Chapter Twenty Eight.Tom Fillot advises.There was a fierce howl of rage and a heavy crash from forward as Mark drew and cocked his pistol, running toward the hatch with Tom Fillot into the foul smelling smoke that hung around, in the midst of which stood the great black, whirling the capstan bar with which he was armed about his head, after delivering a crushing blow at someone who had tried to climb out, and then dropped back groaning, but not much injured, fortunately for him, the principal force of the blow having fallen upon the woodwork of the hatchway.As the black saw them he uttered a low, savage roar, and pointed to his shoulder, which had been grazed by a pistol ball, the smarting making the great fellow grin with rage and roll his eyes.“Hi, below there!” cried Mark, the excitement making him forget all danger. “Hand up that pistol and any other weapons you have, or we’ll fire down among you.”The answer was a flash, a sharp report, and a puff of smoke, Mark being conscious of a whizzing sound close by one ear.“You scoundrels!” he cried, passionately. “Surrender; do you hear?”“Not we,” came in a familiar voice. “S’render yourselves. You’re not Queen’s officers, only pirates, and I’m going to retake my ship.”“If that pistol is not thrown out on the deck, sir, I give the orders to fire,” cried Mark.“That’s jist what you darn’t do, mister,” said the American skipper.“Let ’em have it, sir,” whispered Tom Fillot, excitedly.But Mark felt as if the skipper’s words were correct, and that he dare not fire down into that cabin to the destruction of some poor wretch’s life, so he did not—to use Tom Fillot’s expression—“Let ’em have it,” but gave orders sharply in the way of defence, and not attack.“Clap on the hatch, Tom,” he shouted; and the covering, which had been forced off in some way, was thrust back and held down for a moment or two, before Tom leaped away as a shot crashed through, and the hatch was driven off once more.By this time the rest of the men were gathered round, and it was just as well, for a daring attempt was made to climb on deck, but only for each man who attempted the feat to be sent down again by a blow on head or shoulder.“If you’d give orders, sir,” said Tom, “we’d soon have that hatch over again, and fifty fathom o’ chain cable piled atop.”“I don’t like risking you men’s lives,” said Mark; “but there’s no going back now; it must be done.”“Come on, Dick Bannock,” cried Tom Fillot, rolling up his sleeves. “You chaps stand by with the end of that cable.”Another shot was fired from the forecastle, and directly after the muzzle of a pistol appeared over the side with a hand directing it, whenbang,crash—down came Soup’s capstan bar, striking pistol and hand with such good effect that they were snatched back, and a burst of fierce oaths came up.“Well done, my lad!” cried Mark; and the black looked at him and showed his white teeth as he stood watchful, and ready, with the bar raised for another blow.By this time the men had laid hold of the end of the cable and drawn some two or three fathoms up from the little forward compartment, while Tom Fillot and Bannock seized the loose hatch ready to clap on.“No, no,” cried Mark, hastily; “don’t expose yourselves needlessly, my lads. Lie down and crawl toward the hatchway, pushing the cable before you.”“Thought you’d fancy we were cowardly, sir,” said Tom, obeying his orders.“Then don’t think so again, sir,” cried Mark, who wondered at his own sharpness and authoritative way. “Now then, stand by all. Ready?”“Ay, ay, sir.”“Hah! look-out!”Crash.“Well done, my lad.”This was as a pistol was once more thrust out, and the hand which held it appeared ready for Soup to hit at, which he did, and missed. But, all the same, the hand and pistol disappeared, and the next minute Tom and Dick, one on each side, thrust the cover over the hatch as they crawled forward, Tom flinging himself across it, while the rest of the men hauled away, and began to pile on the chain cable.Bangagain—a pistol-shot fired up through the hatchway lid, and Tom gave a sharp start.“Ah! Hurt?” cried Mark, excitedly, as the sailor rolled over, while as quickly as possible more of the cable was piled up where he had lain.“Dunno yet, sir,” said Tom, rising up and feeling his side. “Something give me an awful whack on the ribs. Don’t look like a dead ’un, do I?”“Don’t say you’re wounded, Tom,” said Mark, in a hoarse whisper.“Wasn’t going to, sir,” replied the man, whose hands were still busy feeling his side. “No, I don’t think I’m wounded; don’t feel like it—only savage, and as if I should like to drop on to the chap as fired that shot. I know: I have it. The bullet must have hit the chain, and drove it against my ribs. I’m all right, sir. Deal o’ fight in me yet.”“Thank Heaven!” said Mark to himself, as he thought of how helpless he would have been without the frank young sailor who was completely his strong right hand.By this time the hatch was loaded with coil upon coil of the strong chain, and, though a couple more shots were fired, the bullets were only flattened against the iron links.“Hah, that gives us breathing time, my lads,” cried Mark. “Now then, what next?”“Daylight’d be the best thing, sir,” said Dance; “and then I should be able to see about—”He stopped short, put his hand to his head, and looked around vacantly.“What was it I wanted to see about?”“It’s all right, messmate; don’t you worry about that,” cried Tom, clapping him on the shoulder.“Eh? No, I won’t, Tom,” said Dance, thoughtfully. “It’s my head goes all foggy sometimes, and then I can’t think; but I’m all right again, ain’t I, mate? Not going to be like the lufftenant, eh?”“Not you,” said Tom Fillot.The coxswain laughed.“Yes, I’m coming round,” he said. “Head’s a bit soft, that’s all; but I’m coming round.”While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.As Mark busied himself, he could not help thinking of how much demand there was made upon an officer in command, with the result that his respect for those over him was wonderfully increased.All further thought of rest for the men was given up, and the remainder of the night was devoted to keeping a careful watch, Mark pacing the deck and stopping to have a quiet consultation now and then with his mate.“I can’t think where they obtained their arms, Tom,” he said on one occasion.“Oh, you needn’t wonder at that, sir,” replied the man, with a laugh. “’Mericans ain’t like Englishmen, and pretty well every man jack of ’em’s got a pistol hid somewhere about him. It ain’t to be wondered at, sir,” continued the man, stretching out and clenching his big hand. “I never see a ’Merican yet with a good fist like that, and a man must have something to fight with when he goes knocking about in the world. Well, sir, as you say I’m to be mate while we’re on this expedition, p’r’aps you won’t mind me asking what you’re going to do next ’bout the prisoners. Is it to be irons?”“No,” said Mark, firmly. “I can’t do that.”“Then if I were you, sir, I’d risk them trying to take the schooner again, and send ’em adrift first thing in one of the boats.”“On an uninhabited shore? Why, it would be like murdering them, man.”“Well, hardly, sir, because you give ’em all a chansh for their lives, though it ain’t lively for a look-out to be cast ashore where there’s only palm trees and nothing else ’cept the niggers, who might want to serve you out for captering their brothers and sisters for slaves.”“No, Tom, it will not do. We must keep the men prisoners, and make the best of our way north, to where we can hand them over to the officers of the law.”“Very good, sir,” said Tom Fillot, “only either o’ my ways would be easier.”“Do you think Mr Russell would act as you propose?” said Mark, sharply.Tom Fillot screwed up his face, and shook his head.“No, sir. He’d do as you’re going to. But we must keep a sharp eye on ’em, or they’ll be too many for us, I’m afraid. They’re the sort as it don’t do to be easy with, sir, because if you are, they only think you’re feared on ’em.”“There shan’t be much easiness with them, Tom,” said Mark, firmly. “They’re prisoners, and prisoners they shall stay.”“If they don’t circumwent us, sir, and get out,” said Tom; and the discussion closed.
There was a fierce howl of rage and a heavy crash from forward as Mark drew and cocked his pistol, running toward the hatch with Tom Fillot into the foul smelling smoke that hung around, in the midst of which stood the great black, whirling the capstan bar with which he was armed about his head, after delivering a crushing blow at someone who had tried to climb out, and then dropped back groaning, but not much injured, fortunately for him, the principal force of the blow having fallen upon the woodwork of the hatchway.
As the black saw them he uttered a low, savage roar, and pointed to his shoulder, which had been grazed by a pistol ball, the smarting making the great fellow grin with rage and roll his eyes.
“Hi, below there!” cried Mark, the excitement making him forget all danger. “Hand up that pistol and any other weapons you have, or we’ll fire down among you.”
The answer was a flash, a sharp report, and a puff of smoke, Mark being conscious of a whizzing sound close by one ear.
“You scoundrels!” he cried, passionately. “Surrender; do you hear?”
“Not we,” came in a familiar voice. “S’render yourselves. You’re not Queen’s officers, only pirates, and I’m going to retake my ship.”
“If that pistol is not thrown out on the deck, sir, I give the orders to fire,” cried Mark.
“That’s jist what you darn’t do, mister,” said the American skipper.
“Let ’em have it, sir,” whispered Tom Fillot, excitedly.
But Mark felt as if the skipper’s words were correct, and that he dare not fire down into that cabin to the destruction of some poor wretch’s life, so he did not—to use Tom Fillot’s expression—“Let ’em have it,” but gave orders sharply in the way of defence, and not attack.
“Clap on the hatch, Tom,” he shouted; and the covering, which had been forced off in some way, was thrust back and held down for a moment or two, before Tom leaped away as a shot crashed through, and the hatch was driven off once more.
By this time the rest of the men were gathered round, and it was just as well, for a daring attempt was made to climb on deck, but only for each man who attempted the feat to be sent down again by a blow on head or shoulder.
“If you’d give orders, sir,” said Tom, “we’d soon have that hatch over again, and fifty fathom o’ chain cable piled atop.”
“I don’t like risking you men’s lives,” said Mark; “but there’s no going back now; it must be done.”
“Come on, Dick Bannock,” cried Tom Fillot, rolling up his sleeves. “You chaps stand by with the end of that cable.”
Another shot was fired from the forecastle, and directly after the muzzle of a pistol appeared over the side with a hand directing it, whenbang,crash—down came Soup’s capstan bar, striking pistol and hand with such good effect that they were snatched back, and a burst of fierce oaths came up.
“Well done, my lad!” cried Mark; and the black looked at him and showed his white teeth as he stood watchful, and ready, with the bar raised for another blow.
By this time the men had laid hold of the end of the cable and drawn some two or three fathoms up from the little forward compartment, while Tom Fillot and Bannock seized the loose hatch ready to clap on.
“No, no,” cried Mark, hastily; “don’t expose yourselves needlessly, my lads. Lie down and crawl toward the hatchway, pushing the cable before you.”
“Thought you’d fancy we were cowardly, sir,” said Tom, obeying his orders.
“Then don’t think so again, sir,” cried Mark, who wondered at his own sharpness and authoritative way. “Now then, stand by all. Ready?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Hah! look-out!”
Crash.
“Well done, my lad.”
This was as a pistol was once more thrust out, and the hand which held it appeared ready for Soup to hit at, which he did, and missed. But, all the same, the hand and pistol disappeared, and the next minute Tom and Dick, one on each side, thrust the cover over the hatch as they crawled forward, Tom flinging himself across it, while the rest of the men hauled away, and began to pile on the chain cable.
