Chapter Thirty Eight.
A Night in the Woods.
The summons given in hearty English was responded to by a ragged volley of so many muskets, whose flashes came faintly from the edge of the amphitheatre, and wondering what it meant, Murray, as he looked round, was just in time to see the big black giant of a negro spring high in the air, come down with a crash upon the coffin-shaped chest, roll over, and writhe for a few moments before lying perfectly still.
As the big negro was seen to fall, the crowd of blacks who were hurrying here and there as if in dismay, uttered a series of shrieks and yells, and began to run in confusion towards the end of the woody amphitheatre farthest from the fire, but only to encounter another ragged volley of musketry which checked them and drove them back, leaving several of their number to fall struggling upon the ground, while Murray saw two more totter and go down as they ran shrieking, half mad with fear, towards another portion of the lit-up ring of light, for they avoided the little party of armed seamen as if they took them for one of the causes of the sudden attack.
“Stand fast, my lads,” cried the lieutenant. “Now then, forward!”
He placed himself at the head of his men, who followed him with their muskets shouldered, but at the end of a few yards their commander called—
“Halt—I’m not at all sure of our way, gentlemen,” he said, addressing the two midshipmen, “but I think we ought to take that end—yonder where the blacks are collecting.”
“No, sir, I don’t think that’s right,” cried Murray. “You see, every part of the circus-like place looks like the rest.”
“Yes, I see that, Murray, but surely there is the path yonder by which we came.”
But as he spoke, half-a-dozen more musket flashes came from the very spot to which he had pointed, and what might be called a wave of black figures came, dotting the earth with as many white cotton-clad wounded or dead unfortunates as shots had been fired.
“Bah! I’m wrong,” cried the lieutenant angrily. “This looks like a planned massacre of the poor creatures gathered at this meeting. If we could only find our guide we might have a chance to get out of the horrible confusion. Here, let’s try this way.”
“Yes, sir; that is the way, I am sure, for it is just opposite to that chest out of which that poor fellow took the snake.”
“You are right, sir,” cried the lieutenant; “and we must retreat in that direction, for it is of no use to try and make a stand against a hidden enemy.”
“Why don’t those poor wretches show fight, sir?” cried Murray excitedly, as the little party began their march.
“Because they have no one to lead them, my lad.”
“Can’t we, sir?”
“We could if they knew us, Murray; but we are strangers, and it would be madness to try and head such a confused mob.”
“I suppose so, sir,” said Murray sadly, as he marched on beside his commander, who now gave an order to the men he led, which was heard plainly above the shouting and yelling of the blacks, who in their fear and confusion had cast away the heavy machetes with which they had armed themselves.
“Make ready, my lads, in case the enemy has taken possession of our line of retreat.”
But all seemed perfectly still amongst the trees they approached, and their lit-up trunks and boughs offered shelter as well as a way of retreat, when at one and the same moment, just as Mr Anderson called out, “Forward, my lads! That is the right path,” Tom May shouted from the rear—
“Here’s that there Caesar, sir, coming after us full pelt.”
“Yes,” cried Roberts, “and he’s bringing all the blacks with him to this end.”
Then it was that a fresh burst of flashes came from the now plainly seen opening for which the Seafowls made, checking their advance and laying two of them low.
“Retreat!” shouted a voice which sounded father strange, and it was followed by a fierce roar from the lieutenant bidding the men reply.
In an instant a good steady volley was fired at the spots from which the last shots had come, and then obeying the order that followed, the whole party, cutlass in hand, with Tom May roaring “Go on, my lads—forrard!” charged into the heavily-beaten forest path, trampling over three fallen blacks who lay struggling, faintly seen, upon the earth.
“Why, we’re firing upon the wrong men,” cried Mr Anderson.
“No, massa,” said a familiar voice, hoarse with shouting. “All Massa Huggin men. Our boys no got gun.”
“Then we’re all right?”
“Yes, massa.”
“And who are these coming on here?”
“All pore boy run away. Massa Huggin men come out of trees long behind, massa listen.”
There was occasion to hearken, for above the murmurs, wails and shouts of the blacks who were flying from pursuit came the scattered firing of those who had been busy in the massacre that had been taking place.
“Guide us back along the path to Mr Allen’s house,” cried the lieutenant.
“No, massa; boy here do that. Caesar must stop fight.”
“Good! Brave fellow!” cried the lieutenant. “Here, I’ll give those who fired upon us a few shots first to clear the way.”
“No, massa; all gone,” cried the black; “all run away. Massa let poor black boy come ’long here. Make sailor man shoot Massa Huggin slave-catch-man. Hark! Um come ’long fast. Shoot, shoot!”
“Do you understand what he means, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant, rather breathlessly.
“Yes, sir. He means let the poor wretches go by us and we hold the path till the enemy comes up, and give them a volley or two to check the advance.”
“Very good tactics if you are right,” said the lieutenant. “At any rate we’ll try it. But what does this mean?”
The light from the fire barely penetrated to where they stood, but there was enough to show that Caesar was in a confused fashion sorting the flying blacks into two parties,—those who were unarmed he hurried down the path in the way of retreat, while those who had maintained enough courage to keep their machetes, he ranged upon either side of the path, while, to Murray’s wonder and surprise, for they had been forgotten for the moment, four of the blacks came forward supporting two of the wounded man-o’-war’s men.
“Oh, my poor lads!” cried the lieutenant eagerly.
“You, Mr Roberts, and you, Seddon. Are you badly hurt?”
“No, sir,” cried the middy cheerily. “Only two Seafowls winged, sir!”
“Nay, sir, not me!” growled the seaman belonging to the second cutter. “I arn’t winged, sir; I’m hind-legged, and I should have had to hop if it warn’t for these niggers here.”
“Mr Murray, I can’t spare you. Tom May, you take Mr Murray’s place and help me cover the retreat with all the men. Mr Murray, do the best you can with the wounded, and then join us here.”
“No, no, sir,” cried Roberts. “I’ve got a handkerchief round my arm, sir; Seddon tied it, and he’s done his own leg up himself.”
