Chapter Twenty Three.A Strange Awakening.“What’s a wonder to me, sir,” said Tom Fillot, respectfully, “is as no one seems to have been killed.”“But we don’t know that,” said Mark, sharply. “Tired as I was when I lay down last night, I couldn’t sleep for thinking of those men. Do you think they could reach the shore?”“Reach the shore, sir! Why not? What was to prevent ’em?”“Some of them were half-stunned when they were dashed overboard.”“Then the water would make ’em come to, sir, and freshen ’em up. Don’t you wherrit yourself about that, sir. I saw ’em all swimming for the bank, and they’d get there before the crocks woke up to try for ’em.”“Crocodiles?”“Oh yes, sir, I should think there’d be plenty of them in the river: sure to be in a hot country like this.”“I wish I could feel sure they were safe.”Tom Fillot’s look at the young officer was a mingling of admiration and contempt.“It’s very nyste of you, sir, to think so much about the enemies as nearly killed our Mr Russell, I didn’t think nothing o’ them. I was hard at it about our poor chaps as has been knocked about, and the way they bear it all without hollering is, I says, sir, a credit to a Englishman, let alone a Scotchman such as Dick Bannock is. As I says afore, it’s wonderful as none of us was killed, being whacked over the head as we was, ’sides being nigh drownded.”“It was wonderful, Tom, and if only poor Mr Russell would come round, I should be as happy as could be. But he doesn’t show a sign of recovery.”“No, sir, he don’t, but there’s the t’other side o’ the book in keeping account like—he don’t show no sign o’ getting worse and dying. You know what’s the matter with him, o’ course?”“Matter?” said Mark, looking at the man wonderingly, as the schooner glided along, a mile away from the coast, the evening after their struggle in the river. “Of course I do. He was beaten about the head worse than any of us.”“’Zactly, sir; but did you examine on him?”“Yes, and retied the bandage about his head.”“That’s good, sir; but you didn’t find out quite what was the matter.”“I thought I knew enough.”“Yes, sir, but I did examine him when you sent me below to see how he was, and I found out.”“What?” cried Mark, eagerly.“Well, sir, he’s got the same as an old messmate o’ mine had in my last ship—theFoogoose.”“The what?”“Foogoose, sir.”“Oh, theFougueux.”“That’s her, sir. Well, we was up aloft shortening sail on a rough day, and Micky missed the stirrup just as the ship give a regular pitch. ‘I’m off, Tommy,’ he shouts, and down he went head fust on to the yard below, and then Snoots off on to one of the stays, and from there on to the deck, where every one thought he was killed. But he warn’t, only onsensible because his skull was dinted in, and the doctor said it rested on his brain; and that’s what’s the matter with our lufftenant, for I felt his head.”“And did the man die?” cried Mark.“No, sir; the doctor tackled him, and lifted up the bit o’ broken bone, and made him a better man than ever; and that’s what Mr Whitney’ll do with Mr Russell, sir, as soon as we get back to theNaughtylass.”“Oh, if we only could get back, Tom!”“All right, sir; give us time; and the longer the better, I say, sir, for if you goes aboard with us lads looking all chipped and knocked about like we are, Cap’en Maitland’ll be arksing you why you ain’t took better care of your men.”“Oh, I don’t mind that, Tom,” cried Mark, triumphantly; “I’ve got the schooner, and the slaves.”“You have, sir, and it’s such a splendid job for a young orficer like you to have done, that Mr Howlett’ll be ready to eat his head off like with disappyntment because he warn’t in the game. You’ve done it this time, sir. Why, our skipper ought to put you down for a swab on your shoulder as soon as you’ve got one big enough to carry it.”“Now, no joking, Tom Fillot, because I’m friendly with you. Recollect I’m your officer.”“Right, sir, I will. I didn’t mean no harm. It’s only a way my tongue’s got o’ saying things. I say, sir, just look at them poor half-starved blacks. ’Most makes me feel like a girl, sir, and soft, to see how happy they are.”“Yes, poor creatures. But tell me, Tom. It’s a terrible responsibility for me with this vessel and all those people. Are they likely to make a fight for their liberty?”“Why, they’ve got it, ain’t they, sir?”“Yes, but they don’t understand it. They may think it’s only a change of masters, and rise against us.”“Not they, sir. Why, see how they looks at us, sir. They’d lay down and let you walk over ’em, sir. Why, I’ve seen all them poor women look as if they could eat you, sir. I don’t mean with their teeth, but with their eyes. They’re safe enough, sir. They’ve been well-fed on Soup and Taters—I mean them two black messmates of ourn’s talked to ’em till they understands about being under the Union Jack, and all that sort o’ thing.”“I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy.”“Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there’s nothing for you to fear, so if you’ll take my advice, you’ll go and have three or four hours’ sleep below.”“What?”“I mean it, sir. You can’t keep on without rest, so go and have it. Joe Dance and me’ll keep the schooner steady on her course till you’ve had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below.”“I can’t leave the deck, Tom.”“Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk. Look here, sir; you’re dead beat. Out, ain’t you? Why, you warn’t down below an hour.”“Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but—”“You can’t do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There’s Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore’s a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?”Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner’s sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right.“It’s horrible,” he muttered; “but it may not mean death;” and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then—to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay.
“What’s a wonder to me, sir,” said Tom Fillot, respectfully, “is as no one seems to have been killed.”
“But we don’t know that,” said Mark, sharply. “Tired as I was when I lay down last night, I couldn’t sleep for thinking of those men. Do you think they could reach the shore?”
“Reach the shore, sir! Why not? What was to prevent ’em?”
“Some of them were half-stunned when they were dashed overboard.”
“Then the water would make ’em come to, sir, and freshen ’em up. Don’t you wherrit yourself about that, sir. I saw ’em all swimming for the bank, and they’d get there before the crocks woke up to try for ’em.”
“Crocodiles?”
“Oh yes, sir, I should think there’d be plenty of them in the river: sure to be in a hot country like this.”
“I wish I could feel sure they were safe.”
Tom Fillot’s look at the young officer was a mingling of admiration and contempt.
“It’s very nyste of you, sir, to think so much about the enemies as nearly killed our Mr Russell, I didn’t think nothing o’ them. I was hard at it about our poor chaps as has been knocked about, and the way they bear it all without hollering is, I says, sir, a credit to a Englishman, let alone a Scotchman such as Dick Bannock is. As I says afore, it’s wonderful as none of us was killed, being whacked over the head as we was, ’sides being nigh drownded.”
“It was wonderful, Tom, and if only poor Mr Russell would come round, I should be as happy as could be. But he doesn’t show a sign of recovery.”
“No, sir, he don’t, but there’s the t’other side o’ the book in keeping account like—he don’t show no sign o’ getting worse and dying. You know what’s the matter with him, o’ course?”
“Matter?” said Mark, looking at the man wonderingly, as the schooner glided along, a mile away from the coast, the evening after their struggle in the river. “Of course I do. He was beaten about the head worse than any of us.”
“’Zactly, sir; but did you examine on him?”
“Yes, and retied the bandage about his head.”
“That’s good, sir; but you didn’t find out quite what was the matter.”
“I thought I knew enough.”
“Yes, sir, but I did examine him when you sent me below to see how he was, and I found out.”
“What?” cried Mark, eagerly.
“Well, sir, he’s got the same as an old messmate o’ mine had in my last ship—theFoogoose.”
“The what?”
“Foogoose, sir.”
“Oh, theFougueux.”
“That’s her, sir. Well, we was up aloft shortening sail on a rough day, and Micky missed the stirrup just as the ship give a regular pitch. ‘I’m off, Tommy,’ he shouts, and down he went head fust on to the yard below, and then Snoots off on to one of the stays, and from there on to the deck, where every one thought he was killed. But he warn’t, only onsensible because his skull was dinted in, and the doctor said it rested on his brain; and that’s what’s the matter with our lufftenant, for I felt his head.”
“And did the man die?” cried Mark.
“No, sir; the doctor tackled him, and lifted up the bit o’ broken bone, and made him a better man than ever; and that’s what Mr Whitney’ll do with Mr Russell, sir, as soon as we get back to theNaughtylass.”
“Oh, if we only could get back, Tom!”
“All right, sir; give us time; and the longer the better, I say, sir, for if you goes aboard with us lads looking all chipped and knocked about like we are, Cap’en Maitland’ll be arksing you why you ain’t took better care of your men.”
“Oh, I don’t mind that, Tom,” cried Mark, triumphantly; “I’ve got the schooner, and the slaves.”
“You have, sir, and it’s such a splendid job for a young orficer like you to have done, that Mr Howlett’ll be ready to eat his head off like with disappyntment because he warn’t in the game. You’ve done it this time, sir. Why, our skipper ought to put you down for a swab on your shoulder as soon as you’ve got one big enough to carry it.”
“Now, no joking, Tom Fillot, because I’m friendly with you. Recollect I’m your officer.”
“Right, sir, I will. I didn’t mean no harm. It’s only a way my tongue’s got o’ saying things. I say, sir, just look at them poor half-starved blacks. ’Most makes me feel like a girl, sir, and soft, to see how happy they are.”
“Yes, poor creatures. But tell me, Tom. It’s a terrible responsibility for me with this vessel and all those people. Are they likely to make a fight for their liberty?”
“Why, they’ve got it, ain’t they, sir?”
“Yes, but they don’t understand it. They may think it’s only a change of masters, and rise against us.”
“Not they, sir. Why, see how they looks at us, sir. They’d lay down and let you walk over ’em, sir. Why, I’ve seen all them poor women look as if they could eat you, sir. I don’t mean with their teeth, but with their eyes. They’re safe enough, sir. They’ve been well-fed on Soup and Taters—I mean them two black messmates of ourn’s talked to ’em till they understands about being under the Union Jack, and all that sort o’ thing.”
“I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy.”
“Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there’s nothing for you to fear, so if you’ll take my advice, you’ll go and have three or four hours’ sleep below.”
“What?”
“I mean it, sir. You can’t keep on without rest, so go and have it. Joe Dance and me’ll keep the schooner steady on her course till you’ve had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below.”
“I can’t leave the deck, Tom.”
“Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk. Look here, sir; you’re dead beat. Out, ain’t you? Why, you warn’t down below an hour.”
“Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but—”
“You can’t do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There’s Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore’s a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?”
Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner’s sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right.
“It’s horrible,” he muttered; “but it may not mean death;” and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then—to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay.
