hallo!” said the familiar voice of the lieutenant. “Did I startle you, Roberts?”
“Something of the kind, sir,” said the lad, breathing hard. “I didn’t hear you come.”
“No, I suppose not. Seen anything?”
“No, sir. All is as still as if there wasn’t a soul for miles, and I felt at times as if I must come and ask you if you could hear anything.”
“Ah, this silence is very trying, Roberts, my lad,” said the lieutenant. “The men are all suffering from it and feeling as if they would give anything to be watching together.”
“They feel like that, sir?” cried the lad eagerly.
“Yes, of course they do, sir. So do I: the utter stillness of the place, and the expectation of a shot coming at any moment, is most trying to a man. Here, how long do you think Mr Murray has been gone?”
“Can’t say, sir. It feels to me like hours; but it can’t be.”
“I don’t know, my lad. It certainly does, as you say, feel like hours. But he ought to be back by now, with at least a dozen men. Let’s see, twelve men with Mr Munday and Mr Murray and his two will make sixteen. Sixteen picked men; and they will bring plenty of ammunition. Well, I should like the reinforcement before friend Huggins makes his attack. I don’t care then how many he brings with him. I wonder, though, whether he will use any of his slaves to help him.”
“He said they won’t fight, sir,” said Roberts.
“But he may force them to fight, my lad. Ah! Look out! Here they come with a rush. There’s no mistake about this.”
And the officer ran to the door to shout a warning to the watchers at the other windows, for not only away in front were the giant green grass-like leaves of the Indian corn in full motion, but the rustle and crush of feet reached the listeners’ ears, while click, click, from within, the cocking of the men’s muskets was heard.
Chapter Twenty Four.
“Seafowls Ahoy!”
Murray lost no time in making for the spot where the two men were in charge of the boat; but simple as the task appeared on the surface, it proved to be far otherwise.
He had told himself that he had only to follow in reverse the faintly-marked track taken by the black who had been their guide; and that he set himself to do, until he felt that he must be close to the stream that they had ascended; but if close by, it was by no means visible, and after making a cast or two in different directions without result, he pulled up short, the men following his example and looking at him wonderingly.
“It was just here that we left the boat-keepers, wasn’t it, Tom?” he said.
“Don’t seem like it, sir,” replied the man, “’cause if it was just here, where is it?”
“But it must have been here,” cried Murray, growing irritable and confused.
“That’s what I thought, sir,” said the man, “but it don’t seem to be nowhere near. What do you say, messmate?”
“I warn’t a-looking out, lad,” replied Titely. “You see, I didn’t take no bearings ’cause I says to mysen, ‘Mr Murray ’ll see to that,’ and what I does was to foller with my eyes screwed back’ards over my shoulders like a she hare at the dogs.”
“Same here, messmate,” says Tom May. “‘Mr Murray took the bearings to begin with,’ I says to myself, ‘and I’ll keep a sharp lookout for the enemy, who maybe ’ll try to run us down.’”
“Then you neither of you feel that you can remember the black fellow’s trail?” said Murray, speaking excitedly, and looking hard at the big sailor the while.
“Well, I can’t answer for Titely, sir,” said the man.—“Why don’t you speak up like a man, messmate, and say what you know?”
“’Cause I can’t, lad,” replied the man addressed. “It warn’t my watch, and I telled you I was too busy looking out for squalls. I dunno which way we ought to go, messmate. Don’t you, Mr Murray, sir?”
“No, my lad; I’ve lost our bearings for a bit, but you two try off to right and left while I go straight on, and the first that comes upon the river holloa gently. Not loud, because it may bring the enemy down upon us. Now then, off with you, and when you shout, stand fast so that we may come and join you.”
“Stand fast it is, sir,” said Tom May, and without further hesitation the three separated and began to thread the dense cane brake, each fully expecting to come upon the windings of the overshadowed river at once. But somehow every step seemed to lead the seekers into greater difficulties. It was plain enough that the river must be near, for their steps were in and out among the dense patches of cane and over soft spongy soil into which their feet sank slightly, the earth being springy and elastic; but though Murray expected to see the dense foliage open out and the brake look lighter from the presence of the river, he was disappointed again and again, and to all intents and purposes the stream had ceased to exist.
For some minutes, as Murray strode on, the steps of his companions were audible in two directions, and making up his mind to proceed in that being taken by May, he struck off so as to cross the man’s track.