“Bravo!” cried the lieutenant. “Keep together, my lads. Here, you Caesar, can’t you make some of your fellows fight?”
“Caesar try, massa; try berry hard. Much frighten of Massa Huggin.”
“Tell them to fight for their lives if they won’t for their liberty.”
“Yes, sah. Caesar try all he can;” and the black made a rush at one of his retreating companions whom he saw in the act of throwing away his rough cutlass; and catching him by the shoulder he gave him a heavy cuff on the ear and then forced him to pick up the weapon he had discarded and join a few compatriots who were making something of a stand.
“There’s no trusting them, sir,” said Murray, who was breathing hard with excitement.
“And no wonder, Murray; all the courage has been crushed out of them, poor wretches.”
As Mr Anderson spoke there was a burst of startled yells and cries, following directly upon the reports of several muskets, and what seemed to be quite a crowd of the retreating blacks came rushing along the path right upon where the Seafowl’s men were making a stand.
“Here, where are you coming to?” roared Tom May, in his deep-toned voice. “Keep back, or go round, or crawl, or do something, or we’ll give you a blessed good dose of butt-ending.—Who’s to fire, do you think,” continued the big sailor, “with you all coming in the way?”
At that moment Caesar made a rush in amongst the shivering retreating party, striking to right and left with the flat of his machete.
“Here, what are you up to, darkie?” cried the big sailor. “Them’s friends.”
“Yes, sah,” panted the black. “Caesar know. Make ’em fight.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” growled May, “but I don’t see as you will do any good. They won’t fight, and I don’t know as I want ’em to; but they might let us.”
“Do what you can to clear the way, man.”
There was the sound of more trampling feet, a burst of yells, more firing, and Tom May shouted in protest—
“Beg pardon, sir; what are we to do? Some more of our fellows will be down directly, and we can’t fire a shot for fear of hitting our friends. I never see such friends,” he growled; “they’re worse than enemies.”
“Look out, my lads,” shouted Murray excitedly. “Fire! Here they come! No, no—over their heads,” he cried. “These are more friends.”
In his excitement the middy struck up a couple of presented muskets with the cutlass he handled, his example being followed by the lieutenant, doubtless the saving of Caesar’s life, for the brave black had dashed in amongst his companions, thrusting them to the right and left in amongst the trees, just as several of the sailors fired, fully half of them firing in the air.
Fortunately the reports were as effective as a volley would have been aimed right into the advancing enemy, who pulled up short and then began to retire, giving the poor flying wretches an opportunity to recover themselves a little, and realise that there was some shelter to be obtained behind the sturdy English sailors, who stood firm, while Caesar worked hard at forming them up where they stood, and with such good effect that about forty of them grasped their rough cutlasses more firmly and showed some signs of using them against their foes now that these latter had ceased to advance.
“Well done, my lad,” cried the lieutenant; “if you can find a couple of score like yourself we’ll send these black fiends and their white leaders to the right-about.”
“Steady there!” cried Murray, the next minute, for the effect of the volley had died out, and the enemy advanced again, shouting, and fired once more.
“Fire!” cried the lieutenant, for there was no sign of the retreating blacks in front, and the levelled muskets of the sailors poured out a well-levelled volley, which was received by the slavers with a yell of surprise and the rush of feet in full retreat; and then once more there was silence.
“That has done its work, my lads,” cried the lieutenant, as the men reloaded rapidly, the sound of the thudding ramrods as they were driven down raising a low murmur of excitement through the black fugitives, among whom, as far as could be made out in the darkness, Caesar was busy at work, talking loudly, and ending after dragging and thrusting his compatriots, by getting them well together and then making his way to where the lieutenant and Murray stood some little distance in advance, listening and trying to make out when the planter’s men were coming on again.
“Boys say won’t run away any more, massa,” whispered the black breathlessly.
“Glad to hear it, my friend,” said the officer bitterly.
“Yes, massa; so Caesar. Not frighten now. Ready ’tan’ fast. Ready kill Massa Huggin sailor fellow.”
“But I can’t trust them, Caesar; can you?”
The black was silent for a few moments, and then he said sadly—
“Caesar do um bes’, massa.”
“So you have, my lad. But the next time the enemy come on your men shall try what they can do.”
“Here they come again, sir,” whispered Murray.
“Keep silence then,” said the lieutenant. “May, all of you wait and let them come on till you hear their leaders’ orders to fire, and let them have it first.”
Then turning to the black, the speaker bade him head his men, who now began to be pretty steady, and lead them along the path in the direction of the planter’s cottage.
“No, no, massa. Caesar make boys fight now.”
“You do as I tell you, sir,” replied the lieutenant sternly. “Go on back, collecting as many more of your men as you can, and my lads shall cover the retreat and check the slaves.”
“Massa want Caesar do this?” said the black sadly.
“Yes, and I want you to obey my orders.”
“Yes, massa,” said the black, with a sigh, “only Caesar feel like fight and die for massa now.”
Crash!
There was the sound of a volley, so many muskets going off together like one, while as the sound began to die away, it was mingled with loud yells and curses, and emphasised as it were by the rattling of the ramrods in the barrels of the muskets.
“I think that’s checked them, sir,” said Murray; but almost as he spoke there came three shots from some of the boldest of the enemy who had stopped short to snap off their vengeful retreating replies to the sailors’ volley.
“Waste of powder,” growled Tom May. “Hear ’em running through the trees, Mr Murray, sir?”
“Yes, and I should like to give them another volley.”
“So should I, sir,” panted the big sailor, as he drove down his ramrod till it nearly hopped out of the musket-barrel again; “but we can’t afford it.”
“Any one hurt there, May?” cried the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir; lots,” replied the big sailor, with a chuckle of satisfaction.
“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant, in anxious tones.
“Beg pardon, sir,” growled the sailor hastily. “I didn’t mean us.”
“Silence, sir!” cried the lieutenant sternly.
The next minute, in the midst of that which the officer had commanded, they heard him giving orders to the black.
