Chapter Twenty Six.
When Syd opened his eyes he was lying down, with Roylance kneeling by his side, and a curious feeling of wonderment came over him as to what all this meant.
“What’s the matter?” he said, sharply.
“You fainted. Are you better now?”
“Some people do faint at the sight of a drop of blood,” said a familiar voice, followed by a sneering laugh.
It was medicine to Syd, and he felt better directly, and sat up.
“Give me my jacket and things,” he said; and paying no heed to Terry, who was standing close by the two men who had been placed over him, busily helping with the rough tent they were fitting over the lieutenant, he walked to his patient, to find him lying so passive that he shuddered, and wondered whether the poor fellow was dead.
“Did I do wrong?” Syd asked himself. “Would he have got better if I had left him alone?”
He felt his ignorance terribly as he asked himself these questions; but the answer was ready for utterance as Roylance said, looking white as he spoke—
“Oh, Belt, old fellow, what a horrible job to have to do!” And then, “Would he have got right without?”
“No. If he had gone on bleeding from that artery he would by now have been a dead man.”
“But how did you learn all that? The lads can do nothing else but talk about it.”
“Hush! come away,” said Syd. “Let him sleep, and”—he shuddered—“let one of the men bring me a bucket of water.”
It was well on in the middle of the day, and there was no sign of the ship. The men had greatly improved the shelter up in the chasm; but though the carriages were up one at each end near the positions they were to occupy, the two guns which should by this time have been mounted lay on the rock, the first one having brought down the tackle, and bounded from a sloping stone on to the unfortunate lieutenant, pinning him to the ground before he could get out of the way.
After seeing that his patient was carefully watched by one of the men who had been his companion that morning, Syd was trying to drive away the miserable feeling of faintness and exhaustion from which he suffered by partaking of a little refreshment, when, just as he was thinking of his father’s orders, and that those guns ought to be mounted, the boatswain came up, touched his hat to him and Roylance, and was about to speak, when Terry strode up, and ignoring his brother midshipmen, said sharply—
“Look here, bo’sun; that was all nonsense this morning. Mr Dallas is wounded, and incapable. I am senior officer, and the captain’s orders must be carried out. Call the men together, and I’ll have those guns up at once.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Strake; his whistle sounded shrilly against the sides of the rock, and the men came running up.
“All hands to hoist up the guns,” cried Terry. “Now, bo’sun, have that tackle fixed better this time.”
“Ay, ay, sir. Now, my lads, be smart, and we’ll have that gun up in a jiffy.”
The men were all gathered together in a knot, but no one stirred; and they began muttering to themselves.
“Now, my lads; what is it?” cried the boatswain. “You don’t mind a bit o’ sunshine, do you? Come, bear a hand.”
Not a man stirred, and Syd and Roylance exchanged looks.
“What is the meaning of this?” cried Terry, in a bullying tone. “Do you hear, men? I want these guns up directly.”
Still no one stirred, and Terry grew pale. His one hand played about his sword, and his other hand sought a pistol.
“Bo’sun!” he cried, “what is the meaning of this insubordination?”
Strake shook his head.
“D’ye hear, my lads? Mr Terry wants to know the meaning of this ins’bordination.”
Not a man spoke.
“Look here,” cried Terry, drawing his dirk, “I am not going to be trifled with. I order you to help hoisting up those guns. What do you mean? Are you afraid of another accident?”
“No,” cried the men with one consent, in quite a shout.
“Then look here, my lads,” cried Terry, drawing a pistol, “I’ll stand no nonsense. Will you obey?”
“Look here, Terry,” said Roylance, sharply, “there is no occasion for violence. The men think they have some grievance; ask them what it is.”
“Mind your own business, sir,” cried Terry, sharply; but as Roylance drew back with a deprecating gesture, he spoke to the boatswain.
“Ask the mutinous scoundrels what they mean,” he said.
The boatswain went up to the knot of men.
“Now then, you swabs,” he growled; “what’s these here games?”
“We arn’t going to have him playing at skipper over us,” said one of them. “The luff put him under arrest for interferin’.”
“Ay, ay,” growled the others; “we don’t want he.”
“S’pose you know it’s hanging at the yard-arm for mutiny, my lads?” said the boatswain, gruffly.
“Mutiny? Who want’s to mutiny?” said another. “We’re ready enough to work, arn’t we, messmates?”
“Ay, ay,” came in chorus.
“Then lay hold o’ the rope, and let’s have them guns up yonder.”
“Ay, to be sure; we’ll get the guns up,” said another man; “but Mr Terry’s under ’rest.”
“Then you won’t haul?” said the boatswain.
“Not one on us. He arn’t an officer till he’s been afore the skipper.”
“Well, what am I to tell him?”
“What yer like,” said one of the first speakers.
Strake gave his quid a turn, rubbed his ear, and walked back.
“Won’t haul, sir,” he said, laconically.
“What! Then it’s mutiny. Mr Roylance, Mr Belton, draw your swords. Bo’sun, run and get a cutlass and pistols.”
“I don’t want no cutlass to them, sir; I’ve got my fists,” growled the boatswain.
“What, are you in a state of mutiny too?” cried Terry.
“Not as I knows on, sir?”
“Then arrest the ringleader.”
“Which is him, sir?”
“That man,” cried Terry, pointing with his dirk to Rogers, one of the smart young fellows who had been Syd’s companion in the morning. “Bring him here. Oh, if I had a file of marines!”
“Which you arn’t got,” muttered Strake, as he strode back to where the men were together.
“Here you, Ike Rogers,” he said; “I arrests you for mutiny.”
“No, no,” growled the men together.
“All right, messmates,” said Rogers, laughing. “Can’t put us in irons, for there arn’t none.”
“Come on,” said Strake, clapping him on the shoulder. “Mr Terry wants you.”
“What for?” said Rogers, eyeing the middy’s dirk; “to pick my teeth?”
In the midst of a burst of laughter the boatswain marched the man up to where Terry was, strutting and fuming about.
“Now, you scoundrel,” he said; “what does this mean?”
“Beg pardon, sir; that’s what we want to know.”