This seemed practicable enough for a while, and he went on till the brake began to grow more dense and he had to force his way through the thicket. Then to his disgust he found himself entangled in a little wilderness of thorny palms, out of which he had a hard struggle to free himself, and he stood at last, panting and exhausted, rubbing the bleeding spots beneath the rents in his garments which asserted themselves plainly.
Murray rubbed himself and listened, and then listened and rubbed, but he could not hear a sound.
“Let me see,” he thought. “Oh, how vexatious, just when we ought to be close to the boat and sending her down stream! Must be this way where I heard Tom May—if it was Tom May. Well, it doesn’t matter if it was Titely. Let’s get to either of them, and then we’ll hail the other.”
The lad hesitated for a few minutes longer, listening hard the while, and then more in passion than in despair he started off in a bee line through the thick canes, hopefully now, for the earth felt softer than before.
“Must be right here; and as soon as I reach the river I have only to see which way the stream runs and follow it down to where the boat lies. Oh, look sharp, old fellow,” he muttered, “for this is horrible.”
He increased his pace, with the earth certainly growing softer, and then he pulled up short, turned and darted back, for as he stepped forward the soft spongy earth seemed suddenly to have grown horny and hard and to heave up beneath his feet, convincing him that he had stepped upon one of the horrible alligators of the Western swamps. There was a violent splashing, the reptile struck to right and left, mowing down the canes, and the midshipman, suffering from a sensation of horror and creepiness, stopped at last, panting.
“Why, that must be the direction of the little river,” he thought; “and instead of following the horrible brute here have I run away; and now how am I to find the way that it pointed out? That’s soon done,” he said, as he thought of the broken and crushed-down canes which must mark the alligator’s track; and he began at once to search for what proved to be absent. There were bruised and trampled growths which he sprang at directly, but his reason soon pointed to the fact that they had not been made by the huge lizard he had started from its lurking place where it had crawled ashore to watch for the approach of prey, but by himself in his flight, and though he tried over the swampy ground again and again, it was only to grow more confused, and at last he stopped short, baffled and enraged against himself.
“Oh!” he ejaculated, as he raised one foot to stamp it down heavily upon the earth, with the result that he drove it through a soft crust of tangled growth and sent up a gush of muddy, evil-smelling water, and then had to drag his shoe out with a loud sucking sound, while the foot he had not stamped was beginning to sink. “It’s enough to drive any one mad,” he muttered. “Just as I am entrusted with something important I go and muddle it all, and the more I try the worse the hobble grows.”
He took a few steps to his right, to where the earth beneath him felt firmer, and listened, but the floundering and scuffling of the alligator had ceased, and he looked in vain for the traces of its passage.
“Think of it,” he said, half aloud; “I trod on the brute, and it dashed off, frightened to death, to make for the river; and then what did I do?—Turned round and ran away as if the brute was coming after me with its jaws opened wide ready to take me down at a mouthful! Alligators are not crocodiles. Here, I’m a brave fellow, upon my word! I’m getting proud of myself, and no mistake!”
He stood and listened as he looked around and tried to pierce the dense growth, but in vain, for all was thick vegetation, and eye and ear were exercised in vain.
There was a soft, dull, half croaking sound here and there at a distance which suggested the existence of frogs, and from the trees whose clustering leaves overhead turned the brake into a soft twilight, he now and then heard the twittering of some bird. But he could see nothing, and for a few minutes he began to give way to a feeling of despair.
“I daren’t shout,” he thought, “for it would be like calling the attention of the enemy. The Yankee and his people are sure to be on the lookout to pounce upon one, and though if they took me prisoner—they wouldn’t dare to do anything else—my being taken would not so much matter if May or Titely got down to the boat and reached the Seafowl. How do I know that they would get there? Oh, was ever poor wretch in such a hole before!”
“Here, I must do something,” he cried, at last, rousing himself to take some action. “The river must wind about, and if I keep on I shall be sure to come across it at last.”
He started off in what he hoped was the right direction, and forced his way through the tangled growth, to find that after a short time the earth began to grow firmer beneath his feet; and then he stopped short.
“Must be wrong,” he thought, “for the river banks were swampy.”
Striking out in a fresh direction, he was not long before he found that the ground began to yield again, and his spirits rose as he found that he was plunging into a swampy part once more, while his heart literally leaped as all at once right in front there was a rush as of one of the great alligators being startled from its lair.
The lad stopped short, but only for a few moments, before mastering the sensation of dread, and plunging on as nearly as he could make out in the direction the great lizard had taken.