Chapter Twenty Four.A Responsible Position.Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous bump, which made her shiver.“Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!” came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel.“Where are you, Tom Fillot?” shouted the midshipman.“Here, sir. Wheel,” came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf.“Where are we?” shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves.“Ashore, ’mong the breakers,” cried Tom with a groan. “But I think we’re ’most through ’em, sir.”Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and passed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the shore; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate.Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, Dick Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use.To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation.“I had no business to go below,” he said to himself; land then aloud, “How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?”“Me, sir,” said the cutter’s coxswain. “Me it were, and I don’t want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—”“Well, what?” cried Mark, angrily. “What do you mean, man?”“Dunno, sir—dunno, I’m sure,” said the coxswain, humbly. “It’s my head won’t go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was—was—was—was ashore with the breakers all around.”“Why, you went to sleep!” roared Mark. “You! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!”“Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o’ them blacks?”“Oh, they’re all right, messmate,” growled Tom Fillot. “Fact is, sir, he ain’t quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn’t to ha’ let him take his trick at the wheel.”“I ought not, you mean, Tom,” said Mark, bitterly. “I had no business to go below.”“Nay, don’t say that, sir, ’cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain’t a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance’s got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better.”“Yes, I’m better,” said the coxswain. “All right again, mate, but I can’t get over it about them blacks. What was it as—”“Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?” cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro.“Want to send us ashore among the breakers again?” growled Fillot.“Nay, my lad, nay. There’s something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won’t go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can’t get ’em out.”“Go below and lie down, Dance,” said Mark, gently. “You’ll be better after a good long sleep.”“Sleep, sir? No, I can’t sleep. Who’s to take my trick at the wheel? Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?”“Help him down below,” said Mark, and two of the men lifted the poor fellow to his feet and then helped him down to the place prepared for the crew close to the skipper’s cabin.“He’ll come round again, sir,” said Tom from the wheel. “Spoke or two loose in his steering gear, that’s all. Lucky I got to him in time, or we should have been ashore hard and fast.”“Was that on a sandbank we struck?” said Mark.“Yes, sir, twice over; and if the masts had gone it would have been all over with us. But plenty of sail on and a nice breeze helped us to scrape off, though my heart was in my mouth all the time.”“The schooner must be wonderfully well-built, Tom.”“Well-built and ill built, sir. First as to timbers, second as to use, sir. Why, some of our merchant craft would have been shook to pieces like one o’ them card houses as we used to build when we was little ones.”That morning, as they were sailing on over the calm waters, rising and falling slowly to the gentle Atlantic swell, it seemed hard to believe that they had been so near wreck only a few hours before. But Mark had only to turn his eyes eastward to where the great billows broke upon the shore, making a chaos of foaming, tumbling waters, to be convinced of the danger they had escaped.The blacks soon forgot the scare, and lay basking about on deck perfectly happy, and ready to smile at the crew; and, saving a few cuts and bruises, which did not show, apparently very little the worse for their encounters. The swellings, too, on board the prize crew, to use Tom Fillot’s way of expressing it, had diminished rapidly. A little too rapidly, Tom said.“You see if we’ve got no marks to show the officers and men, they won’t believe we’ve been in so much trouble, sir. My heye! wouldn’t the skipper have given it to you, Mr Vandean, if you’d took us back without this craft.”Mark had plenty of anxieties to cope with. So long as the weather kept fine, he had no great difficulty about the navigation. There was the low-lying shore, two or three miles on their starboard bow, and as far as was possible this distance was kept to. Provision on board was ample; the water-casks had been well filled, and even if the store of this prime necessity had failed there would have been no great difficulty in running up one or other of the rivers for a fresh supply.As to the blacks, the hours glided on, and there was very little to disturb Mark’s confidence. The two sailors—Soup and Taters—paraded the deck forward with a great show of authority, to which their unclothed fellow-countrymen submitted with a very excellent grace; and it was evident that there was nothing to fear from them.“They’re rum sort of beggars, sir,” Tom said.“Why, Tom?”“Well, sir, I ain’t good at explaining what I mean, but it seems to me like this:— Give them enough to eat and drink, and plenty of sunshine to lie about in, that’s about all they want.”“Yes, Tom, they’re soon satisfied.”“That’s so, sir, and they don’t seem to have no memories. You’d think they’d all be fretting to get away ashore, and back home; but look at ’em: they don’t, and it seems to me that they’re not troubling themselves much about to-morrow or next day neither.”The young sailor appeared to be quite right, for hour by hour as the horrors of the slaver’s hold grew more remote, the little crowd of blacks forward appeared to be more cheerful.Mark’s great trouble was the state of Mr Russell, who still lay calmly enough either below in the Yankee skipper’s cot, or under an awning the sailors had rigged up on the deck. He ate and drank mechanically, but made not the slightest sign when spoken to, and for his sake Mark kept every stitch of sail on that the schooner could bear, so as to reach medical assistance as soon as possible.Dance was decidedly better, but subject to fits of absence; and on these occasions Tom Fillot said he was mad as a hatter.But in spite of the anxieties and the terrible feeling of responsibility, Mark found something very delightful in being the captain for the time being of the smart schooner which sailed swiftly along at the slightest breath of wind. There was the hot, hazy shore on his right, and the glistening sea on his left, an ample crew which he could recruit if he liked from the blacks, and all ready to obey his slightest order with the greatest alacrity. He felt at times as if he would be glad to sight theNautilus, and so be relieved of all his cares; but, on the other hand, he could not help feeling that he would be sorry to give up and return to the midshipman’s berth.“I wish, though, that Bob Howlett was here,” he said to himself, as he longed for a companion of his own age and position.“I don’t know, though,” he said, directly after. “If Bob were here, he would not like to knuckle under and play second fiddle. Well, I shouldn’t either. Perhaps it’s best is it is, I’m captain, and can do as I like, only it isn’t always nice to do as one likes, and I often feel as if it would be much nicer to have some one to order me.”But there was no one to order him, and with the whole responsibility upon his shoulders, he for the first time in his life began to realise what it meant to be the captain of a ship, answerable for everything thereon.
Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous bump, which made her shiver.
“Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!” came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel.
“Where are you, Tom Fillot?” shouted the midshipman.
“Here, sir. Wheel,” came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf.
“Where are we?” shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves.
“Ashore, ’mong the breakers,” cried Tom with a groan. “But I think we’re ’most through ’em, sir.”
Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and passed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the shore; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate.
Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, Dick Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use.
To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation.
“I had no business to go below,” he said to himself; land then aloud, “How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?”
“Me, sir,” said the cutter’s coxswain. “Me it were, and I don’t want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—”
“Well, what?” cried Mark, angrily. “What do you mean, man?”
“Dunno, sir—dunno, I’m sure,” said the coxswain, humbly. “It’s my head won’t go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was—was—was—was ashore with the breakers all around.”
“Why, you went to sleep!” roared Mark. “You! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!”
“Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was—them blacks was—them blacks was—say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o’ them blacks?”
“Oh, they’re all right, messmate,” growled Tom Fillot. “Fact is, sir, he ain’t quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn’t to ha’ let him take his trick at the wheel.”
“I ought not, you mean, Tom,” said Mark, bitterly. “I had no business to go below.”
“Nay, don’t say that, sir, ’cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain’t a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance’s got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better.”
“Yes, I’m better,” said the coxswain. “All right again, mate, but I can’t get over it about them blacks. What was it as—”
“Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?” cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro.
“Want to send us ashore among the breakers again?” growled Fillot.
“Nay, my lad, nay. There’s something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won’t go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can’t get ’em out.”
“Go below and lie down, Dance,” said Mark, gently. “You’ll be better after a good long sleep.”
“Sleep, sir? No, I can’t sleep. Who’s to take my trick at the wheel? Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?”
“Help him down below,” said Mark, and two of the men lifted the poor fellow to his feet and then helped him down to the place prepared for the crew close to the skipper’s cabin.
“He’ll come round again, sir,” said Tom from the wheel. “Spoke or two loose in his steering gear, that’s all. Lucky I got to him in time, or we should have been ashore hard and fast.”
“Was that on a sandbank we struck?” said Mark.
“Yes, sir, twice over; and if the masts had gone it would have been all over with us. But plenty of sail on and a nice breeze helped us to scrape off, though my heart was in my mouth all the time.”
“The schooner must be wonderfully well-built, Tom.”
“Well-built and ill built, sir. First as to timbers, second as to use, sir. Why, some of our merchant craft would have been shook to pieces like one o’ them card houses as we used to build when we was little ones.”
That morning, as they were sailing on over the calm waters, rising and falling slowly to the gentle Atlantic swell, it seemed hard to believe that they had been so near wreck only a few hours before. But Mark had only to turn his eyes eastward to where the great billows broke upon the shore, making a chaos of foaming, tumbling waters, to be convinced of the danger they had escaped.
The blacks soon forgot the scare, and lay basking about on deck perfectly happy, and ready to smile at the crew; and, saving a few cuts and bruises, which did not show, apparently very little the worse for their encounters. The swellings, too, on board the prize crew, to use Tom Fillot’s way of expressing it, had diminished rapidly. A little too rapidly, Tom said.
“You see if we’ve got no marks to show the officers and men, they won’t believe we’ve been in so much trouble, sir. My heye! wouldn’t the skipper have given it to you, Mr Vandean, if you’d took us back without this craft.”
Mark had plenty of anxieties to cope with. So long as the weather kept fine, he had no great difficulty about the navigation. There was the low-lying shore, two or three miles on their starboard bow, and as far as was possible this distance was kept to. Provision on board was ample; the water-casks had been well filled, and even if the store of this prime necessity had failed there would have been no great difficulty in running up one or other of the rivers for a fresh supply.
As to the blacks, the hours glided on, and there was very little to disturb Mark’s confidence. The two sailors—Soup and Taters—paraded the deck forward with a great show of authority, to which their unclothed fellow-countrymen submitted with a very excellent grace; and it was evident that there was nothing to fear from them.
“They’re rum sort of beggars, sir,” Tom said.
“Why, Tom?”
“Well, sir, I ain’t good at explaining what I mean, but it seems to me like this:— Give them enough to eat and drink, and plenty of sunshine to lie about in, that’s about all they want.”
“Yes, Tom, they’re soon satisfied.”
“That’s so, sir, and they don’t seem to have no memories. You’d think they’d all be fretting to get away ashore, and back home; but look at ’em: they don’t, and it seems to me that they’re not troubling themselves much about to-morrow or next day neither.”
