"Why, sir, we must first go and spy out the land."
"Through the forest? How shall we find our way?"
"Imprimis, this creek runs eastward of the bluff I steered by. Wherefore 'tis our first business to lay our course westward and cut off that headland, as you might say."
"But can you be sure of setting your course aright?"
"There's the sun above us, and we may catch a glimpse of him here and there among the trees. And 'tis certain we shall encounter brooks wandering like lost children in the forest; only though they do seem lost, we know, being men, and in our right minds, that they be running all the while to the sea. By this and by that we'll come at the place we steer for."
"And who shall go on this inland voyage of discovery?"
"Why, you and me, sir. God-a-mercy, the very words of my dream! 'You and me, Haymoss, you and me!' 'Tis a good sign, for sure. The maroons shall lie hid in the creek, and keep ward over the prisoners."
"But can we trust them? Will they not, having arrived on the mainland, act after their own devices and depart?"
"'Tis a risk, in truth; but I will speak to them with all gravity, and bring to their mind the Spaniards' treasure, and the stripes they suffered in bondage. We will see if there be faith in their black blood."
After a conversation with the maroons, Turnpenny announced that they had agreed to remain in the creek until nightfall. If the white men had not returned then, they would hold themselves free to act as they pleased. Then Dennis and the sailor set off on their scouting expedition.
At the edge of the forest the trees grew fairly wide apart, and the canopy above admitted a few rays which lay as bright spots on the floor of dead leaves. But as the two adventurers proceeded the forest became thicker and thicker, until they walked in a dim twilight. Well covered with vegetation as Maiden Isle had been, Dennis had never imagined anything like the dense woodland through which he was now slowly making his way. It steamed with moisture; the din of early morning had given place to a mysterious stillness; birds and animals were quiet or asleep; and if the silence was broken at rare moments by the long howl of a monkey, the melancholy sound did but enhance the impression of utter solitude. Turnpenny led the way with great wariness; his former experiences of forest life warned him of dangers that might lie in wait—a slumbering jaguar which their footfall might disturb, a snake so cunningly marked that it was indistinguishable from the tree about which it was coiled. Several times he halted, in doubt of his bearings. Once, when he confessed himself beaten, he climbed with a mariner's agility a towering trunk, and declared when he descended that from its top he had caught a glimpse of the open sea and so learnt the general direction in which to go.
They came at length to a narrow open space, where apparently trees had been felled at no very distant date. Turnpenny was pointing out a hairy sloth hanging under a branch like a nest of termites, when Dennis touched him on the arm and bade him look across the glade.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Methinks the figure of a man, moving among the trees."
Though he had spoken under his breath, it almost seemed that his words had been overheard, for the figure halted, then instantly turned sideways and vanished from their sight.
"We must after him," said Turnpenny.
"Ay, and catch him, or there is an end to our venture and us. He is alone, for he made no sound, and if he had companions near by he would surely have summoned them."
Without further pause Dennis ran across the glade, and plunged into the forest on the other side, taking the southerly direction in which he had seen the figure disappear. He had not gone far before he heard the rustle and crash of some one forcing his way through the undergrowth; clearly the fugitive was not a good runner, or he would have been out of earshot before this. Dennis quickened his step, guided always by the sound, ever increasing in loudness. At length he again caught a glimpse of the man, labouring ahead; he gained on him, and was within a few yards when the runaway suddenly turned, and Dennis halted and swerved aside just in time to evade a spear hurled straight at him. It whizzed through the air, flew harmlessly by, and struck with a twang a tree trunk, where it hung quivering.
Next moment Dennis sprang forward and closed with the man. He had no time to take note of him, save that he was more than common tall. But it struck him with surprise that he met with no real resistance. The man staggered under the impact; the two rolled on the leaf-strewn ground; and in an instant Dennis was uppermost. He scarcely needed the Devonian trick of wrestling to maintain his advantage; his opponent was already spent. Holding him down, Dennis raised himself at arm's length to recover breath and take stock of the fugitive. He was struck by the glare of inextinguishable hate in the man's haggard eyes. Helpless as he was, there was no yielding in his mien; it was weakness, not fear or cowardice, that had made him such an easy captive.
In a few moments Turnpenny came up breathless. Seeing that Dennis held the man firmly down, he did not offer to assist, but halted and threw a keen glance at the prisoner.
"God-a-mercy!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "'You and me, Haymoss!' 'Tis the dream come true. 'Tis Tom Copstone, 'tis very Tom! Sir, let him up; 'tis my dear comrade, my messmate in theJesus. Oh, Tom, what a piece of work is this!"
Dennis was amazed at the alteration in the man's expression. The fierce blaze of his blood-shot eyes was quenched in a mist of tears.
"Haymoss! dear Haymoss!" he murmured, and seemed like to swoon away.
Turnpenny was by this on his knees beside his old comrade.
"Oh, Tom, to see thee in this sorry plight!" he exclaimed, pitifully.
He raised the prostrate figure. Copstone did indeed present a sorry spectacle. His clothes were completely in tatters, he was emaciated almost to a skeleton; his hair and beard hung long, straggling and matted.
"Tell me, Tom, me and this true friend, what has brought 'ee to this fearsome pass."
"I ran away; 'tis three months since. Three, I say, but I cannot tell; maybe 'tis four or five. I ran away from those devils; 'twas more than flesh and blood could endure."
"But whither, whither, Tom?"
"I had hope to fall in with a friendly folk—maroons or Indians; for such hate the Spaniards, and whoso hates the Spaniards must be a friend to me. But I found none, and I had perforce to take to the forest, and here I made shift to keep body and soul together with the fruits of the earth. Then I was stricken with the forest fever, and lay for nights and days shivering and burning by turns."
"Take time, dear Tom," said Turnpenny, noticing the other's gasps. "We be true friends."
"And here is wine from my store," said Dennis, producing a flask. "It will refresh you."
The man drank gratefully.
"And I marvel," added Turnpenny, "that 'ee be still alive in this fearsome place of wild beasts. Verily the Almighty has kept a guard over you, even as He defended Daniel in the den of lions."
"'Tis true; yet I did what I could for myself. Come and see."
He led them through the forest, winding in and out among the trees in a manner that seemed to the others nothing short of marvellous, until he came to a great trunk in which there were notches cut, from a point near the base to the lowest branch. By these notches he climbed up, Dennis and Turnpenny following in turn. The steps ceased when the bough was reached; then he ascended some twenty feet through foliage until he arrived at a little hut, formed of branches cunningly intertwined, with a roofing of thatch.
"My heart, 'tis a pleasant and delectable mansion!" said Turnpenny, looking admiringly at the leafy structure. "And did 'ee fashion it with your own hands, Tom?"