“It’s afraid of me,” he muttered, as he drew his dirk, “and if it turns at bay on finding itself followed, I ought to be able to do something with this, though it is such a stupid ornament of a thing. I’m not afraid, and I won’t be afraid, but I wish my heart didn’t beat so fast, and that choking sensation wouldn’t keep on rising in my throat.”
But though the lad behaved as bravely as was possible to any man, by pressing on and determinedly following in the track of the alligator, his heart kept on with its heavy pulsation and the perspiration streamed down his face in the stiflingly hot swamp.
He had the satisfaction, though, of making out that the reptile was scuffling on before him, and now he grew more accustomed to the fact he was able to make out the creature’s trail and just dimly see the movement ahead of the thick cane growth as it rapidly writhed itself along.
“It’s getting softer,” thought Murray, “so I must be getting towards the river. Won’t turn upon me and attack, will it, when it gets in its own element?”
That was a startling thought, but it was only another difficulty in the way of one who had mastered his natural dread and determined in his peril to make a brave fight.
“It’s no more an alligator’s element than the land is,” thought the lad. “The brute’s amphibious, and I don’t believe it will turn upon me unless I stick my dirk into it; and I don’t care, I’ll risk it, if I die for it. I don’t believe they’re so tough as people say.”
Then a more staggering thought assailed him, and this time, instead of forcing his way through the tangle and dragging his feet out of the swampy soil, he stopped short. For the hope that had sustained him suddenly sank away. He had been feeling sure that the guide he feared to a great extent was after all leading him towards the little river, and that once he reached the bank he would know by the current, however sluggish, the way down to the boat; but now the terrible thought attacked him that the reptile might after all have its dwelling-place in some swampy lagoon such as he had read was common in the islands and the Southern States.
“It’s of no use,” he said to himself, as he stopped short, panting and exhausted; “this can’t be the right way. There’s no clear river down which a fellow could wade or swim; this is one of those dreadful swamps—dismal swamps, don’t they call them?—and the farther I go the worse off I shall be. Oh, where’s my pluck? Where it ought to be,” he said, answering himself; and he struggled on again, for he had awakened to the fact that the rustling and splash made by the reptile was dying out.
Rustling and splash, for now he awoke plainly enough to the fact that he was sinking ankle deep at every step, and he roused himself fully once more.
“Giving up,” he panted, “just when I had won the day! Hurrah! There’s the river!” And making a tremendous effort he struggled on, for there was the alligator floundering through mud and water now where the growth was getting more open, and at the end of some dozen yards there was light—golden-looking light—coming down from above. Then there was a loud flopping, followed by a heavy splash, and the lad snatched at and seized the boughs that closed him in, and just saved himself from following the reptile he pursued by clinging with hands and legs to a stout cypress, to which he held on as he indistinctly made out the sobbing sound of the wave that the reptile had raised as it plunged into what seemed to be the edge of a swampy lake.
“He won’t come back, will he?” thought Murray, and he obeyed the natural instinct which prompted him to drag himself up amongst the evergreen boughs of the tree, which slowly rocked to and fro with his weight.
But the water beneath him gradually settled down, the cypress in which he clung ceased to bend, as he got his feet settled better to support his weight, where he could look along a dark green verdant tunnel to a spot of golden light where the subdued sunshine fell upon a glistening level of amber-hued water so beautiful that for a time the lad could not withdraw his eyes.
“It’s no river,” he said, “but the edge of a lagoon, and it would be madness to go any farther. Let’s have a rest. Might have been worse off after all, and it’s no use to get despairing and tiring oneself out. I should have liked this adventure if my two lads had been with me, and—and—Yes, that’s it,” he groaned—“if I hadn’t been sent on such a tremendous task! There, it’s of no use to despair. I’ve done my duty, and no matter what happens now I can say that. Who knows what may come next? I mustn’t think I can hang here till it grows dark. I could climb up higher, but this is a swamp, and though I might save myself from alligators and snakes—Ugh!” he shuddered. “This is the sort of place where they live!—I couldn’t escape from fever. There, I must hail now till some one hears me and answers, even if it’s the enemy. But it may be one of my fellows, or if not it’s sure to be one of the slaves, for there must be plenty about here.”
But Frank Murray did not shout for help. Perhaps it was due to exhaustion, that the place seemed to have a strange restful fascination, as he hung there in the thick growth of the cypress, gazing along the soft green tunnel at the little glistening lake, which he now saw was full of living things, for every now and then the surface was stirred by creatures which he made out to be tiny terrapins—water tortoise-like creatures which just thrust out their heads and drew them beneath again. Then water beetles skimmed about, forming glistening geometric figures for a time before they disappeared.
