CHAPTER VII.
PURSUIT.
Frank had caused all this terror. As old readers know, he was a skillful ventriloquist, and he had seized the opportunity to work upon the superstitious fears of the ignorant sailors. With a skill that was absolutely wonderful he had made the singing seem to come nearer and nearer till it was close at hand, and then he had laughed so the sound appeared to issue from the pit the men had dug.
It was sport for Frank, and he hoped to frighten the men away so completely that they would abandon their captive. This, however, they did not do. Capt. Horn kept a clutch upon the captive, whom he dragged along as he hurried after the fleeing men, whom he savagely cursed as poltroons.
Capt. Horn did not know whence the ghostly voice had come, but, although he was startled, the sound of that voice had added to his belief that they really were on track of the pirate’s treasure. He had more than half expected something of a weird and ghostly nature would happen, and he had tried to fortify the courage of his companions so they would keep at work for all of anything that might happen.
But those sailors, who had promised faithfully not to desert him, were frightened, and they fled as if the very Old Nick was in pursuit.
When Frank saw that Capt. Horn was dragging the captive away, he leaped up and ran to help the man; but the dark lantern was dropped, and both captor and captive disappeared in the shadows beneath the trees.
Frank ran in the direction he fancied they had taken. First he tripped over a stone and went sprawling upon the ground; but he jumped up instantly and dashed on again.
Bump—shash—grunt!
Frank was hurled down again, but this time he had struck the trunk of a tree, and he was stunned. It was some moments before he could recover, but still he did not give up the hope of rendering the captive some assistance.
When he got upon his feet he realized that the chances of overtaking Horn and his captive in the darkness was slim.
“Must do something,” he muttered. “What?”
Then he thought of the boat.
“Cut ’em off! Perhaps I can do that. I’ll try!”
He ran for the pier, hoping to get there ahead of Capt. Horn—hoping Capt. Horn and the captive would be the next to arrive after he reached the spot.
Frank’s clothing was heavy with water, and thus he was hampered. He could not see what lay before him, and he took chances of a broken neck. Two or three times he went down, but he came up again like a bounding rubber ball.
“This—isn’t—anything—to—bucking—Harvard’s—line—in—football—game,” he panted.
He enjoyed it. The thought came to him that he would have a jolly time telling the fellows of the adventure. For one moment he saw in his fancy a crowd of friends gathered in his room eagerly listening to the narration of that night’s adventures.
He did not wait for his friends to overtake him. He had lost them in the darkness, and he knew it would not do to wait.
In a short time he approached the little steamboat pier,still running like a racer, head up, and breathing through his nostrils.
“Wonder—if—I’m—ahead.”
He could not tell. When he was close to the pier, he stopped and listened.
He heard nothing but the sweep of the wind and the boom of the surf.
“Can it be they got here ahead? Can it be they are gone?”
He crept out on the pier and looked over. Was that a boat under the edge of the pier?
He let himself over, hung down, felt out with his feet, found the boat and dropped into her.
“This is the one they came ashore in,” he decided. “It’s the only one here. I am ahead of them.”
The boat had drifted under the pier when he dropped into her. He put his hands against the wet and slimy timbers and pushed her out. Then he started to climb up on the pier.
Hark! Voices close at hand! The men were coming!
He took hold of the edge of the timbers above and pulled himself up, but the moment his head rose above the edge of the pier he realized that the men were close at hand. They were coming, and he could not get off the pier before they reached it!
“Trapped!”
He felt out with his feet, dropped back into the boat, sat down.
Then it was that Frank Merriwell’s brain worked swiftly. What was he to do? He thought of several things. His first thought was to cut the boat adrift, push it under the pier, where they could not find it, and keep still. Then he knew his friends would soon be coming down to that pier, and, if the sailors were there, a collision must take place.
His hand touched something in the prow of the boat.
“A tarpaulin!” he whispered.
With that discovery a daring scheme entered his mind. Not one boy in a hundred would have ventured to carry it out had he thought of it.
The boat was fairly large, and there was little danger that one of the four men would be placed in the bow.