"No," replied the man, with a smile. "Here I found it, as it is. It was made, I doubt not, by Indians, in the time before the Spaniards set foot on these shores. 'Twas here I lay when the fever was heavy upon me, and I thought to die. Oh! how good it is to see your face, Haymoss; but what brings 'ee, old friend, to this dreadful place, and how got you free from the hands of the oppressor?"
"'Twas the deed of this gentleman, a man of Devon, Tom, that was cast on an island yonder in the Main, and by wit and courage loosed me from bondage."
He told the whole story, to the great wonderment of his friend.
"And now we be here to help Ned Whiddon and Hugh Curder and others of our messmates in the fort," he said, in conclusion. "By God's mercy we will snatch them, too, from the house of bondage, and make them free men once more."
"Ay, and I will help. The sight of 'ee has done me a world of good; the Lord has put a new song in my mouth. I will lead you. I know this forest in and out, Haymoss, for though I be by rights but a simple mariner, I am made now into a woodsman. For why? 'Cos otherwise I should have been a dead man. The spear I threw but now,—God be praised it failed of its mark, sir! and I bethink me 'tis still sticking in the tree—has served me in good stead many a time and oft. 'Twas the only thing I brought away with me, and without it long ere this the birds would ha' picked my bones."
"Think 'ee thou'rt strong enough to lead us to the fort, Tom?" asked Turnpenny.
"Ay, sure, and 'tis a good time, i' the heat o' the day, when the Spaniards be mostly asleep. We'll e'en go at once. What be the name of this true friend?"
"'Tis Master Dennis Hazelrig, Tom, and a' come from Shaston, and has changed a word with Master Drake."
"Ah, Master Drake be a rare fine man and mariner. I warrant he hath not forgot the base dealings o' the knaves at St. John d'Ulua, and in my bondage I looked for the day when he should come with a mighty power and do unto them what they had done to us, and more also. But I could not wait, Haymoss, I could not wait; and now we be met, and Master Hazelrig, and you and me, Haymoss——"
"My heart, the very words of my dream! Ay, Tom, you and me and Master Hazelrig, we three, will do what men may do to succour Hugh Curder and Ned Whiddon, and other our dear comrades in distress."
Tom Copstone leading, the party of three swiftly made their way through the woodland. Their mark was the south-western angle of the fort; that was the quarter, said Copstone, whence it might be most safely reconnoitred. The ground rose gradually as they proceeded, and after walking for what must have been several miles they came upon a large open space which had evidently been cleared by fire.
"'Tis the black cayman on the hill above the fort," whispered Turnpenny to Dennis. "You mind, sir?"
"Ay, the landmark of which you made mention."
Skirting the upper side of the clearing for a few hundred yards, being careful to remain slightly within the edge of the forest, they arrived at a spot where, while themselves concealed, they had an uninterrupted view of the country before them. There was a thin belt of woodland beyond the clearing, but the hill then dipped somewhat steeply, and through this dip they saw the fort which held so many bitter memories for the sailors, and the sea stretching out beneath it, a vast shimmering plain.
"'Tis bigger than I deemed likely," said Dennis, "the garrison being but fifty, if I remember right."
"True, sir," said Copstone, "there be but fifty Spaniards, but there be Indians and maroons within the walls as well, the slaves and pearl-fishers to wit. Aforetime, as I have heard tell, the fishers lived in huts around; but about six year ago a French vessel bore suddenly down upon the place. The Spaniards, some twenty or thirty then, had no warning, and the Frenchmen had an easy job to carry off all the treasure that the captain had stored up, and in the tumult a great part of the fishers made off and were never seen more. Thereafter the Governor of Cartagena gave command that the fort should be strengthened and the workers lodged within: you can see the huts ranged along inside by the wall."
"'Twas shutting the door after the steed was stolen," said Dennis, with a smile. "Now let me print the lines of the settlement upon my memory."
The fort was a rough square in shape, with a round tower at each corner. In the centre of the enclosure was a long low house, with a veranda, which Copstone explained was the Commandant's new house, but lately finished. Close by was a smaller house, occupied by the captain of the garrison, and beyond this a row of still smaller buildings, devoted to the Spanish troops. From their elevated position they could see that on the eastern side the fort was bounded by a stream which appeared to wash the wall; but Copstone said that between the wall and the stream was a level walk, about twelve feet wide, where the officers were accustomed to promenade in the cool of the evening. The one gate of the fort was cut in the eastern wall, and it led immediately to a narrow pier running into the river, where the vessels were loaded and unloaded. Between the pier and the mouth of the stream a small two-masted bark now lay at anchor; there was safe harbourage, and this vessel probably awaited its cargo of pearls to be conveyed to Cartagena, having brought provisions thence.
The northern wall, Copstone said, was built on a rocky cliff about thirty feet high, washed at high tide by the sea, which swept round the north-eastern angle, and formed, with a series of broken rocks and boulders, an effective defence to a great part of the western wall. The southern face of the fort was hidden from the spectators by the intervening trees, but between it and this belt of woodland was an open space some two hundred and fifty yards wide, cleared with the object of depriving possible assailants of cover. About a mile to the right was the scene of the pearl-fishing, and the fishers were at that moment to be seen at work, diving from canoes, in each of which, said Copstone, were two Spaniards fully armed.
"And where be our dear comrades, Torn?" asked Turnpenny. "In my time they were lodged in underground dungeons hewn out of the rock beneath the south-east tower yonder."
"And there they be still, poor souls," said Copstone. "Ah! many's the hour I've spent in the selfsame dungeons, groaning with the pain of the stripes made by their whips on my bare back."
"And 'twas thence 'ee fled, Tom? I marvel how 'ee broke out o' that strong-fast place."
"Nay, never a soul has broken out of they dungeons. It was in this wise with me. One day a fearsome storm blew up without a minute's warning. The harbour yonder, that is wont to be safe, was a seething whirlpool then, and a bark that lay beside the pier, laden with a treasure of pearls in readiness for the voyage, was dashed hither and thither by the fury of the waves until she was like to be battered into splinters. There was a cry for all hands to save her, and we were driven out of the gate to do what we could. The sky was black as pitch, though 'twas an hour or two from sunset; and in the midst of that coil, covered by the darkness, I dropped down over the embankment wall, clinging on with my hands, and so worked myself along till I came to the extremity of the walk, fearing every moment lest a wave should come and sweep me away. But by the mercy of God I came safe to the end of the walk, where the round tower juts out—you mind, Haymoss?—its foundations being struck into jagged rocks, with many a cleft in between. There I refuged myself till the night came, beat upon by the waves till the breath was well-nigh battered out of my body. But there, a drenched mortal, I clung until the tempest fell to a calm, and in the darkness I got me away to the woods."
"My heart! 'twas a deed of daring and peril," said Turnpenny. "But list! What be adoing down yonder?"
