Below this there was a narrow bar that threatened to baulk him. At low tide, indeed, he had to shovel away a large amount of sand in the middle of the channel, and once came near losing his temper with Mirandola, who, with well-meant industry, and a quite innocent pleasure, set about scooping back the sand as it was dug out. But the animal tired of this fatiguing amusement; the difficulty was overcome; and when at last the vessel rode gently into the little natural harbour below the hut, Dennis hailed the success of his long toil with a cheerful "Huzza!" and broached a cask of sack. Of this indulgence he partly repented, for the monkey seized upon the empty can when he laid it down, and drained it greedily.
"No, no, my friend," said Dennis, gravely. "Wine maketh glad the heart of man; I do not read that it is anywise a drink for brutes. And all your philosophy would not reconcile me to a drunken Mirandola. 'Be not among wine-bibbers,' says the wisest of kings and men; I bethink me he says also, 'My son, eat thou honey, for it is good!' You shall have honey, my venerable son."
During his operations about the wreck, Dennis had noticed that the monkey showed a strange aversion for the sea. At low tide, when the vessel was high and dry, he quite cheerfully accompanied his benefactor on board; but as a rule, when he saw the tide rolling in, he chattered angrily, swarmed down the side of the vessel, and posted himself at the nearest point above high-water mark. Only on the one occasion, when he mounted the windlass, did he remain on deck when the tide was at flood; there he seemed to regard himself as out of reach of the waves. Dennis wondered whether the dread of the sea was a characteristic of the monkey tribe, or whether Mirandola had at some time suffered a sea-change which it was determined not to repeat.
He took endless pleasure in studying the amiable creature; and when, his work with the ship being finished, he began once more to take lengthy strolls across the island, he drew a new delight from the companionship of the monkey. The friendship being so firmly established, Mirandola showed off his accomplishments with a freedom he had not displayed when he regarded this newcomer with distrust and suspicion. Dennis laughed to see his antics in the trees. He would curl his long tail about a branch, and swing to and fro with manifest enjoyment. Sometimes, clutching a banana with one hand, he would pick another with one foot, and hold a third to his mouth with the second hand. Sometimes when he saw Dennis holding his forehead in a brown study, he would rub his long gaunt arms over his own brow with a wistful look that brought a smile to the lad's face. He was amiability itself, and showed genuine distress when Dennis took occasion to scold him for some piece of inconvenient prankishness.
Now that his thoughts were no longer engrossed with his salvage work, Dennis more often speculated on his future. The prospect was not very encouraging. Supposing he could carry out his half-formed purpose of building a boat, what chance was there of surviving a voyage across the ocean in a vessel that, untrained as he was in handicraft, must necessarily be a clumsy thing? And unless he could risk an ocean voyage he felt that he had better remain where he was. No European nation but the Spaniards and the Portuguese had settlements on the American coast. What might be expected at the hands of the Spaniards he knew full well. Had he not heard from the lips of one Master John Merridew fearsome tales of their treachery and cruelty? John Merridew had sailed with Captain John Hawkins to the West Indies, with Master Francis Drake as one of the company. Forced by foul weather into the port of St. John de Ulua, the Captain made great account of a certain Spanish gentleman named Augustine de Villa Nueva, and used him like a nobleman. Yet this same Augustine, sitting at dinner one day with the Captain, would certainly have killed him with a poniard which he had secretly in his sleeve, had not one John Chamberlain espied the weapon and prevented the foul deed. And recalling Merridew's narrative, Dennis wondered what had become of those hundred poor wretches who, when victuals ran short, and the ship's company were driven to eat parrots and monkeys and the very rats that swarmed in the hold, preferred to shift for themselves on shore, rather than starve on ship-board. In imagination he saw that touching scene, when the General, as Merridew called Captain Hawkins, gave to each man five yards of cloth, embraced them in turn, counselled them to serve God and love one another; and thus courteously bade them a sorrowful farewell, promising, if God sent him safe to England, to do what he could to bring home such as remained alive. That Captain Hawkins would fulfil his promise Dennis believed; but how many of those Englishmen were still living? He reflected that he at least had food and present safety; compared with theirs his lot was a king's.
But he was not to escape misfortune altogether. One day the storm he had so long been expecting broke over the island, hurling great seas into the mouth of the chine, threatening to dash theMaid Marianagainst the rocks or sweep her out into the ocean. In the midst of pelting, blinding rain Dennis strove to ensure her safety. She wrenched at her anchor; every moment he feared lest her mooring ropes should be snapped; he could do little but keep a watch on the fastenings. And while he was thus watching, a roaring flood passed through the gully from the plateau above, swamping his hut, washing away some of his hardly-won stores; and the fierce blast tore off the roof of one of his sheds, exposing its contents to all the fury of the weather.
Next day he did what he could to repair the damage. Fortunately much of his perishable goods was contained in stout boxes which he always kept securely fastened, and the things he lost were those he could best spare.
In the afternoon of that day, he went across to the opposite side of the island, as he was wont to do at intervals, to take a look-out from the high cliff there. He wondered whether the storm had cast any other ill-fated vessel upon the shore. But, scanning the whole horizon, he saw nothing but league upon league of restless sea.
"Our solitude is not to be disturbed, Mirandola," he said to the monkey, "for which let us be thankful. Or ought we to deplore it? I wish you could speak, my friend, and tell me something of your history. Are you the last of your race, I wonder? Well, so am I. I have no kith nor kin; nor, as it appears, have you. I have a humble estate in an island—to be sure, somewhat larger than this. Now I come to think of it, this island is yours; it is a mark of nobility of soul—or is it poverty of spirit? I cannot say—that you do not regard me as a supplanter. Good Holles, my steward, would not brook the intrusion of any adventurer on my lands. Heigh ho! How fares the old fellow, I wonder? How he shook his old head when I acquainted him with my purpose to join Sir Martin Blunt in his voyage to the Spanish Main! 'God save you, sir!' said he, and asked whether he should sell my whippets! One thing I know, Mirandola: that if it please God to bring me safe home in season, Holles will give me a faithful account of his stewardship. Let me think I am your steward, good my friend. And now let us return to our honey-pot."
On the way back, Dennis struck somewhat to the left of his usual path, to skirt the marsh on its south-western instead of its north-eastern side. It was far larger in area than when he had first seen it; its outlet was too narrow to carry off the surplusage due to the tremendous rains. Dennis was picking his way around the oozy edge, letting his thoughts travel back to the pleasant land of Devon, when suddenly he was brought up short by the sight of a mark in the soft earth, the strangeness of which mightily surprised and perplexed him. Parallel with his own tracks there ran for a few yards a faint ribbon-like track—such a track as might be made by a large cart wheel that had rested very lightly on the surface. It was a single track: following its course, he found that it disappeared into the water, just as he had seen the mark of a cart wheel disappear into a roadside horse-pond at home.
He looked around. There was nothing to account for the mark. He scouted the idea that it had been actually made by a wheel; a vehicle must have been drawn by animals, and there were no hoof-marks to match. With all his puzzling he could find no explanation, and though he looked warily about him as he went on his way, with some return of his old feeling of nervousness, he saw no sign to suggest that the island had been visited.
It was a day or two before he again found himself near the marsh. He had been fishing from the base of the high cliff that formed his usual look-out. A kind of natural pier of broken rock jutted out from the cliff seawards, and the deep water on each side was the favourite resort at high tide of shoals of small fish, which chose it, he supposed, because the depth was not great enough for the ground sharks that sometimes made their appearance off the shore, and the little fish could disport themselves there in security.
