Chapter Forty Six.
Caesar’s Proposal.
For the most part of that night all thought of sleep had passed away, and a feeling of wonder filled the middy’s brain at the ease with which the black forced his way through the darkness.
“Black as a bat,” thought Murray, “and just like one. It’s wonderful how these fellows can see as they do. It can’t be because they are used to it, for my eyes would never be of any good, I am sure.”
But there it was all the same.
“Come ’long. Massa Huggins man dat way want to find Caesar;” and the black led the way and seemed to put pressure upon his white companion just at the right moment, “steering” him, Murray mentally called it, in and out among tree and cane so that he never came in contact with any obstacle, while the lad’s anxiety about his wounded comrade was always alleviated when a halt was made by the comforting whispered assurance from Caesar after an examination.
“Massa sailor Roberts fas’ ’sleep. No know nothing at all.”
There were times, though, when at one of their many halts Murray’s heart sank very low, for generally when all was silent save for some strange cry of night bird, croak of reptile, or weird whirr of insect that seemed to be magnified in power by the heated misty air, the black’s fingers would tighten upon the lad’s arm with spasmodic suddenness, in company with what seemed to be the piercing humming trumpet of a mosquito. Twice over Murray as he toiled on in the black darkness took it for granted that the black had stopped short to avoid being bitten or stung, but only to find afterwards that the sound came with perfect realism from the black’s lips, being his warning to his big companion to halt while he reconnoitred as to the position of the enemy.
And now a fresh direction would be taken, or more than once it seemed to Murray that they completely retraced their steps; but after a time a feeling of dullness akin to despair came over the lad, and he resigned himself to his fate, satisfying himself that Roberts was being carefully carried, and then plodding on and on, plunging as it seemed to him in a state of torpidity or stupid sleep in which he kept on dreaming about the ship and the boats and going through various adventures at sea.
Then he would start awake with a strange suddenness, feeling as if his conscience had pricked him for his drowsiness and neglect, and he would begin to tremble with anxiety, for he felt that he must have spoken aloud just at a time when they were near their pursuers, and so have betrayed their whereabouts.
Thoroughly wakened then, Murray found that they were motionless with his black companions listening, while Caesar’s fingers were pressing his arm very tightly.
“No speak,” he whispered; and the man’s breath came hot into his ear. “Huggins fellow chap everywhere. No catchee.”
Murray’s brain was closing up again, so it seemed to him, back into a deep sleep, and he remembered afterwards that during the latter part of that night he woke up from time to time when Caesar pinched his arm for him to stop, but directly the journey was continued he dropped asleep again.
Then it seemed to the middy that he must have been asleep an immensely long time, and he started up awake, staring hard at his guide, who had laid one hand over his lips while the other was offering him a ready-opened cocoanut.
“No speak, massa.”
“Why?”
“Huggins man over dah. See sailor officer—see slabe boy—see Caesar—shoot, kill.”
The man pointed over where Roberts lay half hidden by the undergrowth, while beyond him the big black was seated munching away at some half-ripe bananas, and ready to meet his eyes with a pleasant smile.
“It’s morning, then!” whispered Murray, in surprise.
“Yes: to-morrow morning, sah,” said the man, smiling; and it appeared to Murray that he had made a very absurd remark, for it must have been daylight for many hours, the sun being high.
“Whereabout do you think Mr Allen’s cottage is?” he whispered now, as his head seemed to clear.
“Over dah,” was the confident declaration. “Huggins man all round about come to fight.”
“Fight? Who with?”
“Massa officer sailor men.”
“Do you think they have got back to the cottage?”
The black nodded.
“Big very much fight. Sailor kill big lot Huggins man.”
“How do you know that?” said Murray sharply, for it seemed to him now that the last dreamy feeling of exhaustion had passed away.
“Caesar find free dead men. Him tread on two,” was his ready reply, “him” being the big black.
“But not white men!” said the midshipman, with his voice sinking to a whisper that was almost inaudible.
“Huggins man, massa. Bad fellow. Caesar berry glad.”
“Hah!” sighed Murray, and he crept to where Roberts lay apparently sleeping comfortably now.
“Is it far to Mr Allen’s cottage?” asked the lad, after a pause.
“Over dah, sah,” replied the black, pointing.
“Then why not go on at once?”
The black showed his teeth as his face lit-up in a smile.
“Lots Huggins man all about. Wait shoot white man. Wait shoot massa sailor officer. Shoot big slabe boy and Caesar. ’Top here get dark again and Massa Murray Frank crawl up close to cottage ’long o’ Caesar show de way. Massa Murray Frank put hand to mouf so how, like Caesar and say, Ahoy! No shoot, my boy! Friend!”
“Yes, I understand,” said Murray eagerly.
“Dat’s de way,” said the black, laughing with satisfaction; and he placed his hollowed hand to the side of his mouth and cried very softly again: “Ahoy! No shoot, my boy! Friend! British sailor boy shoot more than Huggins man. Shoot drefful bad. Kill friend in a dark. Kill Murray Frank. Kill Roberts officer. Kill big slabe boy, and kill poor ole Caesar; and dat drefful bad job, eh, sah?”
“Yes,” said Murray, responding to the black’s smile most heartily; “that would be a dreadfully bad job, and no mistake.”
“And no mistake, sah,” cried the black, bringing to bear his natural imitative faculty apparently with a feeling of intense enjoyment, and repeating the expression, “And no mistake, sah. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Hallo! ’Top, ’top!” he added, in an excited whisper. “Caesar make too much noise enough and tell Huggins man where we hide umself. Massa Murray Frank eatum Caesar nut. Do um good and makum fight like sailor man.”
“Yes, I’ll eat it soon,” replied Murray. “But you’re right, Caesar; we must wait till it is dark, for fear that my people should shoot us by mistake.”