Bangagain—a pistol-shot fired up through the hatchway lid, and Tom gave a sharp start.
“Ah! Hurt?” cried Mark, excitedly, as the sailor rolled over, while as quickly as possible more of the cable was piled up where he had lain.
“Dunno yet, sir,” said Tom, rising up and feeling his side. “Something give me an awful whack on the ribs. Don’t look like a dead ’un, do I?”
“Don’t say you’re wounded, Tom,” said Mark, in a hoarse whisper.
“Wasn’t going to, sir,” replied the man, whose hands were still busy feeling his side. “No, I don’t think I’m wounded; don’t feel like it—only savage, and as if I should like to drop on to the chap as fired that shot. I know: I have it. The bullet must have hit the chain, and drove it against my ribs. I’m all right, sir. Deal o’ fight in me yet.”
“Thank Heaven!” said Mark to himself, as he thought of how helpless he would have been without the frank young sailor who was completely his strong right hand.
By this time the hatch was loaded with coil upon coil of the strong chain, and, though a couple more shots were fired, the bullets were only flattened against the iron links.
“Hah, that gives us breathing time, my lads,” cried Mark. “Now then, what next?”
“Daylight’d be the best thing, sir,” said Dance; “and then I should be able to see about—”
He stopped short, put his hand to his head, and looked around vacantly.
“What was it I wanted to see about?”
“It’s all right, messmate; don’t you worry about that,” cried Tom, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Eh? No, I won’t, Tom,” said Dance, thoughtfully. “It’s my head goes all foggy sometimes, and then I can’t think; but I’m all right again, ain’t I, mate? Not going to be like the lufftenant, eh?”
“Not you,” said Tom Fillot.
The coxswain laughed.
“Yes, I’m coming round,” he said. “Head’s a bit soft, that’s all; but I’m coming round.”
While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.
As Mark busied himself, he could not help thinking of how much demand there was made upon an officer in command, with the result that his respect for those over him was wonderfully increased.
All further thought of rest for the men was given up, and the remainder of the night was devoted to keeping a careful watch, Mark pacing the deck and stopping to have a quiet consultation now and then with his mate.
“I can’t think where they obtained their arms, Tom,” he said on one occasion.
“Oh, you needn’t wonder at that, sir,” replied the man, with a laugh. “’Mericans ain’t like Englishmen, and pretty well every man jack of ’em’s got a pistol hid somewhere about him. It ain’t to be wondered at, sir,” continued the man, stretching out and clenching his big hand. “I never see a ’Merican yet with a good fist like that, and a man must have something to fight with when he goes knocking about in the world. Well, sir, as you say I’m to be mate while we’re on this expedition, p’r’aps you won’t mind me asking what you’re going to do next ’bout the prisoners. Is it to be irons?”
“No,” said Mark, firmly. “I can’t do that.”
“Then if I were you, sir, I’d risk them trying to take the schooner again, and send ’em adrift first thing in one of the boats.”
“On an uninhabited shore? Why, it would be like murdering them, man.”
“Well, hardly, sir, because you give ’em all a chansh for their lives, though it ain’t lively for a look-out to be cast ashore where there’s only palm trees and nothing else ’cept the niggers, who might want to serve you out for captering their brothers and sisters for slaves.”
“No, Tom, it will not do. We must keep the men prisoners, and make the best of our way north, to where we can hand them over to the officers of the law.”
“Very good, sir,” said Tom Fillot, “only either o’ my ways would be easier.”
“Do you think Mr Russell would act as you propose?” said Mark, sharply.
Tom Fillot screwed up his face, and shook his head.
“No, sir. He’d do as you’re going to. But we must keep a sharp eye on ’em, or they’ll be too many for us, I’m afraid. They’re the sort as it don’t do to be easy with, sir, because if you are, they only think you’re feared on ’em.”
“There shan’t be much easiness with them, Tom,” said Mark, firmly. “They’re prisoners, and prisoners they shall stay.”
“If they don’t circumwent us, sir, and get out,” said Tom; and the discussion closed.
Chapter Twenty Nine.Difficult Prisoners.Never was morning greeted with greater joy than by the crew of theNautilus’first cutter. For with the darkness half the troubles to which they were exposed faded away; and though tired out from long watching, excitement, and loss of sleep, the bright sunshine made things look quite hopeful. So when the midshipman had partaken of a good breakfast and attended to Mr Russell’s wants, he felt ready to believe that his brother officer was a little better, and had understood him when he spoke, for there was a look of intensity in his countenance widely different from the vacant, drowsy aspect which had been so marked ever since the hour when he was struck down.On deck there was so much to see to that weariness was soon forgotten. There were the unfortunate blacks to feed on both vessels, though this had already grown into a much simpler task, Soup and Taters giving orders to the men they had selected to help them; and these latter, now that they had thoroughly grasped the fact that nothing but good was intended by their fresh captors, eagerly devoting themselves to the task of distributing the rations amongst their unfortunate fellow-country folk, and watching Mark and his men with the greatest intentness as they strove to comprehend their wishes.That morning, as soon as the party on board the first schooner was provisioned, the boat was manned, and Fillot, accompanied by Soup, went aboard the second schooner, where all proved to be satisfactory, Taters greeting them smilingly, while the emancipated slaves were ready to lie down on the deck.“To make it soft for us to walk upon,” Tom said on his return.This was eagerly looked for by Mark, who had spent his time watching the schooner astern, and the shore a couple of miles away, in the hope of their coming upon a town where he could land his prisoners, their presence on board being risky in the extreme.Tom Fillot’s return was looked for so eagerly on account of the action of the prisoners, who had begun to clamour for the hatch to be opened, and after several orders to be silent had been disregarded, now beat heavily on the hatchway cover, and shouted to be let out.Mark had deferred taking any action while his right-hand man was absent; but the uproar became at last so obstreperous that he walked to the cable-covered hatchway and struck heavily upon the deck.“Now,” he said, sharply, “what is it?”“Look here, squaire,” came in the skipper’s muffled tones, “guess yew don’t want to kill us?”“Then have off that there hatch. We’re being smothered: that’s so.”“It’s not true,” said Mark, firmly. “The ventilator’s open.”“Wal, that say gives ’bout air enough for one man to drink in. We want more.”“You’re getting more now than you considered enough for those unfortunate blacks, sir. So be silent, or I’ll have you all in irons.”“Don’t you try it, mister,” cried the skipper. “But look here, squaire, we want our breakfast.”“Your rations shall be served out to you all in good time,” replied Mark.“But we want ’em now, mister; my lads are half famished.”“I tell you that you shall have them soon, so wait patiently.”“Wall, don’t be ugly about it, squaire. We’re not ugly now. Look here, it’s hot and smothering down here. Let us come up on deck and have a confab about this business. It’s of no use for us to quarrel about it, so let’s square matters.”“I don’t understand you.”“Yew don’t? Wall, look here; yew’ve took the schooner, and I s’pose she’s your prize if yew say yew ain’t pirates. ’Scuse me for thinking yew was, seeing as yew came in a schooner as don’t look a bit like a Britannic Majesty’s ship o’ war.”“I told you that was a prize to her Majesty’s ship.”“Ah, so yew did, and now yew’ve got another, but yew don’t want a lot o’ Murrican corpses aboard, squaire, so let us out, so as we can breathe. We’ll make a truce with yew.”The boat had come back from the second prize, and Tom Fillot walked up to look on, listening and wondering.“You mean to say that if I let you come on deck—you and your men—you will not attempt to escape or recapture the schooner?”“That’s so, captain.”Tom made an angry gesticulation, and took a step nearer to his young officer.“Then to show your good faith,” cried Mark, “hand up all your pistols through the ventilator.”There was a few moments’ silence, and Tom slapped his knee softly.“Well, do you hear?” cried Mark.“Wall, captain, I’m willing,” said the skipper, “but my lads here say air yew to be trusted? and what’s to become o’ them if they come up and yew and yewr men turn nasty, and them without weepons?”“You heard what I said, sir; hand up your pistols,” said Mark, firmly.“Guess we can’t do that, squaire. But look here, captain.”The complimentary title did no good, for Mark turned sharply away.“See that some biscuit and water are lowered down to these people, Fillot,” he cried.“Ay, ay, sir.”“Biscuit—water?” roared the American skipper, his voice coming up through the ventilator with a yell. “Yew don’t mean to say—”He stopped short to listen to Tom Fillot’s next words.“Shall we open the hatch, sir?”“No; lower all down through the ventilator,” cried Mark, from where he had walked.Tom Fillot joined him, with a grim smile on his countenance, soon after.“Hear the skipper, sir?” he said.“No; what did he say?”Tom Fillot gave the midshipman a comical look.“I don’t think you’d care to hear what he said, sir. But my word, he is in a snag. Swears he’ll be even with you yet, sir, and that we’re a set of thieves and pirates, and not British sailors at all.”“I thought you were not going to tell me what he said, Tom.”“I ain’t, sir. That was only some of the nice innercent bits. You’ll excuse me, sir, won’t you?”“Excuse what?”“Just hinting again about the irons, or setting of ’em afloat near the shore.”“I’ll excuse you, Tom Fillot, but I shall not do it.”“Very good, sir; you’re officer, I’m only man; but I’m afeared of ’em.”“I don’t believe it, Tom.”“Well, sir, I don’t mean feared in one way, but in the t’other. I mean I’m feared they’ll get out, and if they do, and we surwive, they’ll either put us in irons or set us ashore.”“They’ve got to get out yet, Tom. That cable’s heavy enough to keep them from opening the hatch.”“Yes, sir; it’s heavy enough, but I can’t feel sure of ’em. These Yankees are such clever chaps. It’s wonderful what dodges and tricks they can think of. I only wish theNaughtylasswould heave in sight, and take charge of both schooners. The blacks are enough to take care on without a gang o’ savage chaps like them below.”
Never was morning greeted with greater joy than by the crew of theNautilus’first cutter. For with the darkness half the troubles to which they were exposed faded away; and though tired out from long watching, excitement, and loss of sleep, the bright sunshine made things look quite hopeful. So when the midshipman had partaken of a good breakfast and attended to Mr Russell’s wants, he felt ready to believe that his brother officer was a little better, and had understood him when he spoke, for there was a look of intensity in his countenance widely different from the vacant, drowsy aspect which had been so marked ever since the hour when he was struck down.
On deck there was so much to see to that weariness was soon forgotten. There were the unfortunate blacks to feed on both vessels, though this had already grown into a much simpler task, Soup and Taters giving orders to the men they had selected to help them; and these latter, now that they had thoroughly grasped the fact that nothing but good was intended by their fresh captors, eagerly devoting themselves to the task of distributing the rations amongst their unfortunate fellow-country folk, and watching Mark and his men with the greatest intentness as they strove to comprehend their wishes.
That morning, as soon as the party on board the first schooner was provisioned, the boat was manned, and Fillot, accompanied by Soup, went aboard the second schooner, where all proved to be satisfactory, Taters greeting them smilingly, while the emancipated slaves were ready to lie down on the deck.