The young sailor appeared to be quite right, for hour by hour as the horrors of the slaver’s hold grew more remote, the little crowd of blacks forward appeared to be more cheerful.
Mark’s great trouble was the state of Mr Russell, who still lay calmly enough either below in the Yankee skipper’s cot, or under an awning the sailors had rigged up on the deck. He ate and drank mechanically, but made not the slightest sign when spoken to, and for his sake Mark kept every stitch of sail on that the schooner could bear, so as to reach medical assistance as soon as possible.
Dance was decidedly better, but subject to fits of absence; and on these occasions Tom Fillot said he was mad as a hatter.
But in spite of the anxieties and the terrible feeling of responsibility, Mark found something very delightful in being the captain for the time being of the smart schooner which sailed swiftly along at the slightest breath of wind. There was the hot, hazy shore on his right, and the glistening sea on his left, an ample crew which he could recruit if he liked from the blacks, and all ready to obey his slightest order with the greatest alacrity. He felt at times as if he would be glad to sight theNautilus, and so be relieved of all his cares; but, on the other hand, he could not help feeling that he would be sorry to give up and return to the midshipman’s berth.
“I wish, though, that Bob Howlett was here,” he said to himself, as he longed for a companion of his own age and position.
“I don’t know, though,” he said, directly after. “If Bob were here, he would not like to knuckle under and play second fiddle. Well, I shouldn’t either. Perhaps it’s best is it is, I’m captain, and can do as I like, only it isn’t always nice to do as one likes, and I often feel as if it would be much nicer to have some one to order me.”
But there was no one to order him, and with the whole responsibility upon his shoulders, he for the first time in his life began to realise what it meant to be the captain of a ship, answerable for everything thereon.
Chapter Twenty Five.A Horrible Thought.Two days glided by, during which Tom Fillot proved himself to be invaluable. The merry joker of the ship’s company showed that he possessed plenty of sound common sense, and that he was an excellent seaman. Thrown, too, as he was, along with his young officer, he never presumed thereon, but, evidently feeling how great a burden there was on the lad’s shoulders, he did all he could to lighten the load, by setting a capital example to his messmates of quick obedience, and was always suggesting little bits of seamanship, and making them seem to emanate from Mark himself. The consequence was that matters went in the most orderly way on board, and they steadily kept on north, north-west, or sometimes due west, according to the trend of the land.“Easy enough thing, sir, navigation,” Tom said, merrily, “if you’ve got nice calm weather, no rocks or shoals, and a fair line of coast to steer by.”“Yes, it’s easy enough now, Tom,” replied Mark.“’Tis, sir; only I should like it better if it was right up in the north, where the sun don’t set. One can’t help feeling a bit scared sometimes when it’s very dark. I was nearly coming las’ night and asking leave to let go the anchor.”“If I get well out of this, Tom,” said Mark, “I mean to study up my navigation. It’s horrible to be so helpless. I’m ashamed, too, being in charge here, and obliged to trust to seeing the shore for a guide.”“Oh, that’ll all come, sir, but it strikes me that as soon as the captain finds we don’t get into port, he’ll be sailing down after us.”“The sooner the better, Tom,” said Mark. “But now then, tell me: how are we off for water?”“Plenty yet, sir, and there’s enough prog—beg pardon, sir, wictuals—to last us for some days; and—look, sir, look. Here’s a chance.”“What? Where?” cried Mark, startled by the man’s excitement.“Another slaver coming round the point there. You must take that one too, sir, and then you can go into port with flying colours. Double flying colours, sir!”Mark looked eagerly at the long, low vessel just creeping into sight in the distance, and his follower’s words inspired him with an intense desire to act and make a second seizure. It was very tempting, but—Yes, there was a but, a big but, and a suppose in the way. His men were still anything but strong; and though the blacks were willing enough, it would not be wise to trust to them for help in an attack upon a vessel with possibly a strong crew.His musings were interrupted by the sailor.“Shall I alter our course, sir?” he said.“No, Tom. Better not,” replied Mark. “I was thinking.”“What about, sir—our being able to catch her?”“No; about the dog and the shadow.”“What about him, sir? Was he in the sun?”“You know the old fable about the dog with the piece of meat in his mouth, seeing his reflection in the stream and thinking it was another dog with a piece of meat.”“I did once, sir, but I’ve forgot,” said Tom.“Well, in his greediness he snapped at his shadow to get the other piece of meat, and dropped his own. Suppose I try to catch that other vessel and the crew prove too strong for me, and I lose this one?”“Mr Vandean, sir! You a British orficer, and talk like that? It ain’t greediness, sir, but you a-trying to do your dooty as the orficer as has succeeded Mr Russell, I know what you feel, sir—all the ’sponsibility.”“Yes, Tom; and that we are not strong enough to try experiments.”“Strong enough, sir? Why, there’s that in our chaps now as’ll make ’em go through anything. You say slaver to ’em, and it’ll be like saying ‘rats’ to a dog. They’ll be vicious to attack; and old Soup and Taters’ll be as good as four strong men. You see if they ain’t.”“It’s very tempting, Tom, but—”“Don’t say but, sir. You make up your mind to take that vessel; give your orders; and we’ll do it.”Mark shook his head.“Oh, Mr Vandean, sir, look at her. She’s another schooner about the same cut as this, and though she can see us, she isn’t showing us her heels, for she don’t know there’s a man-o’-war’s crew aboard, headed by the smartest young midshipman in the ryle navy.”“That’ll do, Tom Fillot. No gammon, please.”“It ain’t gammon, sir,” cried Tom, sturdily, “but the solid truth. Think I’d come and ask you to do this if I didn’t feel what a plucky young orficer you are? Why, the lads’ll follow you anywheres. They like Mr Howlett, too, but do you think they’d follow him like they do you? Not they, sir.”“It’s very tempting,” said Mark, hesitating.“Tempting, sir? Why, Captain Maitland and Mr Staples’d both go wild with delight if they got such a chance as has come right to you.”“And she isn’t running away, Tom?”“No, sir, but just quietly going on her course, and if you do the same it will bring you both close together, and like enough she’ll try to speak you.”“Yes, Tom, it is very tempting, and if I could feel sure of taking her, I’d try.”“Don’t you think anything about it, sir. You make up your mind to take her, and send me aboard, or go yourself, and she’s yourn.”“If she’s a slaver, Tom.”“Well, sir, what else can she be?”“Trading vessel.”“Likely, sir!” cried Tom, with a laugh. “Trading schooner with masts and booms like that! She’s made to sail, sir, and her cargo’s contraband.”“I can’t help feeling tempted, Tom.”“That’s right, sir.”“I’ll go below and see if Mr Russell can understand me this morning. I should like his advice at a time like this.”“Course you would, sir; and if he could give it, he’d say go in and win.”Mark went below, to find his officer lying perfectly still, with his eyes closed, and breathing easily, but there was no response to his words, and, hesitating still, and excited, he went back on deck, to find the schooner still gliding on her course, and the stranger well out now from the point.“What did Mr Russell say, sir?” asked Tom.Mark shook his head, and raising his glass, carefully inspected the distant vessel.“Yes,” he said at last; “she looks too smart fer a trader.”“She do, sir.”“And I don’t like to run any risks, Tom Fillot.”“Oh Mr Vandean, sir!”“But we’re out here to deal a deathblow at the slavery traffic.”“To be sure we are, sir,” cried Tom Fillot, excitedly.“And it would be cowardly to give up such a chance.”“Cowardly—begging your pardon, sir—ain’t half bad enough word for it, Mr Vandean? sir.”“One moment I feel that I ought not to risk it, and the next I feel that I ought, Tom,” said Mark, slowly. “Safe and sure is the motto to go upon, but—Oh, I can’t, as I am officer in command, stand still here and see that vessel go away, perhaps loaded with slaves, Tom Fillot. Wrong or right, I must do it.”“Three cheers for you, sir!” cried Tom, excitedly; “and there ain’t no wrong in it, for if you made a mess of it you would still be doing right. Then now, sir, shall I have a little more canvas shook out, and alter her course, sir?”“No,” cried Mark, firmly.“You won’t try and take her, sir?” said the sailor, despondently.“Indeed, but I will, Tom Fillot,” cried Mark; “but if we begin to chase her, she’ll be off, and sail perhaps as quickly as we do. We must trap her, Tom, by pretending to take no notice, and then be ready to go aboard.”“Why, of course, sir. My, what a dunder-headed beetle of a fellow I am. Cunning’s the word.”“Yes,” said Mark, decisively now. “Now, my lads, quick. Off with those duck frocks, all of you, and make yourselves untidy-looking. Tom Fillot, get that American flag ready to hoist if she signals us, and send the blacks below, all but our two and their gang. Let them lie down on the deck.”The blacks looked surprised at being sent down into the stifling hold, but Soup seemed to have some inkling of what was intended, and he spoke eagerly to his companion before talking very earnestly, and with a good deal of gesticulation, to the men whom he had selected for his followers. These appeared to understand what was on the way, looking earnestly at the distant vessel, and then taking the positions assigned to them when all was ready, and Tom Fillot burst into a hearty laugh.“They’ll walk into the trap beautiful, sir, see if they don’t,” he said. “Lor’, sir, if you only could make yourself look like the Yankee skipper, we should be lovely.”Mark said nothing, but quietly went on with his preparations. He made the man at the wheel look as much as possible like an ordinary sailor, and transformed another in the same way. Then, counter-ordering his instructions about the men’s duck frocks, he partly lowered down the boat with an armed crew, including Tom Fillot, with instructions to keep out of sight, and ready for him to drop and board the stranger later on.Then, going below, he made a few alterations in his own dress, so as to conceal the fact that he was in uniform; threw his belt, dirk, jacket, and cap into the stern-sheets of the boat, and clapped a Panama hat, which he found in the cabin, upon his head. Then he walked about the deck in shirt and trousers, and with the Yankee skipper’s big spy-glass under his arm.The last thing he did was to plant two of the men forward, where they readily played their parts of standing looking over the bulwarks, and watching the coming vessel.For she had altered her course and came steadily toward them, after hoisting her colours—the Stars and Stripes—the same flag being sent aloft by Dick Bannock at a word from Mark.“Now, my lads,” he said, “whatever you do in the boat, keep out of sight. If they catch a glimpse of you they’ll be off, and we may never get alongside.”“Ay, ay, sir,” came eagerly from the boat in which the two black sailors had also been stowed, each looking eager and excited about the work to come.The wind was light, and a couple of hours passed, with Mark’s steersman gradually edging the schooner nearer to the stranger, which, having the advantage of the wind, glided down to them, evidently meaning to speak them, and ask for news.“It couldn’t be better, sir,” said Tom Fillot; “only if you would get one of the skipper’s big cigars and smoke it as you walk about, they’re sure to be using a spy-glass now and then.”“But I can’t smoke, Tom.”“Then light it, sir, and only blow at it so as to make the smoke show now and again. Have a lighted lanthorn under the bulwarks, and shove the end in now and then. It’ll make it all look so quiet and safe aboard that they’ll walk right into the trap.”Mark did as he was requested, but with a good deal of discomfort; and then waited with a throbbing heart, and a strong desire to cough and sneeze from time to time as he marched about the deck, stopping to use his glass, and making out a tall, thin man similarly armed with a glass, and wearing a Panama hat as well.But there was no sign of a black on board. Some half-dozen ordinary-looking sailors lounged about the deck, and save that it was such a smartly-built heavily-rigged craft, there was not a trace of her being anything but an ordinary trader.Matters went exactly as Mark desired, the stranger schooner gliding nearer and nearer, while the midshipman’s heart beat faster, and he trembled lest a glimpse should be caught of the armed boat hanging from the davits, with her keel just dipping into the water from time to time.But by clever steering it was kept out of sight, and when the right moment came a turn or two of the wheel sent the schooner a little way ahead, and then another turn, and she swept round a little, her sails shivered, and she lost way, while the stranger hailed them as she came closer, and was thrown up head to wind.By this time the two schooners were not above fifty yards apart, and a hail came in decidedly American tones,—“I’ll send a boat aboard.”There was a little movement, and Mark lay waiting for his time, for this action on the part of the stranger was thoroughly playing into his hands.The American’s boat was lowered down on the side farthest from them, with the skipper sitting aft with four men to row; and as her head appeared round the stern, Mark dropped over into his own boat. The falls were cast off as she dropped into the water, and bidding the men give way, she shot off round the schooner’s bows, the Panama hat gave place to the naval cap, the jacket was hurried on, and away they went for the stranger, whose crew on board stared in astonishment over the bulwarks at the man-of-war’s men, while a horrible thought struck the young officer.He was going to seize the stranger vessel, but he had left his own almost unprotected, and the Yankee skipper was being rowed to her.“I’m playing dog and the shadow, after all, Tom,” he whispered, excitedly.“What do you mean, sir?”“Suppose the Yankee seizes our prize while we try to take his schooner.”“Murder!” exclaimed Tom Fillot, leaping up in the stern-sheets. “I never thought of that.”