Then the lad shuddered, for from the side of the bright verdure-framed lagoon a snake writhed itself in horizontal waves across the surface and began to climb up the foliage, to glisten as it reached where the light fell strongest and the burnished scales flashed with bronze, silver grey and gold.
“I wonder whether it’s a poisonous snake,” thought Murray; and then he made an effort to awaken himself from the pleasant feeling of restfulness, for he knew that he must exert himself if he intended to find a way back to where he had been separated from his companions—those whom he must urge on to the fulfilment of his task.
“And I have not done what I felt that I must do at all risks,” he said, as he once more made an effort to rouse himself from the drowsy inertia which was holding him in something resembling a trance.
Drawing a deep breath, he took more tightly hold of the cypress boughs, and was about to hail at any risk and with all his might, when he uttered a loud sob of relief, for suddenly from somewhere far away, came, strangely softened and subdued, though prolonged, the words—
“Ahoy-y-y! Seafowls ahoy-y-y!”
Chapter Twenty Five.
With Shot-Holes.
“Ahoy-y-y! Seafowls ahoy-y!” came again after a pause, and though he felt that he ought to have hailed in reply, Frank Murray’s lips remained closed, and he still clung there listening for the hail to come again.
It was not until he heard the hail for the fourth time that the midshipman was able to throw off the nightmare-like feeling, and, drawing a deep breath, shout with all his might—
“Seafowls ahoy!”
Then he held his breath and waited, feeling that his voice could not have been heard, and a feeling of despair began to assail him and the fancy grew that he was sinking back into that horrible sensation of inertia which had mastered him for a time.
But it was fancy, for throwing off the weakness he shouted now joyously and lustily—
“Seafowl ahoy!”
There was silence for a few moments; then came the inspiring sound of some one struggling through the tangled growth and splashing over the mud and water—sounds which were followed by—
“Where away there? Ahoy!”
“Here! Is that you, Tom May?” shouted Murray, and from not far from the foot of the cypress where the lad clung there was a wallowing sound and a splash in the water which sent a wave-like movement across the little lake at the end of the tunnel.
“Tom May it is, sir! Where are you?”
“Up here in this fir-like tree, Tom. Where’s Titely?”
“What, ain’t you got him along o’ you, sir?”
“No! I haven’t seen him since we parted. Haven’t you any notion where he is?”
“Not a haporth, sir. I on’y hope he arn’t gone through.”
“Gone through!” cried Murray, in horror.
“Yes, sir; I hope not, but it’s solid soft everywhere I’ve been. I’ve been most through half-a-dozen times, and twiced over I’ve felt as if some of them there lizardy crorkendillo things had got hold of my toes and tugged at ’em to get me down.”
“Oh, don’t talk about it, Tom,” groaned the midshipman.
“All right, sir; on’y you arksed me.”
“But you have no right to think such a horror as that. He may have got down to the boat.”
“Yes, sir, he may,” said the man, in a low growl, “but I’ve been trying my best, and I couldn’t.”
“Then you haven’t seen the boat-keepers, Tom?”
“Not a squint of ’em, sir, and there’s going to be the wussest row that ever happened aboard ship if we don’t make haste and find them and fetch the first luff help.”
“It’s horrible, I know, Tom, but I’ve tried all I could. What’s to be done?”
“Dunno, sir. But anyhow I’ve found you—leastwise, a’most; and I’m coming to jyne yer. Whereabouts are you, sir? Hail again; it’s rayther puzzling like.”
“It is, Tom—dreadful. But here, where I told you—up in this fir tree—cypress. But mind how you come, for it’s very soft.”
“Soft ain’t the word for it, sir. I’ve been going to make a swim on it over and over again. But it’s reg’lar hugga-my-buff, sir; neither one thing nor t’other. It’s too soft to walk in, and it ain’t soft enough to swim.”
“That’s true, Tom,” said the lad.
“Oh, you’ve found it so, have you, sir? Then look here; you arn’t so heavy as I am, so s’pose you comes to me ’stead o’ me coming to you. What do you say to that?”
“I’ll try, Tom,” cried Murray; and he began to descend, feeling the elastic evergreen begin to sway and vibrate as if before long it would double down with the weight of its load; and this it finally did, leaving the midshipman floundering on the surface of the cane and reed-covered swamp, so that it was only by a vigorous effort that he managed to scuffle along in the direction of the man, who kept on shouting encouragement until he was able to reach out a hand and drag the lad to his side.