The silence below was suddenly broken by the ringing sound of picks. Men were apparently at work on the face of the fort nearest the observers. The labourers were out of sight, and Copstone confessed himself unable to guess what their task might be. The fort seemed complete; for a month before Copstone's escape the work had indeed been hurried on in response to urgent orders from Cartagena, where the Governor desired more men to assist in his own defences. His commands resulted in the prisoners being treated with increased brutality, and Copstone said that it was a stock joke with the Spanish garrison that by the time they had done with the captives at Porto Aguila there would be little work left in them.
For an hour or more the three men stood scanning the fort and its surroundings, until Dennis felt that every detail was firmly graven upon his mind. Then, as they had a long journey back to the boat, and it was desirable that they should reach their companions before the fall of night, they set off to return to the creek. Copstone knew it well; under his guidance the others took a short cut through the forest, that saved them, he said, more than a mile, and the short tropical twilight had only just begun when they arrived at the canoe. The maroons had not been disturbed during their absence. One of the Spaniards, who recognized the creek, had tried to persuade the natives to set them at liberty, promising them a rich reward. But they had no faith in him or any of his race, and their answer was to make his bonds more secure.
Knowing that they were several leagues from the fort, with a long wooded hill between them, the sailors agreed that it would be safe to kindle a fire on shore, beside which they might camp for the night without molestation by insects. But they had little sleep. The three sat long over the fire, Copstone relating incidents in his prison life that made the blood of his hearers boil with rage and indignation. With the good food given him from the stock they had brought, and the companionship of his countrymen, he had already become a very different being from the famished solitary creature they had met in the forest; and when, fired with passionate hatred of the Spanish oppressors and with pity for their hapless prisoners, Dennis and Turnpenny vowed that they would go through with their enterprise, no matter at what cost, Copstone declared himself heart and soul with them, and only longed for the moment of action to come.
But it was not enough to be full of zeal. The greatest courage and determination would not suffice alone to achieve their object.
"We are but ten against fifty," said Dennis, "and one of the ten a fat negro whom the sight of a bare blade would cause to shake like a jelly."
"Leave him out, sir," said Turnpenny. "He would squeal like a stuck pig if his finger were pinched."
"There are but nine of us, then, and what can nine do against fifty?"
"If all the nine were men of Devon like Tom Copstone and me," said Turnpenny, "we would face fifty don Spaniards and beat 'em too. But you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, as the saying is, and you can't turn a negro or maroon into a true fighting man that will never say die. Men of their sort cannot play a losing game, though they be full of courage if things go well with them."
"I fear me even nine men of Devon could not fight a pitched battle against five times their number, whether Spaniards or other. But 'tis not my purpose to approach the walls with a trumpet and deliver a defiance. Our only chance is by surprising the fort in the darkness, and so taking them at a disadvantage. How stands it then, Amos?"
"Why, sir, it stands clean topsy-versy, which is to say it is by no means possible. The walls, as you did yourself see, be too high to leap over, and the gate be shut and bolted and barricadoed by night."
"But is it watched?"
"That I know not. Do 'ee know, Tom?"
"Nay; afore dark all the prisoners be thrust into the dungeons, and kept fast in ward until morning light."
"And do they set a guard over the dungeons?"
"Not as I know, sir. What would be the good? The doors be strong and clamped with iron; the guard house be just above; and we was all so worn with toil and so sick at heart that nary one of us ever had the spirit to attempt a sally. When they had us fast in the dungeons, there they might leave us, with never a fear but we would be safe bound."
"Methinks that same security would forbid them to keep a watch seawards. The sea washes the north side of the fort, you said?"
"Ay, sir, and even at high tide there is no draught for a vessel of more than twenty tons burden, so they need fear no attack thence. True, they might keep a watch on the harbour when a vessel lies there; but 'tis years since any enemy has appeared, and with the dons 'tis out of sight, out of mind, I trow."
"Well, does not that favour us? Grant we cannot scale the walls, nor force the gate, we may still approach the fort from the sea by night, without risk of being discovered, and that is the very thing that we must do. This night is too far spent for us to make any attempt in that quarter. We must possess our souls in patience for yet another day, and truly that is not amiss, for it will give us leisure to spy once more upon the fort. Think you 'tis possible to come where we may view the north side?"
"There is but one way; to make a circuit as we lately did, and go further through the woods, and creep down at dusk to the rocks, when the work for the day is over and we are not like to be seen by the Spaniards who keep ward over the fishers."
"That is what we will do, then. And now, since we know not what the day may bring forth to try our strength, let us get what sleep we can, and so fortify ourselves."
But for many hours Dennis lay awake, thinking over the next day's doings. Up with the dawn, he set the maroons to cut from the trees a number of light tough poles, and these Copstone and Turnpenny, with seamen's skill, quickly fashioned into a rough but serviceable ladder. It was made to taper from bottom to top in three sections, the first seven feet long, the second five feet, and the last, four. The first and second were lashed together with some spare rope brought in the canoe, but the supply gave out when this was done, and Dennis was at a loss for material to fasten the second and third sections together. The headman of the maroons speedily made good the deficiency. Going into the forest, he soon returned with long pliable tendrils of a creeper called bejuca that grew plentifully among the undergrowth, and these, when cut into short lengths, formed lashings as strong as could be desired.
The greater part of the morning was spent in constructing and testing the ladder. After the midday meal Dennis and the sailors again made their way through the forest to their former place of espial, waited until they saw the canoes return with the pearl fishers, and then, in the late afternoon, crept down the hillside westward of the fort until they came to the rocks on the shore. From their new position they were able to glance along the northern wall of the fort. The tide was on the turn, and it was clear from the masses of seaweed and the waterworn appearance of the rocks on which the wall was built that at high water the base of the escarpment would be washed by the waves, as Copstone had said. Having formed a careful mental picture of the place, Dennis gave the word for return, and they reached their camping ground just before dark, as on the previous evening.
Arrangements were at once made for their expedition. Turnpenny estimated that the distance by water from the mouth of the creek to the fort was about ten miles. It was desirable to start early if the paddlers were not to be overtired when the serious work of the night began. Dennis was in some doubt what to do with the prisoners, but after consultation with the sailors he decided to leave them behind in the charge of the cook and one of the maroons. He deplored the necessity of thus diminishing his little party, but it was clearly impossible to trust the guardianship of the prisoners to Baltizar alone. That flabby and chicken-hearted negro was desperately afraid of being left. He feared the prisoners, although they were securely pinioned; still more he feared the wild beasts of the forest. Turnpenny "gave him a piece of his mind," as he said, and his language was none the less forcible because he eked out his scanty vocabulary of Spanish with racy expressions in his own vernacular. He called Baltizar a slack-twisted nollypate, a wambling dumbledore, an ell-and-a-half of moidered dough, mingling with his expletives an instruction to keep up the fire if he wished to scare the beasts away, and a warning that the Spaniards, if they were allowed to escape, would certainly kill him first. And to guard against the danger that the prisoners might work upon his fears and persuade him to loose their bonds, the maroon chosen to remain with him was told, in his hearing, that if he had any conversation with the two men he was instantly to be knocked on the head. Watching the negro's expression, Dennis felt pretty sure that he would prove a most zealous jailor.