Carrying his catch on a string—enough for his own dinner, for Mirandola would not touch it—he passed again by the brink of the marsh, and once more was puzzled by the wheel-like track which he had seen before and been unable to explain. The marsh had somewhat shrunk in the interval; the receding water had left more of the track visible: and the outer soil having been baked hard by the sun, the strange imprint was clearer and more definite.
It occurred to Dennis now to attempt to trace the mark in the opposite direction, away from the point where it disappeared in the water. It speedily grew fainter as he came to harder soil, and he lost it altogether where it entered undergrowth which had no doubt been partially submerged when the marsh was at its highest. But after some search he found it again where it emerged from the rank vegetation, and from that point he traced it with little difficulty, for it kept fairly close to the margin of the lake. Its resemblance to the track of a wheel had now ceased; not even the most rickety of carts, driven by a drunken tranter on a Devonshire lane, could have made such erratic movements as must have caused this shallow winding mark on the soil. Dennis followed its curves with persistent curiosity, not unmixed with a vague uneasiness. Mirandola accompanied him, springing lightly from bough to bough of the trees nearest the edge of the marsh, descending with extraordinary quickness and loping along the ground where gaps intervened, or the fringe of the woodland belt took a trend inwards.
At length the tracking came perforce to an end. Again the trail disappeared into the water, and Dennis halted, feeling a little vexed that his patience was, after all, to bear no fruit. He looked round for Mirandola. The monkey had disappeared, exploring, no doubt, thought Dennis, a close-packed thicket that came within a few yards of the morass, having apparently crowded out all nobler trees save one slender cedar which, dominating the undergrowth, seemed taller than it really was.
Dennis was about to give up the problem as hopeless and go on his way, when suddenly he heard Mirandola chattering in a manner that was new to him. The moment after, the monkey sprang from the thicket into the tree, and climbed with frantic speed to the very top, where he sat gibbering and shaking with terror. Dennis, wondering what had perturbed him, took a step forward, then started back in a cold shiver. A huge serpent was rearing itself from the midst of the undergrowth and winding its coils about the trunk of the tree.
Mirandola on the topmost branch had now ceased his chattering, and clung, watching the monster with dilated eyes. The poor creature was helpless. To descend from his perch would have been fatal; there was no other tree at hand to which it might escape. Indeed, under the fascination of the serpent's baleful eyes, as it slowly drew its immense coils up the trunk, the monkey lost all power of motion; and Dennis himself, even with the thicket between him and the monster, felt a sort of chill paralysis as he watched its sinister movements. For half a minute he stood rooted to the spot; then, making an effort to throw off this dire oppression, he tried to think of some means of helping the monkey. At that moment of danger, he was conscious for the first time of the strength of his affection for the animal whose companionship had done so much to relieve the awful solitude of the island. Unless he intervened, Mirandola was doomed, and the thought of losing Mirandola filled him with a fierce longing to slay this monster that was crawling inch by inch towards its prey.
His first impulse was to run back to his hut for the gun he kept there ready loaded; but slow as the serpent's progress was, before he could return to the spot the tragedy would have ended. Then he remembered how the reptiles in the woods at home were killed. A blow on the vertebrae crippled them; could he cripple this huge creature, which even yet had not heaved all its length into the tree? His only weapon was the sailor's clasp-knife which he always carried at his girdle. He opened it impulsively, then hesitated. If he failed to hit the vertebrae, and dealt only a flesh wound, he might perchance save the monkey, but could he then save himself? He knew nothing of a boa constrictor's power of movement; yet his instinct told him that, if once enfolded in those monstrous coils, he must inevitably be crushed to death. But he could not stand and see his pet mangled and devoured: the serpent, moving deliberately, as though aware of its victim's paralysis, was not yet beyond his reach. Springing through the undergrowth, he marked a spot some distance from the reptile's tail. The serpent heard his approach, and turned its head slowly in his direction; but a second later Dennis drove his knife with all his force at the centre of the sleek round mass.
Next moment he was thrown sprawling on the ground, by a flick of the tail as the upper part of the serpent's body writhed convulsively under the blow. He jerked himself to his feet and leapt away through the undergrowth in panic fear. A few steps brought him to open ground, and then, crushing down his nervous terror, he looked back. The coils were slipping down the tree, and in a moment it was clear that the serpent's power was gone; its huge bulk moved uncontrollably: its motor force was destroyed. Dennis ventured to enter the thicket again. When the serpent reached the ground, it writhed as he had seen injured eels and earthworms writhe, but its movements were all involuntary; Mirandola was saved.
"Dennis saves Mirandola.""Dennis saves Mirandola."
The monkey was now chattering volubly, but still clung to his perch. Clearly he would not venture to descend while his enemy moved. For some time Dennis watched it; then, feeling that he must put an end to its maimed life, he hurried away to fetch his gun. A bullet in the head: and the reptile lay motionless.
Even then some little time elapsed before Mirandola yielded to Dennis's persuasive calls and slid, still somewhat nervously, to the ground. He avoided the reptile's body, and scampered away with shrill cries to the open. When Dennis overtook him, the monkey sprang upon his shoulder, and so they returned to the hut.
After this thrilling experience Dennis felt somewhat less at ease in his peregrinations of the island. He had come to think that he had nothing to fear there so long as it was unvisited by men. But the thickets that gave hiding to one huge reptile might harbour many more. Henceforth he walked more warily, and never ventured far from his hut without a gun.
Dennis had given up the idea of building a boat as a means of escape from the island; but now that time again hung heavy on his hands, he reverted to it as a refuge from the tedium of idleness. It promised to give him much labour, for, unless he stripped the planking from theMaid Marian, he must needs fell trees for himself, and prepare his timbers as well as his unskill could devise. The trees of the island were for the most part unknown to him; and he was not aware of the Indian practice of hollowing out a cedar trunk with fire or hatchet. In his wanderings he now began to take note of the different species, with a view to selecting one that would best suit his tools.
One day, when he was strolling through the woodland on this errand, he was amazed, and not a little alarmed, to hear, from some spot far to his right, what seemed to him to be the ring of axes. He halted, incredulous. The island, he was assured, had no other inhabitant; yet he could not be mistaken; the sound of tree-felling reminded him of home, and he felt a sudden deep yearning for the combes and holts of far-off Devon. But this feeling was immediately quelled by a sense of danger. Who were these woodcutters? No friends, he was sure; he had given up hope of finding friends upon these remote coasts. And if not friends, discovery by these spelt death to him, or slavery to which death would be preferable.
He was minded to turn about and seek safety in his hut. Built upon the edge of the chine, it could only be discovered by careful exploration of the woodland, and the chine was all but invisible from the sea. There he might remain in hiding, with a fair chance that he would not be found. But this first impulse passed. He felt an overmastering curiosity to see who these visitors were. Whence had they come, he wondered? Why, if they came from the distant mainland, had they crossed the sea? He could not suppose that wood was lacking upon the shores of the great continent.
Slowly, with infinite caution, he began to thread his way towards the sound. There were open spaces amid the woodland; these he durst not cross, but kept always in the shelter of the trees. He dreaded lest Mirandola should betray him by a cry; but the monkey leapt from bough to bough almost noiselessly, as if he too had taken alarm from the unwonted sound. A few weeks before, Dennis himself would have found it difficult to make his way through the woods and the undergrowth without giving signs of his presence by the snapping of twigs or the rustle of parting foliage; but the abiding sense of danger which had oppressed him during his earlier passages across the island had bred in him a wariness of movement that was now almost as instinctive as in the wild creatures whose lives depended on their caution.