“Then I’ll tell you, sir; it’s rank mutiny.”
“There now, bo’sun; that’s just what we thought,” said Rogers, turning to him. “I know’d it was, and that’s why we wouldn’t come.”
“You scoundrel! You’re playing with me,” cried Terry.
“Nay, sir; not me. Wouldn’t ketch me play with a orficer with a big sword in his hand.”
“Then tell me what you mean. You said it was mutiny, and so you would not come.”
“That’s it, sir. Sworn to sarve the King; and when a young orficer, which is you, sir, breaks out of arrest, and wants to lead a lot of poor chaps wrong, ’tarn’t me as ’ll risk my neck.”
Terry’s jaw dropped at this unexpected reply, and Roylance burst into a roar of laughter, in which he was joined by Syd, while Strake stood with his face puckered up like a year-old pippin, and rubbed his starboard ear.
“Mr Roylance!” cried Terry at last, “how is discipline to be preserved while you encourage the men in this tomfoolery? I shall report it to the captain, sir.”
“Look here, Mr Terry,” said Roylance, firmly; “the man is, in his way, quite right.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” cried the others, who had closed in, following their messmate.
“Quite right?”
“Yes; Mr Dallas put you under arrest.”
“Mr Dallas is ill—dying, and unable to give orders, sir. I am your senior.”
“Oh, you’re welcome to take command for me,” cried Roylance. “I don’t want the responsibility.”
“Once more, my lads, I warn you of the consequences. Will you go to your work?”
There was no reply, and the men drew back, while Terry stood looking along their faces with his pistol raised.
“Mind that there don’t go off, please, sir,” said Rogers, dryly. “You might hit me.”
There was a roar of laughter at this, and Terry stamped with rage.
“Shall I go and try and bring ’em to their senses, sir?” said the boatswain.
“No—yes,” cried Terry.
“Which on ’em, sir?” said the boatswain, dryly.
“Yes. Go and see, and tell them I’ll shoot down the first man who disobeys.”
“Oh, Lor’!” groaned Rogers, with mock horror, and there was another laugh, while Syd turned away unable to keep his countenance, and went to where the lieutenant lay asleep.
“Look here, my lads,” growled the boatswain; “it’s no use kicking agen it. Come on; lay to at the ropes, and let’s get the work done.”
“We arn’t going to be bully-ragged by a thing like that,” said the oldest man present. “If he was a chap with anything in him, we would. But he’s a bully, that’s what he is. Let Mr Roylance take command.”
“Says as Mr Roylance is to take command, sir,” shouted Strake.
“No,” said Roylance, “I will not undertake the responsibility.”
“Look ye here, messmates,” cried Rogers, as Syd hung back from the little tent, “Capen Belton’s our skipper.”
“Ay, ay,” shouted the men.
“And he arn’t here, and the luff’s in orspittle.”
“Well, we know that, Iky,” said one of the men.
“Ay, lad; but here comes the son. I says let young Captain Belton take command.”
“Ay, ay!” thundered the men, and they gave three cheers.
“There you are, sir,” said the boatswain. “Men says you’re to take command.”
“I?” cried Syd; “nonsense. There’s Mr Roylance.”
“No, no,” cried the men; and Terry stood grinding his teeth, and looking threateningly at Syd.
“Look here, my lads,” cried Syd; “the captain wants those guns mounted, and this place held.”
“Ay, ay, sir; we’ll do it and hold it again anybody,” cried Rogers.
“Very well put, Belton; very well,” cried Terry.
“Your officer is helpless. Will you obey Mr Terry, and do your duty like men?”
“No!” came with a roar.
“Then let Mr Roy lance take command. Come, be men.”
“We arn’t got nothing agen Mr Roylance,” shouted a voice; “but we want you.”
“Go on, Belton; take command. The ship will be back perhaps to-night, and we must have those guns up,” said Roylance.
“Will you back me up?”
“Of course,” cried Roylance, heartily.
“All right, then, my lads,” cried Syd. “Now then, with a will.”
“Ay, ay. Hooray!” shouted the men.
“Man signalling from the tent, sir,” said Roylance.
“Oh!” ejaculated Syd, as a cold chill ran through him, and he shrank from learning what it meant. “Go and see, Roy.”
Roylance was already half-way there, and he came back directly.
“Mr Dallas says you are to take command, Mr Belton,” he cried, loud enough for the men to hear; “and he begs that at any cost you will get the guns in position before dark.”
“Ay, ay,” yelled the men, and then there was dead silence.
“I am only one against you all, Mr Belton,” said Terry, in a low, snarling tone, “and the moment the Sirius comes back, I go to the captain and tell him the whole truth.”
“Do,” said Syd, quietly; “only tell him all.”
Chapter Twenty Seven.
“Barney, keep near me, and tell me what to do,” whispered Syd; “I feel such a fool.”
“You dear lad,” said the old man, softly. “Why, I’ve been that proud on you to-day as never was, and been wishing the capen was here.”
“Nonsense! Now about getting up these guns. I can’t tell the men what to do.”
“Yah! you’re right enough. All you’ve got to do is to look on and say, ‘Now, my lads, with a will!’ and, ‘Come, bo’sun, don’t play with it!’ And, ‘Altogether, my lads!’ and you’ll see them guns mounted in no time. Steady; here’s Mr Roylance coming.”
“But it seems to be only playing at captain, and I don’t—”
“Ay, ay, sir,” roared the boatswain. “You’re right. Parbuckle it is. Be smart, my lads, and get down a cask. One o’ them as the stores was in.”
There was a hearty assent, as Syd said to himself, “What does he mean by ‘parbuckle’?”
“Cast off these here ropes, sir,” shouted Strake again. “Ay, ay, sir. Now, my lads, off with them.”
The men trotted here and there with the greatest of alacrity, and by the time the ropes were unfastened from the first gun, a cask was rolled to the end of the gap, lowered down, and placed by the end of the gun.
The boatswain came to Syd’s side again.
“Get the gun inside, and then pack her round with tarpaulin and doubled-up sails, wouldn’t you, sir?” he said.