“To make it soft for us to walk upon,” Tom said on his return.
This was eagerly looked for by Mark, who had spent his time watching the schooner astern, and the shore a couple of miles away, in the hope of their coming upon a town where he could land his prisoners, their presence on board being risky in the extreme.
Tom Fillot’s return was looked for so eagerly on account of the action of the prisoners, who had begun to clamour for the hatch to be opened, and after several orders to be silent had been disregarded, now beat heavily on the hatchway cover, and shouted to be let out.
Mark had deferred taking any action while his right-hand man was absent; but the uproar became at last so obstreperous that he walked to the cable-covered hatchway and struck heavily upon the deck.
“Now,” he said, sharply, “what is it?”
“Look here, squaire,” came in the skipper’s muffled tones, “guess yew don’t want to kill us?”
“Then have off that there hatch. We’re being smothered: that’s so.”
“It’s not true,” said Mark, firmly. “The ventilator’s open.”
“Wal, that say gives ’bout air enough for one man to drink in. We want more.”
“You’re getting more now than you considered enough for those unfortunate blacks, sir. So be silent, or I’ll have you all in irons.”
“Don’t you try it, mister,” cried the skipper. “But look here, squaire, we want our breakfast.”
“Your rations shall be served out to you all in good time,” replied Mark.
“But we want ’em now, mister; my lads are half famished.”
“I tell you that you shall have them soon, so wait patiently.”
“Wall, don’t be ugly about it, squaire. We’re not ugly now. Look here, it’s hot and smothering down here. Let us come up on deck and have a confab about this business. It’s of no use for us to quarrel about it, so let’s square matters.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Yew don’t? Wall, look here; yew’ve took the schooner, and I s’pose she’s your prize if yew say yew ain’t pirates. ’Scuse me for thinking yew was, seeing as yew came in a schooner as don’t look a bit like a Britannic Majesty’s ship o’ war.”
“I told you that was a prize to her Majesty’s ship.”
“Ah, so yew did, and now yew’ve got another, but yew don’t want a lot o’ Murrican corpses aboard, squaire, so let us out, so as we can breathe. We’ll make a truce with yew.”
The boat had come back from the second prize, and Tom Fillot walked up to look on, listening and wondering.
“You mean to say that if I let you come on deck—you and your men—you will not attempt to escape or recapture the schooner?”
“That’s so, captain.”
Tom made an angry gesticulation, and took a step nearer to his young officer.
“Then to show your good faith,” cried Mark, “hand up all your pistols through the ventilator.”
There was a few moments’ silence, and Tom slapped his knee softly.
“Well, do you hear?” cried Mark.
“Wall, captain, I’m willing,” said the skipper, “but my lads here say air yew to be trusted? and what’s to become o’ them if they come up and yew and yewr men turn nasty, and them without weepons?”
“You heard what I said, sir; hand up your pistols,” said Mark, firmly.
“Guess we can’t do that, squaire. But look here, captain.”
The complimentary title did no good, for Mark turned sharply away.
“See that some biscuit and water are lowered down to these people, Fillot,” he cried.
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Biscuit—water?” roared the American skipper, his voice coming up through the ventilator with a yell. “Yew don’t mean to say—”
He stopped short to listen to Tom Fillot’s next words.
“Shall we open the hatch, sir?”
“No; lower all down through the ventilator,” cried Mark, from where he had walked.
Tom Fillot joined him, with a grim smile on his countenance, soon after.
“Hear the skipper, sir?” he said.
“No; what did he say?”
Tom Fillot gave the midshipman a comical look.
“I don’t think you’d care to hear what he said, sir. But my word, he is in a snag. Swears he’ll be even with you yet, sir, and that we’re a set of thieves and pirates, and not British sailors at all.”
“I thought you were not going to tell me what he said, Tom.”
“I ain’t, sir. That was only some of the nice innercent bits. You’ll excuse me, sir, won’t you?”
“Excuse what?”
“Just hinting again about the irons, or setting of ’em afloat near the shore.”
“I’ll excuse you, Tom Fillot, but I shall not do it.”
“Very good, sir; you’re officer, I’m only man; but I’m afeared of ’em.”
“I don’t believe it, Tom.”
“Well, sir, I don’t mean feared in one way, but in the t’other. I mean I’m feared they’ll get out, and if they do, and we surwive, they’ll either put us in irons or set us ashore.”
“They’ve got to get out yet, Tom. That cable’s heavy enough to keep them from opening the hatch.”
“Yes, sir; it’s heavy enough, but I can’t feel sure of ’em. These Yankees are such clever chaps. It’s wonderful what dodges and tricks they can think of. I only wish theNaughtylasswould heave in sight, and take charge of both schooners. The blacks are enough to take care on without a gang o’ savage chaps like them below.”
Chapter Thirty.A Joint Watch.That day passed quietly enough. The weather was hot, but tempered by a gentle gale, which wafted them on their way; and, as Mark gazed at the verdant shore through a glass and then at the glistening sea, it seemed to him as if Heaven was smiling upon their efforts to save the poor weak, trembling creatures, who were ready to wince and shrink away every time he marched forward to where their part of the deck was shut off by a rope stretched taut from side to side. But as soon as he put off the stern official look he wore—an unconscious copy of Captain Maitland’s quarter-deck manner—and smiled at them, their faces lit up, and he felt as if they would go down upon their knees to him and kiss his feet, if he would permit it.Already they looked better, and, like those in the second prize, basked in the sunshine, and talked together in a low, soft, pleasantly-sounding tongue.The second prize was visited twice, and in addition to Taters, Grote and Dance were left on board, to take it in turns at the wheel and manage the little sail, hoisted now to help the steering and ease the strain on the tow-rope.So everything went well that day: the Americans were quiet down below, and though the progress made was only slow, Mark felt hopeful, as he swept the horizon with his glass, of seeing theNautiluscome round some point, or appear in the offing at any time.That night, so as to guard against their being passed by their friends in the darkness, lights were hoisted as a signal that would be pretty sure to bring them help; and this being done, Tom Fillot approached his superior respectfully, to speak him, as he called it, about the division of the watches.“You’ll let me take the first, sir, while you’ll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won’t you?” he said.“Certainly not,” said Mark, shortly. “So sure as I go to sleep, something happens.”“But you can’t do without sleep, sir,” said the man.“I can to-night, Tom. I’ve been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day.”“Well, sir, begging your pardon, it’s the rummest sort o’ rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can’t hold up.”“I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we’ll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm.”“Very well, sir, if you won’t sleep reg’lar, so be it.”But it proved to be hard work. Nature is a terrible tyrant to those who try to break her laws, and after about an hour’s duty on deck, when the clustering stars had been watched, and their reflections in the sea, the wheel visited again and again, an ear given from time to time at the forecastle hatch and ventilator, where everything was silent as the grave, all of a sudden Mark would find himself at home, talking to his father and mother, or on board theNautilus, listening to Mr Whitney, the doctor, or to the captain, and then start up with a jerk to find he had been asleep.“How long was I off, Tom?” he would whisper, angry with himself.“’Bout five minutes, sir.”“Not more?”“No, sir.”“That’s right. All quiet?”“Yes, sir. Have another.”“Nonsense! I’m better now.”Mark took a turn to the wheel, said a few words to the steersman, and returned to his seat, to find that in those brief minutes Tom Fillot had gone off too, but only to start up, fully awake, at the moment his young officer sat down.“Look here, sir,” he said; “mortal natur’ won’t bear it. I’ll take a trot up and down now while you sleep.”“I’m not going to sleep,” said Mark, shortly.“Begging your pardon, sir, you are,” said Tom; and he took a few turns up and down, to return at last and find Mark quite fast.“I knowed it,” he said to himself, but he had hardly thought this when Mark started up again, vexed with himself, but unable to control the desire for rest.The consequence was that during the next two hours this natural process went on, the one who sat down going off instantly to sleep, while the other kept up his sentry-like walk, and no more words were uttered respecting it. They felt that it was nature’s work and accepted their position till toward midnight, when Mark was resting with his back to the bulwark, and his chin upon his breast, sleeping heavily, as he had been for about a minute. Tom Fillot stepped up lightly to his side and touched him.“Yes? What?” cried Mark, starting up in alarm.“Hist, sir! Steady! They’re a-breaking out.”“What!” said Mark, in an awe-stricken whisper, as his hands involuntarily sought pistol and dirk.“Hark!” came in a whisper to his ear; and leaning forward and peering into the darkness, he distinctly heard at intervals a faint, dull clink, as if some one were very carefully and slowly moving pieces of iron.For the moment, half drowsed still by his desire for sleep, Mark could not make out what it meant. Then he grasped the meaning of the sound.“Why, Tom Fillot,” he whispered, “they’re getting off the chain cable from the hatch.”“That’s it, sir; link by link.”
That day passed quietly enough. The weather was hot, but tempered by a gentle gale, which wafted them on their way; and, as Mark gazed at the verdant shore through a glass and then at the glistening sea, it seemed to him as if Heaven was smiling upon their efforts to save the poor weak, trembling creatures, who were ready to wince and shrink away every time he marched forward to where their part of the deck was shut off by a rope stretched taut from side to side. But as soon as he put off the stern official look he wore—an unconscious copy of Captain Maitland’s quarter-deck manner—and smiled at them, their faces lit up, and he felt as if they would go down upon their knees to him and kiss his feet, if he would permit it.
Already they looked better, and, like those in the second prize, basked in the sunshine, and talked together in a low, soft, pleasantly-sounding tongue.
The second prize was visited twice, and in addition to Taters, Grote and Dance were left on board, to take it in turns at the wheel and manage the little sail, hoisted now to help the steering and ease the strain on the tow-rope.
So everything went well that day: the Americans were quiet down below, and though the progress made was only slow, Mark felt hopeful, as he swept the horizon with his glass, of seeing theNautiluscome round some point, or appear in the offing at any time.
That night, so as to guard against their being passed by their friends in the darkness, lights were hoisted as a signal that would be pretty sure to bring them help; and this being done, Tom Fillot approached his superior respectfully, to speak him, as he called it, about the division of the watches.
“You’ll let me take the first, sir, while you’ll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won’t you?” he said.
“Certainly not,” said Mark, shortly. “So sure as I go to sleep, something happens.”
“But you can’t do without sleep, sir,” said the man.
“I can to-night, Tom. I’ve been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day.”
“Well, sir, begging your pardon, it’s the rummest sort o’ rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can’t hold up.”
“I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we’ll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm.”
“Very well, sir, if you won’t sleep reg’lar, so be it.”
But it proved to be hard work. Nature is a terrible tyrant to those who try to break her laws, and after about an hour’s duty on deck, when the clustering stars had been watched, and their reflections in the sea, the wheel visited again and again, an ear given from time to time at the forecastle hatch and ventilator, where everything was silent as the grave, all of a sudden Mark would find himself at home, talking to his father and mother, or on board theNautilus, listening to Mr Whitney, the doctor, or to the captain, and then start up with a jerk to find he had been asleep.
“How long was I off, Tom?” he would whisper, angry with himself.