Guiding himself by the sounds, he was drawn towards a grove of trees that lay about two hundred yards from the southern beach. Only a day or two before he had struck his hatchet into one of them, and concluded from its soft white sappy rind that it would not provide fit timber for his boat. Yet it was clearly these trees upon which the unseen woodmen were at work. He stole forward, and coming to a dense fringe of undergrowth beyond which the grove lay, he edged his way into the thicket, and very stealthily pressed the foliage aside until he got a view of what was doing.
The trees grew somewhat far apart, and across a fairly open space he saw the strangers whose unexpected presence was causing him such concern. Five men, stripped to the waist, were hard at work with axes. Four of them had dusky skins of reddish hue; the fifth, a short, thickset, brawny man, the muscles of whose arms showed like great globes, was clearly a white man, though his hands and arms were stained a bright scarlet quite different from the red duskiness of southern natives, or the red-brown caused by exposure to sun and wind. As they moved, the five men clanked the chains that fettered their ankles to stout logs of wood. A little apart stood three men looking on, laughing and talking together in a tongue strange to Dennis. They were big swarthy fellows, with soft wide-brimmed hats, each decked with a feather, brown leather doublets and hose, and long boots. Each bore a caliver and a whip.
The sun was high in the heavens, its beams beating down through the trees upon the unprotected backs of the toilers. Sweat was pouring from them. The trees were thick, some at least two yards in circumference; to cut them through needed no slight exertion. The white labourer paused to draw his arm across his reeking brow. Then one of the watchers strolled across from the tree against which he had been lolling, and raising his whip, brought the thong with a stinging cut across the back of the slave who had dared to intermit his labours. A red streak showed livid on the white skin. For a moment it seemed to Dennis, watching the scene, that the victim was about to turn upon his assailant with the axe, his sole weapon. An expression of deadly rage writhed the features of his red, bearded face. His grip tightened upon the axe. But he controlled his impulse with an effort. The warder laughed brutally, flung a taunt, and cracked his whip in the air in challenge and menace. Sullenly the woodman resumed his task, and his persecutor, with another laugh, turned and rejoined his companions, applauded by their grins.
Dennis felt himself stung to anger. This swarthy ruffian, he doubted not, was a Spaniard, a subject of King Philip, once the consort of an English queen. It was not a pleasant introduction to the race dominating the Americas. Apparently Mirandola liked them no better than he, for at the first sight of the strangers the monkey had fled away. Dennis found him a good quarter-mile distant when, taking advantage of an interval during which the Spaniards ate and drank, and the flagging toilers rested, he strode away to a banana grove to refresh himself.
He watched the group till near sundown. Several trees having been felled, the men proceeded to hack off the branches and to chip away the white rind. Then the strange scarlet colour of their arms and hands was explained. The heart of the trees was a brilliant red. As the rind was stripped off, the Spaniards drew near and examined the core, and under their direction the labourers cut and trimmed certain selected logs. The work was still unfinished when the sun went down, and the leader of the Spaniards gave the word for returning to the shore. The logs were struck off the slaves' ankles and replaced by manacles; then they set off. Dennis followed them at a safe distance, and when he came within view of the sea, there was a small vessel riding at anchor some little distance off shore, and the slaves were in the act of dragging a row boat through the white surf. In this they all put off, and darkness covered them up as they regained the ship.
Dennis returned to his hut, joined by the monkey on the way.
"Here is food for thought, Mirandola, my friend," he said. "No fire for us to-night! Are you acquainted with don Spaniards and their ways? You kept a wide berth: have you too suffered at their hands? Who is the poor wretch the ruffian lashed? By his looks he would pass for an Englishman: I hope he is not of English breed. Yet I hope he is: what do you make of that, Mirandola? I protest I love your wise and friendly countenance; but there is something warming to the heart in the sight of one of my own kind, if such he be. We must be up betimes, my friend; maybe the morrow will give us assurance."
Thinking over the incident before he slept, Dennis wondered why the party had returned to the ship. If the purpose of their visit was to obtain any quantity of this strange red wood, doubtless they had several days' work before them; why had they not camped on shore? Perhaps they felt that the slaves were safer on board; perhaps, too, they did not care to weaken the ship's company during the hours of night. It was a small vessel; probably there was not a large number of Spaniards aboard; but doubtless they were all armed like the three who had come ashore, and their slaves, being fettered, would need but a few to control them. Dennis hoped that when they returned next day they would not make too thorough a search for similar groves elsewhere in the island, for if they should discover his hut, he had little doubt they would seek to impress him into the hapless gang.
His sleep was restless. Many times he woke with a start and sprang up trembling, feeling that the Spaniards were on his track. At daybreak he was on his way towards the western shore, and took up his position in the same thicket, the leafy screen being almost impenetrable. The monkey was with him now; but when his ears caught first the measured thud of oars, then the clank of chains drawing nearer, Mirandola chattered angrily, sprang into a tree, and disappeared.
The party came into view: five slaves, three Spaniards. The former were, to all appearance, the same as those Dennis had seen on the previous day; but it seemed to him that their armed guards were different; probably the men of the ship took it in turns to come ashore. But if the individuals were different, their methods were much the same. Indeed, before Dennis had been watching the work many minutes, he had reason to know that the warders of to-day were even more ingeniously brutal than those of yesterday. The first thing he noticed was a change in their manner of rendering their slaves harmless. One of them carried a large wooden mallet; the others had between them iron staples with sharp-pointed ends. These staples they drove one by one with the mallet into the boles of the five trees selected for the day's operations. Secured to each staple was one end of a long chain, the other end of which was fastened to the captive's ankle band. Thus the hapless woodmen were fettered not merely by the logs of wood, as on the previous day, but by chains that bound them to the very trees they were to cut down. The staples were driven into the trunks below the line of the cleft to be made; but the chains, though long, seemed to Dennis scarcely long enough to enable the men to escape crushing should the trees happen to fall the wrong way. That was a chance which evidently did not trouble the guards.
Dennis wondered why this additional precaution had been taken to ensure the safe custody of the wretched men. Had they shown signs of mutiny? It would not be surprising after the treatment of the previous day. Certainly the ingenious device lightened the task of surveillance, for the wood-cutters, however exasperated, could not turn upon their guards until they had forced out the staples with their axes.
The three Spaniards threw themselves down at some distance from the slaves and lolled negligently against the trees. The wood-cutters plied their axes, sturdily, monotonously, never speaking, their faces expressing nothing but a sullen despair. Dennis fixed his eyes on the white man, and felt an eager longing to hear him speak. One word would be enough to show whether he was indeed an Englishman. But the man was as silent as the rest, and nothing was heard save the ring of the axes and the voices of the Spaniards conversing.
Five trees lay upon the ground; the warders rose to drive the staples into others. It appeared that time hung heavy on their hands. Some demon of mischief suggested to one of them a means of obtaining a little diversion. His proposal was received with shouts of laughter by his companions. Dennis did not understand what was said, but the meaning was soon made plain. The three men drew lots with three twigs of unequal length, and placed themselves by the side of three slaves—the white man and two Indians—as fate determined. Again they drew lots, and proceeded to fasten their men to three new trees. The other two Indians were set to strip the trunks already felled. It was soon evident that the Spaniards' amusement was to be had at the expense of the wood-cutters. They pooled a number of pieces of eight; the Spaniard whose man first felled his tree was to take the stakes.