“Yes, if it’s best,” replied Syd; and the boatswain went off again to the men.
“Talk about a lad!” he said. “My! he is the right sort. Now then, in with that handspike, boys.”
The men placed one end of the tough ash staff into the muzzle of the gun, then laid hold and lifted it high enough for a block to be placed under it. Then the men depressed the muzzle, the leverage given by the handspike enabling them to raise the breech; and the cask was run over it right up over the trunnions, a little more hoisting and heaving getting the gun right in, when it was easily packed round with doubled-up sails, and wedged tight in the centre.
After this the task was comparatively easy. Four ropes were made fast to a mass of rock in the gap, brought down and passed under the cask, taken back over the top, and from thence into the gap, where, with Syd now comprehending, and wonderfully interested in the task, giving orders, all the strength of the detachment was brought to bear, and the cask was hauled up the slope without a mishap.
A burst of cheers greeted this, and it was then rolled on over the rough ground with handspikes, till it was at the upper end of the gap by its carriage, which was ready on a rough platform.
Then the unpacking began, Syd needing no instructions now the cask and packing were rolled back, and the second gun was brought up with greater ease than the first.
The rigging up of a kind of tripod, and hoisting each gun up into its place on the carriage, was a mere matter of every-day detail, and before dark Syd had the satisfaction of seeing his father’s wishes carried out, and each piece ready with its pile of shot and ammunition stowed under the shelter of a niche in the rock which made an admirable magazine.
He had been alone part of the time, but admirably seconded by Strake, who kept up his bit of acting at first with a show of reality that was admirable, till he saw that his young master had grasped the requisite knowledge, and in his excitement began to order and dictate till the work was done; for Terry had gone off with a glass to sweep the horizon in search of the frigate, getting under shelter of a great piece of stone, the wind blowing almost a gale.
But he searched in vain. For some reason the Sirius had sailed right away; and he crept down at last with the unsatisfactory feeling that he had been superseded, and that it would be some time before the frigate returned.
But long before he descended, Roylance—who had set the sailor free, and was watching in his place by the lieutenant’s side—had communicated with Sydney, and asked him to come and look at his patient.
It was a sad sight. The poor fellow lay motionless and breathing feebly and hurriedly, for there was a suggestion of the fever that was pretty sure to come; and a feeling of helplessness came over Syd as he bent over his patient, and wondered what he could do more to save his life.
After the guns had been dragged up, a portion of the men were at liberty to help in other ways, and a good deal more had been done to the shelter up in the gap.
It was quite time, for with the coming night it was evident there would be a storm. And it became a matter of certainty that if the wind did rise, the rough tent set up with a sail thrown over a spar, for the lieutenant’s use, would be exposed to the higher waves, and must inevitably be saturated by the spray.
It was no use to sigh, the task had at all risks to be done, and the question arose how the wounded man was to be transported to the gap.
“Can’t we do something to keep him here?” suggested Syd; “build a rough wall of rock to shelter him.”
The answer came at once in the shape of a large roller, which seemed to glide in, and after deluging the little pier broke with a heavy, thunderous noise, and sent a tremendous shower of broken water over the canvas of the rough tent, nearly driving it flat, and proving that the position where Mr Dallas lay would not be tenable much longer.
“I think I can manage it, sir,” said the boatswain, touching his hat, “if I may try.”
“What will you do?”
“This here, sir.”
There was no time to waste; and with all the handiness of a sailor the old man set to work, took down the sail, and folded it till it was in the form of an oblong, some eight feet by four.
“Now two on you,” he said, “draw that under the lufftenant while we eases him up. Not that way, you swabs: folded edge first.”
The doubled sail was reversed, and as Mr Dallas was gently lifted the canvas was drawn under him; Syd feeling a chill run through him as the poor fellow lay perfectly inert, not so much as giving vent to a moan.
“Now, one at each corner,” said the boatswain. “Mind and not shift that there board under his leg. Steady—altogether.”
The men lifted, and the wounded man was borne close up to the slope below the gap, where the spars and tackle were erected at the edge some fifteen feet above their heads.
It was none too soon; the men were in the act of lowering their burden gently down, when, with a noise like thunder, another wave broke, and it was only by making a rush through the foam that the spars, canvas, and rope lying by the rough tent were saved by the men from being carried away.
“Just in time, Roy,” said Sydney; “but how are we to get him up there, bo’sun?”
“Oh, that’s easy enough, sir; I can work that.”
Taking a small boat-mast, the boatswain rapidly lashed the ends of the temporary hammock fast to the spar, and then ropes were carried and secured to the tackle-block in a way that, when all was ready, there was no difficulty in hauling the spar horizontally up, with the temporary hammock and its burden swinging from the spar like a palanquin.
All this was cleverly managed, and willing hands seized one end of the spar as soon as it was up to the end of the gap, drew it in till the other end could be reached and shouldered, and then the hammock was borne right up to where the shelter had been previously prepared.
As soon as the patient had been carefully laid down, Sydney knelt beside him to place his light hand upon his heart, trembling the while in anticipation of his worst dread being fulfilled, and a cold chill came over him again, as it seemed to him that there was no movement.
He shifted his hand to the pulse, and still there seemed to be no sign, till he lifted the fingers up a little and drew a catching breath, for there was certainly a feeble throbbing sensible.
“Can’t s’pect much, sir,” whispered the boatswain. “Man’s awful weak when he’s like that. Bimeby, though, he’ll turn hot and fev’rish; they generally does.”
“But he is alive,” said Syd, softly; and he proceeded to examine his bandages, thankful to find that the bleeding had stopped, and the splints, thanks to the board beneath the sufferer’s leg, unshifted.
Breathing a little more freely now, and enforcing silence among the men, Sydney left the temporary tent, and took a look round with Roylance, previous to making dispositions for the night.
Everything was rather chaotic, but the guns were in position, the men’s arms arranged, and the tackle drawn up, so that they were all secure in a natural fort, whose approaches could easily be defended, there being only one place where an enemy was likely to approach. Here a watch was set, and orders given for a meal to be prepared, in anticipation of which a tot of rum was served round to the tired men, and a bit of tobacco handed to each by Sydney’s orders.