“Hah!” panted Murray, with a sigh of relief.
“Hah it is, sir,” said the man. “But beg your pardon, sir; arn’t you a-spoiling your uniform?”
“Don’t talk about it, Tom,” said Murray, breathing hard. “Let’s be thankful that we’ve saved our lives.”
“Saved our lives! But have we, sir? Don’t seem to me that we’re out of the muddle yet. There, look at that!” added the man.
“Look at what?” cried Murray.
“I meant feel that, sir,” said the man, correcting himself, and stamping with one foot. “It felt just as if one of them short four-legged sarpints had laid hold of my leg to pull me down for supper.”
“Surely not, Tom,” said Murray, with a shudder, as he felt attacked by a sense of horrible insecurity.
“All right, sir. Say so if you like; I’m willing. But I’d keep on stamping as long as we’re here in this lovely place. I do hope, though, as they arn’t making a meal of poor old Titely; he do desarve better luck after being speared as he was over yonder across the herring pond.”
“Let’s hail him again.”
“All right, sir. I’ve wanted to do so ever so much more, but I wouldn’t, for it was telling the enemy where we are, and if we do much of that sort of thing we shall be having that pleasant Yankee coming shooting with his men, and we don’t want that.”
“Of course not, Tom, but we must risk it, for the poor fellow may be somewhere within reach waiting for help.”
“Then why don’t he holler, sir?”
“Perhaps he has shouted till he is worn-out, Tom.”
“Then he can’t be within reach, sir, or else we should ha’ heered him, for he’s got a pretty good pipe of his own.”
“Well, hail him, Tom.”
“All right, sir, but ’tween you and me and the starn post your voice would go farther than mine would.”
“Think so, Tom? Very well, then. Seafowl ahoy!”
It was a loud tenor shout that doubtless penetrated the cane jungle farther than would the deep bass of the able-seaman, and after a minute’s listening, Murray hailed again; but somehow the shout did not seem to have any result.
“Let me have a try, sir,” growled the sailor, and upon the middy nodding, the man shouted five times at intervals, listening with his hand to his ear after every hail.
“It’s of no good, Tom,” said Murray bitterly. “Come along, and let’s be doing something.”
“That’s what I was a-thinking, sir, for if we stop here much longer we shall be reg’larly sucked down into the mud. ’Sides which, if my poor mate hears us he won’t come here. He’d on’y hail.”
“And if the enemy hear us they are quite at home here, and they’ll come down upon us and put a stop to our getting across to the boat. What do you mean by that?—What are you chuckling about?”
“You, sir,” said the man. “I was thinking what an orficer you will make some day.”
“Do you mean that for banter, my man?” said Murray angrily.
“Banter, sir? What, chaff? Not me, sir. I meant it. I felt a bit proud of you, sir, for using your head like that.”
“Well, this is no time for paying compliments, Tom. You take the lead.”
“I’ll do what you orders, sir, of course, you being my orficer, but you might tell me which way I oughter lead.”
“I can’t, Tom, my lad. We want to get down to the boat, and hope to pick up Titely on the way. I’ve tried till I grew more and more puzzled than ever; so now you try. You must chance it, my lad.”
“Mean it, sir?”
“Mean it? Of course!” cried Murray; and the man shut his eyes close, knit his brow, and then began to mutter in a low tone, much to the midshipman’s surprise.
“What are you doing, Tom?” he cried at last.
“What you telled me, sir—charnshing of it.”
“Chancing it?”
“Yes, sir; that’s right,” said the man. “Same as we used to when we was little uns playing at Blind Man’s Buff. ‘How many horses has your father got?’ Then the one as had the hankychy tied over his eyes used to answer, ‘Black, white and grey.’ Then the one who arksed about the horses used to say, ‘Turn round three times and ketch who you may.’”
And as soon as the man had repeated these words with his eyes still closely shut he turned round three times and then opened them and stared straight before him.
“This here’s the way, sir; right ahead.”
“What nonsense, Tom!” said the middy sadly. “You’re old enough to know better.”
“Maybe, sir, but you said I was to charnsh it, and that’s what I’m a-doing of; and if I don’t find the way down to the boat it won’t do us no harm as I can see; so come along.”
The man stepped off, keeping as nearly as he could to the line he had marked down, and without turning his head he called back to his young officer—
“Don’t you mind me giving o’ you orders, sir, but you telled me to lead on, and I should like to say, sir, as you’d find it better if instead of walking hard and stiff, sir, like the jollies march up and down the deck, you’d try my way, sir, trot fashion, upon your toes, with a heavy swing and give and take. You’d find that you wouldn’t sink in quite so much, seeing as one foot’s found its way out before t’other’s got time to sink in.”