“’Bout five minutes, sir.”
“Not more?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s right. All quiet?”
“Yes, sir. Have another.”
“Nonsense! I’m better now.”
Mark took a turn to the wheel, said a few words to the steersman, and returned to his seat, to find that in those brief minutes Tom Fillot had gone off too, but only to start up, fully awake, at the moment his young officer sat down.
“Look here, sir,” he said; “mortal natur’ won’t bear it. I’ll take a trot up and down now while you sleep.”
“I’m not going to sleep,” said Mark, shortly.
“Begging your pardon, sir, you are,” said Tom; and he took a few turns up and down, to return at last and find Mark quite fast.
“I knowed it,” he said to himself, but he had hardly thought this when Mark started up again, vexed with himself, but unable to control the desire for rest.
The consequence was that during the next two hours this natural process went on, the one who sat down going off instantly to sleep, while the other kept up his sentry-like walk, and no more words were uttered respecting it. They felt that it was nature’s work and accepted their position till toward midnight, when Mark was resting with his back to the bulwark, and his chin upon his breast, sleeping heavily, as he had been for about a minute. Tom Fillot stepped up lightly to his side and touched him.
“Yes? What?” cried Mark, starting up in alarm.
“Hist, sir! Steady! They’re a-breaking out.”
“What!” said Mark, in an awe-stricken whisper, as his hands involuntarily sought pistol and dirk.
“Hark!” came in a whisper to his ear; and leaning forward and peering into the darkness, he distinctly heard at intervals a faint, dull clink, as if some one were very carefully and slowly moving pieces of iron.
For the moment, half drowsed still by his desire for sleep, Mark could not make out what it meant. Then he grasped the meaning of the sound.
“Why, Tom Fillot,” he whispered, “they’re getting off the chain cable from the hatch.”
“That’s it, sir; link by link.”
Chapter Thirty One.A Novel Fastening.“Come on!” whispered Mark; “we must stop that game. Who’s on the watch at the hatch?”“Sam Grote, sir; but, poor lad, he can’t keep awake.”“A lantern,” said Mark, laconically; and Tom Fillot trotted aft to the cabin, and came back in five minutes with a light half hidden in his breast.During his absence, Mark had stood there listening in the darkness with a peculiar shuddering sensation to the soft clinking as link passed over link; and in imagination, while he peered through the transparent darkness, he saw a hand, which had been thrust out after the hatch had been raised a little, softly lifting and passing the cable off to the deck.Tom came back so silently that Mark was half startled. Then together they went on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, the lantern being carefully screened, and then only just a ray of light allowed to shine out forward.It fell upon the figure of the sailor Grote in a very peculiar attitude; for the poor fellow, unable to keep awake, had knelt close by the hatch, with his drawn cutlass point downward, resting on the cover, his two hands upon the hilt, and his forehead upon his hands—fast asleep.It was a dire offence against discipline, and a hot feeling of indignation swelled in Mark’s breast against the man.But it died out as quickly as it had come. The man had done his best to guard against the cover of the hatch being moved, feeling certain that any attempt to stir it must be communicated to his brain by the cutlass; and so no doubt it would have been later on. He was fast asleep, but for the last two nights he had hardly closed his eyes, though utterly worn out by the day’s exertion, while still suffering from his injuries.Greater reason still why Mark could not sit in judgment upon his man; he himself had been utterly unable to keep awake.These thoughts passed as the ray of light was shifted by Tom Fillot’s manipulation of the lantern, which shone directly after upon the clean white planks, with their black, well-caulked seams. Then, very slowly and cautiously, Tom Fillot guided the little patch of light along the boards till it fell upon a big heap of rusty chain between them and the hatch, showing how long and patiently someone must have been at work, and also the terrible fact that before long every link would have been removed, and in all probability the crew would have been taken by surprise.For now, as Tom still guided on the little patch of light, it fell upon a red hand visible as far as the wrist. This had been thrust out beside the edge of the cover after a portion had been hacked away with a knife, and the fingers, rust covered and strange looking, were working away, industriously easing down link after link on to the deck, their weight helping the worker, while the heap on the hatch was steadily, as it were, melting away.They stood watching this for a few moments, and then steadying the lantern with one hand, Tom slowly raised his cutlass with the other. A slight alteration of the rays of light must have flashed in the signalDanger! to the man at work, for the strange dull clinking of the links finished suddenly with one louder clink than the rest. The chain had been dropped as the hand darted in.Grote started back into wakefulness at the sound and sprang to his feet, on guard with his cutlass, while Tom Fillot fully uncovered the lantern, and held it up right in the man’s face, the light gleaming on the weapons they held.“Yes, you’re a nice ’un, you are,” growled Tom Fillot, “Look at that. Where should we have been in another hour if we’d trusted to you?”The man stared at the two heaps of chain, then at Tom Fillot, and then at his young officer, as he uttered a low groan.“I’ve done it now, sir,” he faltered, in his deep bass. “I did try so hard, sir; oh, so hard, but it come over me like all of a sudden, and walking up and down warn’t no good. I was asleep as I walked, and at last I thought if I shut my eyes a moment—”Bang!A sharp flash and a report made all three start back, and spread the alarm, one of the first to run up being the great black, bar in hand, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming, and all eager to join in any fray on behalf of those who had saved his life.“Wish my cutlash had come down heavy on the hand as fired that shot,” muttered Tom Fillot.“Put out the light,” said Mark sharply.Tom Fillot drew his jacket over the lantern, and they all stood round ready for the next order.“Haul back the chain,” said Mark, in a low voice. “Fillot, stand by, ready to cut at the first hand which thrusts out a pistol.” Then going close to the ventilator, he shouted down, “Below there you heard my orders. We shall show no mercy now.”A shout of defiance came up, followed by another shot, as the chain began to clink and chink while being hauled back and piled round and round from the edge toward the centre.“Stop!” cried Mark, as a thought struck him. Then in a whisper, “I’ll have an anchor laid on instead of the cable, and then I’ll have that run back into the tier. No: better still. Get up the biggest water cask we have.”“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Tom; and, with all the alacrity of man-o’-war’s men, he and his fellows went off with the lantern, and before long had a cask on deck and rolled it up to the hatchway.“But what for I dunno,” muttered Tom, “unless it’s for a sentry box.”He soon learned.“Buckets,” said Mark, laconically; and as soon as these were obtained, though in full expectation of shots being fired through the wooden cover at them, he gave his orders and the chain was rapidly hauled to the deck.But no shot was fired from below, the Americans evidently expecting that they would be attacked, and reserving their fire for the moment when the chain was all off, and the hatch thrown open.But as the last link fell off upon the deck two men who were standing ready lifted and banged the empty cask down heavily upon the hatch, a couple of buckets of water were splashed in directly, and then as rapidly as they could be drawn from over the side, others followed and were poured in.Those below were so puzzled that for a time they remained utterly without movement. Then as the water poured in there was a low whispering, and soon after a heaving up of the hatch a little way, but a man held on to the top of the cask on either side, and their weight proved to be too much for those who tried to heave up the hatch. Ten minutes after, the addition of many buckets of water turned the cask into a ponderous object beyond their strength.“Right to the brim,” said Mark; and the cask was filled.“There,” cried Tom; “it would puzzle them to move that.”The men below evidently thought so too, for they made no further effort, and subsided into a sulky kind of silence, while the chain was run back into the cable tier, and the watch resumed without fresh alarm till morning.
“Come on!” whispered Mark; “we must stop that game. Who’s on the watch at the hatch?”
“Sam Grote, sir; but, poor lad, he can’t keep awake.”
“A lantern,” said Mark, laconically; and Tom Fillot trotted aft to the cabin, and came back in five minutes with a light half hidden in his breast.
During his absence, Mark had stood there listening in the darkness with a peculiar shuddering sensation to the soft clinking as link passed over link; and in imagination, while he peered through the transparent darkness, he saw a hand, which had been thrust out after the hatch had been raised a little, softly lifting and passing the cable off to the deck.
Tom came back so silently that Mark was half startled. Then together they went on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, the lantern being carefully screened, and then only just a ray of light allowed to shine out forward.
It fell upon the figure of the sailor Grote in a very peculiar attitude; for the poor fellow, unable to keep awake, had knelt close by the hatch, with his drawn cutlass point downward, resting on the cover, his two hands upon the hilt, and his forehead upon his hands—fast asleep.
It was a dire offence against discipline, and a hot feeling of indignation swelled in Mark’s breast against the man.
But it died out as quickly as it had come. The man had done his best to guard against the cover of the hatch being moved, feeling certain that any attempt to stir it must be communicated to his brain by the cutlass; and so no doubt it would have been later on. He was fast asleep, but for the last two nights he had hardly closed his eyes, though utterly worn out by the day’s exertion, while still suffering from his injuries.
Greater reason still why Mark could not sit in judgment upon his man; he himself had been utterly unable to keep awake.
These thoughts passed as the ray of light was shifted by Tom Fillot’s manipulation of the lantern, which shone directly after upon the clean white planks, with their black, well-caulked seams. Then, very slowly and cautiously, Tom Fillot guided the little patch of light along the boards till it fell upon a big heap of rusty chain between them and the hatch, showing how long and patiently someone must have been at work, and also the terrible fact that before long every link would have been removed, and in all probability the crew would have been taken by surprise.
For now, as Tom still guided on the little patch of light, it fell upon a red hand visible as far as the wrist. This had been thrust out beside the edge of the cover after a portion had been hacked away with a knife, and the fingers, rust covered and strange looking, were working away, industriously easing down link after link on to the deck, their weight helping the worker, while the heap on the hatch was steadily, as it were, melting away.
They stood watching this for a few moments, and then steadying the lantern with one hand, Tom slowly raised his cutlass with the other. A slight alteration of the rays of light must have flashed in the signalDanger! to the man at work, for the strange dull clinking of the links finished suddenly with one louder clink than the rest. The chain had been dropped as the hand darted in.
Grote started back into wakefulness at the sound and sprang to his feet, on guard with his cutlass, while Tom Fillot fully uncovered the lantern, and held it up right in the man’s face, the light gleaming on the weapons they held.
“Yes, you’re a nice ’un, you are,” growled Tom Fillot, “Look at that. Where should we have been in another hour if we’d trusted to you?”
The man stared at the two heaps of chain, then at Tom Fillot, and then at his young officer, as he uttered a low groan.
“I’ve done it now, sir,” he faltered, in his deep bass. “I did try so hard, sir; oh, so hard, but it come over me like all of a sudden, and walking up and down warn’t no good. I was asleep as I walked, and at last I thought if I shut my eyes a moment—”
Bang!
A sharp flash and a report made all three start back, and spread the alarm, one of the first to run up being the great black, bar in hand, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming, and all eager to join in any fray on behalf of those who had saved his life.
“Wish my cutlash had come down heavy on the hand as fired that shot,” muttered Tom Fillot.
“Put out the light,” said Mark sharply.
Tom Fillot drew his jacket over the lantern, and they all stood round ready for the next order.