The effect was miraculous. Five minutes before the men looked worn-out and dull in the gathering gloom; now there was a burst of subdued laughter and talk from the group gathered round the fire which the cook had prepared, the light shining on the face of Terry, who stood leaning against a piece of the perpendicular rock, his arms folded, and a heavy scowl upon his brow.
“I don’t like that, Roy,” said Syd, in a low tone; “it’s miserable work being bad friends.”
“Yes; I hate it.”
“I’ve a good mind to go and ask him to shake hands.”
“If you do he’ll think you are afraid of him.”
“He wouldn’t be so stupid, would he?”
“Yes: make him come to you.”
“I suppose that would be best,” said Syd, with a sigh. “Let’s go up here and look out for the lights of the frigate. What are you laughing at?”
“You. Come; you’re a capital doctor, but not much of a sailor yet.”
“Oh, I’m no doctor. I couldn’t have done that, only I used to go along with a friend of my father on his rounds, and saw what he did.”
“Well, you’ve saved poor Mr Dallas’s life.”
“Think so, Roy? Ah, if I could only feel sure! But why,” added Syd, after a pause, “did you say I was no sailor?”
“To talk about seeing the frigate’s lights. She couldn’t have beat up near here in such a gale as this. Whew! it does blow.”
They had been walking carefully along the gap towards the point where the further gun was mounted, and gradually clambered up higher till they were beyond the shelter of the side of the southern cleft, when Roylance had just time to clap his hand to his head and save his hat, which was starting on a voyage into the black night.
The next minute Syd was beside him, holding on to the rocky edge of the cleft, high up above the guns, catching the full force of the wind. Down below they were in complete shelter. Here the gale had such power that it was impossible to stand securely. The wind shrieked about their ears, and seemed to come at them in huge waves, each throwing them back against the rock, and now and then making what felt like a snatch to tear them from where they stood, and hurl them down the rocks, or blow them away to sea.
“I say,” cried Roylance, panting to get his breath, and holding his lips close to his companion’s ear, “they must be having it pretty rough on board to-night.”
“Think there’s any danger?” shouted Syd.
“Not if they keep well out to sea. Eh? What?”
“I didn’t speak,” roared Syd; “it was the wind howling.”
“Hadn’t we better get down? I feel as if I was going to be blown right off.”
“Wait a bit. I say, I think I’ll have a man posted here by this gun.”
“What, now?”
“Yes, at once.”
“Nonsense, man; there’s no one on the rock but ourselves, and no enemy could come near us in this gale.”
“No,” shouted Syd; “suppose not. But—”
He had to cease speaking and hold on, for the wind rushed at them now with redoubled violence, and for a minute neither thought of anything but the danger.
“It does blow,” panted Syd at last, as the wind lulled a little. “I was going to say—do you feel sure there is no one else on the rock?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I don’t,” said Syd, decisively; “I know I saw something, or some bird.”
“A goat left on the rock.”
“No; it could not have been a goat; it must—”
Whoo! The wind rushed at them again, and once more they held on, longing to get down below, but fascinated by the awful din. Below them the darkness seemed profound; only now and then they saw a gleam, as if one of the waves—which broke with a roar like thunder on the rock, and sent a fine cloud of spray floating about their faces—contained some kind of light living creatures, or it was only a reflection on the smooth curve, before it broke, of the stars overhead. For there all was clear enough, save that the stars looked blurred, though bright, and were quivering and vibrating beyond the rushing wind.
“Oh!” ejaculated Syd. “Hear that?”
“Hear it!” was the reply; “I could feel it. Shan’t have the whole rock swept away, shall we?”
There was a lull in the wind just then, but the two lads had clung there, completely awe-stricken, as a huge hill of water had heaved up, and fallen on the outer buttresses of the rock, which quivered under the shock. Then there was a roar of many waters, a wild rushing and booming sound, and the wind blew harder.
They looked out into the awful blackness, which seemed transparent, glanced up at the quivering stars, once more paused to listen again to the tremendous impact of the waves that came regularly rolling in, and then, taking advantage of a lull, they descended to where the gun had been mounted.
The change was wonderful. They had not descended fifty feet, but it was into complete shelter. The wind was rushing over their heads, and the waves were thundering in far below, but the noise sounded dull and distant, and they sat down, breathing freely, and rubbing their spray-wet faces.
“No,” said Syd, quietly; “no fear.”
“What of?”
“The rock being swept away; it would have gone before now.”
“Well, I’m beginning to think we’re safer here than on board,” said Roylance.
“Don’t say that,” cried Syd, excitedly. “You don’t think there’s any danger to the frigate, do you?”
“No,” said Roylance, sharply. “Come on down now, and let’s get something to eat.”
They walked steadily back towards where the fire was glowing and burning briskly in the sheltered depth of the chasm, casting curious lights and reflections on the rocks to right and left, and showing plainly the figure of the man on the watch beside the farther gun, and the spars rigged up at his side.
“Looks as if he were going to be hung,” said Roylance, quietly.
“Yes, the spars have an ugly look with that rope hanging down. I almost wish I had put a man up by the other gun.”
“What for? I tell you we can go to sleep in peace to-night.”
“With poor Mr Dallas like that?”
“Forgotten him for the moment. No; of course one of us will take the watch, unless Terry comes down and turns civil. There, hi! look at that! look at that.”
Bang!—The report of the sentry’s pistol as Syd and Roylance had started trotting down towards the gun at the lower end.
In an instant the men about the fire had leaped up, and stood ready for any action by their arms.
“Did you see it, my man?” panted Syd.
“Ay, ay, sir; came running along like a big tiger from up yonder by the fire, and I fired at it, and then it was gone.”
“Did you see which way it went?”
“No, sir, ’cause o’ the smoke.”
“It seemed to me to disappear among these rocks,” said Roylance.
“No; I saw it come out from behind there, and then it leaped off into the darkness just below the gun. Here, spread out, my lads; it didn’t go that way. Keep a smart look-out, and go steady down to the edge. It couldn’t have jumped off, and must be here.”