“You’ll hear of this again, Mr Tom May,” said Murray.
“Yes, sir, I s’pose so,” said the big sailor grumpily. “That’s just like me. It’s just as an old mate of mine once said. ‘You’ve got a horkerd sort o’ mouth, Tommy, you have,’ he says. ‘You never opens it but you puts your foot in it.’”
“Hist! What does that mean, Tom?” whispered the middy.
“Means it’s so plaguey dark that you can’t see what’s going on.”
“Yes, but you can listen, sir.”
“Oh, Mr Murray, sir, don’t you come down upon me too. Just then it was Mister Tom May; and now it’s sir. I didn’t mean no harm, sir. It cheers a man up, to try and think a bit cheery, ’specially when you’re expecting a bullet every minute to come in for’ard and pass out astarn.”
“Don’t talk, man,” whispered Murray. “Can’t you hear the enemy?”
“Yes, sir: that’s them, sir, creeping up towards us through the bushes.”
The man spoke with his lips close to the middy’s ear.
The silence seemed to be terrible, and to Murray the feeling was that he could not breathe.
“Won’t you give us the order to let ’em have it again, sir, without waiting till the first luff comes back?” whispered the sailor.
“Isn’t he there, Tom?”
“No, sir, he’s gone off with them poor shivering niggers, sir, to try a bit o’ manoeuvring o’ some kind; but he won’t do no good, sir. They arn’t got a bit o’ fight in ’em. But what can you expect of a poor beggar as lives on yam and a chew o’ sugar-cane? It don’t give a man pluck, sir. If I had ’em fed up a bit on salt horse and weevly biscuit I’d make ’em something like in a few weeks. There, sir; hear that?”
“Yes,” whispered Murray. “Ah, they’re getting ready to fire. Make ready. Each man aim at where he thinks they’re coming on. Fire!”
A capital volley was the result, followed by the rush of feet of those who had been creeping up through the trees; and then above the crackling and breaking of leaf and twig, arose a furious yell and the groaning of human beings in intense pain.
“How horrible it sounds!” said Murray, as the thudding of ramrods arose.
“Does it, sir?” grunted Tom May. “Oh, I dunno, sir. Sounds to me black. Dessay it would ha’ seemed to me horrid if it had been white. There, sir; Mr Anderson don’t seem to think bad on it,” growled the man.
For at that moment the chief officer hurried up to where they stood, uttering a few quick enquiries and listening to the results.
“No one hurt then?” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction. “That’s good, Mr Murray. Oh, by the way, Thomas May, I shall want a word or two with you when this business is over. Mr Murray, you will bring up the rear. Keep together, and follow me as silently as you can. Mr Murray, the blacks are well together now, following the planter’s man, and we have to follow him, for I have to depend upon him to lead us back. I need not say that you must keep your ears well open, for in spite of the checks we have given them the enemy may come on again.”
“The first luff don’t seem to think it’s very horrible, Mr Murray, sir,” whispered the big sailor, as he trudged as silently as he could beside his companion of the rear-guard.
“No, Tom,” replied the middy; “but this fighting in the dark is very horrible all the same.”
“Well, I dunno, sir. ’Tarn’t nice, of course; but ’tarn’t our fault, and wherever we’ve left one o’ them black or white slaver chaps a bit sore on the nat’ral deck yonder you may say as he desarves all he’s got.”
Murray made no reply, for he had stopped short for a few moments to listen; and finding this, the big sailor followed his example.
“Hear ’em coming, sir?”
“No, Tom; I thought I did, but all seems quite still again. Here, I wish you’d listen. I don’t know how it is, but you seem to hear much more plainly than I can.”
Tom chuckled.
“Well, what is there to laugh at in what I said?”
“Oh, I dunno, sir, on’y it sounded rum to me.”
“What did, sir?”
“You saying you couldn’t hear so plain as I can.”
“Well, what is there rum, as you call it, in that?”
“Nowt, sir, only the reason why. I can hear sharp as sharp, sir, because I was always getting my ears boxed when I was a boy. I was sent to what they call a Dame school, and I s’pose I was a very tiresome boy, for she used to box my ears—both on ’em—with the book. Then when I got bigger and I was at the school where there was a master he used to give it my ears precious hot, I can tell you, sir; but it made ’em as sharp as sharp, and I used to be so quick with ’em that I could hear his hands coming when he was going to hit me; and then he used to miss, and instead of hitting ’em he used to warm my ears with words.”
“Then you can’t hear the enemy following us, Tom?” whispered the middy.
The man stopped short and dropped upon one knee to listen.
“N-n-n-Yes, I can, sir,” whispered the man quickly. “Come on, sir; the sailors, they’re not far behind. Gently; I don’t think they can hear us then. Let’s get up to the first luff and see what he says about giving them another shot or two.”
“Yes, press on. We’ve let them get too far ahead,” said Murray hastily. “We ought to have kept close up.”
“Would ha’ been better for some things, sir; but you can’t keep close up when you’re in the rear and hear the enemy too. Wish the first luff would let us have that nigger chap with us. He can feel his way in the dark when it’s black as black.”
“But he can’t be spared. Can you tell how near the enemy are?”
“No, sir. Can’t hear ’em now. Let’s ketch up to our chaps, and then as soon as we’re within touch with ’em we’ll stop again and listen.”
“Halt there, or we fire!” said a voice sharply, out of the black darkness in front.
“Hush! The enemy are close at hand,” whispered Murray, in a low suppressed voice.
“Who’s yon?” whispered another voice. “Look out, sir.”
“Here, Tom, what does this mean?” said Murray excitedly.
“Means it ought to be my messmate, Billy Titely sir, only he’s got winged, sir, and gone right on ahead.”
“Nay, he arn’t, Tom, lad, ’cause he’s here,” came in the familiar tones. “Say, Mr Roberts, sir, is that there Tom May talking, or has my wound made me a bit dillylerous. I wish you’d just say.”
“Is Dick Roberts there?” whispered Murray excitedly.