Two days glided by, during which Tom Fillot proved himself to be invaluable. The merry joker of the ship’s company showed that he possessed plenty of sound common sense, and that he was an excellent seaman. Thrown, too, as he was, along with his young officer, he never presumed thereon, but, evidently feeling how great a burden there was on the lad’s shoulders, he did all he could to lighten the load, by setting a capital example to his messmates of quick obedience, and was always suggesting little bits of seamanship, and making them seem to emanate from Mark himself. The consequence was that matters went in the most orderly way on board, and they steadily kept on north, north-west, or sometimes due west, according to the trend of the land.
“Easy enough thing, sir, navigation,” Tom said, merrily, “if you’ve got nice calm weather, no rocks or shoals, and a fair line of coast to steer by.”
“Yes, it’s easy enough now, Tom,” replied Mark.
“’Tis, sir; only I should like it better if it was right up in the north, where the sun don’t set. One can’t help feeling a bit scared sometimes when it’s very dark. I was nearly coming las’ night and asking leave to let go the anchor.”
“If I get well out of this, Tom,” said Mark, “I mean to study up my navigation. It’s horrible to be so helpless. I’m ashamed, too, being in charge here, and obliged to trust to seeing the shore for a guide.”
“Oh, that’ll all come, sir, but it strikes me that as soon as the captain finds we don’t get into port, he’ll be sailing down after us.”
“The sooner the better, Tom,” said Mark. “But now then, tell me: how are we off for water?”
“Plenty yet, sir, and there’s enough prog—beg pardon, sir, wictuals—to last us for some days; and—look, sir, look. Here’s a chance.”
“What? Where?” cried Mark, startled by the man’s excitement.
“Another slaver coming round the point there. You must take that one too, sir, and then you can go into port with flying colours. Double flying colours, sir!”
Mark looked eagerly at the long, low vessel just creeping into sight in the distance, and his follower’s words inspired him with an intense desire to act and make a second seizure. It was very tempting, but—Yes, there was a but, a big but, and a suppose in the way. His men were still anything but strong; and though the blacks were willing enough, it would not be wise to trust to them for help in an attack upon a vessel with possibly a strong crew.
His musings were interrupted by the sailor.
“Shall I alter our course, sir?” he said.
“No, Tom. Better not,” replied Mark. “I was thinking.”
“What about, sir—our being able to catch her?”
“No; about the dog and the shadow.”
“What about him, sir? Was he in the sun?”
“You know the old fable about the dog with the piece of meat in his mouth, seeing his reflection in the stream and thinking it was another dog with a piece of meat.”
“I did once, sir, but I’ve forgot,” said Tom.
“Well, in his greediness he snapped at his shadow to get the other piece of meat, and dropped his own. Suppose I try to catch that other vessel and the crew prove too strong for me, and I lose this one?”
“Mr Vandean, sir! You a British orficer, and talk like that? It ain’t greediness, sir, but you a-trying to do your dooty as the orficer as has succeeded Mr Russell, I know what you feel, sir—all the ’sponsibility.”
“Yes, Tom; and that we are not strong enough to try experiments.”
“Strong enough, sir? Why, there’s that in our chaps now as’ll make ’em go through anything. You say slaver to ’em, and it’ll be like saying ‘rats’ to a dog. They’ll be vicious to attack; and old Soup and Taters’ll be as good as four strong men. You see if they ain’t.”
“It’s very tempting, Tom, but—”
“Don’t say but, sir. You make up your mind to take that vessel; give your orders; and we’ll do it.”
Mark shook his head.
“Oh, Mr Vandean, sir, look at her. She’s another schooner about the same cut as this, and though she can see us, she isn’t showing us her heels, for she don’t know there’s a man-o’-war’s crew aboard, headed by the smartest young midshipman in the ryle navy.”
“That’ll do, Tom Fillot. No gammon, please.”
“It ain’t gammon, sir,” cried Tom, sturdily, “but the solid truth. Think I’d come and ask you to do this if I didn’t feel what a plucky young orficer you are? Why, the lads’ll follow you anywheres. They like Mr Howlett, too, but do you think they’d follow him like they do you? Not they, sir.”
“It’s very tempting,” said Mark, hesitating.
“Tempting, sir? Why, Captain Maitland and Mr Staples’d both go wild with delight if they got such a chance as has come right to you.”
“And she isn’t running away, Tom?”
“No, sir, but just quietly going on her course, and if you do the same it will bring you both close together, and like enough she’ll try to speak you.”
“Yes, Tom, it is very tempting, and if I could feel sure of taking her, I’d try.”
“Don’t you think anything about it, sir. You make up your mind to take her, and send me aboard, or go yourself, and she’s yourn.”
“If she’s a slaver, Tom.”
“Well, sir, what else can she be?”
“Trading vessel.”
“Likely, sir!” cried Tom, with a laugh. “Trading schooner with masts and booms like that! She’s made to sail, sir, and her cargo’s contraband.”
“I can’t help feeling tempted, Tom.”
“That’s right, sir.”
“I’ll go below and see if Mr Russell can understand me this morning. I should like his advice at a time like this.”
“Course you would, sir; and if he could give it, he’d say go in and win.”
Mark went below, to find his officer lying perfectly still, with his eyes closed, and breathing easily, but there was no response to his words, and, hesitating still, and excited, he went back on deck, to find the schooner still gliding on her course, and the stranger well out now from the point.
“What did Mr Russell say, sir?” asked Tom.
Mark shook his head, and raising his glass, carefully inspected the distant vessel.
“Yes,” he said at last; “she looks too smart fer a trader.”
“She do, sir.”
“And I don’t like to run any risks, Tom Fillot.”
“Oh Mr Vandean, sir!”
“But we’re out here to deal a deathblow at the slavery traffic.”
“To be sure we are, sir,” cried Tom Fillot, excitedly.
“And it would be cowardly to give up such a chance.”
“Cowardly—begging your pardon, sir—ain’t half bad enough word for it, Mr Vandean? sir.”
“One moment I feel that I ought not to risk it, and the next I feel that I ought, Tom,” said Mark, slowly. “Safe and sure is the motto to go upon, but—Oh, I can’t, as I am officer in command, stand still here and see that vessel go away, perhaps loaded with slaves, Tom Fillot. Wrong or right, I must do it.”
“Three cheers for you, sir!” cried Tom, excitedly; “and there ain’t no wrong in it, for if you made a mess of it you would still be doing right. Then now, sir, shall I have a little more canvas shook out, and alter her course, sir?”
“No,” cried Mark, firmly.
“You won’t try and take her, sir?” said the sailor, despondently.
“Indeed, but I will, Tom Fillot,” cried Mark; “but if we begin to chase her, she’ll be off, and sail perhaps as quickly as we do. We must trap her, Tom, by pretending to take no notice, and then be ready to go aboard.”
“Why, of course, sir. My, what a dunder-headed beetle of a fellow I am. Cunning’s the word.”
“Yes,” said Mark, decisively now. “Now, my lads, quick. Off with those duck frocks, all of you, and make yourselves untidy-looking. Tom Fillot, get that American flag ready to hoist if she signals us, and send the blacks below, all but our two and their gang. Let them lie down on the deck.”
The blacks looked surprised at being sent down into the stifling hold, but Soup seemed to have some inkling of what was intended, and he spoke eagerly to his companion before talking very earnestly, and with a good deal of gesticulation, to the men whom he had selected for his followers. These appeared to understand what was on the way, looking earnestly at the distant vessel, and then taking the positions assigned to them when all was ready, and Tom Fillot burst into a hearty laugh.
“They’ll walk into the trap beautiful, sir, see if they don’t,” he said. “Lor’, sir, if you only could make yourself look like the Yankee skipper, we should be lovely.”
Mark said nothing, but quietly went on with his preparations. He made the man at the wheel look as much as possible like an ordinary sailor, and transformed another in the same way. Then, counter-ordering his instructions about the men’s duck frocks, he partly lowered down the boat with an armed crew, including Tom Fillot, with instructions to keep out of sight, and ready for him to drop and board the stranger later on.