“Haul back the chain,” said Mark, in a low voice. “Fillot, stand by, ready to cut at the first hand which thrusts out a pistol.” Then going close to the ventilator, he shouted down, “Below there you heard my orders. We shall show no mercy now.”
A shout of defiance came up, followed by another shot, as the chain began to clink and chink while being hauled back and piled round and round from the edge toward the centre.
“Stop!” cried Mark, as a thought struck him. Then in a whisper, “I’ll have an anchor laid on instead of the cable, and then I’ll have that run back into the tier. No: better still. Get up the biggest water cask we have.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Tom; and, with all the alacrity of man-o’-war’s men, he and his fellows went off with the lantern, and before long had a cask on deck and rolled it up to the hatchway.
“But what for I dunno,” muttered Tom, “unless it’s for a sentry box.”
He soon learned.
“Buckets,” said Mark, laconically; and as soon as these were obtained, though in full expectation of shots being fired through the wooden cover at them, he gave his orders and the chain was rapidly hauled to the deck.
But no shot was fired from below, the Americans evidently expecting that they would be attacked, and reserving their fire for the moment when the chain was all off, and the hatch thrown open.
But as the last link fell off upon the deck two men who were standing ready lifted and banged the empty cask down heavily upon the hatch, a couple of buckets of water were splashed in directly, and then as rapidly as they could be drawn from over the side, others followed and were poured in.
Those below were so puzzled that for a time they remained utterly without movement. Then as the water poured in there was a low whispering, and soon after a heaving up of the hatch a little way, but a man held on to the top of the cask on either side, and their weight proved to be too much for those who tried to heave up the hatch. Ten minutes after, the addition of many buckets of water turned the cask into a ponderous object beyond their strength.
“Right to the brim,” said Mark; and the cask was filled.
“There,” cried Tom; “it would puzzle them to move that.”
The men below evidently thought so too, for they made no further effort, and subsided into a sulky kind of silence, while the chain was run back into the cable tier, and the watch resumed without fresh alarm till morning.
Chapter Thirty Two.“Hatching Mischief.”A long, busy day similar to the last, as they slowly crept along by the coast. The weather glorious, the blacks docile to a degree, and the Americans perfectly silent in their prison.Provisions and bottles of water were lowered down to them by means of a line through the ventilator; but the prisoners made no sign.“My!” said Tom, with a laugh, as he fastened a string round the neck of a well-corked bottle to lower it down, “won’t the Yankee skipper be mad when he puts that to his lips. Being a bottle, he’ll think it’s rum. Some folks can’t think as a bottle would hold anything else.”But no sound came even then, and Mark began to feel anxious.“We haven’t suffocated them, have we?” he said in a low voice. “They are so very quiet.”“Not we, sir. They aren’t the chaps to lie down and die without making a pretty good flurry over it fust. No sir; they’re a-settin’.”“Sitting, Tom,” said Mark, wonderingly.“No, sir; setting. Hatching mischief. They’ll give us another of their chickens after dark, and you and I must have a sleep apiece, so as to be ready for ’em to-night.”“Yes. We must,” said Mark; and after leaving the deck in charge of Stepney and Grote, of the latter especially, as Mark felt sure that he could be trusted now, he and Tom Fillot lay down under an awning they had rigged up, and in less than a moment they were both sleeping heavily.It was nearly sundown when Mark awoke with a start from an uneasy dream, in which he fancied that he had been neglecting his duty.Tom Fillot was standing over him, and the lad’s first words were,—“What’s the matter?”Tom Fillot hastened to reply.“Nothing, sir, I’ve been all round. Prisoners safe, rations been issued, blacks all quiet, shore three miles off, and nice wind from the sou’-west.”“Ah!” sighed Mark, with a feeling of relief stealing over him. “I thought something was wrong, and that I had slept too much. How is Mr Russell?”“Just as he was, sir; lying as quiet as a babby.” Mark crossed to where a bucket of water stood on the deck, signed to one of the men to empty it and draw another, and into this he plunged his face, bathing it for a few minutes to get rid of the remains of his drowsiness, while Tom Fillot fetched him a towel from the cabin.“You haven’t had half enough snooze, sir, but I thought I had better rouse you up,” he said.“Sleep? We mustn’t think of any more for a couple of nights, Fillot. Now what is the next thing to be done?”“Nothing, sir, but wait.”“Nothing?”“I dunno of anything, sir. Sails all right, and unless you set us to scrape the chain cable, I can’t think of a job.”“Job? There is only one, and that is to get these two schooners safe alongside of theNautilus. We must not lose them now.”“Course not, sir. We won’t.”“How are the men?”“Well, sir, you’ve been asleep about five hours, so they aren’t had time to change much, but they’ve mended as much as they could in that little time.”“Of course. It was a stupid question, Tom. But about the prisoners?”“Oh, they’re quiet enough, sir. That cask o’ water settled ’em.”“But are they not too quiet, Tom? I mean there is no danger of their suffering from the hatch being closed?”“Now look here, Mr Vandean, sir; ’scuse me, but you’re too easy and soft over ’em. I don’t say they’re comfortable, for I wouldn’t like to sleep down there without having the hatch opened, but the air they’ve got’s quite good enough for such as them.”“But you said they were very quiet, and it is startling.”“As I told you afore, sir, they won’t die without hollering; so make your mind easy, and go below, and have something to eat. I’ve had some coffee made, and it’s all ready. Sort o’ breakfast upside down. Go and eat and drink well, and then you’ll feel ready for anything, sir.”“Yes. I’ll go forward, though, first.”Mark smiled and felt brightened directly as a low murmured chorus of sound arose from the blacks, the men showing their teeth and the women smiling at him.He stopped by the forecastle hatch, and listened, but there was not a sound to be heard, and feeling startled, in spite of Tom Fillot’s words, he cautiously approached the ventilator, and listened there.The silence was ominous, and a chill of horror came over him as he turned his eyes upon his companion, while his active brain pictured before him the bottom of the forecastle, with a party of suffocated men lying one over the other, just as they had fallen in their last struggle for air.Tom smiled encouragement, but an angry frown made the lad’s brow look rugged, and he was about to give orders for the hatch to be removed, when there was a yawn, and a smothered voice said,—“Guess it’s hot enough down here.”Mark gave vent to a sigh of relief as he turned away, went aft, and below into the cabin to bend over Mr Russell, who, still perfectly insensible, was sleeping, as Tom Fillot said, “as quiet as a babby.”Mark sighed, and the sight of his brother officer took away his appetite; but feeling the necessity of eating and drinking to keep up his strength, he sat down and began, and after the first few mouthfuls felt better, and made a hearty meal.There’s something wonderfully cheering in a good meal, and though only a boy, still the midshipman felt like a new man as he went on deck, ready for anything now, and determined to make a brave fight against any odds of enemy or weather to get his prizes under the wing of theNautilus, or into port.Everything on deck looked cheery and encouraging. The men were in excellent spirits, and ready to salute him. Their hurts were better, and though the bruises visible did not improve their personal appearance, they looked in working or fighting trim, and ready for anything if he gave the word.Mark’s heart swelled with elation, and he was ready to give the big black, whose absurd name of Soup had already ceased to sound nonsensical, a friendly nod, to which the great fellow responded with a regular man-o’-war’s man’s bow and scrape.“How’s the wound, Soup?” cried Mark, touching the bandage.“All righ’!” was the reply, with a laugh, for nearly everything was all right with the freed slave now.“And how are the people?”“All righ’!” he cried again, as Mark waved his hand towards the negroes. Then, as the young officer moved forward, the black drew the cutlass he wore, shouldered arms, and began to march behind his leader, as if ready to use the blade when ordered.The men laughed, and Soup looked round sharply and wonderingly.“No, no,” cried Mark, “I don’t want you yet. Go back to the others.”He pointed, and the man obeyed on the instant, while Mark used his glass to have a good long look-out for help, but only closed it again with a shake of the head; for there was the far-stretching sea and the long line of coast without sign of human habitation. Nothing more, save that the sun was sinking, with its lower edge close to the horizon, while the sea and sky were glorified by the wonderful colours that spread far and wide.Mark walked right aft now, and hailed Dance on board the other schooner to find that there were cheery answers, and all appeared to be right there, the blacks crowding into the bows to shout and wave their hands to him whom they looked upon as their preserver.“I’m glad, after all, that Bob isn’t here,” thought Mark; “he’d be as jealous as could be, and say I was as cocky as a lieutenant who had just received his promotion. Am I? One can’t help feeling a bit proud, but it was as much Tom Fillot and the boys as it was I, and they got all the hard knocks.”“Any orders about the watch, sir, or making or taking in sail?” said Tom Fillot, meeting him as he turned, and touching his hat respectfully.“N–no,” said Mark, giving a quick look round aloft and slow. “Everything seems to be right.”“Did what I thought was best, sir.”“You say the men below have had their rations?”“Yes, sir; and I lowered ’em down some meat as well, but they never said thankye, sir.”“I suppose not,” muttered Mark. “But now about the watch over the prisoners.”“Can’t do better than let Soup and one of the blacks do that, sir. They’ve had a good long snooze in the sun. And if they watch, and you or me give an eye to ’em now and then, we can’t do better.”“No, I suppose not, Tom. That will do, and we’ll be on deck all night. I don’t see that we can do anything more to make the hatch safe.”“No, sir, nothing. That cask’s a puzzle for ’em. We’ve got ’em safe now.”“Yes, Tom, and they’re having a taste of what it means to coop up fellow-creatures below hatches like cattle.”Then came the tropic darkness, as if a heavy veil were drawn slowly over the sky. Lanterns were lit, the blacks went below without being told, and the business of the schooner already began to work as orderly as if it had been turned into a man-o’-war. The men examined their arms, Mark and Tom Fillot looked to their pistols, and the darkness was met with every precaution for the safety of the ships and crew.Then came a long interval of solemn silence, with the light on the schooner they were towing rising and falling slowly on the long heaving swell, and both vessels gliding gently along toward the north.The night was once more grand, with the great soft stars illuminating sea and sky; but, in his anxiety, Mark could not study their beauty, nor that of the myriads of phosphorescent creatures softly emitting flash and spark, fathoms below in the clear water.These were not the stars or sparks that had any interest for the midshipman now. He watched with interest the lantern in the bows of the schooner they were towing astern, and then from time to time walked forward in the solemn silence, only broken by a sigh from the hold uttered by some black sleeper, dreaming, perhaps, of the village far-away in his own land; then laying the glass on the bulwark, Mark carefully swept the horizon—astronomer like—in search of the star that would send hope and delight into his breast—the lamp shown by theNautiluscoming down to their aid.All this was done again and again, but there was no sign of that help, and he felt angry with Captain Maitland and the lieutenant for forgetting them, or leaving them to their fate.“But of course they could not know what a pickle we are in,” he said to himself the next moment, as he resumed his patient watch, going to and fro, noting that steersman and blacks were all intent upon their duty, while Tom Fillot was forward keeping a bright look-out.And so hours passed, and then an intense feeling of drowsiness came for him to combat.It made Mark angry with nature, for it seemed to be so absurd that after taking a good mid-day rest he could not go through a night without feeling so wretchedly sleepy. But after a good sluice in a fresh bucket of water he felt better, and getting a biscuit, began to nibble that and walked forward again. Then back to the cabin, and grew melancholy to see his brother officer lying there so utterly helpless, just when he wanted his aid so badly.Once more in the bows he stood using his glass in vain, and then telling himself that it was not to be expected, he turned to Tom Fillot.“I suppose we shall not sight theNautilus,” he said.“No, sir, I don’t expect it. Two or three days more like this, though, and we shall be in port without her help.”“I hope we shall,” said Mark, rather despondently; and, tucking his glass under his arm, he went aft again toward where he could see the faint glow from the binnacle light shining up in the steersman’s face.He spoke to the man at the wheel.“Quite an easy job,” he said.“Ay, ay, sir: easy enough. Wish it was a little rougher, for everything’s so quiet that it’s sleepy work.”“For all of us, my lad,” said Mark, quickly, and he walked forward again, half amused at his own importance, and thinking of how only the other day he was at school, and captain of the second cricket eleven, instead of commodore of two schooners.As he reached the forecastle hatch he stopped short, for a heavier breathing than usual caught his ear, and, peering forward, it was to see that Soup and the naked black who shared his watch were both fast asleep.Flushing up with anger, the midshipman took his heavy glass from under his arm to tap both blacks on the head: but second thoughts stayed his hand, and he glanced forward to see Tom Fillot’s figure dimly as he leaned over the bulwark staring away ahead.“They ought to be punished,” he thought; “but, poor fellows, they’re tired out. I will not be hard on them.”Stepping to the back of the cask, he reached over to scoop up some of the water with his right hand to splash over them, and wake them up unseen, and then he felt quite a shock, for his hand did not touch water.He thought the cask was filled right up. Then he was sure of it. Yes, filled quite full. Softly reaching over a little more, he tried again, but still could not reach.“It’s more than half empty,” he said to himself; and, listening intently, he could hear a trickling sound, and then a faint splash somewhere below.The lad’s heart began to throb heavily, and stepping away from the hatch, he walked on tiptoe to where Tom Fillot stood close to the bowsprit, and laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder.Tom Fillot started round fiercely.“Oh! you, sir,” he said in a tone of relief. “I thought—”“Hist! Fetch up the other fellows quietly-armed.”“What’s up, sir?”“The Yanks have bored a hole through into the bottom of the cask, and the water’s nearly out.”Tom ran aft, barefooted, and without a sound, while Mark stepped back to the hatch, and reached over to feel for the water once more.As he did so, and was straining over, with the edge of the cask against his armpit, he distinctly felt it heave up, as if men were busy raising it from below.