A thorough search took place, and this was easy enough, for the space within the gap or chasm was comparatively small. But there was no result, and at last a few burning brands were thrown down from the edge just below the gun to light up the rocks there, in the hope that some animal might be lying killed by its fall.
There was nothing visible, and at last, after making their arrangements for the night, Roylance and Sydney sat together, talking in low tones about the mysterious appearance seen now twice.
“Here, I’ll keep watch,” said Roy, after they had taken another look at the injured man.
“No, I’ll take the first half,” said Syd, quietly.
“Well, you’re in command,” said Roylance; “but I don’t feel comfortable about going to sleep with a wild beast dancing minuets all over one in the night.”
“I shall be watching,” said Syd.
“Oh, very well: I’ll lie down. Poor Terry’s got the best of it; he has been fast asleep for an hour.”
Roylance lay down under the sail, covering himself with his boat-cloak, and was asleep directly; while Sydney, after another glance at Dallas, who seemed to be sleeping quietly, placed his pistols in his belt, and went out to visit the watch.
Chapter Twenty Eight.
As Syd stood outside the effect was very curious. The wind was blowing with hurricane violence, and in a dull distant way the sea was breaking wave after wave against the rocks, but where he stood there was hardly a breath of air. Then with the novelty of his sensations increasing, and feeling that all this seemed to him like a dream from which he would awake in the morning, he walked to where the watch was posted, and started a little on seeing two figures in the darkness instead of one.
“On’y me, Mr Belton, sir,” came in the boatswain’s gruff growl. “Rogers here felt it a bit lonesome like with no company but a long gun. And look ye here, mate,” he whispered to the man, “don’t you never forget to reload arter you’ve fired your pistol.”
“Seen or heard anything more?” said Syd, making an effort to keep up his new dignity.
“No, sir. Fancied I did once, but it warn’t nothing.”
“Blowing very hard, bo’sun.”
“Well, sir, tidy, tidy; most a capful o’ wind. Thought I’d come and stay with him, sir,” he whispered, as they walked aside to gaze out to sea; “bit scared like arter seeing that there thing again.”
“There was something, Barney, I’m sure.”
“Steady, Master Syd, sir, steady,” growled the boatswain. “You can’t lower yourself to call me Barney now you’re commander of a fort, and a werry strong one too.”
“Oh, very well, bo’sun. But about that thing, whatever it was. What do you think it could be?”
“Well, sir, I don’t see how it could get here; but it’s either a monkey or some small kind o’ nigger as lives nateral like on rocks.”
“But what could he live on?”
“Dunno, sir; lickin’ on ’em p’r’aps.”
“But there’s no water.”
“No, sir; that’s what puzzles me. The worst on it is it scares the lads.”
“Well, it is startling. He did not hit it, I suppose?”
“Hit it?” said the boatswain, contemptuously; “not him, sir. Get’s thinking it’s— there, I arn’t going to say what he thinks. Sailors has all kind o’ Davy Jonesy ideas in their heads till they gets promoted, and then o’ course they’re obliged to be ’bove all that sort of thing.”
“When do you think the frigate will be back?”
“Can’t say, sir. Not so long as the wind’s blowing like this.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Syd; “so unfortunate. Just as we want the surgeon so badly.”
“What for, sir?”
“Mr Dallas, of course.”
“Surgeon? What do he want with a surgeon? You mended him a deal better than I’ve seen poor chaps patched in the cockpit during an action, when the surgeon and his mates was busy. Look ye here, Master Syd, I’ve knowed you ever since you was a bit of a toddlin’ thing as held on to my finger—this here one—and couldn’t get your little dumpy things right round it; and you know me, sir, I wouldn’t say a word to praise you as I didn’t mean.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Strake.”
“Then you may know, sir; I wouldn’t—theer! And I says to you now as a honest man as never took nothin’ worse than one o’ them yaller gummy plums off the wall—them as crack right open like wide mouths, and seems to be putting out their stones at you laughin’ like, and sayin’, eat me if you dare. Well, sir, I say as a honest man, if ever I’m wounded I don’t want no surgeon but you.”
“Oh, nonsense, man! There’ll be a long serious time yet when he wants the surgeon’s attention.”
“Not him, sir. No: we’ll do all that.”
“I hope so, Strake. But now we are alone, tell me what I am to do to-morrow.”
“Just what you like, sir. If it was me I should mast-head Master Terry, if he come any of his games.”
“Without a mast-head?”
“No, sir; you’ll have to set up one o’ them spars, the one with the little truck for the halliards right a top o’ the highest pynte, to fly the Bri’sh colours, and you can send him there.”
“But about this place, and men?”
“Oh, I dunno, sir. If it was me I should set the lads to level the gun-platforms a bit, and some o’ the others to build up two or three walls with the loose rocks for us to roof in. One for the men, one for the orficers, and one for the stores.”
“Yes, I thought of doing that.”
“Why, of course you did, sir. And then you could give the men some gun-drill, and arter that wait till the enemy comes.”
“Yes, and when the enemy comes?”
“Send him back with a flea in his ear. No room for no Frenchies here.”
“I hope they won’t come,” said Syd, half to himself.
“Now, now, now, sir; no yarns to an old sailor,” said the boatswain, chuckling. “I can believe a deal, but I can’t believe that.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Strake. Look here, is there anything else to be done?”
“Well, sir, it seems to me, going over it all as I have been, that you’ve been thinking that we’ve got our prog here, and some water, and not enough of it till the frigate comes back, so that you might put the lads on ’lowance so as to make sure.”
“Ah, I had not thought of that.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, you had, only it hadn’t come up yet. That there was a thing to be thought on by a commanding orficer, and course you thought on it, on’y talking to me promiskus like you forgetted it. Then there’s another thing. The skipper never thought ’bout going far away from here, I s’pose, and there’s precious little wood, so I’ll tell the cook he’s to let it off easy, if so be as you says I am.”
“Yes, of course, Strake. Tell him.”
“Ay, ay, sir. We may have the luck to get some drift timber chucked up among the rocks; but if we do it’ll want a deal o’ drying ’fore it’s good to burn.”