Then, going below, he made a few alterations in his own dress, so as to conceal the fact that he was in uniform; threw his belt, dirk, jacket, and cap into the stern-sheets of the boat, and clapped a Panama hat, which he found in the cabin, upon his head. Then he walked about the deck in shirt and trousers, and with the Yankee skipper’s big spy-glass under his arm.
The last thing he did was to plant two of the men forward, where they readily played their parts of standing looking over the bulwarks, and watching the coming vessel.
For she had altered her course and came steadily toward them, after hoisting her colours—the Stars and Stripes—the same flag being sent aloft by Dick Bannock at a word from Mark.
“Now, my lads,” he said, “whatever you do in the boat, keep out of sight. If they catch a glimpse of you they’ll be off, and we may never get alongside.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came eagerly from the boat in which the two black sailors had also been stowed, each looking eager and excited about the work to come.
The wind was light, and a couple of hours passed, with Mark’s steersman gradually edging the schooner nearer to the stranger, which, having the advantage of the wind, glided down to them, evidently meaning to speak them, and ask for news.
“It couldn’t be better, sir,” said Tom Fillot; “only if you would get one of the skipper’s big cigars and smoke it as you walk about, they’re sure to be using a spy-glass now and then.”
“But I can’t smoke, Tom.”
“Then light it, sir, and only blow at it so as to make the smoke show now and again. Have a lighted lanthorn under the bulwarks, and shove the end in now and then. It’ll make it all look so quiet and safe aboard that they’ll walk right into the trap.”
Mark did as he was requested, but with a good deal of discomfort; and then waited with a throbbing heart, and a strong desire to cough and sneeze from time to time as he marched about the deck, stopping to use his glass, and making out a tall, thin man similarly armed with a glass, and wearing a Panama hat as well.
But there was no sign of a black on board. Some half-dozen ordinary-looking sailors lounged about the deck, and save that it was such a smartly-built heavily-rigged craft, there was not a trace of her being anything but an ordinary trader.
Matters went exactly as Mark desired, the stranger schooner gliding nearer and nearer, while the midshipman’s heart beat faster, and he trembled lest a glimpse should be caught of the armed boat hanging from the davits, with her keel just dipping into the water from time to time.
But by clever steering it was kept out of sight, and when the right moment came a turn or two of the wheel sent the schooner a little way ahead, and then another turn, and she swept round a little, her sails shivered, and she lost way, while the stranger hailed them as she came closer, and was thrown up head to wind.
By this time the two schooners were not above fifty yards apart, and a hail came in decidedly American tones,—
“I’ll send a boat aboard.”
There was a little movement, and Mark lay waiting for his time, for this action on the part of the stranger was thoroughly playing into his hands.
The American’s boat was lowered down on the side farthest from them, with the skipper sitting aft with four men to row; and as her head appeared round the stern, Mark dropped over into his own boat. The falls were cast off as she dropped into the water, and bidding the men give way, she shot off round the schooner’s bows, the Panama hat gave place to the naval cap, the jacket was hurried on, and away they went for the stranger, whose crew on board stared in astonishment over the bulwarks at the man-of-war’s men, while a horrible thought struck the young officer.
He was going to seize the stranger vessel, but he had left his own almost unprotected, and the Yankee skipper was being rowed to her.
“I’m playing dog and the shadow, after all, Tom,” he whispered, excitedly.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Suppose the Yankee seizes our prize while we try to take his schooner.”
“Murder!” exclaimed Tom Fillot, leaping up in the stern-sheets. “I never thought of that.”
Chapter Twenty Six.Trading with the American.For a few brief moments Mark was ready to turn back and make sure of his prize, but every stroke was carrying him nearer to the stranger, and in less time than it takes to describe it, he found out that he had alarmed himself with his own bugbear.For the Yankee skipper, apparently taken quite aback at the sight of the armed boat’s crew, began by ordering his men to stop, and then turned and had himself rowed back as swiftly as possible, with the result that the boats reached the two sides of the second schooner nearly together. And as Mark scrambled up and over the stern, in spite of the menacing looks of three men at the side, who, however, fell back before Tom Fillot and those who followed, the Yankee master stepped over the bulwarks too, and advanced to meet Mark.“How are yew?” he said, coolly. “Didn’t know yew was coming aboard. Can yew trade me a barrel or two o’ good whites flour? I’m running rayther short.”“Perhaps I can,” said Mark, sharply, as he cast an eye over the deck. “What ship’s this?”“Ef yew’d looked at her starnboard yew’d hev seen, mister. She’s theMariar B Peasgood, o’ Charleston, South Carlinar, trading in notions. What’s yourn?”“Prize to her Britannic Majesty’s shipNautilus.”“Prize schooner, eh?” said the American, coolly, gazing over Mark’s shoulder at the graceful little vessel. “Wal, I am surprised. I said as she looked a clipper as could sail a few.”“Your papers, please.”“Eh? Oh, suttunly. Air yew an officer?”“Yes,” replied Mark, shortly. “Your papers, please.”“Wall, I thowtwewas pretty smart, and made skippers of our boys in mighty good time, but you beat us. I give in. Ephrim, fetch up them thar papers outer my cabin.”A sour-looking fellow with a villainous grin slouched to the little cabin-hatch; and by this time the whole of the boat’s crew, including the two blacks, and saving the coxswain, who held on to the chains, were aboard, Tom Fillot scanning the deck eagerly for some sign of the nefarious traffic, but none was visible.“Guessed yew was pirates for a moment, mister,” said the skipper. “Yew quite scarred me, and I kim back in a hurry, thinking yew meant robbery on the high seas. Hev a cigar?”He held out a handful, which he had taken from his pocket, and all in the coolest, most matter-of-fact way.“Thanks, no,” said Mark. “I don’t smoke.”“He—he!” laughed the American; “yew needn’t be shamed on it. Yewr cap’en don’t like it, p’r’aps; but I see yew pulling away at a cigar threw my glass.”Mark turned crimson.“Needn’t tell a cracker about it, squaire. Here we are,” he continued, taking the papers from Ephraim—evidently his mate. “Hev a look at ’em, squaire; but I reckon if one of our officers was to board one of your traders, and ask for ’em, yewr folk’d make no end of a fizzle about it.”Mark felt uncomfortable as he took and glanced through the papers, which were all in the most correct style. There was not a point upon which he could seize; and without some grounds he had no right to search the vessel, whose hold looked to be closely battened down, while there was not a sound to suggest that there were slaves on board.“We’ve made a mistake,” he thought, as the writing on the papers seemed to dance before his eyes; “and yet I could have sworn she was a slaver.”“Find ’em all right and squaire?” said the American, with his little grey eyes twinkling; and he held out his hand for the papers.“Yes,” said Mark, returning them reluctantly, and then glancing at Tom Elliot, whose countenance was a puzzle.“That’s right, squaire; that’s right. Theer, I shan’t cut up rusty, though I might, of course. It was yewr dewty, I s’pose.”“Yes, of course,” said Mark.“That’s right, squaire. Allus dew yewr dewty. I ain’t riled. But yew’ll trade that barl or tew o’ whites flour with me, I reckon, and anything I’ve got you shall hev. What dew yew say to some Chicago pork? Rale good.”“I—a—thank—you, no,” said Mark, looking wildly round in the hope of finding some excuse for ordering his men to search the vessel; “but you shall have the flour if I can find it.”“That’s what I call real civil, mister,” said the American, advancing, and backing Mark toward the side, for the lad gave way, feeling that he had no excuse for staying. “Smart schooner that o’ yewrn. Guess yew could sail round my old tub. Won’t take a cigar?”“No, no: thanks,” cried Mark, turning to Tom Fillot. “We can do nothing more,” he whispered.“No, sir,” said Tom, saluting. “He’s too many for us. And yet I could swear to it.”Disappointed, confused, and angry at his position, Mark felt that he must give up, and that a far more experienced officer would have done the same. Turning to his men, he gave orders for them to go down into the boat, and then, telling the skipper to come on board the schooner, he gave another glance forward at the hatches, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound, meaning, if he heard either groan or cry, to seize the vessel at once and search. Without such a sign or sound he dared not. It would have been overstepping his authority.“Ready, mister? Guess I’ll come in my own boat,” said the American; and he backed Mark farther to the side.“Look at old Soup, sir,” whispered Tom, excitedly. “Yes; and Taters has got it too.”“Here, hi!” shouted the American. “Whare air yew going?”For Soup had taken a step or two forward, after looking wildly and in a puzzled way at Mark, as if wondering that he did not act, and then throwing back his head, he stood with his eyes rolling and his broad nostrils inflated, snuffling like a horse over some doubtful hay.The next moment his fellow was following his example, and uttering something in a low, deep whisper in his own tongue.“Guess them two niggers o’ yewrn hev got the megrims, squaire. Get ’em both aboard, lay ’em down, and hev ’em dowsed with buckets o’ water.”“Stop!” cried Mark, excitedly, as he thrust back the American. “Here, my lads, what is it?”The two blacks did not understand his words, but they did his gesture, and Soup made a bound forward to the main hatchway, uttered a low, deep roar, and stooped, pointing down.“It ain’t megrims; it’s hyderyphoby,” cried the American, quickly. “He’s dangerous. Get him aboard;” and as he spoke he drew a pistol from his breast, cocked it, and took aim at the black.But with one motion Tom Fillot whipped out his cutlass, giving it so broad a sweep that the flat of the weapon struck the American’s wrist, and the pistol flew out of his hand.At that moment, in answer to a loud cry from Soup, there came a wild, excited, smothered clamour from below the hatch; and with a cry of rage, the American stooped to pick up his pistol, while his men rushed to seize hatchet and capstan bar.Mark’s dirk was out now, and he presented it at the American skipper.“Surrender, sir!” he cried; “the game’s up. Draw, my lads, and cut them down if they resist. Fillot, have off that hatch.”At a sign, the two blacks tore it open: and with the horrible vapour that arose came a wild, piteous clamour from the imprisoned slaves below.“Guess yew’re right, curse you!” said the American, in an angry snarl. “Drop it, boys; they’re too many for us this time. We’re done, and it’s of no use to be ugly.”“Hurray!” shouted Mark’s little party, as they drove the crew below in the forecastle; and after a guard was set, Tom Fillot came back to his officer, who stood talking to the American, while that worthy lit himself a cigar.“This is some dollars out o’ my pocket, mister,” he said. “Guess I wish that thar nigger had been drowned afore you brought him here. What air yew going to dew now?”That was a question Mark was not prepared to answer, with two prizes on his hands.