The three men set to work, the warders standing over them with their whips. The faces of the Indians wore their wonted look of dull apathy; but Dennis saw the lips of the white man tighten, and a grim scowl darken his brow. The sport commenced. Excited by their gamble, the Spaniards urged on their men with loud cries. For some minutes the two Indians smote the trees with feverish energy; the white man plied his axe with measured strokes, neither slower nor faster than before. The warders became more and more excited, and from cries proceeded to blows. One of the Indians flagged, and to stimulate him the Spaniard behind dealt him a savage blow with his whip, and the poor cowed wretch laid on with greater vigour. Hidden in the bush Dennis nervously clutched his sword and felt the blood surge into his cheeks. Fine sport, indeed! The other Spaniards, not to be outdone, began to belabour the backs of their men also, and Dennis, seeing great weals rise on the bare flesh, could scarcely control the impulse to dash at all costs from his hiding-place to the aid of the suffering men. He saw the face of the white man pale beneath the sun-tan and the red stains; perchance the Spaniard would have had a qualm if he had seen the fury his features expressed. But he did not see it; with callous levity he shouted, and brought his whip down with a sickening crack upon the broad red-streaked back.
Then, with a suddenness that took Dennis's breath away, the white man's pent-up rage burst its bounds. At the end of his endurance, he swung round with a nimbleness surprising in a man of his bulk, and flung his axe with unerring aim at his tormentor. The man fell among the logs. In a second, before the other Spaniards had time to recover from the shock of this unheard-of audacity, one of the Indians at work on the fallen tree hurled his weapon at the warder nearest him, and struck him headlong to the ground. The third man had sufficient command of his wits to take to his heels and scamper away.
The wood-cutters were between him and the shore, and the direction of his flight was towards the thicket in which Dennis stood, all tingling with the excitement of this amazing change of scene. He gripped his sword; but the Spaniard stopped short within a few yards of the bushes, uttered a furious oath, and turning about, kindled his match, preparing to shoot at the slaves, who were hacking with frenzied haste at the staples that held them to the trees. The two Indians who were free were hobbling towards the woodland on the other side, appalled by their own temerity. Dennis heard the Spaniard chuckle as he raised his caliver. The man knew full well that, even if the woodmen succeeded in breaking loose, he would have time to shoot them down one by one, hobbled as they were.
Dennis could no longer remain inactive. An enemy of the Spaniards, whatever his colour, was a friend of his. He could not see the poor wretches slaughtered. For an instant he thought of kindling his own match and firing at the Spaniard, who was within easy range. Then, changing his mind, he pushed aside the bushes, sprang into the open, and leapt over the ground with the lightness of a panther. The Spaniard heard his movements and swung round; Dennis saw the startled look of terror in his eyes. Taken aback, he had no time to ward off the musket stock of this assailant who had sprung as it were out of the earth. His cry of alarm was stifled in his throat, and under the blow dealt him with all the force of honest rage he dropped senseless to the ground.
Dennis felt his limbs tremble as he stepped round the fallen body and went forward. The white man and the biggest of the Indians had already released themselves, and stood as though rooted to the ground with amazement.
"I am a friend," cried Dennis, while still separated by some yards from them.
"My heart, that's a true word!" gasped the white man, and Dennis thrilled with joy as he heard the broad accent of a south-countryman. "A friend, true; and a blessed word to Haymoss Turnpenny's ears."
They gripped hands, and looked each other squarely in the face. There was a lump in Dennis's throat, and a mist of tears in the elder man's eyes. Then Turnpenny glanced over his shoulder with a sudden access of fear.
"We bean't safe," he muttered, and there was a world of terror in his gesture and tone. "They'll find us, and then 'twill be hell-fire. Can 'ee hide us?"
"Let us first release that black man."
"Ay, sure, fellow creature, although black. I'll do it, in a trice."
He walked towards the trees where the last man was still struggling to force out the staple. At this moment Dennis saw one of the others, who had released his feet from the hobbling logs, springing past him with uplifted axe, the fire of fury in his eyes. Turning, he noticed that the Spaniard he had felled was moving. He had but just time to dash after the man and prevent him from butchering his prostrate enemy. The Indian drew back in surprise, and Dennis stood on guard until the Englishman joined him.
"Bean't he killed dead? Why didn't 'ee kill him, lad? T'others be dead as door nails, and won't trouble you nor me no more."
"We'll let this fellow live; he may be useful to us."
"Why didn't 'ee kill him with your sword or caliver? He's vermin, as they be all."
"Well, his back was towards me," said Dennis. "Besides, a shot would have alarmed his comrades on the ship."
"The ship!" repeated the man, looking round again with fear in his eyes. "The ship! They'll find us! We are rats in a trap! Lord save us all!"
"Come, we must think of something. Can you speak to these men?"
"Ay, in some sort. Not in their own tongue, 'tis monkey-talk to me. Ah! look at 'em, poor knaves."
The Indians had fallen upon the provisions brought by the Spaniards for their own consumption, and were devouring them ravenously. Turnpenny called to them in a husky whisper, as though fearful of his own voice reaching the ears of an enemy. Then, taking the dazed Spaniard with them, the woodcutters, hobbled by the logs, made off across the island, led by Dennis to the watercourse at the further end of which his hut stood. Within half a mile of that spot he halted, and got the Englishman to tell the others to remain there until rejoined. With Turnpenny he hastened on.
"God be praised I was able to help you," he said.
"Ay, but I fear me 'tis to your own undoing. They will come ashore, and catch 'ee, and flay 'ee alive."
"Tell me, how many men are left on the bark?"
"Ten, lad, all armed to the teeth. Sure they will land when we don't go aboard at night. They will hunt us down. This time to-morrow we'll be dead men, or worse than dead."
"Pluck up heart," said Dennis. "There are six of us; I have arms for all; we can post ourselves at a place of our own choice, and make a good defence, I warrant you."
"My heart! But what will be the use? Say we beat them off, 'twill be like as if we tried to stem the waves. With a fair breeze the mainland is but a day's sail, and there the Spaniards swarm like cockroaches in a hold. I tell 'ee, lad, whoever ye be, we be dead men!"
"I've been nearer death," said Dennis quietly. "Look! There is my hut. I was cast up on this shore from a wreck: I have been here several weeks, months—I know not: it has pleased God to keep me alive here, alone on this island, and I believe there is hope for us all."
"Amen! ... My heart! There's a sheer hulk in the pool yonder."
"Ay, all that's left of theMaid Marian. But I will tell you my story anon. Come away into the hut, and let us talk of what we can do to save ourselves from the Spaniards."
As they entered the hut, the Englishman drew back with a startled cry. Perched on a cask sat Mirandola. He chattered angrily at the sight of a stranger.
"My one friend on the island, and a faithful comrade," said Dennis. "A gentle soul; he will do you no harm."
"A friend, say you? 'Tis against nature to be friends with a spider-monkey. And I be fair mazed; it do seem all a dream, only in the offing yonder there be a real ship, and, say what 'ee will, I be afeard."
"We'll first file off these clogging hobbles. And what say you to a mug of beer? It has come far; I have not broached the cask, and maybe 'tis still drinkable."