“I should say he was, sir, only I keep on going off giddy like.”
“But you ought to be right on ahead of Mr Anderson and the men,” cried Murray.
“There, I telled you, sir, Mr Roberts, sir,” said Titely. “I could feel like as we was somehow got into the wrong watch, and I did say so, sir.”
“Oh, bother!” cried Roberts. “It was so dark, and my head was all of a swim. Well, never mind; let’s get into our right place again. Where is it?”
“I dunno, sir. These here black chaps as is guiding us will show us right enough.”
“Hist! Hist!” whispered Murray. “Can’t you understand? We’re the rear-guard of the column, Tom May and I, and the enemy is somewhere close behind. Haven’t you got your men with you, and some blacks?”
“We had,” replied Roberts, “but somehow we’ve got separated from them, or they’ve got separated from us; I don’t know how it is. It’s all through my wound, I suppose. Here, Murray, old chap, you’d better put us right again.”
“Will you hold your stupid tongue, Dick?” whispered Murray excitedly. “Here, both you and Titely follow me. Get behind them, Tom May, and look sharp, or we shall be too late.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the big sailor; and Murray heard him throw his musket from one shoulder to the other before seeming to loosen his cutlass in the scabbard, which the lad could only interpret as putting himself in readiness for an immediate encounter.
“Listen again, Tom,” whispered Murray.
There was a pause, and for a few minutes nothing broke the strange silence which reigned.
“Well?” whispered the middy impatiently.
“Well, sir, I can’t make nothing of it,” replied the sailor.
“Not so loud, Tom.”
“All right, sir, but I don’t think that was much of a pig’s whisper.”
“Oh, nonsense! What do you make of it now?”
“Nowt, sir, only as we’ve got ourselves into a great hobble. I can’t hear nothing of our chaps.”
“No; they’ve gone on, and we must overtake them and let Mr Anderson know that Roberts and Titely have lost their way, and have doubled back so that we have met them.”
“Ay, ay, sir, that’s the way; but how are we going to do it?”
“You take Titely by the arm, and I’ll hurry on Mr Roberts. Let’s start at once.”
“Right, sir. Which way?”
“Follow Mr Anderson’s track at once.”
“Yes, sir, of course; but which way’s that?”
“Why, you don’t mean to say you’ve lost touch, Tom?” said Murray excitedly.
“Nay, sir, I arn’t had nothing to touch lately. I s’pose I’ve turned stoopid through coming upon them two so sudden. But just you start me, sir, and then I shall go on as steady and reg’lar as can be.”
“Tom!” groaned Murray.
“Ay, ay, sir! Which way?”
Murray uttered a gasp as he stood trying to pierce the darkness, turning slowly in different directions the while.
“Ready, sir,” said the sailor. “I’ve got hold of Bill Titely, sir, quite tightly too,” added the man, with a low chuckle.
Titely groaned aloud.
“Steady, sir!” whispered the man. “That was a regular pig’s whisper, and no mistake.—Quiet, you lubber!” he added, giving his messmate a shake. “Don’t bully him, sir; his wound’s made him a bit silly like, and he don’t quite know what he’s about, or he wouldn’t howl aloud like that.”
“Here, stop that,” came from out of the darkness. “Who is it—you, Frank? Don’t play the fool with a fellow. It makes me so jolly giddy, and it hurts.”
“I’m not doing anything, Dick,” whispered Murray. “Oh, do be quiet, old chap! Can’t you understand that your wound has made you turn weak, and that the enemy are somewhere close at hand?”
“No! It all goes round and round and round. Stop it, will you?”
“Dick, I’m doing nothing,” said Murray despairingly. “Be quiet, or you’ll betray us to the enemy.”
“Hang the enemy! Who cares for the enemy? I’m not going to run away from a set of woolly-headed niggers. Let’s fight them and have done with it.”
“Say, Mr Murray, sir, we’ve got in a hole this time. Arn’t you ’most as bad as me?”
“Worse, Tom—worse!” groaned Murray.
“Oh, you couldn’t be worse, sir,” said the man hastily; “but you can’t tell me which way to go, can you?”
“No, Tom; the darkness seems to have quite confused me, and if I tell you to make a start we’re just as likely to run upon the enemy as to go after Mr Anderson.”
“That’s so, sir; and that arn’t the worst of it.”
“There can be no worse, Tom,” said Murray despondently.
“Oh yes, sir, there can, for you see it arn’t you and me alone to look after one another; we’ve each got a messmate on our hands, for I s’pose it wouldn’t be right for you to leave Mr Roberts to shift for hisself, no more than it would for me to leave Billy Titely.”
“Of course not, poor fellows; we must stand by them to the last.”
“That’s your sort, sir. A sailor allers stands by his messmate; but they are a pair of okkard ones just now, just at a time when it’s dark as the bottom of a pitch kettle full right up to the very top. But do say something, Mr Murray, sir.”
“Say, Tom! I’ve got nothing to say.”
“I know some one who will have, sir, when we come acrorst him, and that’s Mr Anderson, sir.” Murray groaned.
“I think I shall get behind you, sir,” said the big sailor, with a chuckle, “so as he can take the sharp edge off his tongue on you first.”
“Tom May!” whispered the midshipman bitterly. “How can you laugh at a time like this!”
“I dunno, sir, but I don’t mean nothing disrespectful to my officer, sir. I thought a bit of a joke would cheer us up a bit. But it arn’t nat’ral like, for I feel as if I could lay my cocoanut up again’ a tree and howl like a sick dog as has got his fore foot under a wheel. But it is a muddle, sir, arn’t it? What shall we do?”
“I can only think one thing, Tom, and it is horrible. It seems like giving up in despair.”
“Never mind, sir: let’s have it, for I want to be doing something.”
“I can think of nothing but waiting till daylight.”
“Can’t you, sir? Well, I thought that, but it seemed to me too stoopid. But I don’t know as there isn’t some good in it, for we might get them two to lie still and sleep, and that’s about all they’re fit for. It’s orful dark, but that don’t matter for the sick bay, and when they wake up again in the morning, perhaps they won’t talk silly. You’re right, sir; let’s put our wounded to bed, and then divide the rest of the night into two watches. I’ll take the first, and you take the second watch, which will carry us well on till daylight. What do you say to that, sir?”