“No, we must not reckon on that.”
“Arter seeing to these two or three little things ’cordin’ to your orders, sir, I should say that you’ve got as snug a little fort to hold as any one could wish, and all you’ll want then is a sight o’ the enemy to make you quite happy.”
The boatswain ceased speaking, and Syd stood laughing to himself, but treasuring up what had been said, as the wind swept overhead, and the waves kept on thundering in over the natural pier; though strangely enough the noise of the waves at this end of the gap also passed right up and away, so that it was possible to talk in a low tone, and hear the slightest sound anywhere near.
They had been standing like this for some time when Syd suddenly laid his hand on the boatswain’s arm.
“What’s that?” he said, in a low whisper.
“Dunno, sir,” whispered back the boatswain. “Trying to make out. I heard it twyste afore. What did it sound like to you?”
“One stone striking against another.”
“That’s it, sir, exact. Don’t say any more here. It’ll only scare yon chap. Sailors is easily frightened ’bout what they don’t understand.”
They stood listening for some few minutes, but there was no farther sound, so they bade the man on guard keep a sharp look-out, though for what Syd could not have said, and turned to go up to the tent and see if Mr Dallas was awake.
As they approached the place where the fire had been, a faint waft of the wind passed down the gap, and as it swept over the embers they brightened up, and shed sufficient light for Syd to see something creeping softly by the spot.
Syd caught the boatswain’s arm, and a gentle tap from the rough fellow’s hand seemed to express that he knew, and had noticed. This was so evidently the object that had twice before been seen, that now was the time to convince themselves whether it was human, or some quadruped dwelling on the rock.
“If I whisper,” thought Syd, “it will take alarm, I know.”
He caught the boatswain’s arm again and tried to draw him away back into the darkness. For the moment Strake resisted, then he gave way and allowed himself to be drawn toward the man on guard.
“Now we shall lose him, sir,” said the boatswain in a gruff whisper. “I’d got my eye on him, and was just a-going to give a pounce when you stopped it.”
“Yes; but look here, Strake,” whispered Syd. “Each time it has been seen it came up this way from somewhere close to the gun. If we stop here we shall trap it.”
“But will it come back by here?”
“Yes, I feel sure. It goes up there to prowl about and get food, and then it comes back to hide somewhere here in these cracks among the rocks.”
“Werry good, sir; I dare say you knows best. What shall I do—shoot it, or give it a chop with the cutlash?”
“No; it may be a man—and we don’t want to shed blood.”
“Right, sir. Then we watches here?”
“Yes,” said Syd, taking his place behind a block of stone, though it was so dark there was hardly need to hide. Strake followed his example, and they crouched down, with their ears on the strain, satisfied now that the clicking sound of stones striking together was made by this creature, whatever it was.
“You must be on your guard, sir,” whispered Strake. “Whatever it is, it’ll be sure to scratch or bite. But so sure as you make a grab I shall be there, and he won’t kick much with me atop of him. Hist!”
Syd listened, but there was no sound, and he waited so long that he was going to speak to the boatswain and say, “We’ll give up now,” when a curious crunching noise fell upon his ear, and the next moment something dark was evidently trotting by them, looking in the darkness like a great dog.
With one bound the young midshipman was at it, but it eluded his grasp, and ran right at Strake, who was the next moment down on his face.
“Stand, or I fire!” came from a short distance away.
“No, no. Avast there; it’s the captain—I mean Mr Belton and me, my lad,” growled Strake, getting up. “See that, Mr Belton, sir; I’d just got it when it went right through my legs, and I was down. Which way did it go?”
“Don’t know. I did not even feel it.”
“It’s a big monkey, sir, or else—I know, sir, it’s one o’ they small bears, and that was biscuit he was chawing. We’d better shoot him. They bites as well as scratches and hugs, besides being very good eating, so they say.”
“Well, it’s of no use to try to catch it now. Better hunt it from its hole by daylight. Isn’t it time Rogers was relieved?”
“Gettin’ nigh, sir; on’y it’s all on the guess.—Look here, sir, I know; we’ll smoke the beggar out.”
“A capital way,” said Syd; “only we’ve first got to find the hole.”
Chapter Twenty Nine.
The sea was terrific when Sydney took his first look-out next morning, after a good restful sleep, and he felt terribly low-spirited, for he was experienced enough to see that Mr Dallas was in a very low and dangerous state. He was feverish, and lay wild-eyed and strange, evidently recognising no one, but talking in a low, muttering way.
“It’s too much to be on my shoulders,” Syd said to himself, despondently, as he took off his hat, and stood letting the cool morning air fan his forehead. “Mr Dallas wanting a surgeon, Terry setting me at defiance, the men half mutinous, and the whole charge of everything on my shoulders.”
One of his remarks was hardly fair, for the men greeted him with a smile and a cheery aspect every time he went near them, and after their breakfast worked most energetically to make the improvements suggested overnight, so that about sundown Strake smiled in his grim way, and touched his hat.
“There, sir,” he said; “the captain may come back and land now if he likes. I shouldn’t be ashamed to show him round.”
“No, Strake; everything is beautifully neat.”
“Yes, sir; decks cleared for action. We’re ready for anybody now.”
“Have you looked in on the lieutenant lately?”
“Half-hour ago, sir. Mr Roylance was with him, watching closely.”
“Well, don’t you think he looks very bad?”
“Yes, sir; purty well. Bad as one’s officer could look to be alive.”
“And you talk of it in that cool way.”
“Well, sir, how am I to talk? He’s no worse than lots more I’ve seen.”
“But do you think he’s dying?”
“Nay: not he, sir. Lots of life in him yet. And look here, sir, what do you say to that?”
“A bit of biscuit?”
“Yes, sir; that’s it. Monkey, sir, or a bear?”
“I don’t understand you, Strake.”
“Picked it up, sir, just where we tried to catch him last night. I’m going to lie wait for that gentleman, and give him a pill.”
“Oh, never mind about that, Strake; there’s so much else to think about. I’ve been in twice to Mr Dallas, and he doesn’t know me.”