“Yes, sah; dat be bad job and no mistake,” whispered the black, bringing in the fresh expression again. “What Massa Allen do widout Caesar? Hey?”
“Mr Allen trusts you, then?” said Murray.
“Yes, sah. Massa Allen berry much trust Caesar. Massa Allen tell Caesar he berry sorry he ebber trust Massa Huggin. Wish um nebber come plantation. Caesar see big tear in Massa Allen eye, and make Caesar berry sorry. Make um fink a deal. Massa Huggins kill poor black niggah, sah, lots o’ times. Massa Huggins got bad brudder come sometime with ship schooner full o’ slabes. Flog um and sell um. Make um die sometime. Massa Huggins’ brudder tell um bad sailor man. Talk like dis way;” and the man as he knelt by Murray’s side gave an exact imitation of the keen Yankee skipper. “Say ‘Chuck um overboard,’ sah.” As the black uttered the command he acted it, and added grimly: “‘Chuck um overboard to de shark?’” and added now a horrible bit of pantomime, dashing and waving his arms about to represent the terrible fish gliding over one another in a wild struggle to seize their prey.
“Don’t! Don’t!” whispered Murray, with a look of horror which proved the realism of the black’s word-painting and gesticulation.
“No, massa,” whispered Caesar solemnly. “Um nebber chuck black niggah overboard. But,” he added, with a fierce look that was even ferocious, “Caesar like chuck Massa Huggins overboard. Like see shark fish bite all a pieces and eat um. So—so—so!”
As he uttered the last words with hideous emphasis he brought his imitative faculty once more into action by laying bare his fine white teeth, throwing his head from side to side, and snapping like a savage animal.
“Horrible!” ejaculated Murray.
“Yes, sah; dreffle horrible see shark bite poor half-dead niggah a pieces.”
“But you have never seen this?”
“Yes, massa—long time ago. Caesar brought in schooner ship from Caesar own country. Bring lot of poor niggah all shut up down below. Ship quite full, and ebery night some shut um eyes, and to-morrow morning some won’t open eyes again. Gone dead. Sailor chap come along rope, haul niggah up on deck—haul on deck, and Massa Huggins brudder say: ‘Chuck um o’erboard,’ and chap come and take rope off Caesar and make um open um eye like say: ‘What’s de matter?’ Den Massa Huggins’ brudder say, ‘What’s dat, you lubber? Dat one not dead!’”
“Did you hear that?” said Murray, with his lips apart as he listened in horror to the black’s narrative.
“Yes, sah. Caesar no understand den what um mean, but um say—‘What’s dat, you lubber? Dat one not dead!’ Nebber forget um—nebber! Caesar shut um eye now and see it all again—those niggah chap chuck overboard and shark fish coming up out of water and roll over and over and snap, snap, snap—so. Make Caesar keep eyes open so dat couldn’t go to sleep again for long time. Massa Huggins man come take hold of um by arm and leg and chuck down below. Caesar not dead a bit. Caesar quite ’live now. Go and talk lot o’ time to pore black niggah when Massa Huggins’ brudder bring schooner ship full of niggah. Caesar talk to um, not like um talk to Massa Murray Frank. Talk to um in own way sometime. Sometime poor niggah can’t understand, but berry glad find Caesar sorry for um. Make um happy; laugh again.”
“Poor creatures!” said Murray.
“Yes, massa. Poor creature! Come and talk togedder in de night sometime. Massa Huggins flog um when him find um out, but poor niggah don’t mind dat. Like to talk about de ole country where um come from. Massa Allen find um out too, but um only laugh and say, ‘Poor fellow!’ But Massa Huggin flog um, and some shut eye and nebber open um again. Poor Massa Allen good massa, but won’t do what Caesar say. He berry ill now, and get frighten of Massa Huggins. Tell Caesar one day he wish Massa Huggins die.”
“He told you that!” said Murray, for the black had ceased speaking, and his narrative had so great a fascination for the lad that he wanted to hear more.
“Yes, massa; um say he wish Massa Huggin die so that poor niggah boy be happy again and do um work. Massa Allen say so free time to Caesar, and den Caesar wait till Massa Huggins go out and Caesar go in to Massa Allen in de cottage, where um sit down by de table like dat.” And the black rested his head sidewise upon his elbow and hand. “‘What you want, Caesar, lad?’ he say, and um put um white hand on Caesar black arm. ‘Poor niggah ill and can’t work? Bad time, Caesar, to be sick man.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say to um. ‘Berry bad to be sick man.’ ‘Who is it, my lad?’ he say. ‘Caesar, massa,’ I say to um. ‘Caesar berry sick.’ ‘You bad, Caesar!’ him say. ‘Your massa berry sorry, for you de only frien’ I got in de worl’ now, Caesar.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say. ‘Caesar know dat.’ ‘What de matter, boy?’ he say. ‘Caesar bad to see massa so berry sick. Caesar ’fraid massa die.’ ‘Ah, dat’s berry good of you, Caesar,’ he say—‘berry good. Then you no want me to give you doctor ’tuff?’ ‘No, massa,’ I said. ‘Nigger know what to do when niggah ill. Shut um mouf up tight free day, and niggah quite well again.’ ‘Ah, Caesar,’ he say, ‘dat do me no good, dat not do for your massa.’ Then I say to um, ‘No, massa, but you let Caesar do massa good and um quite well again and make all de poor niggah happy over again.’ ‘No, no, my boy,’ um say; ‘nebber again.’ ‘Yes, massa,’ I say; ‘you let Caesar try.’ ‘What wiv?’ um say, laughing; and den I say in um whisper like: ‘Fetish, massa.’”
“What!” cried Murray, half indignantly. “You don’t believe in that nonsense, Caesar?”