“That it is the best thing to be done; only we’ll watch together, Tom, and rest.”
“Not you go to sleep, sir?” said Tom dubiously.
“I could not sleep, Tom. We’ll talk in whispers about the blacks’ meeting and what they were planning to do.”
“Very well, sir.—What say, Billy? No, no! No answering, my lad. You’ll be telling the niggers where we are. You’ve got to lie down, for it arn’t your watch.—That’s the way.—Now, Mr Murray, sir, you let your one down easy. That’s the way, sir—close up together. It’ll keep ’em right, and p’raps ward off the fever. Now you and I sit down and have our palaver. I should say let’s sit on ’em as soon as they’re asleep, but I s’pose you wouldn’t like to sit on Mr Roberts.”
“Oh no, of course not,” said the midshipman.
“All right, sir; you think it wouldn’t be fair to your messmate, but it would, for it would keep him warm. But I shall do as you do, sir; or let’s try t’other way.”
“What other way, Tom?”
“Sit up close to one another, back to back; then I warms you and you warms me, and that keeps away the chill. You gets a bit tired after a time and feels ready to droop for’ard on to your nose, but when that comes on you can hook elbers, and that holds you upright.—Now then, sir, how’s that? Right? Wait a minute; let’s have a listen. Three cheers for well-boxed ears!”
The big sailor sat upright and listened intently for a few minutes, before he whispered—
“I can just hear the beetles crawling about among the dead leaves and things, sir, and seeming to talk to one another in their way, but I can’t hear no niggers coming arter us. Strange thing, arn’t it, sir, that one set o’ blacks should take to capturing another set o’ blacks and selling ’em into slavery? Them’s a savage lot as that Huggins has got together, and it strikes me as we shall find ’em reg’lar beggars to fight if it’s all right as Master See-saw says about their manning his ships. So far as I could make out he’s got schooners manned with white ruffians as well as black blacks, and all as bad as bad can be.”
“Yes, Tom,” said Murray thoughtfully.
“Nice beauties,” continued Tom, “and so far as I can make out, sir, there was going to be a reg’lar rising to-night, or last night. The plantation niggers had come to the way of thinking that it was time to mutiny and kill off them as had brought ’em here, and so that there Huggins—my word, shouldn’t I like to have the job of huggin’ him!—got to know of it and brings his schooners’ crews to show ’em they was not the sort of chaps to carry out a mutiny of that kind.”
“Poor wretches, no,” said Murray sadly.
“That’s right, Mr Murray, sir. Poor wretches it is. You see, sir, they’re a different sort o’ nigger altogether. I got to know somehow from a marchant skipper as traded off the West Coast that there’s two sorts o’ tribes there, fighting tribes as fights by nature, and tribes as ’tisn’t their nature to fight at all. Well, sir, these here first ones makes war upon them as can’t fight, carries off all they can as prisoners, and sells ’em to the slave-traders. Then it comes at last to a mutiny like this here we’ve seen, and the poor wretches, as you calls them, is worse fighters than they was afore, and slaving skippers like Huggins collects their schooners’ crews together and drives the black mutineers before ’em like a flock o’ Baa, baa, black sheep, kills a lot and frightens a lot more to death, and then things goes on just the same as before.—Comfortable, sir?”
“No, Tom. Are you?”
“No, sir. But that’s about how it is, arn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe so, Tom.”
“Then it goes on as I said till their medicine man—sort o’ priest, I suppose—stirs ’em to make another try to get the upper hand. Talks a lot o’ that nonsense to ’em about fetish and Obeah, as they calls it, and shows the poor benighted chaps a bit of hanky panky work with a big snake like that we saw to-night. Makes ’em think the snake’s horrid poisonous, and that it can’t bite him as handles it, because he’s took some stuff or another. Rum game that there was with that sarpent, and—I say, sir, don’t you think we’d better get up now for a bit and just mark time? You see, we can’t walk, for if we do we shall lose ourselves.”
“We might take it in turns, and just keep touch of one another.”
“What, sir? No, thankye. Ketch me trying that way again! We’ve had enough of that. Fust thing, though, let’s see how our wounded’s getting on.”
“Yes, Tom,” said Murray; and they felt for their unfortunate companions in the darkness, with the result that Titely flung out one fist with the accompaniment of an angry growl, and at the first touch of Murray’s fingers, Roberts uttered an angry expostulation, taking all the stiffness out of his brother middy’s joints as the lad started, broke out in a violent perspiration, and caught hold of his wakeful companion, for the pair to stand listening for some sign of the enemy having heard the cry, and beginning to steal silently towards them.
“Cutlasses, Tom,” whispered Murray, with his lips to the big sailor’s ear, and together they unsheathed their weapons and stood back to back, ready to defend themselves.
“Thrust, Tom,” whispered Murray again.
“Ay, ay, sir!” And then the terrible silence of the black darkness was only broken by a faint mutter from one or other of the wounded pair, while the listeners breathed hard in agony, trying the while to suppress the going and coming of the prime necessity of life. Murray pressed the hard hilt of his cutlass against his breast in the faint hope that by so doing he could deaden the heavy throbbing that sounded loudly to his ear, while if any one was approaching at all near he felt certain that he must hear the dull thumps that went on within the breast of the big sailor.
There was another dread, too, which troubled the watch-keepers: at any moment they felt certain the disturbed sleepers might begin talking aloud. But that peril they were spared.
“Don’t hear anything, sir,” whispered Tom, at last. “I made sure we should have brought them down upon us. I say, sir, it seems to me as Natur must have made some mistake.”
“How?” asked Murray.
“Forgot to wind up the sun last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“So as it should rise again.”
“Nonsense!” said Murray, in a voice which sounded to be full of annoyance. “That’s the morning breeze beginning to blow.”