For a few brief moments Mark was ready to turn back and make sure of his prize, but every stroke was carrying him nearer to the stranger, and in less time than it takes to describe it, he found out that he had alarmed himself with his own bugbear.
For the Yankee skipper, apparently taken quite aback at the sight of the armed boat’s crew, began by ordering his men to stop, and then turned and had himself rowed back as swiftly as possible, with the result that the boats reached the two sides of the second schooner nearly together. And as Mark scrambled up and over the stern, in spite of the menacing looks of three men at the side, who, however, fell back before Tom Fillot and those who followed, the Yankee master stepped over the bulwarks too, and advanced to meet Mark.
“How are yew?” he said, coolly. “Didn’t know yew was coming aboard. Can yew trade me a barrel or two o’ good whites flour? I’m running rayther short.”
“Perhaps I can,” said Mark, sharply, as he cast an eye over the deck. “What ship’s this?”
“Ef yew’d looked at her starnboard yew’d hev seen, mister. She’s theMariar B Peasgood, o’ Charleston, South Carlinar, trading in notions. What’s yourn?”
“Prize to her Britannic Majesty’s shipNautilus.”
“Prize schooner, eh?” said the American, coolly, gazing over Mark’s shoulder at the graceful little vessel. “Wal, I am surprised. I said as she looked a clipper as could sail a few.”
“Your papers, please.”
“Eh? Oh, suttunly. Air yew an officer?”
“Yes,” replied Mark, shortly. “Your papers, please.”
“Wall, I thowtwewas pretty smart, and made skippers of our boys in mighty good time, but you beat us. I give in. Ephrim, fetch up them thar papers outer my cabin.”
A sour-looking fellow with a villainous grin slouched to the little cabin-hatch; and by this time the whole of the boat’s crew, including the two blacks, and saving the coxswain, who held on to the chains, were aboard, Tom Fillot scanning the deck eagerly for some sign of the nefarious traffic, but none was visible.
“Guessed yew was pirates for a moment, mister,” said the skipper. “Yew quite scarred me, and I kim back in a hurry, thinking yew meant robbery on the high seas. Hev a cigar?”
He held out a handful, which he had taken from his pocket, and all in the coolest, most matter-of-fact way.
“Thanks, no,” said Mark. “I don’t smoke.”
“He—he!” laughed the American; “yew needn’t be shamed on it. Yewr cap’en don’t like it, p’r’aps; but I see yew pulling away at a cigar threw my glass.”
Mark turned crimson.
“Needn’t tell a cracker about it, squaire. Here we are,” he continued, taking the papers from Ephraim—evidently his mate. “Hev a look at ’em, squaire; but I reckon if one of our officers was to board one of your traders, and ask for ’em, yewr folk’d make no end of a fizzle about it.”
Mark felt uncomfortable as he took and glanced through the papers, which were all in the most correct style. There was not a point upon which he could seize; and without some grounds he had no right to search the vessel, whose hold looked to be closely battened down, while there was not a sound to suggest that there were slaves on board.
“We’ve made a mistake,” he thought, as the writing on the papers seemed to dance before his eyes; “and yet I could have sworn she was a slaver.”
“Find ’em all right and squaire?” said the American, with his little grey eyes twinkling; and he held out his hand for the papers.
“Yes,” said Mark, returning them reluctantly, and then glancing at Tom Elliot, whose countenance was a puzzle.
“That’s right, squaire; that’s right. Theer, I shan’t cut up rusty, though I might, of course. It was yewr dewty, I s’pose.”
“Yes, of course,” said Mark.
“That’s right, squaire. Allus dew yewr dewty. I ain’t riled. But yew’ll trade that barl or tew o’ whites flour with me, I reckon, and anything I’ve got you shall hev. What dew yew say to some Chicago pork? Rale good.”
“I—a—thank—you, no,” said Mark, looking wildly round in the hope of finding some excuse for ordering his men to search the vessel; “but you shall have the flour if I can find it.”
“That’s what I call real civil, mister,” said the American, advancing, and backing Mark toward the side, for the lad gave way, feeling that he had no excuse for staying. “Smart schooner that o’ yewrn. Guess yew could sail round my old tub. Won’t take a cigar?”
“No, no: thanks,” cried Mark, turning to Tom Fillot. “We can do nothing more,” he whispered.
“No, sir,” said Tom, saluting. “He’s too many for us. And yet I could swear to it.”
Disappointed, confused, and angry at his position, Mark felt that he must give up, and that a far more experienced officer would have done the same. Turning to his men, he gave orders for them to go down into the boat, and then, telling the skipper to come on board the schooner, he gave another glance forward at the hatches, straining his ears to catch the slightest sound, meaning, if he heard either groan or cry, to seize the vessel at once and search. Without such a sign or sound he dared not. It would have been overstepping his authority.
“Ready, mister? Guess I’ll come in my own boat,” said the American; and he backed Mark farther to the side.
“Look at old Soup, sir,” whispered Tom, excitedly. “Yes; and Taters has got it too.”
“Here, hi!” shouted the American. “Whare air yew going?”
For Soup had taken a step or two forward, after looking wildly and in a puzzled way at Mark, as if wondering that he did not act, and then throwing back his head, he stood with his eyes rolling and his broad nostrils inflated, snuffling like a horse over some doubtful hay.
The next moment his fellow was following his example, and uttering something in a low, deep whisper in his own tongue.
“Guess them two niggers o’ yewrn hev got the megrims, squaire. Get ’em both aboard, lay ’em down, and hev ’em dowsed with buckets o’ water.”
“Stop!” cried Mark, excitedly, as he thrust back the American. “Here, my lads, what is it?”
The two blacks did not understand his words, but they did his gesture, and Soup made a bound forward to the main hatchway, uttered a low, deep roar, and stooped, pointing down.
“It ain’t megrims; it’s hyderyphoby,” cried the American, quickly. “He’s dangerous. Get him aboard;” and as he spoke he drew a pistol from his breast, cocked it, and took aim at the black.
But with one motion Tom Fillot whipped out his cutlass, giving it so broad a sweep that the flat of the weapon struck the American’s wrist, and the pistol flew out of his hand.
At that moment, in answer to a loud cry from Soup, there came a wild, excited, smothered clamour from below the hatch; and with a cry of rage, the American stooped to pick up his pistol, while his men rushed to seize hatchet and capstan bar.
Mark’s dirk was out now, and he presented it at the American skipper.
“Surrender, sir!” he cried; “the game’s up. Draw, my lads, and cut them down if they resist. Fillot, have off that hatch.”
At a sign, the two blacks tore it open: and with the horrible vapour that arose came a wild, piteous clamour from the imprisoned slaves below.
“Guess yew’re right, curse you!” said the American, in an angry snarl. “Drop it, boys; they’re too many for us this time. We’re done, and it’s of no use to be ugly.”
“Hurray!” shouted Mark’s little party, as they drove the crew below in the forecastle; and after a guard was set, Tom Fillot came back to his officer, who stood talking to the American, while that worthy lit himself a cigar.
“This is some dollars out o’ my pocket, mister,” he said. “Guess I wish that thar nigger had been drowned afore you brought him here. What air yew going to dew now?”
That was a question Mark was not prepared to answer, with two prizes on his hands.