“Not nonsense, massa.”
“Well, my good fellow,” said Murray, rather coldly, “I’m not going to argue with you now, but some other time, I hope. Now tell me, what did Mr Allen say?”
“Um say, ‘No, my lad, no; I’ll hab none of dat.’”
“Of course; but surely he does not believe in it?”
“Yes, massa; um believe for sure. Massa Allen know what niggah know and bring from own country. But Massa Allen say, ‘Nebber, nebber, Caesar. Your massa done too much bad in dis worl’, and he nebber do no more now.’”
“Well, that’s very good of him, Caesar, but I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“No, massa? Dat Huggins bad man do bad things to everybody. Make Massa Allen ill and go die. Massa Allen say not fit to live.”
“And quite right too, Caesar.”
“Yes, sah. Massa Allen quite right, and Caesar come one night and bring niggah Obeah and put in bad Massa Huggin rum. Den Massa Huggin drinkum, drinkum, and go drefful bad and nebber flog no more poor niggah. Nebber. Poor niggah dance and sing, and Massa Allen get well.”
“But—what—here—I say, Caesar!” cried Murray, staring hard at the black—“You don’t mean to say that you mean you would poison the wretch!”
“Yes, massa,” said the black, in the most innocent way. “Gib um Obeah snake poison. Gib um manchineel in um rum. Make um curl up and go dead.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all, Caesar,” cried Murray earnestly. “He’s a horribly bad wretch, of course.”
“Yes, massa; ollible bad wretch, and ought to be killed dead; but Massa Allen say no, he won’t do any more wicked thing.”
“And he is quite right, Caesar.”
“No, sah,” said the black, shaking his head. “Not do no wicked thing. Caesar do it, and it not wicked thing. All good.”
“No, no; it would be murder, Caesar,” cried the middy.
“What murder, massa?”
“Eh? What is murder? Why, to kill innocent people.”
“What innocent people, massa?”
“What are innocent people, my man? Why, those who have done no harm.”
“Massa Huggin not no innocent people, Murray Frank. Massa Huggin bad man; kill poor niggah. Try kill poor Massa Allen, take um plantation.”
“Yes, that’s all very bad,” said Murray thoughtfully.
“Yes, sah; berry bad. What British captain do Massa Huggin?”
“Well, I hardly know, Caesar,” said Murray thoughtfully. “I should say that if he catches him fighting against the king and setting those blackguards of his to murder the poor creatures he has been dealing in—throwing them overboard so as to escape—the captain will have him hung at the yard-arm.”
“Yes, sah,” cried the man, with his eyes flashing. “Dat what Massa Allen tell um. Massa Allen say he desarve be hung at um yard-arm for kill an’ murder poor black niggah, and Massa Huggin laugh and say Massa Allen hang too. Dat right, sah?”
“No, no; that wouldn’t be right, Caesar.”
“Bri’sh captain not kill Massa Allen?”
“Certainly not, my man,” said Murray earnestly. “No, sah. Much a bes’ way for Caesar gib Massa Huggin Obeah.”
“No, no, and that would not do either. Hallo! what do you mean by that?”
The black had suddenly thrown himself down upon his face and dragged the midshipman beside him, a movement instantly imitated by the big slave who was seated among the bushes beside Roberts, who lay motionless as if asleep.
“Massa see?” whispered Caesar.
“See what?” asked Murray excitedly.
The black slowly and cautiously extended his right hand while he placed the fingers of his left to his lips.
Murray gazed with wonder in the direction indicated, but for some minutes he could make out nothing more than the closely-packed canes that commenced before the patch of jungle in which they were concealed. Everything seemed to be dim, and in the distance it was as though the thick growth was formed into a soft twilight, but as the lad strained his eyesight, he fancied that in one part the canes were swaying slightly here and there, as if the wind was pressing them on one side. Then as he turned his head a little he started and his heart began to beat with excitement, for what had been for a time indistinct now grew plainer and plainer and shaped itself into what looked to be quite a strong body of men, evidently rough sailors, creeping slowly through a plantation of sugar-cane and making for some definite place. One minute they would be quite indistinct and faint; the next they would stand out quite clearly; and it soon became plain that they were well-armed, for from time to time there was a faint gleam that Murray made out to be shed from the barrel of some musket.
“Massa Murray Frank see um?” whispered the black.
“Yes, quite plainly,” replied the lad.
“Dat Massa Huggin man go creep round plantation.”
“What plantation is that?” asked Murray excitedly.
“Massa Allen plantation, sah. Massa Allen plantation cottage over dah, sah.”
“And is he back there now?”
“No say dat where Caesar tink de lieutenant massa wait long o’ Bri’sh sailor. Fink um wait till Massa Huggin bring all a men from two, free schooner. Wait kill all a Bri’sh sailor, sah.”
“And if he doesn’t look out, my man, he’ll be killed instead.”
“Caesar hope so, sah.”
“When do you mean to go on and join Mr Anderson, then?” asked the midshipman.
“Caesar wait till come dark, sah. No go yet. Massa Huggins men watch all round and take—kill—Murray Frank if um go now.”
“But can’t you go and warn our people that they are in danger?”
“Massa Anderson know,” said the black coolly. “Bri’sh sailor officer keep eye wide open. Dah!”
He uttered the last word in a low, excited fashion, for just then there was the distant smothered report of a musket, and Murray pressed the growth before him a little on one side.
“Was that one of the slavers’ crew?” he whispered.
“No, sah. Dat sailor shoot. Look now.”
The lad pressed forward again, but nothing was visible, for the densely packed party of sailors who the minute before had been seen to be in motion had quite disappeared, though Murray could grasp the fact that they must still be there.
Chapter Forty Seven.
“Wait till Dark.”