“Dessay not, sir. Lost a deal of blood, you see. He’s all right, I’m sure. Why, I’ve seen lots o’ men worse than he, ever so much; legs off, both on ’em, an’ an arm took off fust by a shot and then afterwards by the doctors, and they’ve come round.”
“But, Strake—”
“Now, look here, dear lad,” whispered the boatswain, speaking earnestly. “I wouldn’t say what I do if I didn’t think it. Mr Dallas is going to be purty bad, I dessay, for a month, but he’ll come round.”
“But I feel, Strake, as if I have done wrong by him.”
“Nat’rally, dear lad; but I feel that you haven’t.”
“If I could only think that.”
“Oh, well then, I’ll soon make you. Let me ask you a question, sir. S’pose you hadn’t touched Mr Dallas?”
“Well?”
“Nobody else would, of course. We didn’t know how.”
“I suppose not.”
“Very well then, dear lad, what would have happened?”
“I’m afraid—he would have died.”
“And how soon, sir?”
“He would have bled to death. I can’t say how soon. Before night.”
“Exactly, sir. Well, then, you came and set to work in a way as made every Jack here feel as if he’d do anything for you, sir; and it’s to-morrow now, and the lufftenant arn’t dead.”
“No, Strake; not yet.”
“Nor arn’t going to be; what more do you want? Come, rouse up, my lad, and hold your head higher. Don’t be skeered. Let go at us; call us swabs and lubbers, anything you can lay your tongue to; the men ’ll like it from you. And as to Mr Terry, as has gone up where I planted the flagstaff this morning, don’t you fret about him. He daren’t hardly say his soul’s his own.”
“You’ve planted the flagstaff?”
“Yes, sir; right on the top, fastened it down between some rocks, and got guys out to other rocks. I didn’t hyste the colours, for this wind would tear the bunting all to rags.”
Sydney took a few steps to one side.
“Can’t see it from here, sir, or you’d see Mr Terry too, getting hisself such a blowing as never was. He’s a-looking out for the frigate, him too as studies navigation with the master. He ought to know better.”
“What do you mean?”
“As we shan’t see the Sirius for a week to come, if we do then.”
“Then I must go on as if we were to stay some time,” thought Syd; and that day was spent in adding to the comfort of their quarters and the security of the magazine, in case rain should follow the gale of wind.
Another stormy day followed, and toward night, after spending some time by the lieutenant’s bedside, Sydney was relieved by Roylance, Terry having made no offer to aid, and when asked by Roylance, having replied that he was under arrest, and exonerated from such duties.
“What’s the weather going to be, bo’sun?” said Syd, meeting that officer on the upper platform.
“Don’t see no prospect o’ change, sir.”
“Because as soon as we possibly can, I want the rock properly gone over by a strong party, so that we can make sure that there is no other landing-place. We may run down that bear of yours.”
“Yes, sir. He was here again last night.”
“Did you see it?”
“No, sir; or I should have spoke.”
“No, no; unless the beast proves dangerous, I will not have it shot.”
“But the beggar carried off a whole lot o’ biscuit last night, sir, and a lump o’ cold junk.”
“Well, that must be stopped at any rate. What do you say to half a dozen men being told off to lie in wait for the brute to-night?”
“No, sir; it’s what do you?”
“I say yes,” said Syd, and the boatswain brightened up.
“With pistols, of course, sir?”
“No, certainly not,” replied Syd, decidedly. “If we have firing in the dark there may be some accident. Select five men. There will be yourself, Mr Roylance, and I shall be there too. Eight of us ought to hold him if he comes.”
“And come he will, sir. You’ll go over the island to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t say you’d have another thing found.”
“What?”
“Water, sir. If the Sirius is going to leave us here, water must be had.”
That was a serious matter. With the gale blowing there was nothing to mind as to the sun, but Syd felt that the heat would be felt terribly as soon as the wind sank, and with no slight feeling of uneasiness he went to his rough quarters, looked into the hospital, where the lieutenant lay muttering in his delirium, and beckoned Roylance to come and join in the meal.
“Takes one’s appetite away to see that poor fellow lying there,” said Roylance, summoning one of the men to take his place.
“But we must eat to work,” said Syd, firmly. “Here’s Terry, I’ll ask him to come and victual. I hate seeing him keeping aloof. Mr Terry, coffee is served. Will you join us?”
Terry started a little, and his face relaxed into a smile.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “I am very hungry.”
The ice was broken, and the three young fellows sat down to their rough meal, one which was, however, thoroughly enjoyed—Terry seeming quite to have forgotten the trouble that had caused the estrangement.
But Roylance had not, and that night he said to Syd—
“Don’t trust him.”
“Trust whom?”
“Terry. I may be wrong, but if ever a fellow’s eyes looked one thing and meant another, his did this evening.”
“Fancy. He’s beaten, and he has given in, and so, I dare say, we shall be fairly good friends for the future.”
“Perhaps so,” said Roylance, dryly; “but I say, don’t trust him all the same. Keep on your guard.”
“Can’t. Impossible; and I couldn’t go on suspecting every one I saw.”
“No, not every one—this one.”
“Never mind that. Don’t suppose I shall have any cause to distrust him.”
“I hope you will not,” said Roylance, prophetically.
“Come along.”
“Where? It will be impossible to stand out of shelter.”
“We are not going to. Ah, here is Strake. Now then, have you got your men ready?”
“Ay, ay, sir; but won’t you alter your mind about the pistols?”
“Certainly not. Use your fists, and take the creature, whatever it is, alive.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Strake; and leading the way down to the lower gun, the men were posted among the rocks, and in the midst of the utter darkness, with the dull roar of wind and sea coming in a deep murmur, the watch was commenced.
Chapter Thirty.
It was strange work keeping that watch, and Syd could not help feeling a sensation of dread master him at times. He knew that Roylance was close at hand, that he had but to speak and the old boatswain would come to him, while the men were scattered here and there; but all the same it was terribly lonely.
For what were they watching? It might be some wild beast with teeth and claws that would rend him if he were the one who seized it, and the longer he waited the more reasonable this seemed to be. It was a creature that lived in a cave, or some deep rift among the rocks by day, and came prowling out by night in search of food. Such a creature as this must be dangerous.