“I’ll try, Tom,” said the middy quietly; and after following the man for a few dozen yards he whispered, “Yes, I think that’s better, Tom; but I have no faith in your Blind Man’s Buff plan.”
“Give it time, sir; we arn’t half tried it yet.”
“Go on, then,” cried Murray; and the man trotted on as fast as the tangled growth would allow him, pausing from time to time to listen before going on again.
“I’m afraid we must make a change, Tom,” said Murray, at last, when the man drew up suddenly. “Are you, sir?”
“Yes; this seems hopeless.”
“That’s what it all seems, sir, but I don’t like being in too great a hurry to pitch a hidee overboard. There’s nothing like trying, sir, and just as like as not we may be getting nigher and nigher to poor old Titely.”
“I’m afraid—”
Murray did not finish his sentence, but made a spring forward and clapped his hand hard upon his leader’s shoulder.
“What’s wrong, sir?” cried the sailor, turning sharply upon him.
“Hark! Listen!” cried Murray excitedly.
“Oh, Mr Murray, sir,” groaned the man despairingly, “you’ve been and gone and done it now!”
“Nonsense! What do you mean?”
“Pitched me off my bearings, sir. I’ve looked round, and I shall never pick ’em up again.”
“Well, what does that matter?” cried Murray. “Don’t you hear?”
“Hear, sir? Hear what?”
“Oars. I heard them rattling in the rowlocks as plain as possible.”
“Whereabouts, sir?”
“Away there through the canes yonder. Didn’t you?”
“No, sir,” said the man gloomily; “I didn’t hear no oars.”
“I did, quite plainly,” said Murray, leaning forward and straining his ears. “No, it’s stopped now.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, shaking his head; “it’s stopped now.”
“Well, don’t talk like that, Tom. You look as if you didn’t believe me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go for to say as I don’t believe anything you say, sir,” said the sailor; “but all the same it do seem queer.”
“Yes, queer because they’ve stopped rowing to listen. Don’t you see?”
“No, sir,” said the man, shaking his head sadly. “I don’t see nothing, on’y as you’re a bit overdone, sir, in the head, and gets fancying things.”
“Fancy, man!” cried the middy angrily. “It was no fancy, I tell you. Now then, listen.”
Tom May shut one eye and cocked his head on one side in obedience to his young officer’s command; but all was perfectly still.
“It’s very strange,” said Murray.
“Yes, sir; very,” said the sailor, in a tone of voice which made the young officer turn upon him fiercely.
“Oh, you obstinate—”
Murray did not say what, but ceased speaking and stood straining forward.
“Of course you thought you heered oars, sir, because you wanted to hear ’em,” said the sailor; “but it’s a pity you did, sir, because it made me lose my bearings, and I know I shall never—”
“There, then,” cried the middy excitedly. “Now, did I fancy I heard rowing?”
“No, sir; that’s oars, sure enough,” replied the sailor; “and it seems to come from right for’ard there, and not far away.”
“Hail the boat, then,” cried Murray excitedly.
“I dunno as I would, sir,” whispered the man, “because it mightn’t be our boat.”
“What! Oh, we must chance that. Hail away.”
Tom May, who looked exceedingly unwilling, clapped his hand to his cheek and yelled out, “Seafowls ahoy!” just as the regular beat of oars had ceased once more.
But there was no further doubt, for in a dull smothered tone, as if the reply came through so much dense forest, there was the answering hail—
“Ahoy there! Where away?”
“Ahoy!” shouted Tom May. “That’s the right sort, sir. Come along;” and stepping out, the sailor beat the dense growth to right and left, with his feet sinking deeper in the soft soil, till the cane brake began to open out and the forest grew lighter, the splashing of oars sounding nearer and nearer till there was a shout of welcome and the sloop’s cutter came into sight, gliding towards them till the light vessel’s nose was run into the river bank.
“At last!” cried Murray, as he scrambled over the bows, to sink exhausted into Titely’s arms. “Why, how did you get here, my lad?” said the young officer.
“I d’know, sir. Lost my way, and couldn’t find it nohow.”
“But you managed to find the boat.”
“Nay, sir; not me, sir! I didn’t find her. I did find the side o’ the river, but couldn’t get no furder. I was hanging on to a branch and trying to keep up because I was sinking into the boggy shore, when my two mates here come pulling up stream and picked me up. It was them found me, sir, not me found them.”