“Well, I don’t care, sir,” grumbled the big sailor; “it ought to have been to-morrow morning before now. Sun must be late. I never knowed such a long night before.”
“It’s coming, Tom, and before long. Isn’t that the warm glow?”
“No,” said the sailor shortly. “As you said, there’s a breeze coming up from somewhere or another, and tidy strong, too.”
“Yes,” said Murray.
“Well, it’s blowing up the embers of the fire that was burning its way through the woods.”
“Think so, Tom?” said Murray, his companion’s words arousing his interest.
“Yes, sir; that’s it. Can’t you see that it looks reddish?”
“So does the sunrise.”
“Yes, sir, that’s true; but all the same I’m sartain that’s the fire brightening up a bit. We haven’t seen no pale dawn yet.”
“If it would only come, Tom!”
“Yes, sir; and what then?”
“We shall be able to find our messmates and bring them to our side.”
“Maybe we shall bring the black and white niggers instead, sir, and it’ll mean a fight, for we’re not going to give up quietly, are we?”
“No, Tom, and I hope that when those two wake up they may be able to fire a shot or two to help us.”
“Hope so, sir. But look yonder: there’s the dawn coming.”
“Yes!” whispered Murray eagerly. “Look; I can just make out the branches of a tree against the sky.”
“That’s right, sir. Now for it; what’s it going to be—enemies or friends?”
“Friends, Tom,” whispered Murray confidently.
There was a pause, during which the pair stood gazing straight before them, striving to pierce the dim dawn which seemed to consist for the most part of a thick mist which lay low upon the surface of the earth, while above the top of the forest all was fairly clear.
Then all at once, very softly, but so clear of utterance that the word seemed to vibrate in the middy’s ear, the big sailor uttered a whisper, as he pressed his firm, strong hand upon the lad’s shoulder.
His word was “Enemies!” and in obedience to the warning, Murray sank down till he lay prone upon the dew-wet earth.
For about fifty yards away there were figures moving, and evidently in the direction of the spot where the two watchers lay.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
On the Strain.
Roberts and Titely lay close by, breathing heavily, but to Murray’s horror it seemed as if, faintly spoken as it was, the big sailor’s warning had reached the sensitive nerves of both the wounded, making them stir uneasily and mutter something unintelligible, while the light of morning, which had before been so sluggish in its approach, seemed now to be coming on by a steady glide, as if the black darkness which had pressed so heavily upon the spirits of two of the party was now being swept away like a cloud.
A terrible dread came over Murray, for he saw in the moving figures death coming upon him in most probably some horribly brutal form, and he could feel his nerves thrill with an icy sensation which had its origin among the roots of his hair and then began to glide down his spine till it reached to and made its exit from his toes; while in spite of what he suffered, he could not help recalling some of the words which had passed between him and his waking companion as he was conscious of fresh movements on the part of Roberts and Titely, and he wished that he could carry out what had been proposed, namely, to sit upon the pair and keep them quiet.
“They’ll let the wretches know where we are,” he thought, and quietly reaching out one leg till he could reach Tom May’s big body, he gave him a steady thrust.
“That will keep him on the qui vive,” he thought to himself; and then the lad started violently, for the big sailor responded with a well-meant but decidedly forcible kick, which Murray took for a warning of impending danger, and raised his head to look, but dropped it again on the instant, throbbing with excitement, for there were the moving figures, clearly seen now, in the shape of a villainous-looking party of about a dozen well-armed men, clothed sailor fashion and graduated in colour from the sun-tanned skin of a white through the swarthiness of the Malay and Mulatto to the black of the East Indian and the intense ebony of the African black.
He gazed in that moment, as he knew for certain, upon a party of the cut-throat ruffians belonging to the crew of one of the slave-trade vessels, and as he subsided, it was with the feeling upon him that his head must have been seen, that in another instant he should be listening to the rush of feet, and would have to make a desperate effort to preserve his life, while all the while he was lying there suffering from a kind of paralysis which held him as if he were passing through the worst phases of a nightmare-like dream.
“Poor old Dick!” he thought, as if in a flash. “We were always quarrelling, and he was horribly jealous of me; but I liked him, and I’d do anything to save him. But he’ll never know, for the brutes will kill him in his sleep. Poor Billy Titely the same. But Tom May must be ready to fight for his life, and he’ll pay out some of the butchers, and I shall help him too, though I haven’t got his strength. Why don’t I spring up before they come?”
It seemed curiously misty and dream-like to him, and he fully realised that something must be wrong, as he seemed to fight hard to answer that question; but so far from replying to the mental query, and springing up to help his brave companion, he could not move, till he was roused into a state of action by the touch of the big sailor’s foot, which did not come in a heavy kick this time, but in steady pressure.
Murray drew a slow, deep breath, and instead of starting up he softly turned his head sidewise till he could peer with one eye through the bushes, and see that the crew of ruffians had turned off to the right and were slowly and cautiously passing away.
So far Murray felt the murderous wretches had not seen them, but as he knew that the slightest movement on the part of the sleepers, or a muttered word, would bring them to their side, he lay quivering and trying involuntarily to press himself deeper into the soft earth for some minutes, clinging to hope, till once more the intensity of the strain was broken by a sharp clear snap which sounded awfully loud, and he started up, resting upon his right elbow, and gazed, not upon the fiercely savage face of one of the enemies, but upon the big, frank, apologetic countenance of Tom May, who was in precisely the same attitude.
“Who’d have thought it?” he whispered. “But they didn’t hear.”
“Oh, Tom,” replied the lad, hardly above his breath, “how you frightened me!”
“Frightened you, sir?” chuckled the big fellow, with his face expanding into a grin. “Why, it frightened me.”
“What was it?” whispered Murray, pressing his left hand upon his throbbing breast.
“This here, sir,” replied the man, holding up a round brass tobacco-box. “Thought I’d take a quid just to put a bit o’ life into me, and as soon as I’d got it I shut up the lid, and it went off like a pistol.”