The night was still young, the moon had not yet risen, when the canoe floated silently seawards down the creek. The little party of three white men and five maroons was not hilarious; every man knew that he had taken his life in his hands. But neither were they down-hearted, for seven of them had the recollection of a night adventure which had wonderfully succeeded against great odds; and though the odds this time were immeasurably in favour of the enemy, and the task was infinitely more difficult, the very magnitude of what they had set themselves to do fired them with eagerness and hope.
The sections of the ladder had been unlashed, and were safely bestowed, with the rope and the tendrils, in the sides of the canoe. In his ignorance of the coast, Dennis ordered the paddlers to put some distance out to sea before heading the canoe westward, so as to avoid any rocks or shoals that might lie in wait for the frail craft. The wind was north-east, and as there was only the faint illumination of the stars, the sail was run up during the first part of the voyage. But when they rounded the headland that lay between the creek and the fort, Turnpenny took in the sail, lest by some unlucky chance it should be observed from the shore, and bade the maroons paddle slowly, for they wished to arrive at the fort when the tide was high, a little before dawn.
Slowly as they paddled, however, the fort loomed up on the shore a good hour before they had intended to draw in. None of the party had any means of telling the time; but Turnpenny, experienced in reading the heavens on many a silent night on the deep, guessed it pretty accurately by the horn of the moon just peering above the horizon. To delay their arrival a little, Dennis ordered the men to rest on their oars, and for an hour the canoe rocked gently on the swelling tide. The pause would have been even longer had not Dennis perceived that the inaction bred a certain nervous restlessness in the maroons—an ill mood in which to face the coming ordeal.
At last, shortly after four in the morning, the nose of the canoe was turned towards the fort, and the vessel crept in dead silence towards the line of white foam that showed where the tide was lapping the wall. It was still half a musket-shot distant when its progress was arrested with a suddenness that threw the paddlers heavily forward. Recovering themselves, they backed water lustily, but without avail; the canoe was fast on a rock. Instantly three of the men slipped gently overboard to lighten the vessel, kicking their legs busily to ward off any ground sharks that might be adventuring in the neighbourhood. In a few moments the canoe slid off the rock, the men clambered back to their places, and the paddling was resumed. But it was soon discovered that the shock had torn a hole in the vessel's side; she was filling fast; and by the time she came beneath the wall of the fort she was wellnigh waterlogged. Not a man of the party ventured to speak a word; but from the glances they gave one another it was clear that they realized what the accident meant for them. Nothing but complete success could now save them, for if the attempt on the fort failed, it would certainly be impossible to escape on this leaking vessel, and they must fall an easy prey to their enemies.
One after another they quietly left the canoe, carrying the climbing apparatus, and their calivers and ammunition, which had fortunately lain on the raised stern of the vessel and had escaped a wetting. They found themselves on the rocks, in two or three feet of water. Turnpenny and Copstone gave their weapons into the charge of two of the maroons while they carefully lashed the two longer sections of the ladder together. Meanwhile Dennis was scanning the wall above him with the object of finding a suitable spot against which to plant the ladder. In spite of Copstone's belief that the fort was not sentinelled, Dennis had taken the precaution to land a little to the west of the tower at the angle, thinking that the sentry, if one were posted there, would probably be taking shelter under the eastern parapet. But so far as he could see in the dim light the line of the wall was unbroken.
At the top, however, a battlement slightly overhung it. To Dennis, gazing up, this battlement seemed terribly far off, and his heart sank as he felt that the ladder would certainly not be long enough. But it was possible that the apparent height was deceptive; at any rate the attempt must be made. Accordingly, Turnpenny and Copstone, as he had previously arranged with them, planted the ladder beneath the wall while he mounted. The first steps were easy, but when he came near the top he was seized with a momentary dizziness and had to pause before he ventured to take another upward step. He climbed very slowly: he was now close against the wall, with nothing to cling to, and he maintained his balance only by pressing forward until he was almost flat against the smooth surface. He reached the last rung; it was impossible to ascend another inch; and the top of the wall was still, it appeared, at least twelve feet above him. Even if the third section of the ladder was added, the coping would be still utterly beyond his reach.
It was a position in which many a bold fellow might have despaired, and, for a little, Dennis did feel dismay and a touch of compunction for having brought the men below into what appeared to be a hopeless case. But it is such moments as these that prove the grit of a man's character. Dennis was no weakling; and as he stood and leant against that wall, shrouded by the night, he set his teeth and vowed that by hook or crook he would ere long be upon the other side.
He looked up and around, to see if there were any notches or seams by means of which he could scale the wall. The moon was creeping round the sky, and now threw a little more light on the scene. Letting his eye travel slowly over every foot of the surface from left to right, he suddenly caught sight of what seemed to be a hole in the wall, some distance to his right, several feet above him, and a yard or so below the parapet. It flashed upon him that this must be a gun embrasure; was it possible, he wondered, to make his way in by that? Carefully descending the ladder, he told the sailors in a whisper what he proposed; they quickly lashed on the last section, and shifted the ladder until it stood immediately below the dark patch which at this distance the embrasure appeared to be. Then Dennis mounted again.
Once more he was disappointed. At the imminent risk of falling backwards he crept up to the highest point, but even then he found he could but just touch the lower edge of the hole. He had not sufficient grip on the smooth sill of it to pull himself up: he could not raise himself high enough to peep through. He wondered whether Copstone, who stood nearly a head taller, would have better success; but remembering the man's privations he thought it scarcely possible that he would have nerve enough to mount on this frail ladder, which bent dangerously beneath his weight now that the last section was added, without becoming dizzy and toppling down. Was there any conceivable manner in which the ladder could be still further lengthened?
Down he crept again and held another whispered consultation with the two men. At first neither was able to make a suggestion. They stood looking at one another in perplexity. Then suddenly Turnpenny, forgetting himself in his excitement, uttered an exclamation in a tone which sent a shiver down Dennis's back.
"Hush, man!" said Dennis in a warning whisper. "What is it?"
"Ah, I must talk gentle," said Turnpenny. "Of a sudden I thought of muscles and sinews, and the power of a strong back. Me and the headman of the maroons—not so strong as me, to be sure, but yet with mighty shoulders of his own—me and him betwixt us can raise the ladder aloft, and hold it firm while you mount, and then without doubt you'll be high enough to peep through the port-hole and see all that may be seen."