Chapter Twenty Seven.“A Last Resource.”But Mark Vandean soon began to show the American slaving skipper what he meant to “dew now,” and that in times of emergency he did not mean to talk much. For turning to Tom Fillot, he gave his orders respecting the slaver’s crew.“Keep them below in the forecastle,” he said; “and place the second black over them as guard.”“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Tom, and he proceeded to plant Taters on guard over the hatch, armed with a drawn cutlass, to the black’s intense satisfaction.“Here, I say, mister,” cried the skipper, “yew ain’t going to put a nigger as sentry over a crew o’ white men, air yew?”“I have done it,” said Mark, sharply.“What! going to keep them free American citizens prisoners below like a pack o’ niggers?”“Why not?” said Mark. “Do you think I’m going to let you and your men hatch up a scheme to retake this schooner?”The man laughed.“Guess yew’re a sharp one, squaire. Wall, what are you going to do with me?”“Take you aboard my ship, sir.”“And hang me at the yardarm, squaire?” said the skipper, with a grin.“Not if you behave yourself,” said Mark; “but I warn you not to try any tricks, sir, or matters may turn out unpleasantly. Here, Soup!”He made a sign, and the great broad-shouldered black ran up to him eagerly.“Here, my lad,” said Mark, signing to the man what to do; “draw your cutlass and take this gentleman on board the other schooner. You’ll keep guard over him till I come.”Soup whipped out his cutlass, caught the American skipper by the arm, and there was a tremendous yell.“Say, mister, yew didn’t tell him to kill me.”“No, no, Soup, you don’t understand,” cried Mark, arresting the man, for he had evidently taken it that he was to play the part of executioner upon the white skipper; while to judge from his aspect, he was prepared to perform his part with great gusto. Then making the men understand, he was about to despatch them over the side in one of the boats, when the American turned obstinate.“Look here, squaire,” he said, “I give in, but yew’re an officer and I’m an officer. Play fair with a man. That nigger’ll kill me sure as a gun if I go along with him. Seems to me I shan’t be safe ’less I’m along o’ you, so I guess I’ll stop here.”Mark was about to insist, but a glance at Soup was sufficient to alter his mind.“Very well, stop for the present, sir, till I go back aboard.”“Yew’re going back, then?” said the American, with a flash of the eye.“I am, sir,” said Mark, sharply, “but I’m going to leave a strong prize crew here on board, and I wouldn’t advise you or your men to make any attempt at recapture. Matters might turn out, as you call it, ‘ugly.’”“All right, squaire, but I don’t see where your strong prize crew is coming from,” said the man, drily.“Indeed!” said Mark. “I shall be able to show you. I can pick out half-a-dozen blacks from the other schooner who will help the man forward to keep pretty good watch over your crew, and who will not be over particular if there are any tricks.”“Oh! slaves!” said the man, with a sneer.“There are no slaves here, sir, now. Under the British flag all men are free.”“Oh, if yew’re going to talk Buncombe, squaire, I’ve done.”“And so have I, sir,” said Mark, “for there is plenty of work wanting me.”Leaving the American in charge of the big black, Mark set to at once to make his arrangements, after the poor creatures had been let out of the hold, where they had been nearly suffocated, and now huddled together on deck, trembling and wondering what was to be their fate.“I don’t like parting with you, Tom Fillot,” said Mark, “but I must. You will take charge here with Billings, Dance, Potatoes, and three of the blacks Soup drilled as his guard. It’s a poor crew for you.”“Best we can do, sir,” said Tom Fillot, cheerily.“I’ll have half the Americans on board with me.”“Beg pardon, sir, don’t.”“But they are too many for you to have with your weak force.”“Well, sir, quite enough, but you keep the skipper on one schooner, and the men on the other. They’re best apart, sir.”“But you cannot manage.”“Lookye here, sir, I’m going to have a talk to old Taters, and I shall give him a capstan bar to use, instead of the cutlash. I don’t understand his lingo, but him and me can get on, and I can make him see what I want; and after that it won’t be safe for any man o’ the Yankee crew to put his head above the combings of that hatch. You trust me, sir, to manage. Dick Bannock’ll be quite as good as me if you appynt him mate. Get back aboard, and make sail, and we’ll follow steady like in your wake.”“But the blacks we have set free?”“Taters and me’ll manage them, sir, and ’fore many hours are up, we’ll have two or three on ’em good at pulling a rope. You won’t make much sail, sir, of course, now?”“As little as I can, Tom; just as much as we can manage. Then now I’ll get back, and the sooner we can set eyes on theNautilusthe better.”“So say I, sir. But you keep a good heart, sir, and above all things don’t you trust Mr Yankee Skipper, sir.”Mark gave the sailor a meaning look.“That’s right, sir, and above all things mind he don’t get hold o’ no pistols.”Mark laughed, and after a few instructions he ordered the American into the boat; his men followed, and he was about to step down too, when there was a yell forward, and the sound of a heavy blow or chop.Mark faced round in time to see that Taters had struck at one of the American sailors, but missed him, his cutlass coming in contact with the edge of the hatch, and the next moment there was a desperate struggle going on. The second schooner’s crew were forcing their way up on deck, and as Mark called up the men from the boat to help quell the attempt, the American skipper took advantage of his being for the moment unwatched, and climbed on deck once more to make a rush to help his men.But quick as he was, Tom Fillot was quicker; and turning sharply round, he struck out with his double fist, catching the American right in the centre of his forehead, with the result mathematical that two moving bodies meeting fly off at a tangent.The American skipper’s head flew off at a tangent, and then he rolled heavily on the deck, while in less than five minutes, with the help of Soup and Taters, who fought fiercely, the American crew were beaten back, and driven or tumbled down into the forecastle one after the other.“Hi! yew, don’t shut down that there hatch,” cried one of the men; “yew’ll smother us.”“And a good job too,” panted Tom Fillot, as he banged down the square covering. “Here, you Taters, sit down on this, will you?”The black understood his sign, and squatted upon it, sitting upon his heels with a grin of satisfaction.While this struggle was going on, the freed slaves huddled together helplessly, seeming more bent on getting out of the way of the combatants than on joining in, though some of the men, warriors perhaps in their own country before they had been crushed down by conquest, imprisonment, and starvation, did once or twice evince a disposition to seek some weapon and strike a blow. But they soon subsided into an apathetic state, and watched.“Hurt much, Tom Fillot?” said Mark, as soon as excitement would let him speak.“Well, sir, tidy—tidy. I was just thinking about some of our chaps aboard theNaughtylass, growling and grumbling at her for being an unlucky ship, and no fighting to be had. They wouldn’t find fault if they was out here, sir, eh?”“No, Tom; we’re getting our share of it. I wouldn’t mind if Mr Howlett was here to have his taste.”“My! how you can crow over him, sir, when we get back, eh?”“Let’s get back first, Tom.”“Oh, we’ll do that, sir, never you fear. That ain’t what I’m scared about.”“Then what is?”“Well, sir, I want to get back without killing anybody if I can, but when they come these games with us and hit hard as they do, it’s ’most more than flesh and blood can bear to have a cutlash and not use it. I know I shall make someone bleed with a cut finger ’fore I’ve done.”There was so much meaning in the sailor’s words, and at the same time so droll a look in his eyes, that Mark could not forbear a smile.“If it’s only a cut finger, Tom, I shan’t mind,” he said.“That’s right, sir. Well, I think you might start back now, and we’ll get sail on. Sooner we’ve got these two into port the better I shall like it. I think I can manage, sir.”“But I’ve altered my plans,” said Mark, thoughtfully.“Yes, sir? What do you mean to do now?”“I’ll tell you. It seems to me madness, after this lesson in the American’s intentions, to divide my little crew. I want them altogether, and we’re weak enough then.”“Don’t say you mean to give up the prize, sir,” cried Tom Fillot, appealingly.“Not while I can lift a hand, Tom. We’ll try another plan. I’ll get the skipper on board the other schooner. Then we’ll have the crew down in our forecastle.”“And leave me to navigate this one, sir? No, that won’t do, sir. What isn’t safe for me, isn’t safe for you.”“No, I felt that. My plan’s a different one. We’ll have a hawser from our schooner to this one, after you’ve made all snug aloft, and tow her while the weather keeps fair.”“Well, sir, I don’t see why not,” said Tom, thoughtfully.“We can leave the blacks on board; and then we shall have plenty of force to meet the Yankees if they try to master us again.”“That’s right, sir; and as long as the weather holds good, we may do, though I think we shall have our hands full. But look here, sir; why not—”“Why not what?”“There’s lots o’ irons below, such as they used for the poor niggers. Why shouldn’t we couple a lot of the prisoners together, and make ’em safe?”“Put them in irons, Tom? No, I don’t like to do that—only as a last resource.”“Very well, sir,” said Tom, rubbing his head where he had received a heavy blow, “only if you wouldn’t mind telling on me, sir, I should like to know what you calls a last resource.”“I will, Tom, when I know,” said Mark, smiling. “Hail our schooner, and tell them to come aboard in the other boat.”Tom turned away and obeyed the order, passing the American skipper, who was leaning on the bulwark looking sick, and as the sailor came up he turned to him with an ugly leer.“Guess I’m going to pay yew for that, young man,” he said. “I don’t let a chap hit me twice for nothing.”“Like to do it now?” said Tom, sharply.“No; I’m not quite ready, mister. Yew’ll know when I am.”“Thankye,” said Tom Fillot. “Then now look here; just you let me give you a hint, too. I’m acting as mate to my young officer here, and he takes a good deal o’ notice o’ what I say. If you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll tell him as you’re real dangerous, and that the best thing he can do is to have some o’ them irons clapped on your arms and legs, and then shove you below along with your men.”“What!” cried the skipper, fiercely; “put me in irons! Me, an Amurrican citizen. I should like to see him do it!”“You soon shall,” said Tom, “if you don’t mind. Now then, get down into that boat.”“Who are yew ordering about, sir?”“You,” cried Tom. “Now then, once more, get down into that boat.”The skipper turned to walk away, but Tom’s temper was getting hot, and without a moment’s hesitation he seized the man by the collar and waistband, thrust him to the side, and jerked him out of the gangway.“Ketch hold!” he shouted, and the man in charge of the boat caught hold and dragged the skipper down into the boat just as the other was rowed alongside.The skipper started up to revenge himself, and then sat down again to brood over the affront, while, as rapidly as they could be transferred, two more men were thrust into the same boat with him, and the rest into the other boat, the fellows looking fierce, and ready for a fresh attempt to recapture their schooner. But the arms of the English sailors, and the fierce readiness of the blacks, Soup and Taters, awed them, especially as their skipper made no sign, and a quarter of an hour later captain and men were safely fastened in the forecastle, with Soup now as sentry—Taters having been sent on board the second schooner to see to the freed slaves, with another man to help him. Then a hawser was made fast and sail set, the first schooner towing the second fairly well, and some knots were sailed toward the north before the position of the sun suggested to Mark that an anxious time was coming. For if an attempt were made to turn the tables upon them, it would for certain be that night.However, Mark went on with his preparations. The blacks on both ships were fed, every precaution taken, and, giving up all idea of sleep for that night, a well-armed watch was set, and he paced the deck, feeling quite an old man with his responsibility. He asked himself whether there was anything he had left undone, whether the tow-line would hold, and a score of other questions, while all above was calmness, and the great stars glittered and shone down from the purply black sky.“Are we to have a peaceful night?” he thought, as he looked over the schooner’s counter at the dark silent vessel towed behind.Tom Fillot gave him the answer, by running aft to him, his bare feet making a softpadpadupon the deck.“Got your shooter, sir?” he whispered.“Yes.”“Loaded?”“Of course; but why do you ask?” cried Mark, excitedly.“The game has begun, sir. It will have to be the irons, after all.”Almost as he spoke there was a flash and the report of a pistol, fired from the forecastle hatch.
But Mark Vandean soon began to show the American slaving skipper what he meant to “dew now,” and that in times of emergency he did not mean to talk much. For turning to Tom Fillot, he gave his orders respecting the slaver’s crew.
“Keep them below in the forecastle,” he said; “and place the second black over them as guard.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Tom, and he proceeded to plant Taters on guard over the hatch, armed with a drawn cutlass, to the black’s intense satisfaction.
“Here, I say, mister,” cried the skipper, “yew ain’t going to put a nigger as sentry over a crew o’ white men, air yew?”
“I have done it,” said Mark, sharply.
“What! going to keep them free American citizens prisoners below like a pack o’ niggers?”
“Why not?” said Mark. “Do you think I’m going to let you and your men hatch up a scheme to retake this schooner?”
The man laughed.
“Guess yew’re a sharp one, squaire. Wall, what are you going to do with me?”
“Take you aboard my ship, sir.”
“And hang me at the yardarm, squaire?” said the skipper, with a grin.
“Not if you behave yourself,” said Mark; “but I warn you not to try any tricks, sir, or matters may turn out unpleasantly. Here, Soup!”
He made a sign, and the great broad-shouldered black ran up to him eagerly.
“Here, my lad,” said Mark, signing to the man what to do; “draw your cutlass and take this gentleman on board the other schooner. You’ll keep guard over him till I come.”
Soup whipped out his cutlass, caught the American skipper by the arm, and there was a tremendous yell.
“Say, mister, yew didn’t tell him to kill me.”