“Well, never mind that now,” cried Murray angrily. “What about you two? Your orders were to stay by the boat where we landed.”
“Yes, sir,” said the first boat-keeper, “but they wouldn’t let us, sir.”
“They!” cried Murray. “Whom do you mean by they?”
“Oh, I dunno, sir, who they was, only that it was a big party o’ rough uns with guns and rifles as come up all to wunst as we sat hanging on by the grapnel and line, out in the middle o’ the river, and one on ’em hails us and tells us to pull ashore.”
“Well,” said Murray, “and did you?”
“You go on, messmate,” said the man. “You can spin the yarn better nor I can.”
“Yes, go on,” cried Murray; and the second boat-keeper took up the narrative.
“Well, sir, we just didn’t.”
“Just did not what?” asked Murray.
“Pull ashore, sir. They warn’t our people, and him as hailed us warn’t our officer. ’Sides, we didn’t like the looks of ’em.”
“Well done, my lads,” said the middy; “that was right. But what did you do then?”
“I hystes up the grapnel, sir, and Harry Lang there gets an oar over the side.”
“Well?”
“Well, sir, then a Yankee sort of a chap as seemed to be the head on ’em leans hisself up again’ a bush and rests his gun upon a bough of one of the trees on the bank, and he says to me, he says, as he looks along the barrel, ‘Now, you sir,’ he says, ‘just you run that boat’s nose into this here bank, and tidy quick too, ’fore I draws this here trigger.’
“‘All right, sir,’ I says, and I shoves another oar over the side; and as soon as he sees me do that, quite easy like, he lowers down his gun—rifle, I think it was—and turns his head to say something to the chaps who was with him.
“‘Easy, messmate,’ I says then; ‘get her head straight first,’ making believe as Harry warn’t doing right. The ’Merican chap was just turning round then, but I sees my chance, and I whispers to Harry, ‘Up stream, lad, for all you’re worth.’ ‘Right you are,’ he says, and my word! sir, we did take hold of the water and put our backs into it, ’gainst stream as it was; and as I pulled I was all the time wishing as hard as I could that you’d got hold of the rudder lines so as to steer, sir, and leave us nothing to do but pull while you kept the boat’s head right in the middle of the river. ‘Here, hi, there! What are you doing? Pull ashore, or—’ He steps to the same tree again and rests his gun on the bough and takes aim, while I thinks to myself what a pity it was that we hadn’t turned the boat’s head down stream.”
“You said arterwards, messmate, as that would ha’ been like leaving the first luff and the lads in the lurch,” said the other boat-keeper.
“So I did, messmate; and so it would,” said the narrator.
“But he didn’t fire at you?” cried Murray eagerly.
“Didn’t fire at us, sir?” said the man. “But he just did, while we pulled with all our might.”
“And missed you?”
“He missed me, sir, but he hit the boat. Sent his bullet slap through the bow planks just between wind and water, and the brown juice come trickling in quite fast, but we couldn’t stop to plug it.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, who was breathing hard with excitement. “Oh, do go on a little faster!”
“That we did, sir—pulled faster, for some of the enemy come shouting after us along the side of the stream. You see, they couldn’t come on the far side, ’cause it was all trees, while luckily for us they couldn’t get along much where they were, for it was all boggy, and I see three of them sink in up to their knees and stick fast cussing and swearing. But they warn’t the only ones, for him as we took to be their boss, he let go at ’em orful, sir, and yelped at ’em to follow us up, knowing all the time that they couldn’t do nowt o’ the sort, and him not trying a bit, because he warn’t going to fill his boots.”
“But they kept on firing at you?” cried Murray.
“Fast as ever they could, sir. They kep’ on loading and firing, and Harry and me kep’ on pulling like hooray. You see, the shooting spurred us on a bit, for they kep’ on hitting the boat when they didn’t send the bullets spattering into the trees over our heads, and cut the little twigs and leaves and make them fall upon us.”
“But didn’t they get to the bank higher up?” asked Murray.
“I dunno, sir,” replied the man. “We was too busy to think about that. Precious hot it was too, pulling under boughs as kept all the air away. I don’t want to brag, Mr Murray, sir, but we had a precious nice time on it, pulling, and hearing the beggars shouting and firing till we got well round a bend and out o’ their sight, same as they was out of our sight, when I says to Harry Lang as best thing we could do was to see to damages, and seeing as it warn’t likely that they could get at us for a bit we run the boat’s nose into the far side bank where Harry could get hold of a branch, and then he outs with his Jack knife and whittles a peg to fit into the shot-hole, for the water kep’ on coming in tidy fast.”