"My heart! I never thought to taste beer or cider again. 'Twill comfort my nattlens, sure, and I was once a good man at a tankard."
The fetters were soon struck off; a mug of beer was drawn, and drained at a gulp; but Turnpenny was still ill at ease. He went to the entrance of the hut and looked nervously up and down the gully, listening with head cocked aside. Dennis could not guess at the terrible past which had made this stout English mariner as timid as a child.
"Let us get back to the black men," he said, knowing from his own experience the value of action in banishing sad thoughts. "Are they Indians of America?"
"Maroons, sir, half Injun, half negro; lusty fighters, and faithful souls when they do love 'ee."
"We'll knock off their chains and give them arms. What can they use?"
"Not muskets, nor harquebuses, but anything that will dint a blow."
"Half-pikes and swords, then. For yourself, take your pick."
"Ay, it do give me heart to handle a cutlass again. Here's a fine blade, now, and a musket—give me a harquebus; I could shoot once, but my arm is all of a wamble now. Lookeedesee!"
He raised the heavy weapon to his shoulder and tried to steady it.
"See! Shaking like a man with the palsy," he said, his nervousness returning. "I be no more good than a bulrush."
"Pish, man!" said Dennis cheerily. "You are overwrought; your arm is tired with wielding the axe. An hour's rest will set you up. Come, bring the file and the weapons; we must see that the others are not scared in our absence."
The four maroons had remained on the spot where they had been left, keeping guard over the Spaniard, who had now quite recovered from his blow. They eyed Dennis with a wide stare, and fell silent when he approached, seeming scarcely to comprehend the wonderful good fortune that had befallen them. The removal of their fetters and the gift of arms struck them as a crowning mercy; they grovelled upon the ground as in the act of worship.
"They take 'ee for a magician, sir," said Turnpenny. "'Tis marvellous to their simple poor minds. All the world be full of spirits to them; a storm at sea be the stirring of witches, and the Spaniards be devils. My heart!" he exclaimed suddenly, "the fear has took me again! When they do miss the sound of the axes they will jealous summat wrong, and then they'll come and we'll be all dead men."
"Cheer up!" said Dennis. "'Tis easy to cure that. Two of the men can set-to upon the trees again, and one can steal to the shore and keep an eye on the ship, and acquaint us if he sees any stirring there."
"But what of the Spaniard, lad? 'Tis then only one maroon to watch him, and 'tis not enough. If so be the knave be left to himself, he'll run to the beach and give the alarm."
"We'll stop that, too. When he has had a portion of food, we will gag and bind him, and all will be well."
When the Spaniard was secured, the whole party returned to the scene of the tree-felling, and while one of the men went stealthily forward to spy upon the ship, two others plied their axes upon the fallen trunks.
Dennis, more alert of mind than the sailor, foresaw that the trick could have only a temporary success. When the time came for the wood-cutting party to return to the vessel, their non-appearance would awaken suspicion among the Spaniards on board. Believing the island to be uninhabited, they would not guess what had happened; it would not even occur to them as possible that cowed and unarmed slaves would have courage enough to turn on their masters, much less overcome them. But if the party did not return at nightfall, the captain would certainly send some of his men to discover the cause. Of all men the Spaniards were the most superstitious; when they landed, their very superstitions would put them on their guard. Their approach would be cautious; they would probably discover the escaped slaves before these could strike at them effectively; and then, when the inevitable fight came, the party of six, of whom only two could use firearms, and one had partially lost his nerve, would stand a poor chance against men armed cap-à-pie and doubtless inured to the practice of warfare. Besides, even if the landing party could be taken by surprise and routed, the sound of the combat would alarm the Spaniards still remaining on the ship. They would sail away, and in a few days return in overwhelming strength.
Dennis was at first staggered by the difficulties and perils of the situation, and he dared not consult with Turnpenny until the sailor had regained his courage. For the present the important thing was to keep him employed, so as to turn his thoughts from anything that would feed his fears.
"We must bury these two knaves," said Dennis, glancing at the bodies of the Spaniards. "You and I can do that. Your name, I bethink me, is——"
"Turnpenny, by nature, Haymoss by the water o' baptism, sir."
"Haymoss?"
"Ay, sure, a religious good name, sir; a' comes betwixt Joel and Obydiah somewheres after the holy psa'ms. Born at Chard, sir, in Zummerzet, but voyaged to Plimworth when that I was a little tiny boy, and served 'prentice aboard theSeamew—master, John Penworthy."
Dennis had heard only the first sentence of this string of facts. He was in the very act of stooping to dig a grave with one of the maroons' big axes, when there flashed into his mind an idea which set him aglow with hope.
"Well, friend Amos," he said, so quietly that none could have suspected his inward eagerness, "think you not we may strip the outer garments from these knaves before we bury them? Your back would be the better for a covering, and this leathern doublet would well beseem you."
"True, sir, but I never donned a stranger's coat yet. I be English true blue, and though the Spaniard's doublet might span my back, 'twould irk my feeling mind, sir!"
"To please me, Amos. I would fain you covered your arms—the red is too like blood, and we may see enough of that ere we be many hours older."
To Dennis's gratification the sailor did not again blench at the suggestion of a fight with the Spaniards. He laughed.
"My heart! 'Tis easy to see you be a new man in this new world, sir. The stains of logwood don't worrit me; 'tis a noble dye, you must own, and many's the noble garment that has been dyed for a Spaniard's madam out o' the logwood I've cut. But since it offends your innocent eye, I'll e'en don the knave's coat afore I put him out o' sight in earth too good for him."
Overjoyed at the man's recovered spirits, Dennis hastened, as they went on with their task, to press his advantage.
"You are two enemies the less, Amos—nay, three, counting the knave we have in pound among the trees yonder. What say you to our making a shift to put a few more in the same case?"
"What mean you, sir?"
"Tell me, what people hath the ship yonder, besides the ten Spanish knaves of whom you spoke?"
"Why, sir, as a true man I answer, a black cook—no maroon, but a swart fat knave from the Guinea coast; and three maroons, who fell sick, or rather were well-nigh beat to death, in an island over against the continent yonder we visited on the same errand."
"And they are gyved, as you were?"
"All but the cook. He goes free, but, my heart! 'tis little he gains by it. He is every man's football and whipping-boy."
"Why then do the Spaniards remain aboard the ship when there are so few slaves to guard?"
"'Tis first because they be idle knaves, who would never do a hand's turn save by necessity. Item, because they be but poor seamen, and need a dozen to handle a craft, only forty ton burden, that three true-born Englishmen could sail into the devil's jaws. Item, because the spot where she lies at anchor is ill-protected; 'tis rather an open roadstead than a bay, and if a squall should come up sudden, as 'tis nature in this meridian, they'd need all the lubbers' work to get a fair offing."
"So three true-born Englishmen are a match for a dozen base cullies of Spain? Is that your thought, Amos?"
"Ay, at musket, pike, or quarter-staff; there's never a doubt on it."
"Think you two, then, are a match for ten? The balance turns a little in favour of the Spaniards; by right proportion it should be two to eight; but mayhap four maroons on t'other scale would even the odds."
Turnpenny desisted from his work, and a shadow of his former fear came upon his face. Dennis did not allow time for the fit to lay hold of him.
"There is advantage to him who strikes first," he went on, quietly. "If we wait, assuredly we shall have to fight against heavy odds. But if we assume a bold part, and jump the risks, we may gain all the vantage of surprise, and enforce it with that English blood you hold so high in estimation, to say naught of English thews and sinews. Why, man, that stout arm of yours would fell an ox."