Long hours of weary waiting and expectation of being discovered, for at intervals movements could be detected amongst the tall swaying canes and patches of maize that could be made out beyond the wilderness of undergrowth that lay between the little party of fugitives and the cottage whose presence the black insisted upon as being in the direction he pointed out.
But Murray had the satisfaction of noting that his brother midshipman was slowly recovering his senses. Twice over he had opened his eyes to gaze wonderingly in the face that looked down at him, and once when Murray whispered a few encouraging words he shook his head and seemed to sink back into a deep sleep again.
“What’s to be done, Caesar?” said Murray softly.
“Do nothing, sah. Wait till come dark. Then creep, creep, creep froo trees and tell massa officer not to shoot. Then run fas’, get in cottage.”
Night at last, and with every nerve throbbing from excitement Murray started up in readiness, for the black had bent over to whisper to him that he was going to try and find a way past the several parties of the enemy who were beleaguering the holders of the little cottage, whom it was their aim now to rejoin.
“Massa stop now,” said the man. “Wait till Caesar see.”
The next minute there was a faint rustling sound, and Murray was alone with the big black and his companion, both silent, the former watchful and alert, and the latter as motionless as if plunged in the deepest sleep.
This silence was to the midshipman the most painful part of the task which he had been called upon to bear. His imagination began to set to work at once and surrounded him with perils that were ever on the increase. He knew from what he had seen that a strong body of the enemy must be lying between him and his friends, but directly Caesar had passed out of hearing it appeared to him that the crews of the slaver’s schooners had started into motion and were creeping round behind him to cut him off, and twice over this was enforced by the great black beginning to creep away and leaving him alone with Roberts.
Then when he was beside himself with anxiety as to what he had better do, and more and more certain that he was completely left, he started to find that the great fellow had returned, to seat himself beside his burden, evidently ready to make a fresh start at any moment.
At last, when Murray felt that he could bear no more, there was a faint rustle and a whisper to prove that the black had returned, to lay a hand upon his shoulder.
“Well,” whispered the lad excitedly, “have you found a way to get by them?”
“Caesar get by,” said the man sadly, “but big slabe, Murray Frank, Roberts, not get by.”
“Then what do you mean to do?”
“Try,” said the man. “Murray Frank ready?”
“Yes, ready for anything,” said the lad, springing up eagerly.
Caesar whispered a few words to his big fellow and as Murray strained his eyes he tried to make out the movements of the black when he caught hold of the midshipman, swung him round over his shoulder, and followed closely behind his leader and Murray, who now began to advance cautiously, hand in hand, pausing to listen from time to time, Caesar progressing more by thought than touch and evidently conscious that at any moment he might stumble upon those who were waiting ready to pounce upon him.
There were moments when hope began to illumine the lad’s path, for so silent did everything remain that it seemed as if the enemy must have changed his position; and in this hopeful mood he was about to whisper his belief to his companion when the path was brightened by a totally different illumination. For there was utter silence one moment, and the next, flash, flash, from musket after musket, and the enemy’s position was marked out by points of light as he concentrated his fire upon the cottage hidden amongst the trees.
This went on for a time without reply, and it now seemed to the midshipman that it must be the little party of his friends who had gone off. Then crack, crack, the reply began, and plainly mingled with the reports came the strange whistling whirr of bullets about their ears, in company with the crackling of cut-down leaves and twigs which now began to patter upon the earth.
“Come,” whispered the black.
“Come where?” asked Murray excitedly.
“Back again,” was the reply. “Massa no want sailor shoot massa?”
“No,” whispered the lad; “but we were to shout to them that we are friends.”
“Yes, massa,” said the man drily, “but sailor man shout so loud um no hear massa speak, and massa get shoot dead long o’ Caesar and big slabe. No talk; other fellow hear um, and sailor man shoot one side, Massa Huggin man shoot other side, and no get to cottage at all. Come back.”
The lad submitted without a word, though it seemed to him maddening to give up when they were so near that every flash was quite plain, and he fully expected to hear himself hailed.
They seemed to him then to have crept exactly into the centre of the firing, and every whizzing whistle sounded as if it must be coming straight for its billet that would end one of their careers; but the moments passed on with the marvel growing more strange that they escaped being laid low; and then the excitement came suddenly to an end, when Caesar literally snatched the lad to earth and the big slave subsided with a low sigh of relief which indicated that he had sunk down too with his silent burden, to lie listening to the cross fire which still went on above their heads, till all at once a familiar voice shouted—
“Now, my lads, all together, forward! Let them have it!”
The order thrilled through Murray’s breast, and seemed to rouse Roberts, helpless as he was, to action.
“Hurrah!” cried the midshipman, as he sprang to his feet, followed by his wounded comrade, who staggered for a moment or two, and then fell, clutching at Murray, dragging him down upon his less active comrade, just as there was a rush of feet, the crackling of wood, and the minute later a fierce yell of raging voices, and the sailors who had responded to the first lieutenant’s call were borne back again by four times their number and driven as far as the entrance to the cottage, where they stood fast and delivered a little volley, which sent their enemies to the right-about, giving them time to barricade themselves again and hold the entrance fast.
“Answer to your names there,” panted the lieutenant, who was breathless with his exertions. “What’s that?” he cried directly after. “Prisoners! Two of them?”
“Four, sir,” growled a deep voice. “Two black fellows, sir, and here’s two youngsters, sir, as far as I can make out. One of ’em’s wounded, sir.”
“Well, we don’t want prisoners,” cried the lieutenant, “but we must take them. See that you bind them fast.”
“We don’t want binding, sir,” gasped Murray. “We’ve got away from the enemy and reached you at last.”
“Mr Murray! This is grand!” cried the chief officer. “But have you seen anything of poor Roberts?”
“I’ve got him here, sir, but he’s badly wounded.”