A long, busy day similar to the last, as they slowly crept along by the coast. The weather glorious, the blacks docile to a degree, and the Americans perfectly silent in their prison.
Provisions and bottles of water were lowered down to them by means of a line through the ventilator; but the prisoners made no sign.
“My!” said Tom, with a laugh, as he fastened a string round the neck of a well-corked bottle to lower it down, “won’t the Yankee skipper be mad when he puts that to his lips. Being a bottle, he’ll think it’s rum. Some folks can’t think as a bottle would hold anything else.”
But no sound came even then, and Mark began to feel anxious.
“We haven’t suffocated them, have we?” he said in a low voice. “They are so very quiet.”
“Not we, sir. They aren’t the chaps to lie down and die without making a pretty good flurry over it fust. No sir; they’re a-settin’.”
“Sitting, Tom,” said Mark, wonderingly.
“No, sir; setting. Hatching mischief. They’ll give us another of their chickens after dark, and you and I must have a sleep apiece, so as to be ready for ’em to-night.”
“Yes. We must,” said Mark; and after leaving the deck in charge of Stepney and Grote, of the latter especially, as Mark felt sure that he could be trusted now, he and Tom Fillot lay down under an awning they had rigged up, and in less than a moment they were both sleeping heavily.
It was nearly sundown when Mark awoke with a start from an uneasy dream, in which he fancied that he had been neglecting his duty.
Tom Fillot was standing over him, and the lad’s first words were,—
“What’s the matter?”
Tom Fillot hastened to reply.
“Nothing, sir, I’ve been all round. Prisoners safe, rations been issued, blacks all quiet, shore three miles off, and nice wind from the sou’-west.”
“Ah!” sighed Mark, with a feeling of relief stealing over him. “I thought something was wrong, and that I had slept too much. How is Mr Russell?”
“Just as he was, sir; lying as quiet as a babby.” Mark crossed to where a bucket of water stood on the deck, signed to one of the men to empty it and draw another, and into this he plunged his face, bathing it for a few minutes to get rid of the remains of his drowsiness, while Tom Fillot fetched him a towel from the cabin.
“You haven’t had half enough snooze, sir, but I thought I had better rouse you up,” he said.
“Sleep? We mustn’t think of any more for a couple of nights, Fillot. Now what is the next thing to be done?”
“Nothing, sir, but wait.”
“Nothing?”
“I dunno of anything, sir. Sails all right, and unless you set us to scrape the chain cable, I can’t think of a job.”
“Job? There is only one, and that is to get these two schooners safe alongside of theNautilus. We must not lose them now.”
“Course not, sir. We won’t.”
“How are the men?”
“Well, sir, you’ve been asleep about five hours, so they aren’t had time to change much, but they’ve mended as much as they could in that little time.”
“Of course. It was a stupid question, Tom. But about the prisoners?”
“Oh, they’re quiet enough, sir. That cask o’ water settled ’em.”
“But are they not too quiet, Tom? I mean there is no danger of their suffering from the hatch being closed?”
“Now look here, Mr Vandean, sir; ’scuse me, but you’re too easy and soft over ’em. I don’t say they’re comfortable, for I wouldn’t like to sleep down there without having the hatch opened, but the air they’ve got’s quite good enough for such as them.”
“But you said they were very quiet, and it is startling.”
“As I told you afore, sir, they won’t die without hollering; so make your mind easy, and go below, and have something to eat. I’ve had some coffee made, and it’s all ready. Sort o’ breakfast upside down. Go and eat and drink well, and then you’ll feel ready for anything, sir.”
“Yes. I’ll go forward, though, first.”
Mark smiled and felt brightened directly as a low murmured chorus of sound arose from the blacks, the men showing their teeth and the women smiling at him.
He stopped by the forecastle hatch, and listened, but there was not a sound to be heard, and feeling startled, in spite of Tom Fillot’s words, he cautiously approached the ventilator, and listened there.
The silence was ominous, and a chill of horror came over him as he turned his eyes upon his companion, while his active brain pictured before him the bottom of the forecastle, with a party of suffocated men lying one over the other, just as they had fallen in their last struggle for air.
Tom smiled encouragement, but an angry frown made the lad’s brow look rugged, and he was about to give orders for the hatch to be removed, when there was a yawn, and a smothered voice said,—
“Guess it’s hot enough down here.”
Mark gave vent to a sigh of relief as he turned away, went aft, and below into the cabin to bend over Mr Russell, who, still perfectly insensible, was sleeping, as Tom Fillot said, “as quiet as a babby.”
Mark sighed, and the sight of his brother officer took away his appetite; but feeling the necessity of eating and drinking to keep up his strength, he sat down and began, and after the first few mouthfuls felt better, and made a hearty meal.
There’s something wonderfully cheering in a good meal, and though only a boy, still the midshipman felt like a new man as he went on deck, ready for anything now, and determined to make a brave fight against any odds of enemy or weather to get his prizes under the wing of theNautilus, or into port.
Everything on deck looked cheery and encouraging. The men were in excellent spirits, and ready to salute him. Their hurts were better, and though the bruises visible did not improve their personal appearance, they looked in working or fighting trim, and ready for anything if he gave the word.
Mark’s heart swelled with elation, and he was ready to give the big black, whose absurd name of Soup had already ceased to sound nonsensical, a friendly nod, to which the great fellow responded with a regular man-o’-war’s man’s bow and scrape.
“How’s the wound, Soup?” cried Mark, touching the bandage.
“All righ’!” was the reply, with a laugh, for nearly everything was all right with the freed slave now.
“And how are the people?”
“All righ’!” he cried again, as Mark waved his hand towards the negroes. Then, as the young officer moved forward, the black drew the cutlass he wore, shouldered arms, and began to march behind his leader, as if ready to use the blade when ordered.
The men laughed, and Soup looked round sharply and wonderingly.
“No, no,” cried Mark, “I don’t want you yet. Go back to the others.”
He pointed, and the man obeyed on the instant, while Mark used his glass to have a good long look-out for help, but only closed it again with a shake of the head; for there was the far-stretching sea and the long line of coast without sign of human habitation. Nothing more, save that the sun was sinking, with its lower edge close to the horizon, while the sea and sky were glorified by the wonderful colours that spread far and wide.
Mark walked right aft now, and hailed Dance on board the other schooner to find that there were cheery answers, and all appeared to be right there, the blacks crowding into the bows to shout and wave their hands to him whom they looked upon as their preserver.
“I’m glad, after all, that Bob isn’t here,” thought Mark; “he’d be as jealous as could be, and say I was as cocky as a lieutenant who had just received his promotion. Am I? One can’t help feeling a bit proud, but it was as much Tom Fillot and the boys as it was I, and they got all the hard knocks.”
“Any orders about the watch, sir, or making or taking in sail?” said Tom Fillot, meeting him as he turned, and touching his hat respectfully.
“N–no,” said Mark, giving a quick look round aloft and slow. “Everything seems to be right.”
“Did what I thought was best, sir.”
“You say the men below have had their rations?”
“Yes, sir; and I lowered ’em down some meat as well, but they never said thankye, sir.”
“I suppose not,” muttered Mark. “But now about the watch over the prisoners.”
“Can’t do better than let Soup and one of the blacks do that, sir. They’ve had a good long snooze in the sun. And if they watch, and you or me give an eye to ’em now and then, we can’t do better.”
“No, I suppose not, Tom. That will do, and we’ll be on deck all night. I don’t see that we can do anything more to make the hatch safe.”
“No, sir, nothing. That cask’s a puzzle for ’em. We’ve got ’em safe now.”
“Yes, Tom, and they’re having a taste of what it means to coop up fellow-creatures below hatches like cattle.”
Then came the tropic darkness, as if a heavy veil were drawn slowly over the sky. Lanterns were lit, the blacks went below without being told, and the business of the schooner already began to work as orderly as if it had been turned into a man-o’-war. The men examined their arms, Mark and Tom Fillot looked to their pistols, and the darkness was met with every precaution for the safety of the ships and crew.
Then came a long interval of solemn silence, with the light on the schooner they were towing rising and falling slowly on the long heaving swell, and both vessels gliding gently along toward the north.
The night was once more grand, with the great soft stars illuminating sea and sky; but, in his anxiety, Mark could not study their beauty, nor that of the myriads of phosphorescent creatures softly emitting flash and spark, fathoms below in the clear water.