"Art sure you can do it, Amos?" asked Dennis, eagerly.
"Why, sir, look at this!" he returned, bending his arm until the muscle showed like a globe of iron.
Without more ado, Turnpenny and the maroon hoisted the ladder, and, one on either side of it, supported it with their shoulders. Then Dennis climbed on to Copstone's back, thence to the ladder, and began the ascent. The ladder was more tremulous than ever, and Dennis felt a flutter at the heart as he came nearer and nearer to the top. But the stalwarts below did not yield an inch, and Dennis crawled up and up until at length his head came to the level of the embrasure, and with one more step he found himself able to rest his arms in it. To his joy the embrasure was empty: the gun had evidently been withdrawn; and taking this as a good omen—surely it indicated great security on the part of the garrison!—he hoisted himself up and wriggled into the aperture. Then, breathless, with a hurrying pulse, he crouched to consider his next move.
During the morning, while the ladder was being made, Dennis had talked over with the sailors the plan of action he proposed to adopt should they succeed in entering the fort undetected. The first thing was to silence the sentry, if sentry there was. It was quite clear, from the fact of having been undisturbed hitherto, that no careful look-out was kept; but Dennis did not forget Copstone's suggestion that a sentry might be napping behind the parapet, and it must be his first business to assure himself on this point before giving the signal for his companions to make the ascent.
He crouched motionless in the embrasure, listening. It had been pierced for only a short gun—a minion or falconet perhaps; and doubtless within three feet of him was a stone walk extending for the whole length of the wall. All was still; there was not a sound to show that, within the enclosure, a hundred human beings were crowded, masters and slaves. But looking through the embrasure Dennis saw a few lights twinkling in the centre of the fort, and he guessed that some at least of the enemy were awake. However great their security, it had seemed incredible to him that the place should be left wholly unguarded, even if only to provide against turbulence on the part of the slaves.
After a few moments Dennis ventured to crawl towards the inner end of the embrasure, where he might get a view of the whole enclosure. The thin light of the moon fell on the brightly painted walls of the commandant's house in the centre; there was no light in the windows; no doubt the señor capitan was fast asleep. But a beam of light came from a building somewhat to the right; this was presumably the officers' quarters. The huts along the western wall, in which the slaves slept, were all in darkness. On the farther side of the enclosure, in the round tower beneath which the prisoners were confined, another light shone forth; somebody was awake there. But not a sound stirred the heavy moist air of the tropical night. If there were sentries upon the walls, they were certainly not pacing up and down.
Waiting another minute or two, Dennis ventured to peep round the corner of the embrasure. He could scan the whole length of the walk from tower to tower; no sentry was in sight, but he saw the gun below him a little to his right. Taking courage from the silence, he slipped out of the hole, and groped his way on bare feet toward the tower at the north-east angle. Every now and again he paused to listen, and at last, when he came within a few yards of the tower, he heard a sound of deep regular breathing hard by. Evidently some one was asleep. He stole along by the parapet in the deep shadow cast by the moon, until he saw, huddled in the corner between the tower and the wall, the form of a man. He halted to consider. Should he go forward and pounce on the sentry, risking the sound of a struggle if he attempted to gag him, or a cry if he struck at him with his sword and failed to kill him outright? It went against the grain to slay a sleeping man, and the sentry was apparently so fast asleep that it seemed possible for the rest of the party to climb up without disturbing him.
But there might be a sentry at the other end. Leaving the man in peace, Dennis stole back again, went on hands and knees where the gun necessitated his coming for a moment into the moonlight, then rose and groped his way along beneath the parapet as before. There was no sentinel, asleep or awake, in this direction. With more confidence now in the chances of a safe ascent he returned once more to the embrasure, and, taking from his pocket a thin piece of creeper, he paid this out through the aperture. He soon felt a slight tug from below. He waited until he felt a second tug, then gently pulled the creeper towards him. To the end of it a stout line was attached—a part of his salvage from the wreck of theMaid Marian. This he quickly secured to the heavy gun, and having strained on the rope to convince himself that the fastening would hold, he gave the signal by another tug to his comrades below.
Then he crawled into the embrasure, and, leaning out, saw Amos swarming with a seaman's nimbleness up the rope. Giving him a hand when he came within reach, Dennis helped to haul him into the embrasure.
"What about the calivers?" he whispered, for the sailor had come up unarmed, lest a clank of steel against the wall should attract attention.
"We've tied 'em up in our shirts, sir. Haul on the rope and we'll have 'em up in a trice."
The bundle was quickly raised and brought into the embrasure without a sound.
"There's a sentry asleep by the tower yonder," whispered Dennis.
"Did 'ee not kill him?"
"No, you could not kill a sleeping man, Amos?"
"I warrant I could, though I'd liever not. But we must do summat with the knave."
"He sleeps sound."
"Maybe, but any moment he might waken, and then t'ud be all over with us. A sailor's knot and a mouthful of shirt will make all snug."
"Very well. We must go quietly."
Soft-footed as cats they stole to the careless sentinel, still drawing the long regular breath of placid slumber. Suddenly the sound changed to a low choking gurgle: Turnpenny had nimbly slipped a strip of his shirt into the man's open mouth. In two minutes he lay straight on his back, his arms and legs firmly bound with lengths of the flexible tendril. Then the two intruders moved swiftly back to the embrasure, and signalled to the waiting men that it was safe for them to ascend.
Tom Copstone and two of the maroons came up in turn. Then there was a hitch. The remaining three men stood helpless on the rocks, afraid to attempt a feat which had never come within their experience. There was a moment's delay: then Turnpenny slipped down the rope, hitched a loop around one of the men, abusing him under his breath as a good-for-nothing land-lubber, and signalled to the others to haul him up. The two others were brought up in the same way, not without some bumps against the wall; then Turnpenny again came up hand over hand, and the little party of eight stood complete beside the gun.
"My heart! 'tis a famous doing!" said Turnpenny mopping his sweating brow. "'You and me, Haymoss,' as I heard in my dream."
The next step also had been pre-arranged. Copstone, as the man most familiar with the fort enclosure, was to lead four of the maroons to the quarters of the garrison, dash into the outer room where the fire-arms would probably be kept, and hold the Spaniards in play while Dennis and his companions made a rush for the round tower beneath which were the dungeons. The Spaniards would no doubt be asleep in the inner room, and, suddenly disturbed from their slumbers, they might be expected to hesitate before attacking five well-armed men who stood guard over their muskets. It was scarcely likely that more than one or two would at this dead hour of night be in the outer room where the light was, and Copstone and his men might be safely trusted to account for them.
"You must give us a minute, Tom," said Amos, "seeing that we have the greater way to go."
"Ay, indeed," said Dennis, "our entrances should fall together. You know the way, Amos?"
"Ay, sure, and have good reason to."