"True, sir," said the simple mariner, bending his arm to raise the muscle, and looking at the knotty protuberance with great complacency; "I ha' done desperate deeds of strength in my time. But, heart alive! do 'ee think to capture the ship?"
"I think of venturing for it; and, unless I be mightily mistaken, Amos Turnpenny is not the man to turn his back on a venture of that kind."
"Not by nature, sir," said the man, uneasiness struggling with simple vanity in his mind. "By nature I be as bold as a lion. But the lion in the story was meshed in with ropes, and could do no harm to a silly mouse; and for four year past, sir, the ropes of mischance have held my spirit in thrall, wherefore it is that——"
"That you are afraid? Nonsense! You are the lion; I am the mouse. Let us say that I, by good luck, have gnawed those confining ropes asunder, and now, on this island, you are free of mind as of limb, and a man of heart and vigour."
Turnpenny flung down his axe and fairly jumped.
"My heart!" he cried, gleefully; "'tis the very marrow of the tale! I be free, free! For four year I have forgot the word. Sound of limb, straight of eye, with all my five wits, praise God above! Speak your thought, sir; Haymoss Turnpenny is your man."
The Spaniards had by this time been buried. The two maroons were still hacking at the trees. Nothing had been reported by the man on the look-out. Glancing at the sun, Dennis guessed that it was still two or three hours from setting. But for interruptions there would be ample time to develop his plan.
"Come beneath the shade," he said to Turnpenny. "There is much to be said and done. If perchance a man lands from the ship, we must take him prisoner. If several come, we must fight them at the gully. If they lie secure, and we are undisturbed, we shall capture their vessel this night."
"I believe it, sir, partly; I'd believe it more firm if I understood."
"Give me your judgement on my plan. At sunset we will haul some logs down to the shore and push off in the boat, as if we were the Spaniards with their slaves. You and I will rig ourselves in the doublets and hose of the two yonder; it will go hard with us if, in the dark, we do not mislead the Spaniards into security. We will mount into the vessel, and if luck favour us we shall be masters of the craft before the Spaniards have awakened to the danger."
"A noble plan, but fearsome," said Turnpenny, shaking his head. "We shall be two short, sir. We rig up as Spaniards, you and me; granted; but the knaves on deck will see two Spaniards instead of three, and they will want to know what has become of Haymoss Turnpenny."
"We will take our prisoner. Then they will see three Spaniards, and if they then miss Amos Turnpenny, let them suppose that the sailor man has turned troublesome, and been left on the island, to bring him to a reasonable humility."
"Ay, sure, that unties the knot. But I would not give a groat for my chance of seeing Plimworth Sound again if the knaves spy the head of Haymoss sticking out o' the Spanish doublet. The captain, he be a man of desperate fight; no miserable dumbledore is he; 'tis a word and a blow with him; I've seed him kill a man of his own breed for no more than a wry word."
"We must trust to our disguise, and the dark."
"But the maroons, sir; they'll be of no use 'ithout weapons, and if they climb aboard with naked steel in their hands, 'tis all over with us."
"You and I will mount first."
"That would put the knaves on guard at once. 'Tis always us poor slaves that come over side last into the boat and go first out of it, so as never to give us no chance of making off. They need not be afeard; whither could poor miserable wretches escape away? But there it is."
"Well, Amos, we must accept the wonted course, though I would fain go first, with you at my elbow."
"It is my very own thought, sir. No white man can trust a black un in the deadly breach. But be jowned if I see any ways o' they maroons getting aboard with arms in their hands."
"Nor I. Mayhap an idea will enter our conceits anon."
"My heart! There be another thing I had clean forgot. We have ta'en their irons off."
"We must put them on again. We will not fail for the sake of a clank."
"Ay, but there's the rub, sir. The maroons will show fight if we attempt that same. Poor souls! Having no language and no intellecks to speak of, they'll not understand the main of our intent. They will suppose 'tis but a change of masters, and I fear me my few words o' Spanish will not suffice to set their minds at ease."
"You made them understand you a while ago; you must try again. But a word more. I judge the sun is grown far on the west; 'twill soon be time to put our fortunes to the hazard. And, lest our dallying here waken the suspicions of the Spaniards, let us don these articles of apparel e'en now, and fix on the irons, and then go down to the shore, the maroons hauling the stripped logs thitherwards. The ropes are handy here."
"What, sir, haul logs in the very sight of the knaves?"
"Ay, do we not wish to deceive them? If they see two Spaniards marshalling the black men, cracking their whips, moreover, will they not believe 'tis their comrades, bent on finishing the work this night? 'Tis growing towards dusk; the vessel lies out too far for them to mark our lineaments; 'twill lull them into a fool's security."
"And so it will. I will presently go speak to the maroons with my tongue, and, seeing that the poor mortals lack understanding, with my fingers and my eyes and my ten toes if the case do require it."
Dennis watched the sailor somewhat anxiously. It would be a stroke of rank ill-fortune if they refused to have their manacles replaced. Everything depended on their docility. To his joy, after some minutes of gesticulation, Turnpenny came back, his broad face beaming with conscious self-esteem.
"Be jowned if I haven't done it easy!" he said. "I spoke 'em plain, and to make all clear, I put my two hands together, with one finger pointing aloft: that stood for yonder vessel. Then I pointed to this doublet, and to yours, and set my face to a most wondrous frown, by the which they understood that you and me pass for Spaniards. A firk with my cutlass did signify our warlike intent, a thrust of my arms forth and back pictured the sweep of oars; and, to make an end o't, they understand our fixed purpose and are keen set to lend us their aid."
"Admirably contrived!" said Dennis. "Now, while I bring the Spaniard to bear us company, do you replace the irons and fasten ropes about the logs. Darkness will steal upon us unawares and prevent the first part of our contriving."
As Dennis returned to the gully to fetch the Spaniard, he saw that Mirandola was keeping pace with him through the trees. Since the event of the morning the monkey had held himself aloof, as if scared by the presence of so many strange men. Dennis halted and called to him, but the animal blinked and made no movement to descend.
"Ah, Mirandola," said Dennis, as he walked on, "even the wisest of us have our failings. Jealousy, my friend, is a canker. I love thee none the less because I have a new friend. Will you not believe it? Is there not room for both—Turnpenny and Mirandola? If we succeed in this enterprise, you and Amos must be made at one."
Some little while later, in the growing dusk, the four maroons were hauling a heavy log out from the undergrowth that fringed the sea. Dennis and Turnpenny urged them with rough cries and persistent cracking of their whips. As soon as they came within view of the vessel the ropes were cast off, and they all made their way back. When they returned with a second log, there came a faint hail from the vessel.
"Ay, ay, 'od rot you!" shouted Turnpenny indistinctly in response, knowing that at the distance his voice could not be recognized. "Belike 'tis a call to us to embark, sir," he said to Dennis. "Mark you, they called us; no man dare say they did not call us; and if they do not like us when we appear, 'tis not because we are not proper men."