“And we’ve no doctor with us.”
“I don’t think it’s dangerous, sir; but have you had any news of May and Titely?”
“Tom May is with us, my lad.”
“Hurt, sir?”
“Here, answer for yourself, my lad,” cried the lieutenant.
“Hurt, sir? Yes, sir; pretty tidy, sir,” growled the big sailor. “One of them slavers fetched me a crack on the head as knocked all the sense out on it; but I shall get a chance at ’em again one o’ these times. But is it really you, Mr Murray, here and all right, sir?”
“It’s your turn to answer, Mr Murray,” replied the chief officer.
“Yes, sir; and yes, Tom May; I’ve got back safely. Where’s Titely?”
“In the plantation house, sir—in hospital—sick bay, sir; doing pretty tidy. But they’re coming on again, I think, sir, and we’ve them two blacks with us, sir. Where shall we put them?”
“They’re not prisoners, sir,” cried Murray. “They’re friends, and have helped us to escape.”
“Do you think we can trust them?” asked the lieutenant.
“Trust them, sir? Yes, and they’ll fight for us to the end.”
“You answer for them, my lad?”
“Yes, sir,” cried Murray. “They’re staunch enough.”
“Here they come, sir!” cried Tom May.
For with a fierce yelling mingled with an imitation of the hearty cheering of a body of seamen, a strong party dashed up to the hastily barricaded entrance, and sent a volley crashing through the panels of the door and the window.
“You were ready for that, my lads?” cried the lieutenant. “No one hurt?”
“Nay, sir; we’re used to that bit o’ business,” growled the big sailor.
“Then give it them back, my lads.”
The words had hardly passed the officer’s lips before a dozen muskets bellowed out their reply, lighting up so many roughly-made portholes, and as the volley was responded to by a fiercer yelling than before, mingled with the hurried footsteps of the repulsed attacking party, Murray turned in the darkness to his leader.
“I can’t understand it, sir,” he said. “I thought Caesar, the black, was retreating with us to the cottage by the lagoon.”
“No, no, my lad; this is the plantation house where we came first. I only wish we could have reached the cottage by the water-side. We should have had help from the captain before now if we could have got there.”
“Then we are right in the middle of the cane fields, sir?”
“Yes, Murray, and very glad I was to come upon it, for it has been strong enough to hold. Here: your black fellow who guided the expedition—where is he?”
“Here somewhere, sir.”
“Ask him then if he can lead us by some path to the water-side.”
“Do you hear this, Caesar?” asked Murray. “Is there any path down to the water-side without using a boat along the river?”
“Yes, sah, but Massa Huggin men all dah, and um think they come ’long again to burn Massa Allen house up. Murray Frank look! All de window burn fire.”
“Yes, they’re trying another way of attack,” said the chief officer—“one that I have been wondering that they did not try before. Up-stairs with you, my lad. You go too, Mr Murray. You must pick off those who come up with their firebrands. You’ll be able to see the scoundrels now. This is better than that horrible darkness. Ah, the business is warming up. Give them a cheer, my lads, as soon as you are up at the windows. The captain will hear our response, and it will let him know where we are.”
“But is that the Seafowl, sir?” cried Murray excitedly.
“Without doubt, my lad; but she sounds a long way off.”
For the steady fire of big guns had begun, but as the chief officer had said, sounding some distance away.
“Dat Massa Huggin big schooner, sah,” said Caesar sharply; and he had hardly spoken when the heavy but sharp brassy sound of a big gun came from quite another direction. “And dat Massa Huggin oder schooner, sah. Dat um Long Tom.”
“Confound the scoundrel!” cried the lieutenant excitedly. “Up with you, Mr Murray. Here they come to the attack again. Take May with you, or we shall be burnt out before help can come. Well, what’s that then?” he shouted excitedly, as Murray rushed up the stairs towards the rooms he had helped before to put in a state of defence. “Surely that is one of our brig’s carronades. It was time she began to speak.”
Chapter Forty Eight.
“Let ’em have it.”
“That’s your sort, my lads! Let ’em have it!” came in the boatswain’s gruff voice, as Murray reached the wide corridor-like landing of the planter’s house; and directly after one of the sailors shouted—
“I’m after you, Tommy, old man. Show the ugly foreign varmint what a British bulldog is.”
The words came from where a struggle was going on in one of the chambers which the midshipman had helped to barricade before he left upon his unfortunate mission to fetch help; and as the lad now crossed the corridor and ran into the room, followed by Caesar, it was to see that several of the enemy had gained a footing by rearing bamboos against the windows, and evidently in their first charge had beaten the English defenders back.
Murray rushed in just at the recoil, when Tom May had been roused to action and with a couple of companions was obeying the admonition of his messmate to show the varmint what British bulldogs might be.
Murray paused just inside the door of the lit-up room, excited and yet amused by the man’s action, for he saw the big sailor in the act of rushing at a couple of the enemy, sticking the cutlass he bore between his teeth, as trusting to his great strength and weight he charged with doubled fists at the first, and in the contact drove him backwards with a heavy thud against the man who followed, with the result that both went down upon the floor and rolled over beneath the open window. Then as if in one movement the great fellow ducked down, avoiding a blow struck at him with a knife, seized the uppermost of the two enemies by the waistbelt, flung him up to the full extent of his reach, and then turning himself as it were into a human catapult, he hurled the fellow at another of his companions and caught him just as he was climbing over the window-sill.
The next instant the window-opening was clear, and the sound of a heavy thud came up from below, along with savage oaths and yells, while Tom May made at once for the man who had first attacked, and who was now struggling to his feet looking as if he had had his neck twisted.
Tom closed with the savage half-breed, Malayan looking sailor, and, to carry out his messmate’s simile, seemed to regularly worry him as he bore him backward.