“Got to hustle!” whispered Frank, as he heard the feet of the men on the pier above his head.
He lifted the tarpaulin, crawled under it, stowed himself as closely as possible in the forward end of the boat.
Not a moment too soon.
There was a tug at the rope, and the boat was dragged from beneath the pier. Then several cursing, growling, shivering men dropped into it.
Capt. Horn was there. He snarled at everybody, he swore at everybody, he was furious.
“A lot of lubberly cowards!” he raved. “A lot of fools! You were scared at nothing!”
“No, sir,” said a sullen voice. “I heard it, cap’n.”
“An’ I felt it’s touch, cap’n,” chattered another, who seemed almost overcome with terror.
One of the men planted his heel fairly on Frank’s fingers, but Merry set his teeth and made no attempt to pull his hand away, although he felt that his fingers would be crushed. It was a great relief when the man removed his foot.
Capt. Horn realized that his men were utterly overcome with fear, and so he allowed them to push off from the pier and row toward the black schooner, which was hidden in the darkness of the cove.
The waves beat against the boat with heavy thuds, but the arms of the sailors were strengthened by fear, andthey pulled lustily, seeming in terror that the ghost of the pirate chief should follow them even after they had left the island.
Capt. Horn continued to curse and snarl. His captive was silent.
That captive was a mystery to Frank. Surely it was not the girl they had seen on the vessel. It was a man, but not a word had Frank heard him speak.
The thought that he might be gagged came to Merriwell. Perhaps that was why he remained so silent.
The schooner was reached at last. There was a hail from the boat, answered from on deck, and then a line came down from above, was caught, and they were alongside.
Frank remained quiet for a little time after the men had left the boat. At last, he stirred, for he was in a most uncomfortable position, cramped and aching in every limb.
With great caution, Merry pulled the tarpaulin off him and got a breath of fresh air. It had ceased raining, and it did not seem as if the wind was blowing as hard as it had been.
“Short storm,” Frank decided; “but it was long enough to raise the Old Nick with us and send Bart Hodge to the bottom. Poor Bart! I’ll never see him more!”
The thought made Frank sick at heart, and, for some moments, he remained there motionless, benumbed by this fresh sense of the loss of his friend.
Merry knew Bart had regarded him as a hero. He had reached out his hand and steadied Hodge more than once when the dark-faced, passionate lad was tottering on the brink of a precipice. His hand had guided Bart’s wavering footsteps into the path of honor, and for his sake Hodge had studied for months that he might bein condition to pass the examination and enter Yale that spring.
And now he was gone!
No wonder Frank was sick and numb. After a time he aroused himself and sat up.
A short line held the boat close under the stern of the black schooner, upon which he could see no sign of life.
“I might cast off and slip ashore without a soul on this vessel being the wiser,” he thought. “I could find the boys and bring them on board. What could we do then? There are, at least, four sailors. There are but four of us. It is a sure thing that the sailors are armed, and we are not. It’s more than even chances that they’d do us up in a square fight.”
It did not take him long to decide he would not be in a hurry about bringing the rest of the boys on board, but he resolved to go on board himself.
With the aid of the line, he pulled the boat close under the stern of the vessel, and, a moment later, he slipped like a cat over the rail of thePirateand reached her deck.
Frank crouched low in the shadow of the wheel, listening and trying to peer through the darkness. He saw no moving thing. The wind was whistling through the rigging of the heaving schooner, and a loose rope was making a slatting sound, but that was all.
Frank moved. He did not stand upright, but, on his hands and knees, he crept along the deck toward the companionway. He had not gone far before the sound of voices reached his ears.
“They are all below,” he decided.
The companionway was reached, and he started to slip down the stairs. He had not gone far before he halted suddenly and turned his head, having heard a sound behind him.
At that very moment, with a hoarse shout, a man sprang down the stairs and landed on Frank’s shoulders.
With a crash and a bump, they went to the bottom together. Frank received a shock that robbed him of his senses for the moment, so that he was utterly helpless.