The logs were laid alongside of those brought down the previous day; then the men released the boat's moorings, and hauled her off the shoal where she lay into water deep enough to float her. By this time it was almost dark, and the number of men who clambered into the boat could not easily be counted on board the vessel, nor would it be noticed that the maroons hoisted each a large bundle. At the last moment Dennis had decided not to encumber the boat with the captive Spaniard. He had thought of using the man to reply in Spanish to any hail from the vessel during the passage from the shore; but this might be attended with danger if the Spaniard should have courage enough to risk the inevitable penalty should he raise his voice to warn his comrades. Accordingly he was left on shore, gagged and bound, in a spot where he might easily be discovered by the Spaniards next day if the enterprise failed. There were no wild beasts to molest him, and the place chosen was remote from the haunts of the boa constrictor.
The maroons pulled steadily towards the silent vessel, lying low in the water some two hundred yards off shore. Already a lamp had been lit aboard. Every member of the little party in the boat was tense with anticipation. Not a word was spoken. The silence would cause no wonderment among the Spaniards on the vessel; a party of free negroes might have filled the air with their babblement; but the maroons partook of the reserve of the Indian race, and, living, as they did, in a state of deadly feud with the Spaniards, they nourished a deep silent longing for vengeance in their hearts. Besides, these men were cowed slaves, and, after the hard day's toil they were supposed to have undergone, no one would have expected them to be talkative or merry.
Stroke by stroke the boat drew nearer to the ship. At length a voice hailed it, and a flare was kindled in the waist of the vessel for its guidance.
"Why do you return so late?" came the question in Spanish.
Turnpenny answered in passable Spanish, but in a muffled tone—
"Wait till we come aboard."
A few seconds later the boat came beneath the vessel's side and was made fast. The biggest of the maroons—he who had flung his axe at the Spaniard—got up and clambered aboard. On his back he bore a huge load of bananas. Close to his clanking heels swarmed a second man; before the first was well over the bulwarks a third was beginning the ascent, each carrying a similar bundle. The fourth man had but just set his foot on the rope ladder that hung over the side when there came to the ears of Dennis and the sailor, nervously awaiting their turn, the sound of altercation above. One of the Spaniards had bestowed a kick upon the foremost of the slaves, and, laughing loud, grabbed at the load of fruit upon his back. The maroon, instead of dropping his burden and cowering away, as was the wont of slaves, held firmly to it, and stepped back to avoid the Spaniard's clutch.
"You hound!" cried the man, with an oath, and snatched a knife from his belt.
Then, to his utter amazement, the maroon let his load fall indeed, contriving as he did so to rip out of it a shortened half-pike which was cunningly concealed there. The light of the torch fell on the naked steel. With a loud cry of rage the Spaniards who had been lolling on the vessel's side sprang towards the slave, cursing his audacity, shouting to their supposed comrades in the boat below to ask the meaning of this unheard-of act of mutiny. But he stood his ground, glaring upon them, holding his weapon to ward them off. And now at his side his three fellow-slaves were ranged, their bundles lying at their feet, glistening half-pikes in their hands. Yelling with fury the Spaniards, armed at the moment only with their knives, pressed forward to teach these mutineers a lesson. What access of madness had seized them? Where was the abject look of terror with which they usually shrank from their masters? What could the men in charge have been about? The Spaniards rushed to the fray with the violence of wrath and outraged bewilderment.
At this first moment the fight was not unequal. The six Spaniards who had been on deck found that with their knives they could not come to close quarters with the four stalwart maroons wielding half-pikes. The latter, moreover, had kicked off the fetters loosely set about their ankles, and moved with freedom. And while the Spaniards were shouting for their comrades in the cabin and, as they supposed, in the boat below to come to their aid, the numbers of the mutineers were suddenly augmented. At the first sound of the scuffle, Dennis and Turnpenny, each armed with a cutlass, had sprung on to the ship, the former by the ladder behind the last maroon, the latter, with a sailor's agility, leaping up to the gunwale and hauling himself over. When they reached the deck they found the Spaniards dancing round the little group of slaves, who were keeping them at bay with valorous lunges of their weapons.
No sooner had the two Englishmen joined the combatants than they found that they had now the whole ship's company to reckon with. A huge Spaniard rushed from the main cabin behind the maroon, a machete in one hand, a pistol in the other. There was a flash, a sharp barking sound; one of the slaves staggered and fell. Other Spaniards came headlong out, in their haste not pausing to bring fire-arms. From the forecastle ran one of the sick maroons. The instant his eyes took in the scene, he snatched up a belaying pin from the deck and, weak as he was, threw himself into the mêlée. Now had come the chance for which he had so long hungered, and his black blood seethed as he rushed to pay off old scores.
There was hot work then amidships that narrow vessel. Cutlass and pike were matched, not for the first time, against the long Spanish knife. Under the disadvantage of surprise the Spaniards, though they outnumbered their assailants, were not so effectively armed for the fray. The maroons laid about them doughtily; they knew how terrible a weapon was the knife at close quarters, and their whole purpose was to hold their masters off and cripple them if they could.
The big Spaniard who had rushed first from the cabin and fired at the maroon found himself immediately afterwards engaged with a lithe young man who, though clad in a Spanish doublet, was certainly not a fellow-countryman of his. Instinctively, as it seemed, captain singled out captain. Dennis made a vigorous cut at him, but the blade was fouled by the shrouds above his head, and the blow, losing half its force, was easily warded off by the Spaniard's machete. He sprang back; if his opponent had been a little nimbler Dennis would have been at his mercy; but the Spaniard was gross with idleness and good living; heavy of movement he failed to seize his advantage, though in the lunge his knife cut the lad's doublet, and gashed his sword arm in the recovery.
"Captain singled out Captain.""Captain singled out Captain."
Dennis was scarcely conscious of his wound. At this fierce moment his practice on the deck of theMaid Marianserved him well. To attempt a second cut would have been to give another opening. He shortened his arm and gave point. The Spaniard was no tyro. With a turn of the wrist he parried the thrust, which was aimed low, but could not prevent the blade from entering his shoulder. He staggered and reeled back towards the doorway of the cabin, and the two men immediately behind him rushed into the fight. Turnpenny meanwhile had been engaged in a similar duel, and by the sheer force of his bulk had borne his opponent to the deck. Side by side Dennis and he faced their new assailants. One of these, a long sinewy fellow, had an amazing dexterity with his knife, and a most perplexing nimbleness of movement. Dennis kept him at bay only by the length of his cutlass. For a few moments there was brisk work around the mast. Making a sweeping cut, Dennis somewhat overreached himself, and it would have gone ill with him had not Turnpenny, who had run a second man through, perceived his danger in the nick of time. Springing forward, he pierced the fellow to the heart.
Three of the Spaniards had now fallen. The rest, who had barely held their own against the maroons, were stricken with fear when they saw their comrades' fate. Two of them sprang overboard; the remaining four, finding the three maroons now reinforced by the Englishmen, rushed back after their captain into the cabin, and, before they could be overtaken, slammed-to the door and shot the bolt. Dennis snatched up a belaying pin and brought it with all his force against the door, but made no impression on its stout timbers. There was a roar and a flash close to his ear; he felt his cheek singed; one of the Spaniards had fired through a loophole in the cabin wall. The moment after, there was another flash from a loophole on the other side, and one of the maroons uttered a cry of pain. In the open waist of the vessel the little party had no protection from musket fire; the loopholes had doubtless been pierced against the contingency of such an assault as this, and nothing but the darkness could prevent the Spaniards in the cabin from bringing down a man at every discharge. They had the whole armoury of the ship to draw upon; there was no means of checking their fire; and realizing the situation Dennis called on Turnpenny and the rest to seek cover. Some found shelter just forward of the mainmast; two swarmed on to the poop, and, climbing to the edge of its break, held themselves ready with their half-pikes to attack any one attempting a sortie from the cabin. Dennis and the sailor, picking up the calivers they had laid down when they boarded the vessel, dropped down behind a coil of rope towards the forecastle.