But the next moment he laughed to himself as he recalled that rabbits and many other creatures sought their food by night, and were innocent and harmless as doves. Yet still the feeling of dread came back, and he longed for an end of the watch.
“I like danger that I can see,” he thought, as he began involuntarily rubbing his shoulder that had been struck by the shark, and had taken to aching in the moist cool night.
He shivered a little as he recalled the scene that day when he first realised the danger of the hideous fish marking him down; and try how he would the scene kept growing more vivid.
“I never half thanked those men for saving my life,” he said to himself. “The brute would have had me if they had not stabbed at it with the oars. What’s that?”
He strained his eyes to watch something which appeared to be crawling along among the blocks of stone close by, but he could not be sure that it was anything alive.
“A stone!” he said, and he went on thinking, not liking to draw attention to what most likely was only imagination. “It would be so stupid,” he said; “and would alarm the brute and keep it from coming, if I was wrong.”
So he sat there, crouched up together, his back against the stone, and his arms round his knees, which formed a resting-place for his chin, till quite a couple of hours of watching and listening to the roar of the wind overhead and the beat of the sea beneath had passed away.
“I wonder how Mr Dallas is,” he thought at last; and as the scene in the rough canvas-covered shelter came to his mind’s eye, with the tallow candle stuck in a corner of the rock, some of its own fat sealing it there, as they had no candlestick, he saw again the sunken cheeks and wild, fevered eyes of the wounded man, and pictured his white, cracked lips, and the tin pannikin of water placed ready on a box by where he lay.
There was some biscuit too, ready to soak and give him a few bits. He thought—“I wonder whether that man has given him any.”
Another half-hour passed, during which Syd had forgotten everything but his patient, and at last, full of anxiety, he felt that he must go and see him.
“No, I will not,” he muttered, and he began watching again.
“How contented these sailors are,” he said after a time; “how silently they sit keeping guard. I hope they are not asleep.”
He crept softly in the direction where Strake was posted, and as he neared it he thought to himself that it was a good job he had told the boatswain not to bring firearms; but as the thought came he oddly enough regretted it.
“If the brute is dangerous it is not fair to the men. I was wrong. But they must be all asleep, or they would have heard me.”
Click, click!
The cocking of a pistol close by.
“Strake! Don’t shoot.”
“You, Master Syd!” growled the boatswain, “I thought it was that there bear. Why, you shouldn’t come crawling up like that, sir, I might have shot at you.”
“But I told you not to bring pistols.”
“So you did, sir; but as I thought as the brute might stick his teeth into me, I felt as you wouldn’t like me to be hurt, and so I brought ’em. You see, sir, you’ve only got one bo’sun, and it would be awkward if I was killed.”
“Look here,” whispered Syd, “I’m going up to see how Mr Dallas is. Don’t make a mistake and fire at me as I come back.”
“Don’t you be scared about that, sir,” growled the boatswain; “I’ll take care.”
“Are the men all awake?”
“Trust ’em, sir. They’ve got open eyes.”
“I shall not be long,” said Syd.
“Right, sir.”
“And be careful with that pistol, Strake. You may use it, though, if there is danger.”
“Thankye, sir,” said the boatswain, and then to himself, “I’ll use both sooner than have my eyes clawed out, and my nose chawed off.”
Syd crept quietly along among the high blocks of rock which dotted the chasm, gazing up at the quivering stars once and wishing they gave more light, and thinking of what shelter these rocks would give if the French ever did attack them and were in such numbers that they took the lower gun, and came swarming along into the gap.
“We could keep them off after all, I dare say,” he said. By this time he was close up to the rough shelter which the men had dubbed the hospital. Drawing aside the canvas hung down over the doorway, he was about to step in when there was a rush, the candle was knocked down, and by its feeble glimmer, where it lay on the rocky floor, he caught a glimpse of something dark which rushed at him, drove him backwards, and disappeared in the darkness.
“You stupid idiot!” cried Syd, in a loud whisper. “Frightened him, I suppose, going in so quickly.”
He once more stepped into the rough place, to see with astonishment the sailor who had been placed there to relieve Roylance, in the act of picking up the candle from where it lay flickering on the floor.
“Tumbled down, sir,” said the man, confusedly.
“Tumbled down!” cried Sydney, in an angry whisper; “why, you lazy rascal, you were asleep!”
“Sleep, sir?”
“Yes. Who was that in here just now?”
“Here, sir; and banged out o’ the door there! Wasn’t it you?”
“No—no,” whispered Syd, who grasped the position now; “it must have been that beast we are trying to catch. Yes; he has taken the biscuit that lay there while you slept.”
“Very sorry, sir; been hard at work, and—”
Sydney heard no more. He had dashed out of the canvas-covered hut and run swiftly down toward the lower gun.
“Look out, Roylance! Strake!” he shouted; “it’s coming your way.”
Bang!
A pause as the shot echoed among the rocks. Then there was another report, and a wild cry. Then silence, broken directly after by the muttering of men’s voices.
“Got it,” cried Syd.
“Yes; Strake has brought it down. It came with a rush between us, and he fired, and then fired again.”
“Yes, I heard. What is it—a bear?”
“Don’t know; we want a candle. I’ll fetch the one from Mr Dallas’s place and shade it with my hat.”
Roylance went on toward the hospital, while Sydney cautiously felt his way among the rocks, full of excitement and eagerness to learn what the strange creature might be.
“Hi! where are you?” he shouted.
“This way, sir,” answered a voice, which he recognised as that of Rogers.
He hurried on, the shout coming from close by the lower gun, and as he reached the spot he made out the group of figures, and heard the boatswain’s gruff voice groaning out—
“Oh, lor’! Oh, lor’! Oh, lor’!” Then in angry tones—“It sarved you right. No business carrying on games like that.”
“What’s the matter?” cried Syd. “Is any one hurt? Haven’t you shot the bear?”
“It warn’t no bear, sir,” said Rogers, excitedly; “it was young Pan Strake, and his father’s brought him down.”