“Is that the hole?” said Murray eagerly.
“That’s it, sir, and there’s two more plugged up astarn, ’sides that there chip out o’ the back by the starn sheets.”
“But you neither of you got hurt?”
“No, sir; you see they warn’t very handy with the guns, and we kep’ going pretty fast.”
“But there’s a blood-stain upon your shirt, my lad.”
“Oh, that, sir? It did bleed a little bit, but it was only a scrat—nowt to speak about.”
“Indeed!” said Murray. “Well, it has left off bleeding, but the doctor must see to it when we get back to the Seafowl.”
“Oh yes, sir; that’ll be all right,” said the man, smiling; “and that’s all, I think, ’cept that we baled out the boat till we began to pull on again, for we was obliged to put some distance ’twixt us in case they should find some way up to the bank and begin practice again. Same time, sir, of course we had to think of not getting too far, so as to be handy when our fellows came back and wanted the cutter.”
“Well, but about finding Titely?” said Murray.
“Oh, there’s nothing to say about that, sir, on’y we didn’t quite get it settled whether he found us or we found him. Theer he was, hung up in one of the trees over the river, and glad he was to be took aboard—just as glad as we was to take him, sir, for you see it made another to share the ’sponsibility like of our not being where we ought to be with the boat. After that, sir, I wanted to hang about as close as we could to the enemy, ready to be handy and help our officers and men; but messmet Titely says we must go on pulling up stream in search of you and Tom May, and this must be all, sir, and my throat’s as dry as dust. Think this here water’s good to drink, sir? It looks too much like beer to be quite to my taste.”
“No, my lad; I wouldn’t venture to drink it. Better wait.”
“That’s what I says to Harry Lang, sir.”
“And very wisely too. Now, Tom,” continued Murray, turning to his companion in adversity, “you have said nothing. What do you think of the state of affairs?”
“I think it’s hard, sir—precious hard on a man.”
“But they have done splendidly, Tom.”
“Yes, sir, I s’pose so, for them,” said May sourly; “but I warn’t thinking about them. I mean it comes hard upon a man like me, shut out of a fight like that. Don’t you think we might drop down with the stream now, seeing as we’re tidily strong like?”
“Yes, I do think something of the kind,” replied Murray.
“And give ’em a right down good dressing, sir?”
“No; we have got something else to think of, Tom,” said the middy sternly. “Dressing them down is tempting, but that is not what we want to do. We must get down to the bay as quickly as we can, and without the loss of a man. The fighting must rest till the captain sends up reinforcements.”
Tom May nodded his head.
“Bit disappointing, though, sir.”
“Yes, my lad, but we can wait. Now then, we must drop down a little farther, and then drop the grapnel or hook on to one of the trees of the farther bank.”
“And not make a dash of it, sir?”
“No, my lad; not till it is quite dark.”
Tom May stared.
“According to what your messmates said, the enemy was in pretty strong force. How many of them were there?”
“’Bout twenty, sir,” said Lang.
“And all armed?”
“Yes, sir; they’d all got guns,” said the other.
“Then they will be lying in wait for us,” said Murray decisively. “I only said that we shall be trying to run by them as soon as it is dark.”
“Well, sir, but we could do it,” said May warmly.
“Yes, we could run by them if I risked everything, my lad,” said the middy, “but I can’t afford to lose a man. Besides, they will have been making arrangements to receive us. There is that lugger we saw lying in the mouth of the river; they have plenty of men, I am sure, and they may have brought her up to block our way, for they are bound to try and capture us if they can.”
“Yes, sir; bound to take us if they can,” assented the sailor.
“How long do you think it will be before it is dark?” asked Murray.
“Not half-an-hour, sir,” was the reply.
“And how far are we above the landing-place?” said the middy, speaking in a low tone now and turning to the first boat-keeper.
“Can’t say, sir, for sartain,” replied the man. “What do you say, Harry Lang?”
The man shook his head.
“You see, sir, we put our backs into it when we started to row, and pulled and pulled, thinking of nothing else but getting as far up’ards as we could. Hour’s hard rowing, I should say, in and out, and we got a long ways before we come upon Bill Titely.”
“Then we’ll begin moving as soon as it is quite dark, my lads,” said Murray. “Till then, a careful watch and silence, for there is no knowing whether the enemy may not have a way through the cane brake which will enable them to come upon us by surprise.”