“No, no, Soup, you don’t understand,” cried Mark, arresting the man, for he had evidently taken it that he was to play the part of executioner upon the white skipper; while to judge from his aspect, he was prepared to perform his part with great gusto. Then making the men understand, he was about to despatch them over the side in one of the boats, when the American turned obstinate.
“Look here, squaire,” he said, “I give in, but yew’re an officer and I’m an officer. Play fair with a man. That nigger’ll kill me sure as a gun if I go along with him. Seems to me I shan’t be safe ’less I’m along o’ you, so I guess I’ll stop here.”
Mark was about to insist, but a glance at Soup was sufficient to alter his mind.
“Very well, stop for the present, sir, till I go back aboard.”
“Yew’re going back, then?” said the American, with a flash of the eye.
“I am, sir,” said Mark, sharply, “but I’m going to leave a strong prize crew here on board, and I wouldn’t advise you or your men to make any attempt at recapture. Matters might turn out, as you call it, ‘ugly.’”
“All right, squaire, but I don’t see where your strong prize crew is coming from,” said the man, drily.
“Indeed!” said Mark. “I shall be able to show you. I can pick out half-a-dozen blacks from the other schooner who will help the man forward to keep pretty good watch over your crew, and who will not be over particular if there are any tricks.”
“Oh! slaves!” said the man, with a sneer.
“There are no slaves here, sir, now. Under the British flag all men are free.”
“Oh, if yew’re going to talk Buncombe, squaire, I’ve done.”
“And so have I, sir,” said Mark, “for there is plenty of work wanting me.”
Leaving the American in charge of the big black, Mark set to at once to make his arrangements, after the poor creatures had been let out of the hold, where they had been nearly suffocated, and now huddled together on deck, trembling and wondering what was to be their fate.
“I don’t like parting with you, Tom Fillot,” said Mark, “but I must. You will take charge here with Billings, Dance, Potatoes, and three of the blacks Soup drilled as his guard. It’s a poor crew for you.”
“Best we can do, sir,” said Tom Fillot, cheerily.
“I’ll have half the Americans on board with me.”
“Beg pardon, sir, don’t.”
“But they are too many for you to have with your weak force.”
“Well, sir, quite enough, but you keep the skipper on one schooner, and the men on the other. They’re best apart, sir.”
“But you cannot manage.”
“Lookye here, sir, I’m going to have a talk to old Taters, and I shall give him a capstan bar to use, instead of the cutlash. I don’t understand his lingo, but him and me can get on, and I can make him see what I want; and after that it won’t be safe for any man o’ the Yankee crew to put his head above the combings of that hatch. You trust me, sir, to manage. Dick Bannock’ll be quite as good as me if you appynt him mate. Get back aboard, and make sail, and we’ll follow steady like in your wake.”
“But the blacks we have set free?”
“Taters and me’ll manage them, sir, and ’fore many hours are up, we’ll have two or three on ’em good at pulling a rope. You won’t make much sail, sir, of course, now?”
“As little as I can, Tom; just as much as we can manage. Then now I’ll get back, and the sooner we can set eyes on theNautilusthe better.”
“So say I, sir. But you keep a good heart, sir, and above all things don’t you trust Mr Yankee Skipper, sir.”
Mark gave the sailor a meaning look.
“That’s right, sir, and above all things mind he don’t get hold o’ no pistols.”
Mark laughed, and after a few instructions he ordered the American into the boat; his men followed, and he was about to step down too, when there was a yell forward, and the sound of a heavy blow or chop.
Mark faced round in time to see that Taters had struck at one of the American sailors, but missed him, his cutlass coming in contact with the edge of the hatch, and the next moment there was a desperate struggle going on. The second schooner’s crew were forcing their way up on deck, and as Mark called up the men from the boat to help quell the attempt, the American skipper took advantage of his being for the moment unwatched, and climbed on deck once more to make a rush to help his men.
But quick as he was, Tom Fillot was quicker; and turning sharply round, he struck out with his double fist, catching the American right in the centre of his forehead, with the result mathematical that two moving bodies meeting fly off at a tangent.
The American skipper’s head flew off at a tangent, and then he rolled heavily on the deck, while in less than five minutes, with the help of Soup and Taters, who fought fiercely, the American crew were beaten back, and driven or tumbled down into the forecastle one after the other.
“Hi! yew, don’t shut down that there hatch,” cried one of the men; “yew’ll smother us.”
“And a good job too,” panted Tom Fillot, as he banged down the square covering. “Here, you Taters, sit down on this, will you?”
The black understood his sign, and squatted upon it, sitting upon his heels with a grin of satisfaction.
While this struggle was going on, the freed slaves huddled together helplessly, seeming more bent on getting out of the way of the combatants than on joining in, though some of the men, warriors perhaps in their own country before they had been crushed down by conquest, imprisonment, and starvation, did once or twice evince a disposition to seek some weapon and strike a blow. But they soon subsided into an apathetic state, and watched.
“Hurt much, Tom Fillot?” said Mark, as soon as excitement would let him speak.
“Well, sir, tidy—tidy. I was just thinking about some of our chaps aboard theNaughtylass, growling and grumbling at her for being an unlucky ship, and no fighting to be had. They wouldn’t find fault if they was out here, sir, eh?”
“No, Tom; we’re getting our share of it. I wouldn’t mind if Mr Howlett was here to have his taste.”
“My! how you can crow over him, sir, when we get back, eh?”
“Let’s get back first, Tom.”
“Oh, we’ll do that, sir, never you fear. That ain’t what I’m scared about.”
“Then what is?”
“Well, sir, I want to get back without killing anybody if I can, but when they come these games with us and hit hard as they do, it’s ’most more than flesh and blood can bear to have a cutlash and not use it. I know I shall make someone bleed with a cut finger ’fore I’ve done.”
There was so much meaning in the sailor’s words, and at the same time so droll a look in his eyes, that Mark could not forbear a smile.
“If it’s only a cut finger, Tom, I shan’t mind,” he said.
“That’s right, sir. Well, I think you might start back now, and we’ll get sail on. Sooner we’ve got these two into port the better I shall like it. I think I can manage, sir.”
“But I’ve altered my plans,” said Mark, thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir? What do you mean to do now?”
“I’ll tell you. It seems to me madness, after this lesson in the American’s intentions, to divide my little crew. I want them altogether, and we’re weak enough then.”
“Don’t say you mean to give up the prize, sir,” cried Tom Fillot, appealingly.
“Not while I can lift a hand, Tom. We’ll try another plan. I’ll get the skipper on board the other schooner. Then we’ll have the crew down in our forecastle.”
“And leave me to navigate this one, sir? No, that won’t do, sir. What isn’t safe for me, isn’t safe for you.”
“No, I felt that. My plan’s a different one. We’ll have a hawser from our schooner to this one, after you’ve made all snug aloft, and tow her while the weather keeps fair.”
“Well, sir, I don’t see why not,” said Tom, thoughtfully.
“We can leave the blacks on board; and then we shall have plenty of force to meet the Yankees if they try to master us again.”
“That’s right, sir; and as long as the weather holds good, we may do, though I think we shall have our hands full. But look here, sir; why not—”
“Why not what?”
“There’s lots o’ irons below, such as they used for the poor niggers. Why shouldn’t we couple a lot of the prisoners together, and make ’em safe?”
“Put them in irons, Tom? No, I don’t like to do that—only as a last resource.”
“Very well, sir,” said Tom, rubbing his head where he had received a heavy blow, “only if you wouldn’t mind telling on me, sir, I should like to know what you calls a last resource.”
“I will, Tom, when I know,” said Mark, smiling. “Hail our schooner, and tell them to come aboard in the other boat.”
Tom turned away and obeyed the order, passing the American skipper, who was leaning on the bulwark looking sick, and as the sailor came up he turned to him with an ugly leer.
“Guess I’m going to pay yew for that, young man,” he said. “I don’t let a chap hit me twice for nothing.”
“Like to do it now?” said Tom, sharply.
“No; I’m not quite ready, mister. Yew’ll know when I am.”
“Thankye,” said Tom Fillot. “Then now look here; just you let me give you a hint, too. I’m acting as mate to my young officer here, and he takes a good deal o’ notice o’ what I say. If you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head, I’ll tell him as you’re real dangerous, and that the best thing he can do is to have some o’ them irons clapped on your arms and legs, and then shove you below along with your men.”
“What!” cried the skipper, fiercely; “put me in irons! Me, an Amurrican citizen. I should like to see him do it!”
“You soon shall,” said Tom, “if you don’t mind. Now then, get down into that boat.”
“Who are yew ordering about, sir?”
“You,” cried Tom. “Now then, once more, get down into that boat.”
The skipper turned to walk away, but Tom’s temper was getting hot, and without a moment’s hesitation he seized the man by the collar and waistband, thrust him to the side, and jerked him out of the gangway.
“Ketch hold!” he shouted, and the man in charge of the boat caught hold and dragged the skipper down into the boat just as the other was rowed alongside.
The skipper started up to revenge himself, and then sat down again to brood over the affront, while, as rapidly as they could be transferred, two more men were thrust into the same boat with him, and the rest into the other boat, the fellows looking fierce, and ready for a fresh attempt to recapture their schooner. But the arms of the English sailors, and the fierce readiness of the blacks, Soup and Taters, awed them, especially as their skipper made no sign, and a quarter of an hour later captain and men were safely fastened in the forecastle, with Soup now as sentry—Taters having been sent on board the second schooner to see to the freed slaves, with another man to help him. Then a hawser was made fast and sail set, the first schooner towing the second fairly well, and some knots were sailed toward the north before the position of the sun suggested to Mark that an anxious time was coming. For if an attempt were made to turn the tables upon them, it would for certain be that night.
However, Mark went on with his preparations. The blacks on both ships were fed, every precaution taken, and, giving up all idea of sleep for that night, a well-armed watch was set, and he paced the deck, feeling quite an old man with his responsibility. He asked himself whether there was anything he had left undone, whether the tow-line would hold, and a score of other questions, while all above was calmness, and the great stars glittered and shone down from the purply black sky.
“Are we to have a peaceful night?” he thought, as he looked over the schooner’s counter at the dark silent vessel towed behind.
Tom Fillot gave him the answer, by running aft to him, his bare feet making a softpadpadupon the deck.
“Got your shooter, sir?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Loaded?”
“Of course; but why do you ask?” cried Mark, excitedly.
“The game has begun, sir. It will have to be the irons, after all.”
Almost as he spoke there was a flash and the report of a pistol, fired from the forecastle hatch.