But there were others of the enemy watching the encounter—one who had previously reached the chamber, and another who had suddenly drawn himself up and sprung over the sill.
This fellow drew back for a few moments to watch the struggle and await his opportunity, before, heavy machete in hand, he sprang forward, to make a savage cut that would have gone hard with Tom May, but Murray saw the impending stroke, parried it with the cutlass he held, and then struck upward with the hilt, catching the assailant full in the nose with the heavy steel guard, staggering him for a moment, and then thrusting home, the man went down, just in time for May’s antagonist to trip over backward, the two fellows yelling as they rolled over and over.
“Come on, messmates,” growled Tom May; and there was a short continuation of the struggle before one after the other the enemy were driven headlong from the window and the room was clear.
“Thankye, Mr Murray, sir,” said the big sailor, taking the cutlass from between his teeth. “You did that fine; didn’t he, lads?”
“Splendid!” said the boatswain; “but what’s the good of a cutlass, mate, if you don’t use it?”
“Hah! That’s just what I was thinking of,” said the big sailor. “I just stuck it atween my tusks so as to tackle that ugly warmint, as I thought it would be easier to chuck overboard, and then you see I was too busy to ketch hold again. But it do seem comic, Mr Murray, sir, don’t it? But it have kep’ it clean.”
“Yes, Tom; and you cleared the deck magnificently.”
“Did I, sir? Well, I’m glad I do’d some good; and fingers was made afore forks, warn’t they, sir? And pretty handy too.”
“Yes, I suppose so, Tom; but look here, my lads,” cried Murray sharply. “Lay hold of that big old bedstead and draw it across the window. It will block it up. Then clap that big wardrobe on the top.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the men, as they seized the heavy framework and ran it across the opening, fastening it directly after in its place by laying the heavy wardrobe across.
“That’s done it tidy,” cried the big sailor; “and that’s the beauty of having your orficer with yer to show yer what to do.”
“None of your banter, Tom,” cried the midshipman sternly.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man, in protest. “’Twarn’t done for that. I meant it honest, sir. I shouldn’t never have thought on it.”
“All right,” said Murray, smiling in the broad frank face. “Why, Tom, it’s a treat to be with you again.”
“Is it, sir?” cried the man.
“That it is, Tom.”
“But you don’t mean it, sir. I say, ain’t that what you called banter?”
“Banter? No, Tom; I’m only too glad to get back to you. But how are you, Tom? Haven’t you got hurt over these tussles?”
“Hurt, sir?” said the man, beginning to feel himself over. “I dunno, sir. Bit sore like just there, and my shoulder’s just a shade stiff.”
“Yes, and there’s some paint off your nose, Tommy,” said the boatswain, chuckling.
“Is there?” said the man, touching his rather prominent feature tenderly. “Humph! It do feel a bit like it. Never mind; I’ll report mysen to the doctor when I get aboard again, and he’ll put on a patch of his solid black—that as he keeps ready to lay on all at once. But I say, Mr Murray, sir,” he added, closing up to his young officer, “you did me good in saying what you did. I felt real bad without you, sir, and as if I’d not been doing my dooty like to let you get away from me as I did.”
“Nonsense, Tom! Who could help it? But it was awkward to be separated like that. I began to be afraid that we should never get together again.”
“Well, sir, that’s just what I got a touch of, sir, but I pulled myself up short, sir, and I says to myself, ‘Mr Murray’s too good an orficer,’ I says, ‘not to find his way out of any hole as these slave-hunting varmint would dig for him.’”
“There you go again, Tom,” cried Murray angrily. “You know how I hate flam.”
“I’m blest, sir!” cried the man, in an ill-used tone. “Oh, you are hard upon me, sir.”
“Then you shouldn’t stoop to flattery.”
“Flattery, sir? Well, if that warn’t honest I’m a Dutchman. I only wish I’d got a witness, sir, as heared me say it, sir; but I only says it to myself, and you don’t believe him.”
“Yes, I do, Tom,” cried Murray.
“Hullo, sir! They’re at it again somewhere else.”
“Pst!” whispered Murray, holding up his hand and stepping on tiptoe towards a door at one end of the room, partly hidden by a thick curtain.
The next moment he was signing to the men to follow him.
They were just in time, for a ladder had been raised against a narrow slit of a window of what was fitted up as a bathroom, and as the lad dashed in, it was to find that one of the slaver’s men was in the act of leaping down into the room, striking at the middy in his bound, and with such force that he drove the lad headlong backwards, half stunning him in his fall.
“Here, what is it?” cried Murray, after a few minutes, in a confused manner. “Who did that?”
“Why, it was this here chap, sir,” said Tom May. “Here, ketch hold of his heels, man, and let’s send him back to his mates; we don’t want him here.”
“Who wounded him—who cut him?” cried Murray excitedly.
“I’m not quite sure, sir,” said Tom May drily, “but I think as it was me, sir. You see, he let himself go at you, sir, and I just give him a tap.”
“You’ve killed him, Tom,” said the lad, in rather an awe-stricken tone.
“Nay, sir. Tap like that wouldn’t take it out of him. I might ha’ hit a bit softer, but I was ’bliged to be sharp, or he’d ha’ finished you off, sir, and of course we didn’t want that. There, let go your end, messmate,” continued the man, and still half dazed, Murray stood staring as he saw one of their fierce-looking, half European, half Lascar-like enemies passed out of the narrow window, bleeding profusely, and disappear, his passing through the opening being followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall.
“You’ve killed him, Tom!” cried Murray again, with his face drawn-looking and strange.
“Nay, sir,” grumbled the sailor, “but ’twouldn’t ha’ been my fault, sir, if I had. Some un had to have it, and it was my dooty to see as it warn’t my orficer, sir. I do know that.”
Murray was silent.