“But do you feel sure they didn’t hear?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that, sir. There they go, and we’re all right so long as none of ’em looks round, and Billy Titely and Mr Roberts don’t sing out anything to bring them back.”
“Oh, don’t speak so loud,” whispered the middy.
“Nay, they can’t hear that, sir,” said the man. “Lucky beggars!”
“What!”
“Lucky beggars, sir. Two on ’em’s saved their lives, and a couple more’s gone off without having any mark upon ’em. For I’m pretty handy with my cutlash, Mr Murray, sir; arn’t I?”
“Handy, Tom? Yes, of course; but what an escape! I felt as if I couldn’t have helped you.”
“Yah! Nonsense, sir! I always feel like that, just as if I couldn’t do anything. It’s nat’ral, I suppose. I was allers that how when I was a boy, when I got fighting. Used to feel like running away, till I was hurt, and then my monkey was up directly and I began to bite. Whatcher talking about, sir? I just see you standing still and one of them ugly beggars sticking his long knife into you. You’d hold still, wouldn’t you? Not much!”
“Oh, I don’t know, Tom.”
“Well, sir, I do,” said the sailor, half closing his eyes as he kept careful watch in the direction the enemy had taken.
“What’s to be done now, Tom?” said Murray, after a pause.
“Eh? What’s to be done, sir? Why, I was waiting for orders. You’re my orficer, sir.”
“Yes, Tom, but this is a terrible position.”
“Oh, I dunno, sir. ’Tarn’t a wreck.”
“No, Tom, but I want your help.”
“Say what I’m to do, sir, and here I am.”
“Yes, I know, but can’t you make a good suggestion?”
“No, sir; I arn’t clever. I want some one to set me going. Seems to me, though, as the best thing we could do would be to—”
“Yes,” said Murray eagerly, for the man had paused.
“Do nothing, sir,” said the man slowly. “We know that gang is on the lookout so as we can’t follow their way.”
“No, Tom, but we might go in the opposite direction.”
“Yes, sir, we might,” replied the man, “but there’s lots more on ’em about, and we may be tumbling out o’ the frying-pan into the fire.”
“Yes, Tom,” said the middy, “and we are pretty well hidden. I propose that we lie here till those two poor fellows wake up. They may be better then and so far able to help us that they may get along with our arms.”
“Yes, sir,” said May quietly, “and I’d stop at that. Besides, Mr Anderson’s looking after us, and perhaps he knows the way back to that rondyvoo of his, for it must be somewheres not very far-off. Don’t you think the first luff may be sending that black See-saw chap to look for us?”
“Yes, very likely, Tom. Capital!”
“Yes, sir; it don’t seem so bad now we come to think of it. See-saw knows all about these parts, sir, and it would be a pity for him to come to find us, and walk into this patch of trees and find as we’d gone.”
“Yes, of course, Tom. Then you think that our wisest plan would be to lie here and wait for a few hours at all events and see what turns up?”
“That’s it exactly, sir.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do, Tom.”
“Thankye, sir.”
“Why do you say that, Tom?”
“Oh, ’cause you said what we’d do.”
“Of course.”
“Yes, sir, but some young gents—Mr Roberts there, for instance—would ha’ thought he knowed best and wouldn’t have listened to a bit of advice. Pst! Don’t you hear some un coming along, making the trees rustle and crackle a bit?”
Murray listened eagerly, before turning to the big sailor again.
“No. Your ears are better than mine, Tom.”
The middy had hardly ceased speaking before there was a heavy burst of coarse laughter, and then several voices came from some little distance away, while as the listeners crouched together and drew their cutlasses, after Tom May had raised the pan of his musket and closed it again, satisfied that the priming was correct, the pair gazed in each other’s eyes, for Roberts started and turned uneasily, waking the wounded sailor, who began to talk aloud and incoherently about manning a boat and getting ashore.
“What’s to be done, Tom?” whispered Murray; and as he spoke he loosened the knot of his neckerchief and slipped it off, to hold it to the big sailor.
“Right, sir. Can’t do better than that.” And taking the silk kerchief, Tom began to crawl close to where the man’s voice was sinking to a low muttering, the poor fellow being perfectly unconscious of the fact that his messmate was leaning over him ready to use the silken tie as a gag and thrust it between his teeth if he went on talking and the enemy drew near.
Fortunately it seemed as if all the mutterings were about to die out, and though coarse mirth was on the increase, and the party of searchers were drawing nearer, it appeared to Murray that the rough means of quieting the wounded man would not be called into service, when all at once, when the peril of being discovered was growing to be more grave, Roberts started as if from pain, and threw out his arms sharply, striking Titely upon the side of the head.
It was not sufficient to cause pain, but the poor fellow’s lips parted to cry out, and he gave forth an inarticulate sound caused by the sudden descent of the rolled-up pad of black silk vigorously planted in its place by the sturdy hand of Tom May.
The next minute there was a violent struggling to add to the gurgling noise, and in spite of the big sailor’s efforts, the gagged one wrenched his head free from the pressure of the hand, and uttered a loud cry of annoyance and pain.
Chapter Forty.
Dealing with the Wounded.
“It’s all over,” thought Murray, and he turned sharply from watching for the approach of the enemy, for the big sailor whispered—
“Don’t get up, sir, till they close in; then make one jump for it and stand back to hit, but take distance and give me plenty of room for a good swing.”
The midshipman did not reply, but crouched down with his time divided between waiting for the enemy’s approach and listening for the next utterance made by Titely or his brother officer.
The attention of the slaver’s men had evidently been attracted by the sounds, for from where Murray crouched down among the thick growth, he saw that two of the party had stopped short to gaze straight away before them, but not in the direction where the fugitives waited to be discovered; and the young officer, when he afterwards thought over the matter, decided that though they must have heard the noise that was made, it was when several of their companions were talking aloud, so that the listeners had not been able to tell with certainty from whence the cry had come. For after a short colloquy, during which Murray could distinctly see that the two men in question were addressing their fellows who surrounded them, there was a little gesticulating, a pointing towards a different portion of the forest, and the gang went off along what proved to be a well-beaten track.