"Well, then, Copstone will wait until we have had time to reach the tower, then he will perform his part."
This conversation had passed in whispers. All having been arranged, they crept down the steps from the battlement to the courtyard, and while Copstone and his four dusky companions stood in the shadow of the stairway, the other three, with rapid, noiseless steps, ran towards the light in the farther corner. The courtyard was covered with grass, except for a small stone-paved space around the buildings in the centre; and Turnpenny, who was leading, kept to the grass, even though their bare feet might make no sound on the stones.
But they had covered little more than a third of the distance, and had, indeed, not yet come level with the buildings, when all three were suddenly startled by a low deep growl on the right, from the neighbourhood of the commandant's house.
"Crymaces! I had forgot the Captain's dog!" whispered Turnpenny.
They had instinctively halted and turned in the direction of the sound. A dark form, still growling, was rushing over the stone court towards them. It made direct for Turnpenny. The sailor threw up his left hand to ward off the attack, but the beast was so large, and came against him with such momentum, that he reeled under the impact, and the sword he held raised in his right hand was almost wrenched from his grasp. Dennis was swinging forward to his comrade's assistance when he saw that no help was needed. The hound had impaled itself on Turnpenny's sword. Amos gasped with relief as he shook himself free; then, whispering "They'll have heard the beast's growls," he set off at full speed for the round house, the two others following close at his heels.
"The sailor threw up his left hand to ward off the attack.""The sailor threw up his left hand to ward off the attack."
They dashed straight for the doorway, which was faintly lit by a light in the guard-room to the right of the passage. In a quarter-minute they were inside; five seconds more brought them to the door of the room, which they reached just as three Spaniards were leaving the table at which they had been dicing, curious, no doubt, to discover the cause of the dog's uneasiness. They were unarmed; their weapons indeed lay on a bench at the further end of the room; clearly the dog's growls had caused them no real alarm, and no other sounds could have reached them. Consequently they stood stock-still, petrified with amazement, when they saw two white men and a maroon with naked swords rush almost noiselessly into the room.
"Surrender, villains!" cried Amos, pointing his sword full at the first man's throat.
His tone, backed by the sight of the three blades, helped to clear their scattered wits. With fine presence of mind, the man farthest from the door snatched a goblet from the table and hurled it straight at Turnpenny, stooping then to seize his sword that lay on the bench behind. But he had taken only a single step when the maroon, with a cry of fury, flung himself clean across the table, and drove his weapon through the man's body. The other two, less quick-witted and less courageous than their hapless comrade, shrank back and held up their hands, crying aloud for mercy.
"Down on your knees, dogs!" shouted Turnpenny. "To the passage, Juan!" he said to the maroon. "Stand by the door opposite."
While Amos unstrung his caliver and lit his match, Dennis swept the Spaniards' weapons from the bench out of their reach. Scarcely had this been done when the door on the opposite side of the passage opened, showing a room dimly lighted by a candle-lamp, and eight or ten Spaniards who had been roused from sleep by the noise.
"What is this?" cried one of them, fumbling with his sword as he came to the door.
Juan, the maroon, stood on no ceremony, but promptly transfixed him, and he fell like a log across the doorway. His comrades immediately behind recoiled in panic; but were pushed forward by the men in the rear, who had not seen what had happened.
"Stand, you villains!" called Turnpenny, from the opposite doorway. "I will shoot any man of you that lifts a finger."
"Shut the door!" cried one of the men behind.
But this was impossible; the door opened outwards, and none could reach it without stepping over the body of the man whom the maroon had killed. They well knew that the first who ventured across the threshold would meet with the same fate, and every man of them shrank from the risk. Dim as the light was, Turnpenny recognized the features of men under whose whips he had many times writhed.
"Fling down your sword, Hernando," he cried to the foremost of them. The man hesitated. "Down with it, or you are a dead man," roared the seaman, and there was an accent in his voice that boded ill for the Spaniard if he should delay. His sword fell with a clatter on the stone floor.
"Now yours, Fernan, and yours, Manuel," and as these obeyed the curt command the rest waited no bidding, but cast their weapons from them and cried for quarter.
"Out with you, into the guard-room," shouted Turnpenny. "Have a care, Juan; let none escape."
The big maroon stood in the passage with his back towards the outer gate, and the sight of his ferocious look and his formidable sword was enough. The Spaniards tumbled over each other like a flock of sheep as they surged into the room, where Dennis stood ready to cut down any who attempted resistance.
"Ah, 'tis you, José," cried Turnpenny, following the last into the room. "Where are your keys?"
The warder edged away, seeking to hide behind his comrades. At a sign from Turnpenny the maroon sprang after him and hauled him back.
"Your keys, rascal!" cried Turnpenny, and the cold barrel of the caliver within an inch of his ear jogged his memory.
"Mercy! I will fetch them," he said, hastily. The maroon followed him as he ran back into the room opposite, and in a few seconds he returned with his heavy bunch.
"Lock 'em in, sir," said Turnpenny, handing his weapon to Juan. "I be going with this villain to loose the prisoners."
He caught the terrified warder by the shoulder and pushed him into the passage, where he turned to the right towards the stairway leading to the dungeons. Down he bundled him, neck and crop, and forced him to find the key among his bunch and throw open the door.
"'Tis me, comrades," he cried jubilantly into the dark space, "'tis me, your old comrade, Haymoss Turnpenny, come to free 'ee from this cursed hole. Be you there, Ned Whiddon?"
"Ay, ay," came the amazed answer.
"And you, Hugh Curder?"
"Ay, Haymoss, here I be."
"Come out, my hearts. Ah, I hear the chains clanking on your poor legs. 'Tis not for long, dear comrades. Come out; this villain warder will ungyve ye; then do the same with the rest of the comrades and follow up aloft. We have arms for 'ee there, dear hearts. God be praised you be alive! José, you villain, loose their fetters. Ned, I will leave him with 'ee; keep an eye on him."
Leaving the cowed Spaniard in the safe hands of Whiddon and Curder, Turnpenny hastened back to rejoin Dennis, who had locked the door upon the others, and piled their arms against the wall of the passage. Then the three rushed out into the open, and raced at breakneck pace across the courtyard to the main buildings, whence came the sounds of desperate conflict—shots, cries, and the clash of steel.
Copstone, waiting impatiently with the four maroons at the foot of the wall until the others should have reached the far corner of the enclosure, heard the growl of the commandant's dog, and guessed, from the sudden silence that followed, what had happened. Instantly he led his men with a rush towards the main building, where the light indicated that some at least of the garrison were awake. They reached the spot just as the door was thrown open and a man stepped across the threshold, whistling for the dog. Copstone sprang upon him, and toppled him over, and was then dashing past him into the house when he perceived that a group of at least half a dozen Spaniards were coming towards the door, alarmed by the sound of the scuffle. Copstone darted back; the maroons fired their calivers into the doorway; groans proclaimed that some of the shots had told. But there were resolute spirits among the garrison; in a few seconds they came pouring out, and, catching sight of the maroons, evidently believed that they had nothing worse than an outbreak of the native labourers to contend with. Shouting with fury, they pressed forward, slashing with their swords, and forced the assailants into the narrow space between the wall of heir quarters and the commandant's house.