“Why, I say, sir, you’d ha’ tapped one on ’em pretty hard on the head if you’d ha’ seen him coming at me; now wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I should,” said Murray, with something like a sigh. “Look here, Tom,” he added hastily, “we have too many holes to keep closed. I want some of the pieces of furniture crammed into these places. It ought to have been done before.”
“It was done, sir,” grumbled the man. “That’s what the first luff said, sir, and we’ve been doing nothing else; but as fast as we stopped up the beggars kep’ on shoving the stuff out again with bamboos.”
The high narrow window was, however, once more pretty securely blocked, and for many hours to come the defenders of the place had their work cut out to repel the attacks that were made, the two blacks proving invaluable in keeping up a supply of water to drench the woodwork that the enemy attacked with fire, so that pretty well a day had glided by without much change having taken place.
It was evident that the slaving chief had a strong force at his disposal in carrying on a desultory kind of siege of the plantation house, while at the same time it seemed to the besieged that a sort of running fight was being carried on with the Seafowl, whose guns were heard pretty constantly, though during the afternoon that followed Murray’s arrival at the plantation it seemed that the brig must have followed the slaving craft to the opposite side of the island, where firing was still going on.
During a lull in the attack upon the planter’s house, Lieutenant Anderson busily inspected his defences, and, like a prudent officer, saw to his supplies and examined as to whether he could not take further measures for their protection and the setting at defiance of the enemy for some time to come.
“He ought to have driven us out or taken us prisoners hours ago, Mr Murray,” he said, “for he has five times our force.”
“Yes, sir; he seems to have,” replied Murray.
“And yet we have managed to keep him at bay. He has the advantage of being able to set scores of blacks to work fetching fuel to try and burn us out, bringing up provisions, doing everything but fight—they are of no use for that—while we have only two of the dark-skinned fellows; but I must say those two have proved to be invaluable.”
“Yes, sir. That man, Caesar—we have him to thank for showing us how to utilise the water-tanks.”
“Yes, and the underground supplies,” said the lieutenant.
“And the whereabouts of the warehouses; otherwise we should have been starved out.”
“Yes, Mr Murray; we have been pretty fortunate, and I think we should have been able to hold out if it were not for one thing.”
“Should have been, sir?”
“Yes, of course, my lad. You see, I should have contented myself with having remained standing upon the defensive until the captain came to our help, though I should strongly have advocated a sally and the cutting of the way to the sloop so as to receive the help of the doctor for poor Mr Roberts—Eh? What were you going to observe?”
“That I venture to think that it would be the wisest plan in any case, sir.”
“No, not in any case, Mr Murray. You see, our position is a very serious one.”
“I don’t think the men think so, sir.”
“Eh? Do you think that they take a rosy view of it?”
“I’m sure they do, sir.”
“Humph! Well, I mustn’t damp them till the last extremity.”
“But surely, sir—” began Murray.
“I surely see that you do not know what I know, Mr Murray.”
“I suppose not, sir,” said the lad.
“But I do not see why you as a youth growing into manhood, and who are sharing with me the responsibilities of this position, should not know everything.”
“I think I do know everything, sir,” said Murray, smiling, “and see fully how precarious our position is.”
“Indeed, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant sadly.
“Yes, sir; I think I see all, and it makes me feel very proud to know how brave and contented the men are, poor fellows! If I were in command, sir, I should be delighted to see the confidence the men have in their leader.”
“Hah! Yes, my dear boy,” said the lieutenant, smiling more sadly than before. “Well, I think that perhaps I shall tell you all.”
“All, sir? Is there a graver peril than I know of?”
“Yes, my lad, and I think that you ought to know—that is, if you would rather share my knowledge than remain in ignorance.”
“I would rather share the knowledge, sir, and try to help you,” said the lad firmly.
“Good! Then you shall; Mr Murray, we have a strong little fort here, and provisions enough to last us a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But we shall be driven to cut our way somehow to the sloop.”
“Why not attack one of the schooners, sir—board her—for there are evidently more than one.”
“Because we want the sinews of war, Mr Murray.”
“Money, sir?” cried Murray.
“Tchah! Nonsense! Powder, my boy—powder.”
“Why, sir, I thought—” began Murray.
“So did I, my lad; but unfortunately those blacks in supplying us with water to saturate that last fire—”
“Threw it over the powder-supply, sir!” cried Murray, in horror.
“Yes, my lad; that is our position, and we have only a few charges left.”
“Hah! Well, sir,” said Murray drawing a deep breath, “then we must use the edges of our cutlasses.”
“Good!” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad upon the shoulder. “I am glad I told you, Mr Murray, for it has taught me that I have a brave lad upon whom I can depend. Yes, my lad, we have edges to our cutlasses, and when it comes to the last we must use them too.”
Chapter Forty Nine.
“Caesar don’t know.”
It was a little later on that, during a quiet interval and while in obedience to his officer Murray had been seeing to the men and taking care they were well refreshed ready for the next attack that might be delivered, the lieutenant joined the lad.
“Are the men satisfied?” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir; any one would think that we were out upon an excursion.”
“Poor lads!” said the lieutenant. “I’m afraid it is going to be a sad excursion for them.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Murray cheerily. “Who knows, sir, but what the captain may come and cut us out at any time, and call upon us to help him rout out the horrible wasps’ nest?”
“That’s a good, bright, boyish way of looking upon things, my boy,” said the lieutenant, “and we shall see. There, come and let’s look at our wounded ones. Have you had a chat with your messmate lately?”
“I’ve been to see him three times to-day, but he is very weak yet. You have been with him too, sir. He told me. I wish you would speak to Titely, sir. He wants to get up and fight, and he is not fit.”
“I’ve already forbidden it, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant; “and the poor fellow looked quite cut up, so I promised him a double allowance as soon as he got well enough.”