These were not the stars or sparks that had any interest for the midshipman now. He watched with interest the lantern in the bows of the schooner they were towing astern, and then from time to time walked forward in the solemn silence, only broken by a sigh from the hold uttered by some black sleeper, dreaming, perhaps, of the village far-away in his own land; then laying the glass on the bulwark, Mark carefully swept the horizon—astronomer like—in search of the star that would send hope and delight into his breast—the lamp shown by theNautiluscoming down to their aid.
All this was done again and again, but there was no sign of that help, and he felt angry with Captain Maitland and the lieutenant for forgetting them, or leaving them to their fate.
“But of course they could not know what a pickle we are in,” he said to himself the next moment, as he resumed his patient watch, going to and fro, noting that steersman and blacks were all intent upon their duty, while Tom Fillot was forward keeping a bright look-out.
And so hours passed, and then an intense feeling of drowsiness came for him to combat.
It made Mark angry with nature, for it seemed to be so absurd that after taking a good mid-day rest he could not go through a night without feeling so wretchedly sleepy. But after a good sluice in a fresh bucket of water he felt better, and getting a biscuit, began to nibble that and walked forward again. Then back to the cabin, and grew melancholy to see his brother officer lying there so utterly helpless, just when he wanted his aid so badly.
Once more in the bows he stood using his glass in vain, and then telling himself that it was not to be expected, he turned to Tom Fillot.
“I suppose we shall not sight theNautilus,” he said.
“No, sir, I don’t expect it. Two or three days more like this, though, and we shall be in port without her help.”
“I hope we shall,” said Mark, rather despondently; and, tucking his glass under his arm, he went aft again toward where he could see the faint glow from the binnacle light shining up in the steersman’s face.
He spoke to the man at the wheel.
“Quite an easy job,” he said.
“Ay, ay, sir: easy enough. Wish it was a little rougher, for everything’s so quiet that it’s sleepy work.”
“For all of us, my lad,” said Mark, quickly, and he walked forward again, half amused at his own importance, and thinking of how only the other day he was at school, and captain of the second cricket eleven, instead of commodore of two schooners.
As he reached the forecastle hatch he stopped short, for a heavier breathing than usual caught his ear, and, peering forward, it was to see that Soup and the naked black who shared his watch were both fast asleep.
Flushing up with anger, the midshipman took his heavy glass from under his arm to tap both blacks on the head: but second thoughts stayed his hand, and he glanced forward to see Tom Fillot’s figure dimly as he leaned over the bulwark staring away ahead.
“They ought to be punished,” he thought; “but, poor fellows, they’re tired out. I will not be hard on them.”
Stepping to the back of the cask, he reached over to scoop up some of the water with his right hand to splash over them, and wake them up unseen, and then he felt quite a shock, for his hand did not touch water.
He thought the cask was filled right up. Then he was sure of it. Yes, filled quite full. Softly reaching over a little more, he tried again, but still could not reach.
“It’s more than half empty,” he said to himself; and, listening intently, he could hear a trickling sound, and then a faint splash somewhere below.
The lad’s heart began to throb heavily, and stepping away from the hatch, he walked on tiptoe to where Tom Fillot stood close to the bowsprit, and laid his hand upon the man’s shoulder.
Tom Fillot started round fiercely.
“Oh! you, sir,” he said in a tone of relief. “I thought—”
“Hist! Fetch up the other fellows quietly-armed.”
“What’s up, sir?”
“The Yanks have bored a hole through into the bottom of the cask, and the water’s nearly out.”
Tom ran aft, barefooted, and without a sound, while Mark stepped back to the hatch, and reached over to feel for the water once more.
As he did so, and was straining over, with the edge of the cask against his armpit, he distinctly felt it heave up, as if men were busy raising it from below.
Chapter Thirty Three.Methodical Madness.Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on.Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him.The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men’s bare feet over the deck.Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around.“Yah!” growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; “it’s court-martial for you.”At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which passed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole.“Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?”“No,” said Mark; “two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain.”“Again, sir?” whispered Tom.“Yes, man, quick!”Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward.“Ready, sir,” cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place.“Now then, in with it!” cried Mark.“In with it, sir?”“Yes; into the cask.”“Oh!” cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water.“I think that’ll puzzle ’em now, sir,” cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again.But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces.Only a short time before the big black had been an utter savage, but now in this very brief space, though unable fully to comprehend the words and ways of the English officers, he had grown to realise what discipline and authority meant; and as he stood there before Mark, who looked frowning and stern, he literally shivered, his eyes dropped, and he stooped before the midshipman, as if expecting a blow. For he knew that he had betrayed his trust, and that some punishment was about to be inflicted upon him for his lapse from duty.The men looked on eagerly, and thoughts of flogging, putting in irons, even of hanging, flashed across their minds, as they gazed in their young officer’s face.Mark did not speak for a few moments, and then drawing a long breath, and forgetting his youthfulness, everything in the fact that he was in supreme authority as a British officer there, he spoke out firmly.“It is of no use to waste words with you, my man,” he said. “I was ready to trust you and treat you as a British sailor, but you have broken faith. You cannot understand my words, but your own heart tells you that you have done wrong. There—I cannot punish you for being neglectful and ignorant, but in future you will be only one of the blacks.”He turned his back upon the great fellow, who shivered at the lad’s words, and then, with a cry of despair, ran after his officer, flung himself down on the deck at his feet, and held up the cutlass he had drawn when he went on duty and had held ever since. He held it up by the blade, and made signs for Mark to take it and use it upon him.“There is no need to punish you,” said Mark, quietly; “you feel your position quite bitterly enough. There, get up, man, and go to your duty. I ought to have known better than to trust you. Get up.”As the black still grovelled at his feet, Mark stooped down and caught hold of his collar, giving it a drag, and the man rose to his knees.“No,” said Mark, making signs; “sheathe your cutlass. I am not a West-coast tyrant, ready to take off your head. Get them away, Bannock, I want to think of what is to be done next.”The sailor stepped forward, and clapped the big black on the shoulder.“Come along, my hearty. You’ve got off wonderfully easy. No cat for you to-day. It’s all right.”“All righ’?” cried the black, eagerly.“Yes.”“No all righ’,” he continued, mournfully, as he shook his head and rose to follow the sailor; but he turned directly and ran to Mark’s side, sank on one knee, and kissed his hand. Then he rose, and hurried off with his fellow sleeper.“You’re a rum ’un, Soup,” growled the sailor. “Who’d have thought it of a savage? Why, it was reg’lar polite and genteel. I couldn’t ha’ done that. Who’d ha’ expected it of a chap who dresses in an orstridge feather and a wisp o’ grass when he’s at home?”The black gazed at him inquiringly, striving hard to make out his meaning, the poor fellow’s face growing more puckered every moment.“Dessay you were a prince when you was over yonder; now you’re a foremast man. Well, ups and downs in life we see, Soup old chap. Mebbe I shall be a prince some day. Ah, well, you’re not a bad sort, and I’m glad you haven’t got flogged.”Meanwhile Mark was talking to Tom Fillot about the culprits.“Then you think I ought to have punished them, Tom?” said Mark.“Well, sir,” said Tom, rubbing one ear, “I do and don’t, sir. What’s to be done with chaps like that, as don’t know no better?”“Exactly,” cried Mark. “They fought for us as well as they could.”“They have, sir, and it ain’t as if they’d had a twelvemonth of the first luff to drill ’em into shape. But, bless your ’art, sir, if they had they mightn’t have been able to fight agin sleep. Able seamen can’t always do it, so what’s to be expected of a regular black just picked out of a slaver’s hold?”“That will do, then,” said Mark. “You have helped me so that I didn’t like you to think I went against your advice.”“Don’t you be afeared of that, sir,” cried Tom. “I give you my bit of advice for you as a gentleman and a scholard, to see if it’s worth taking. Well, sir, what about the prisoners now?”“I think they must be safe this time, Tom,” said Mark, walking back to the cask, and giving a pull at it, to find it as solid as so much iron.“Well, sir, that’s what I think; but don’t you trust ’em. They mean to get out and take the schooner again.”“And we mean that they shan’t, Tom,” said Mark, merrily; “and as we have the strongest position, we must win.”“That’s it, sir; so if you’ll give me the watch there by the fo’c’sle hatch, I’ll promise you I won’t go to sleep.”“Take the watch, then,” said Mark; and then suddenly, “Why, what does that mean?”For just then the prisoners began in chorus to whistle an American air, accompanying it with a rhythmic clapping of hands.Then the sound ended as quickly as it had begun, and there was a hearty burst of laughter.“Merry, eh?” said Tom Fillot. “Well, there’s no harm in that.”They listened in the darkness, and one man with a musical voice began a plantation ditty, his companions breaking in with a roaring chorus at the end of every verse, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, ending by one of the party starting up and breaking into a kind of jig or hornpipe, evidently keeping it up till he was tired, when, with a shout, another man took his place and danced with all his might.The listeners had to trust to their ears for all this, but it was perfectly plain, and it seemed to Mark that in despair of escaping the Americans had determined to make the best of their position.This went on for some time with great spirit and a tremendous amount of noise, sufficient to make the slaves in the hold uneasy, and a good deal of murmuring and talking went on.The sounds ceased, and there was a hail from the forecastle.“Hey, there, yew, on the watch!”“Hullo! What is it?” cried Tom Fillot.“Ask yewr young skipper to pitch us down a little ’bacco, will you, mister? My lads here is out, and they want to make their miserable lives happy.”“I oughtn’t to let them have any,” thought Mark; “but it may keep them quiet. I hope they will not set the ship on fire.”So a roll of tobacco was thrown down to them through the ventilator, pipes were evidently lit, for the strong fumes came up, and the singing and dancing went on again more uproariously than ever, till Mark began to feel annoyed.“The brutes!” he said to himself; “they’ve been asleep all day and can sit up all night. Ah, well, they’re prisoners, so I will not be too hard upon them.”Just then Tom Fillot left his post for a moment.“They must have got some grog below, sir, or they wouldn’t keep on dancing like that. Nuff to tire anyone.”“Oh, let them enjoy themselves,” said Mark; “it’s better than hatching plans to attack us.”It was now within about an hour of daybreak, and Mark kept on looking longingly away over the mist eastward, in hopes of seeing the stars begin to grow pale. But all was deep, dark night at present, and he paced the deck, going from place to place, listening to the uproar made by the Americans, which was as loud as ever.“Yes,” said Mark at last. “They must have got some spirits down below, Tom, or they would never keep up noise like that.”Just as he was speaking one of the prisoners finished off a dance with a tremendous stamp, stamp, stamp, and the others began to applaud and cheer vociferously. Then all was silent, and Mark exclaimed,—“At last!”“Perhaps they’ll go to sleep now, sir, and I hope they won’t wake again for a week.”“Why, what’s the matter now?” cried Mark. “I’m not going to have the blacks begin. Here, pass the word for Soup—Pish! I mean for the big black.”“Ay, ay, sir;” and Soup came up quickly, all excitement at the noise going on in the hold.“Why, they’re quarrelling and getting up a fight,” cried Mark, as the noise increased; and there was evidently a struggle, while blows were being struck and savage cries arose.“Go down and stop it,” cried Mark. “Stupid idiots! Why can’t they be still?”Soup ran to the hold hatch and lowered himself rapidly down, just as the noise below culminated in shrieks and yells, while the fighting was rapidly growing desperate.“We must go down and stop it,” said Mark.“Shall I pipe all hands on deck, sir?” cried Tom.“No, no; we can quiet them. Get a light. They’ll settle down as soon as they see me.”Tom Fillot fetched a lantern, and two men who had heard the fierce yelling came up to see just as Mark reached the ladder, and was about to descend, when, to his astonishment, Soup came rushing up, and fell heavily upon the deck.“Why, Soup, my lad, have they attacked you?” cried Mark, taking the lantern to hold over the prostrate black.“Hi! Look-out, sir!” roared Tom Fillot, blowing a whistle with all his might, as he drew his cutlass, and made a cut at a dark shadow which leaped on deck; and before Mark could grasp what it all meant, other shadowy figures rushed up from below, made a desperate charge, and a moment later he, Tom Fillot, and Dick Bannock, with Stepney, were driven down into the cabin, while the body of the big black was hurled upon them, and the hatchway doors banged to.For a few moments Mark could neither get his breath nor speak. Then wriggling himself out from beneath poor Soup, he cried angrily,—“The treacherous brutes! This is setting blacks free, so that they may turn against us. Why, they’ve half killed him.”“And us, too, sir,” groaned Tom Fillot. “I always thought they’d be too many for us.”“What do you mean?” cried Mark.“Why, sir, all that caterwauling and stamping was to hide what they were about.”“Who were about?” cried Mark.“Them Yankees, sir. They’ve done us this time. I thought they would.”
Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on.
Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him.
The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men’s bare feet over the deck.
Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around.
“Yah!” growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; “it’s court-martial for you.”
At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which passed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole.
“Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?”
“No,” said Mark; “two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain.”
“Again, sir?” whispered Tom.
“Yes, man, quick!”
Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward.
“Ready, sir,” cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place.
“Now then, in with it!” cried Mark.
“In with it, sir?”
“Yes; into the cask.”
“Oh!” cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water.
“I think that’ll puzzle ’em now, sir,” cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again.
But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces.
Only a short time before the big black had been an utter savage, but now in this very brief space, though unable fully to comprehend the words and ways of the English officers, he had grown to realise what discipline and authority meant; and as he stood there before Mark, who looked frowning and stern, he literally shivered, his eyes dropped, and he stooped before the midshipman, as if expecting a blow. For he knew that he had betrayed his trust, and that some punishment was about to be inflicted upon him for his lapse from duty.
The men looked on eagerly, and thoughts of flogging, putting in irons, even of hanging, flashed across their minds, as they gazed in their young officer’s face.
Mark did not speak for a few moments, and then drawing a long breath, and forgetting his youthfulness, everything in the fact that he was in supreme authority as a British officer there, he spoke out firmly.
“It is of no use to waste words with you, my man,” he said. “I was ready to trust you and treat you as a British sailor, but you have broken faith. You cannot understand my words, but your own heart tells you that you have done wrong. There—I cannot punish you for being neglectful and ignorant, but in future you will be only one of the blacks.”
He turned his back upon the great fellow, who shivered at the lad’s words, and then, with a cry of despair, ran after his officer, flung himself down on the deck at his feet, and held up the cutlass he had drawn when he went on duty and had held ever since. He held it up by the blade, and made signs for Mark to take it and use it upon him.
“There is no need to punish you,” said Mark, quietly; “you feel your position quite bitterly enough. There, get up, man, and go to your duty. I ought to have known better than to trust you. Get up.”
As the black still grovelled at his feet, Mark stooped down and caught hold of his collar, giving it a drag, and the man rose to his knees.
“No,” said Mark, making signs; “sheathe your cutlass. I am not a West-coast tyrant, ready to take off your head. Get them away, Bannock, I want to think of what is to be done next.”
The sailor stepped forward, and clapped the big black on the shoulder.
“Come along, my hearty. You’ve got off wonderfully easy. No cat for you to-day. It’s all right.”
“All righ’?” cried the black, eagerly.
“Yes.”
“No all righ’,” he continued, mournfully, as he shook his head and rose to follow the sailor; but he turned directly and ran to Mark’s side, sank on one knee, and kissed his hand. Then he rose, and hurried off with his fellow sleeper.
“You’re a rum ’un, Soup,” growled the sailor. “Who’d have thought it of a savage? Why, it was reg’lar polite and genteel. I couldn’t ha’ done that. Who’d ha’ expected it of a chap who dresses in an orstridge feather and a wisp o’ grass when he’s at home?”
The black gazed at him inquiringly, striving hard to make out his meaning, the poor fellow’s face growing more puckered every moment.
“Dessay you were a prince when you was over yonder; now you’re a foremast man. Well, ups and downs in life we see, Soup old chap. Mebbe I shall be a prince some day. Ah, well, you’re not a bad sort, and I’m glad you haven’t got flogged.”
Meanwhile Mark was talking to Tom Fillot about the culprits.
“Then you think I ought to have punished them, Tom?” said Mark.
“Well, sir,” said Tom, rubbing one ear, “I do and don’t, sir. What’s to be done with chaps like that, as don’t know no better?”
“Exactly,” cried Mark. “They fought for us as well as they could.”
“They have, sir, and it ain’t as if they’d had a twelvemonth of the first luff to drill ’em into shape. But, bless your ’art, sir, if they had they mightn’t have been able to fight agin sleep. Able seamen can’t always do it, so what’s to be expected of a regular black just picked out of a slaver’s hold?”
“That will do, then,” said Mark. “You have helped me so that I didn’t like you to think I went against your advice.”
“Don’t you be afeared of that, sir,” cried Tom. “I give you my bit of advice for you as a gentleman and a scholard, to see if it’s worth taking. Well, sir, what about the prisoners now?”
“I think they must be safe this time, Tom,” said Mark, walking back to the cask, and giving a pull at it, to find it as solid as so much iron.
“Well, sir, that’s what I think; but don’t you trust ’em. They mean to get out and take the schooner again.”
“And we mean that they shan’t, Tom,” said Mark, merrily; “and as we have the strongest position, we must win.”
“That’s it, sir; so if you’ll give me the watch there by the fo’c’sle hatch, I’ll promise you I won’t go to sleep.”
“Take the watch, then,” said Mark; and then suddenly, “Why, what does that mean?”
For just then the prisoners began in chorus to whistle an American air, accompanying it with a rhythmic clapping of hands.
Then the sound ended as quickly as it had begun, and there was a hearty burst of laughter.
“Merry, eh?” said Tom Fillot. “Well, there’s no harm in that.”
They listened in the darkness, and one man with a musical voice began a plantation ditty, his companions breaking in with a roaring chorus at the end of every verse, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, ending by one of the party starting up and breaking into a kind of jig or hornpipe, evidently keeping it up till he was tired, when, with a shout, another man took his place and danced with all his might.
The listeners had to trust to their ears for all this, but it was perfectly plain, and it seemed to Mark that in despair of escaping the Americans had determined to make the best of their position.
This went on for some time with great spirit and a tremendous amount of noise, sufficient to make the slaves in the hold uneasy, and a good deal of murmuring and talking went on.
The sounds ceased, and there was a hail from the forecastle.
“Hey, there, yew, on the watch!”
“Hullo! What is it?” cried Tom Fillot.
“Ask yewr young skipper to pitch us down a little ’bacco, will you, mister? My lads here is out, and they want to make their miserable lives happy.”
“I oughtn’t to let them have any,” thought Mark; “but it may keep them quiet. I hope they will not set the ship on fire.”
So a roll of tobacco was thrown down to them through the ventilator, pipes were evidently lit, for the strong fumes came up, and the singing and dancing went on again more uproariously than ever, till Mark began to feel annoyed.
“The brutes!” he said to himself; “they’ve been asleep all day and can sit up all night. Ah, well, they’re prisoners, so I will not be too hard upon them.”
Just then Tom Fillot left his post for a moment.
“They must have got some grog below, sir, or they wouldn’t keep on dancing like that. Nuff to tire anyone.”
“Oh, let them enjoy themselves,” said Mark; “it’s better than hatching plans to attack us.”
It was now within about an hour of daybreak, and Mark kept on looking longingly away over the mist eastward, in hopes of seeing the stars begin to grow pale. But all was deep, dark night at present, and he paced the deck, going from place to place, listening to the uproar made by the Americans, which was as loud as ever.
“Yes,” said Mark at last. “They must have got some spirits down below, Tom, or they would never keep up noise like that.”
Just as he was speaking one of the prisoners finished off a dance with a tremendous stamp, stamp, stamp, and the others began to applaud and cheer vociferously. Then all was silent, and Mark exclaimed,—
“At last!”
“Perhaps they’ll go to sleep now, sir, and I hope they won’t wake again for a week.”
“Why, what’s the matter now?” cried Mark. “I’m not going to have the blacks begin. Here, pass the word for Soup—Pish! I mean for the big black.”
“Ay, ay, sir;” and Soup came up quickly, all excitement at the noise going on in the hold.
“Why, they’re quarrelling and getting up a fight,” cried Mark, as the noise increased; and there was evidently a struggle, while blows were being struck and savage cries arose.
“Go down and stop it,” cried Mark. “Stupid idiots! Why can’t they be still?”
Soup ran to the hold hatch and lowered himself rapidly down, just as the noise below culminated in shrieks and yells, while the fighting was rapidly growing desperate.
“We must go down and stop it,” said Mark.
“Shall I pipe all hands on deck, sir?” cried Tom.
“No, no; we can quiet them. Get a light. They’ll settle down as soon as they see me.”
Tom Fillot fetched a lantern, and two men who had heard the fierce yelling came up to see just as Mark reached the ladder, and was about to descend, when, to his astonishment, Soup came rushing up, and fell heavily upon the deck.
“Why, Soup, my lad, have they attacked you?” cried Mark, taking the lantern to hold over the prostrate black.
“Hi! Look-out, sir!” roared Tom Fillot, blowing a whistle with all his might, as he drew his cutlass, and made a cut at a dark shadow which leaped on deck; and before Mark could grasp what it all meant, other shadowy figures rushed up from below, made a desperate charge, and a moment later he, Tom Fillot, and Dick Bannock, with Stepney, were driven down into the cabin, while the body of the big black was hurled upon them, and the hatchway doors banged to.
For a few moments Mark could neither get his breath nor speak. Then wriggling himself out from beneath poor Soup, he cried angrily,—
“The treacherous brutes! This is setting blacks free, so that they may turn against us. Why, they’ve half killed him.”
“And us, too, sir,” groaned Tom Fillot. “I always thought they’d be too many for us.”
“What do you mean?” cried Mark.
“Why, sir, all that caterwauling and stamping was to hide what they were about.”
“Who were about?” cried Mark.
“Them Yankees, sir. They’ve done us this time. I thought they would.”