When Dennis and his comrades came breathless upon the scene, Copstone and his party were hemmed in by a crowd of infuriated Spaniards outnumbering them by seven to one. The Spaniards had had no time to light the matches for their muskets; the maroons had had no time to reload; and both attacked and attackers were laying about them doughtily with their swords. Whatever the timidity of the maroons in captivity, there was no doubt about their courage when fighting for their lives against odds. Aided somewhat by the darkness, which made it difficult to distinguish foe from friend, they were cutting and thrusting vigorously with their backs against the wall, encouraged by the voice of Copstone, who mingled with English words of cheer a few Spanish exclamations he had picked up during his imprisonment.
But steadily as they fought, it would have gone ill with them had not the arrival of Dennis and the others caused a momentary relaxation of the pressure upon them. The three dashed with a resounding cheer upon the rear of the Spaniards.
"Stand to it, my hearts!" bellowed Turnpenny. "You and me, Tom Copstone, you and me!"
Three Spaniards fell at the first onset. Before the rest had recovered from their surprise, before they had any idea of how small the reinforcement was, three more suffered the same fate. In the confusion, Dennis and his men dashed right through the cordon and ranged themselves alongside the doughty five. Then the Spaniards, finding that their rear was no longer attacked, realized that their enemy had received but a slight accession of strength, and returned to the fight with redoubled energy. For some time it was cut and thrust almost at random, and many shrewd blows were dealt on both sides. So sudden and surprising had the attack been that the Spaniards had had no time to collect their wits and resort to strategy. It had not occurred to them to get at the rear of their enemy over the wall. Again and again they rushed headlong upon the little party; but the maroons and Copstone had taken new courage from the presence of Dennis and the others. Turnpenny was in the centre of the line, Dennis at the extreme right, Juan the maroon at the left next to Copstone. Again and again they flung back the furious assault, and ever and anon above the din of the combat rose the inspiriting battle-cry of Turnpenny, "You and me, Tom Copstone, you and me!" and the answering shout, "You and me, Haymoss; good cheer, my heart!"
But eight men, however bold and stout-hearted, could not long contend with an enemy at least four times their number. Scarce a man of them but was bleeding from several wounds. The exertions and excitements of the night had made inroads upon their strength even before the fight began, while the Spaniards were at no such disadvantage; some of them, indeed, had risen fresh from sleep. Gradually the blows of the lesser force weakened. The Spaniards could not all attack them at the same time, so confined was the area of conflict; but when any of their number fell out, from wounds or fatigue, there were new men to take their places. For the others there was no such relief. Each one of them had to meet a succession of Spaniards. Dennis felt his strength giving way. He was not conscious of having been wounded, but he could now scarcely hold his sword from sheer weariness. And he felt that things were going badly with his comrades. Two of the maroons at his left had fallen, whether killed or merely wounded he could not tell. He still heard the ringing voice of Turnpenny, but his heart sank as he realized that in a few more minutes he, at any rate, would no longer have the force to respond.
At last, when he felt with a kind of frenzied despair that it was impossible he should strike another blow, there fell upon his ears a new sound from the front—from some point beyond the crowd of Spaniards. Surely there was an English ring in those cheers; it was no mere Spanish yell. It was coming nearer, swelling into a roar. A few seconds later, the ring of steel by which the little party was encircled seemed to be burst asunder; then the Spaniards broke and scattered in all directions, fleeing helter-skelter before knives and swords wielded with the terrible might of vengeance by the hands of a score of men who had but lately lain cowed and crushed in their dungeons. Little mercy they deserved; little they found. Ned Whiddon, Hugh Curder, and many another hunted them into the four corners of the courtyard; the tables were turned, and the freed prisoners smote and spared not.
The intention of Dennis had been to release the prisoners and then make for the bark that lay alongside the quay. She was only of some fifty tons burden; her crew would not be a large one; and it ought to be a comparatively easy matter to overpower the men on board and warp the vessel clear before the discomfited Spaniards could recover from their confusion and make an organized attack.
But he had not reckoned on the rapidity with which events had moved, and the impossibility of communicating his design to the men who had been released. They had scattered in all directions in pursuit of the Spaniards; Copstone and the maroons were carried away by the lust of vengeance, and, wounded as they were, had rushed away with the rest; and Dennis found that only Turnpenny was left at his side.
There were elements of peril in the situation. Some of the Spaniards had swarmed over the wall of the officers' quarters. If they found efficient leadership they might yet rally and prove a very formidable enemy. Dennis and the seaman held a hurried consultation. They were unarmed save for their swords; they had left their calivers in the passage of the round tower, and the weapons were no doubt now in the hands of two of the released prisoners. Adventurous as they both were, it seemed the height of folly and rashness to attempt, they two alone, to cope with unknown numbers beyond the wall. While they were still perplexed as to the best course to follow, they heard a roar and a crash from the direction of the commandant's house, followed by a babel of cries. Running round, they found that the maroons, headed by Copstone, had blown open the door of the house, and were hunting through it in the darkness for the man under whose authority they had suffered so many grievous wrongs. There were only four rooms; it was the work of a few minutes to ransack them thoroughly; not a trace of the commandant or his household could be discovered.
"Be jowned if they bean't stolen a march on us," cried Turnpenny, "and made for the harbour first!"
"Let us after them at once, then. If they get away ours will be a bad case indeed."
Calling to the half-dozen men who were at hand, Turnpenny led the way at a great pace to the gate in the eastern wall of the fort. It was locked. Almost beside himself with baffled rage, the seaman threw his great bulk against the timbers; but they were stout, and even his weight failed to force the lock.
"Is there no other way out?" asked Dennis.
"Not as I knows on. Where be Tom Copstone? Hey, my heart, be there any other way out o' this yard?"
"Ay, there be a postern in the nor'-east tower."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Dennis dashed towards the tower, the others following him with a rush. The door at the foot of the tower was open; he sprang up the spiral stairway three steps at a time, and almost broke his head against the postern door, that opened inwards and blocked the way. The dawn was bursting in the eastern sky, and Dennis looked eagerly out. The postern faced the sea, and the harbour and quay were hidden from him by the circumference of the tower; but he spied a rope ladder dangling from the opening to the narrow footway below. It was clear that the commandant and his party, while the combat was at its height, had slipped out of the house and made their escape by this exit.
By this time Turnpenny and half a dozen others were crowding the narrow staircase.