"My heart!" exclaimed Turnpenny, as he primed his weapon. "'Twas brisk work, and not the end neither."
"They are run to earth, Amos, 'tis true, got away like foxes. Our case is not too good. We are baulked, my friend."
"Ay, sir. With all the victuals and munitions abaft, the knaves have the better of us. We cannot get at them; say we made endeavour to scuttle the ship, they could shoot us afore we got away."
"And there are sick maroons in the forecastle, I bethink me you said. I would fain save them alive. We must do something to bring the knaves to an engagement. There are five of them now. With time to recover themselves somewhat, and fortify themselves with food, they can if it so please them lie low till morning light, then sally out upon us with arms loaded, several pistols apiece, and we, fasting, would be of a surety overmatched."
"Ay, and we cannot feed ourselves even on that noble store of bananas, for they lie athwart the very course of bullets from the cabin."
"Could we smoke them out? Could we blow the door in?"
"With a sufficiency of powder, but the magazine is beneath the cabin."
"Is there none elsewhere?"
"Why, now I do mind me, the boatswain hath a vast relish for wild fowl, and is never loath to go a-shooting on shore. 'Tis like he hath a little secret store."
"Then I will go rummage the forecastle. Do you bide here, Amos, and keep ward over my caliver until I return."
When the party boarded the vessel, there had been a dim light in the forecastle. It was now extinguished. Dennis went in through the open entrance; then, feeling safe from the enemy's bullets, he took a candle from his pouch and having lit it, held it above his head. He shrank back, startled for the moment. The pale flame had fallen full on the face of a big negro, crouching in the corner of an upper bunk. A second glance assured him that he had nothing to fear; the black face was sickly with terror. In a flash Dennis remembered the negro cook of whom Amos had spoken. As cook, being allowed a certain freedom of movement about the vessel, the man would probably know where the boatswain kept his powder, and search might be unnecessary. Dennis called to him; the negro only showed more of the whites of his eyes. Dennis beckoned him with his finger; he only cowered and groaned.
"'Tis to be main force then, you white-livered rascal!" cried Dennis, and, setting down his candle, caught the man by his waist-band and began to haul his oily mass out of the bunk. "You gibber more brutishly than Mirandola; come, or I'll shake your fat bulk to a jelly."
Not without labour he lugged the negro forth, and dragged him aft to the place where Amos was crouching.
"Here's a fat knave that's like to dissolve with fright," he said. "I do not understand his monkey-talk; speak to him, Amos. Ask of him what we need to know, and tell him we intend him no harm, and will certainly not expect such a craven to fight."
"Ay, sir, 'tis Baltizar the cook, and a very whey-blooded knave. I'll ferret it out of him, trust me."
He took some minutes in his scraps of Spanish to make the man understand what was required of him. When he understood, the negro became very voluble. He said that the boatswain did indeed keep a small jar of powder in his sea-chest, but there was a much larger quantity concealed among the ship's stores under hatches. It had been placed there by the mate—"the long knave I spitted," Amos explained—who was accustomed to do a little private trading with the natives of the mainland, and had destined the powder as a bribe for certain pearl-fishers of the coast.
"Is it in the fore-peak?" asked Dennis, remembering where he had found powder on theMaid Marian.
"No, worse luck!" replied Turnpenny, after questioning the man. "'Tis in the lazaretto, and the hatchway being but a few feet from the break of the poop, we cannot come at it 'ithout running the hazard of a shot from the cabin."
"'Tis darker now; could I not risk the deed?"
"The knaves med not see you, 'tis true; but you could not knock out the battens 'ithout raising a din, and they would know your whereabouts, and not all on 'em would miss your carcase. Be jowned if I'd like to see 'ee make the venture."
Releasing the negro, Dennis crouched again behind the coil of rope.
"We must find a way to get that powder," he said. "A mariner like you, Amos, ought to be fertile in devices. Come, set your brains on the rack."
"I be afeard they be soft wi' four years' misery, but I'll rouse 'em. If I had but the second sight, now, like the old witch as lived within a cable-length o' my grandad's hut on the moors!"
But Amos had done his brains an injustice. He had not pondered many minutes before he exclaimed—
"My heart! We have them on the hip! We'll e'en shin up the shrouds and lower the mainsail. She's furled on the yards, but we can unreeve her 'ithout noise, and when she's down, she'll be a barricade betwixt the mainmast and the break o' the poop, and not a knave of them can see what is toward in the waist."
Dennis applauded the notion, and the two instantly set about their task. Crawling to the starboard side, they crept along by the rope netting that replaced in the waist the wooden bulwarks which bounded the decks, and reached the shrouds of the mainmast unperceived by the enemy in the cabin. To swarm up was the work of a few moments to Turnpenny, and Dennis was little less expert, having practised himself on theMaid Marianin many details of the mariners' duties. Gaining the yards, they cast off the robands, made the buntlines fast, then, easing the earings, lowered away by the buntlines and the clew-garnets. Scarcely five minutes after they had left the shelter of the rope-coil, a wall of canvas shut the waist from the view of the Spaniards.
They had barely finished their task when two musket-shots rang out, and two holes were cut in the sail. Clearly the enemy was on the alert. There was no time to be lost. Turnpenny knocked out the battens as quickly as possible, and lifting the hatch, disclosed a small ladder leading down into the lazaretto.
"I will go down," said Dennis, "being of less bulk than you, Amos."
He climbed nimbly down, struck a light, and after a little search discovered a jar of powder among a miscellaneous collection of ship's stores. Hoisting the jar up, he gave it into the hands of Turnpenny, climbed up again, and returned with the sailor to the coil of rope, to be out of harm's way while they went on with their preparations.
"If we fire the whole jar we shall of a surety sink the ship," said Dennis; "and that I am loath to do. We must needs make a petard; but how?"
"That cook knave shall find us a tin vessel, or I'll firk him," said Turnpenny.
He went into the forecastle. Dennis heard a brisk exchange of bad Spanish; then the sailor returned, with a small canister out of which he poured a heap of peppercorns.
"Most admirable!" said Dennis, who had meanwhile forced off the top of the jar. Making a hole in the rim of the canister near the lid, he filled the vessel with powder and firmly closed it.
"There's our petard, Amos. Now to place it."
"That be my job, sir."
"No, no, we go shares in this work. 'Twas your idea to lower the sail. I carry less flesh than you, and therefore can go more lightly."
"But mayhap I be surer footed on the plank, being a mariner of forty year."
"I doubt it not, yet the deed shall be mine."
Carrying the canister, and in the pouch slung at his neck a handful of powder for the train, he crept to the side of the vessel, ran lightly along the gangway by the rope netting, and lifting a corner of the sail, stood between it and the wall of the cabin. Then he dropped on hands and knees, and wormed his way forward until he touched the wall, following it along until he reached the door. Being beneath the line of loopholes, he was in no danger so long as he moved quietly; but at the slightest sound the enemy would fling open the door and give him his quietus before help could reach him from beyond the barricade. He might have felt still more confident had he known that Turnpenny had crept along after him, and was waiting at the corner of the sail, ready to spring to his aid in case of need.