“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, after waiting impatiently for what seemed to be a full quarter of an hour. “I think we’ll make a movement soon, Tom May.”
“Right, sir. Where to? One moment first. You’d better take my musket, sir, because I shall have to carry Mr Roberts. I wish they’d come to their senses so as we could make sure that they don’t let out again as if they wanted to tell the enemy where we are.”
“What’s the matter?” cried Roberts, in a tone which made his brother midshipman start. “Has some one been hurt?”
He was in pain, but seemed to be quite calm and sensible now, as he listened to Murray’s explanation of the position in which they were.
“It’s bad,” he said. “I can hardly understand it, for I’ve been in a regular feverish dream. But tell me, what are you going to do?”
Before Murray could answer, Titely sat up suddenly.
“That you, Tom May?” he said huskily.
“Ay, messmate,” was the reply. “Me it is. What is it?”
“Take the tin, mate, and dip me a drink o’ water.—Why, hullo! Where are we now? Not out in the forest?”
“Out in the forest it is, my lad, and the enemy’s close arter us,” replied the big sailor.
“Enemy?” said the poor fellow, in a wondering tone of voice. “Why, that means—Yes, I remember now. I’m hurt, arn’t I?”
“Yes, messmate; you got just touched by a bullet.”
“To be sure,” said Titely. “Yes, I remember now. Well, somebody’s got to be hurt, of course. Anybody else just touched by a bullet?”
“Mr Roberts.”
“Has he now? Well, orficers leads, and they has the best chance of it. Doctor seen him?”
“No.”
“Course not; he wasn’t with the expedition. Arn’t seen me neither, I s’pose?”
“No,” growled Tom May; “but look here, messmate, you and Mr Roberts atween you nearly give us up to the enemy.”
“Me? I don’t know about Mr Roberts, but you’re not going to make me believe I should try and give you up to the enemy. Is it likely, Mr Murray, sir?”
“No, Titely; it’s the last thing you would do.”
“There, Tommy! Hear that?”
“Oh yes, I hear it plain enough,” growled the big sailor, “but can’t you see that you were off that thick head o’ yourn, and began shouting just when the enemy was close at hand?”
“Was that it, Mr Murray, sir?” cried the man.
“Yes, Titely; but you could not help it. Now be quiet and help us to watch,” said the midshipman, “for the enemy can’t be very far away, and they’re evidently searching for us.”
“Phee-ew!” whistled the man softly. “I do understand now. Very sorry, Mr Murray and Mr Roberts.”
“Pst!” whispered Tom May. “Down flat, everybody. Here they come again;” and as the order was obeyed the sound of breaking twigs and the rustling of tropical leaves was heard; and before long the hiding party began to make out that the slaver’s men were for some reason or another returning in their direction, spread over a pretty wide surface of the thick brake, and apparently so arranged that they were bound to cover the hiding-place of the unfortunate party.
But somehow the difficulties of the search favoured the concealed man-o’-war’s men, who from where they lay saw the thick undergrowth so beaten that the outer leader of the line came within a few yards only of the hiding-place, giving Tom May a clue to the reasons for the enemy’s return in the shape of one of the Seafowl’s muskets, which he held on high as he pressed forward through the trees.
“But how could you tell?” whispered Murray, as soon as their foes had passed. “You can’t be sure, Tom, that it was one of our muskets.”
“Well, no, sir, I can’t be sure, but it seems to me it was one of ours; elsewise why should he be carrying it like he was? P’raps I’m wrong, but there he was, holding it up in a niminy piminy way, as if he felt it was what them half-bred niggers calls a fetish as would help ’em to find the chap as let it fall. Anyhow just harkye there! I’m blest if they arn’t coming again!”
“Yes,” said Murray, after listening. “They are coming back.”
“Well,” said Tom May, “bad luck to ’em! There’s four on us now to give ’em a shot.”
“On’y three, messmate,” said Titely, with a sigh. “I arn’t got no gun. That there one the whitey brown chap carried must be mine.”
There was no time nor chance for further conversation respecting their position. Nothing could be done but lie low crouching beneath the densest part of the undergrowth in the hope of escaping the keen eyes of the slaver’s men; and twice over Murray caught sight of the man who seemed to be the leader, who evidently attached a great deal of importance to the gun he still carried on high, till at last, sick at heart, the middy gave up their position as hopeless, for the savage-looking wretch was leading his men straight for them.
Murray passed the cutlass he carried into his left hand, while he bent over his wounded comrade and stole his right down beside him to grasp that of Roberts.
“In case of the worst,” he whispered, and he felt his brother middy’s fingers close round his own, before he snatched his hand away so as to seize the cutlass, ready to strike at the leader of the final rush, when as the man turned his head and shouted to his followers to come on, he raised the musket to give it a wave in the air, but somehow caught it amongst the twining canes, when his progress was checked, and he fell headlong amongst the dense growth, the piece exploding with a loud concussion, upon which the men uttered a loud yell and dashed away, evidently under the impression that they had been attacked.
The leader staggered to his feet growling like some savage beast, and roared out to his followers to return. His words were unintelligible to the listeners, but their tones suggested plainly enough that he was cursing them fiercely and hurling anathemas and threats at them as to what he would do when he overtook them.
Then, as he found himself left alone, he snatched at the musket again, but without result, for it was fast in the tangle of twining canes, at which he tore and tore again till the tough green growth gave way and he stood up, examining lock and trigger now as if to try and make out whether the weapon was injured, when he roared again to his men and stood listening, but without avail.
If he had only turned upon his heels and taken half-a-dozen steps he must have walked over the hidden party of Englishmen, but the falling and explosion of the weapon and the flight of his men seemed to have completely upset his calculations; and hence it was that Murray, after giving up all hopes of escaping, saw the ruffian stand in the midst of the silence, snapping the flint and pan of the musket to and fro three or four times, begin to try and reload the piece without success, and then shoulder it and start off in search of his followers, now muttering angrily, now shouting to them again and again, without, however, any appearance of success.