The lieutenant was silent for a few minutes, and stood as if listening so intently that Murray grew uneasy.
“Do you hear anything, sir?” he asked.
“No, my lad; I wish I could. I am getting anxious.”
“The men are keeping a very sharp lookout, sir.”
“Oh yes; I am not afraid of that, my lad. My anxiety is for the Seafowl. It is so long since I have heard her guns, and then they were apparently a long distance away.”
“Yes, sir,” said Murray cheerfully; “but then it is a long while since we heard the slaver’s guns, and that seems to mean that the captain has silenced and perhaps—”
“Perhaps what, Mr Murray?”
“I was going to say sunk the schooner, sir; but I hope he has not done that, for the men’s sake.”
“What, on account of prize money?” replied the lieutenant. “Oh, by the way, Mr Murray, I suppose you still believe in that black fellow, Caesar?”
“Oh yes, sir, thoroughly. I’m sure he saved my life.”
“Humph! Well, I want to have faith in him, but it is hard work to trust in people sometimes. Then I get thinking a great deal about that Mr Allen. I suppose he is sincere.”
“Oh, I feel sure he is, sir. The thorough reverence the black Caesar has for him is sufficient to prove that his master is good to his people.”
“Well, after the ill these slave-owners have done the poor creatures they owe them something in the way of recompense. Humph! How strange! We begin talking of the black, and here he is. He wants to speak to you, seemingly. Call him up.”
Caesar had come peering in at one of the doors, and as soon as Murray signed to him he hurried eagerly into the room, when the lieutenant looked at him searchingly and said—
“What about your master, my man? Where do you think he is now?”
Caesar started violently, and his lips quivered as he said huskily—
“Caesar don’t know, sah. Berry much frighten.”
“What, about the slavers and their schooners?”
“No, massa. Caesar ’fraid Massa Huggin take um and kill um.”
“What for? Why should he kill one who is his master?”
“Bad man, massa. ’Fraid Massa Allen talk to Bri’sh cap’en and set all a black free. ’Fraid Massa Huggin kill um.”
“Not so bad as that, I hope,” said the lieutenant.
“Caesar berry much ’fraid Massa Allen no let Caesar kill Massa Huggin.”
“I should think not!” said the lieutenant; and Caesar looked at him curiously.
“Massa Huggin bad man, sah. Caesar kill, sua. Him take away and kill um. Caesar t’ink so first time. T’ink so now.”
“Where would he take them?”
“Caesar know, sah. Show Bri’sh officer where. Oder side island where slabe barracks and slabe ship come.”
“You could take us there, my man?” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, massa. Caesar show way when Bri’sh cap’en come wif plenty men. Not ’nough now. All get kill. Show Bri’sh officer all um slabes. All Massa Huggin strong men, berry strong men.”
“Good. You shall, my man,” said the lieutenant; “and as you say this Huggins’s men are so strong we will wait for reinforcements, so as to make sure of taking them.”
“Massa try,” said the black. “Try sabe Massa Allen. Try quick.”
“But what are you fidgeting about?” said Murray sharply.
“Caesar t’ink Massa Huggin man come and fight soon.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Murray.
“Caesar don’t know, massa. Caesar feel Massa Huggin man come soon. Look, massa. Big Tom May come ’long.”
The black turned excitedly to point in the direction of the head of the open staircase, where the big sailor had suddenly appeared.
“Rocks ahead, sir,” he said, in a low gruff whisper.
“Something wrong to report, my lad?”
“Ay, ay, sir. They arn’t come out yet, but three lookouts report seeing the enemy just inside the edge of the plantation, sir.”
“Off with you then, Mr Murray,” cried the lieutenant, “and take your old station. Use your ammunition carefully,” he added, with a meaning intonation and a peculiar look which made the lad nod his head quickly. “Keep the sharpest lookout for fire. They must not get hold of us there.”
Murray hurried off with Tom May, followed by the black, and before many minutes had elapsed the expected attack had developed so rapidly, and was delivered with such energy, that but for the brave resistance, the enemy must have carried all before them. As it was the little party of defenders met them with so fierce a fire that the savage-looking mongrel crew were sent staggering back, followed by the triumphant cheers of the Seafowls, who were still cheering when Mr Anderson made a gesture and called for silence.
“Up on to the head of the staircase, my lads,” he cried. “We must make our stand there.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” growled Tom May, with the look of an angry lion, “but will you have some cartridges sarved out, for me and my messmates have fired our last.”
“Yes, my lads,” said the lieutenant, “that is a bitter fact. We have fired our last shots, and we must fall back now upon our cutlasses.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the big fellow coolly. “D’yer hear, my lads? Cutlashes it is.”
And at that crucial moment, as Murray ran his eyes along the faces of the men, there was no sign of dismay—just the cheery, contented look of Seaman Jack Tar ready for the worst, and the deep threatening tones of the beaten-back enemy were pretty well deadened by a hearty cheer.
But an hour later, the enemy were back in stronger force, to be driven off once more, but at a terrible expenditure of force, for as Murray and Tom May came back from the sheltered room where they had laid their gallant leader, badly wounded, by the side of Roberts, it was to find the members of their sadly diminished force sitting wearily together discussing another loss which Harry Lang unwillingly communicated to the young officer.
“But have you looked round well? Perhaps he’s lying somewhere among the trees.”
“Oh yes, sir, we’ve looked, and he arn’t there. We’ve been talking it over, sir, and we all think the same: he’s had enough of it, sir, and gone.”
“Who has?” said Tom May gruffly.
“That there nigger, Caesar, Tom.”
“Dunnot believe it,” said Tom May fiercely, for he was very sore.
“Well, messmate,” said Harry Lang, “he arn’t here.”