"They have made for the bark," cried the seaman, "and if there be true mariners aboard she'll be warped clear and out to sea."
"She is not there yet. We have one chance. Copstone, run back to the gate; blow up the lock and lead as many of your comrades as you can find hot foot along the quay, in case it be still possible to seize the vessel. Amos, can we train the fort guns on the mouth of the harbour?"
"Ay, sure, and I'll do it, being once gunner's mate aboard theAnne Gallant."
"And I can aid you; God be praised that Sir Martin practised us venturers in the usage of ordnance in theMaid Marian."
He slammed-to the postern door, freeing the stairway, and rushed up to the narrow open archway leading on to the battlements, stumbling in the dim light over the prostrate body of the gagged sentry as he leapt through. Vaulting on to the parapet, he looked down at the quay to see how the men were faring. A cry of bitter mortification burst from his lips as he saw the bark slowly moving towards the sea. Her sails were hoisted on the mainmast, and filling with the light westerly breeze; a group of officers, among whom the commandant was easily distinguished, crowded her deck, in addition to the crew; and there was not one of Dennis's party or the prisoners in sight.
But at that moment there was a loud explosion; the gate fell with a crash; and a crowd of men, white and black, headed by Copstone, rushed out on to the quay. They roared with fury when they saw that they were too late. Those of them who had loaded calivers ran along the quay, firing ineffectually at the moving vessel. They were answered with a volley from her decks, and two maroons fell, shouts from the Spaniards acclaiming the lucky shots.
But Turnpenny had now taken his post at the nearest gun.
"Body o' me, sure 'tis a saker taken from the Jesus herself!" he cried joyfully. "And here be powder and round shot and stone shot, and a half circle for the sighting. Haymoss Turnpenny be no true man an he do not send a good un plump into the midst of the knaves."
But none knew better than Turnpenny that, at any considerable distance, it was easier to miss than to hit. Seeing that it was impossible to depress the gun so as to get a shot at the vessel until she had drawn clear of the harbour, he ran to the ordnance on the northern wall, and loaded them in readiness in case his first shot missed. Meanwhile Dennis had spied the muzzle of a demi-culverin projecting from the roof of the round tower, and summoning to his assistance a white man who was among his party, he ran up and began with all haste to load the gun.
Before he had finished, there was a flash and a roar from Turnpenny's saker just below. The Spaniards on deck, who the moment before had been laughing at the futile shots from the men on the quay, skipped down the companion way with exceeding nimbleness. Dennis looked eagerly for the result of the shot. That something had been carried away was clear from the clattering noise on board and the rush of the crew towards the stern-works; but neither the fore nor the mainmast had been hit, and the vessel still glided seawards. Turnpenny growled with rage, and ran to the next gun, from which, however, it would be useless to fire until the bark had come quite out from the harbour mouth.
Dennis's heart leapt within him as he saw that the course of the vessel would bring her in a few seconds within range of his gun. Now was his chance of showing how he had profited by Sir Martin's lessons in gunnery. How ardently he hoped that the bore was true and the windage not too great to spoil his aim! He waited with lighted match until, sighting with the gunner's half-circle—the quadrant with which every piece of ordnance was equipped—he knew that the Spaniard was well within range. He applied the match and sprang forward to the very edge of the parapet to watch the effect of his shot. There was a sound of rending and splitting from the deck; and through the smoke he saw the mainmast collapse with all its rigging. A great shout from the battlements and from the crowd below acclaimed the famous shot. There had been no time to run up a sail on the foremast; the vessel lost way; and the crew, having been deserted by the officers, huddled into the forecastle, leaving several of their number prone upon the deck.
When the motion of the vessel ceased, two of the Spaniards rushed up the companion-way and called on the crew frantically to hoist the foresail. But in vain. The men were helpless with terror. And while the Spaniards were storming and gesticulating, Turnpenny, exerting his immense strength, hauled round the eight-foot minion which had been removed from the embrasure by which the intruders had entered the fort, and next moment a carcass crammed with case-shot plumped amidships of the hapless bark, and the Spaniards, cowering from the flying splinters, scuttled down the companion-way—all but one fellow, bolder than the rest. The vessel had swung round a little, so that her stern-chaser, a culverin twelve feet long, pointed full at the fort. It was already loaded. The Spaniard, with a shout of defiance, altered the elevation of the gun, lit a match, and applied it to the touch-hole. A round shot crashed through the embrasure from which Turnpenny had fired, scattering a shower of stone-chips around, and dealing wounds among the group who were watching and assisting the seaman to reload. The crashing sound brought the Spaniards again from below, and they began feverishly to clean out and reload the piece. But another shot from Dennis's gun fell plump into the round-house on the half-deck; and now the Spanish commandant, perceiving that the men on the quay had sprung into the fishers' canoes that lay alongside, and were making direct to board his vessel, saw that the game was up, and, raising his arms aloft, shouted that he surrendered.
"Go and board her," cried Dennis to Turnpenny. "I'll stay by the guns in case he meditates treachery."
The seaman hurried away with a mixed crowd of maroons and white men. In a few minutes he was pulling lustily for the vessel. Dennis, with gun loaded, watched him climb the side and receive the Spaniard's sword. Then a hawser was fixed to the headboards, and the vessel was towed back to the quay side.
Dennis hastened down. The crestfallen commandant with all his men was brought ashore and escorted to his house, where they were left under guard. Hugh Curder, with three other seamen, was placed in charge of the vessel, and then Dennis re-entered the fort-enclosure with Turnpenny and the rest, eager to see, now that day had fully dawned, what had happened during his absence.
He could not repress a shudder as he saw the ground strewn with dead and wounded men; and he was horrified to observe that some of the slave-fishers had broken out of their huts, and were moving about the court-yard, giving the finishing stroke to the wounded of their late masters who were yet alive. Dennis sent Ned Whiddon among them to put a stop to this ruthless butchery; then his intervention was called for at the round tower from which the prisoners had been released. A group of them, headed by a big ruffianly seaman, had burst open the door of the room in which the unarmed Spanish guards had been locked, and were beginning a work of butchery there when Dennis, with Turnpenny and a few others, rushed to the scene. Dashing into the room, Dennis sprang at the ringleader just as he was thrusting at a Spaniard who had thrown himself down on his knees and was pleading for mercy.
"Hold, knave!" he cried, hauling the man away.
"Zounds! and who be you?" shouted the fellow, recovering himself and lunging furiously at Dennis.
"I'll teach 'ee, Jan Biddle!" roared Turnpenny. Seizing the man, he lifted him as though he were a child and hurled him over his head in true Devonian style. Biddle's head struck the floor with a loud thud, and he lay as one killed.
"Souse him, my hearts!" cried Turnpenny. "The saucy knave!"
And in a few minutes a plentiful drenching from a water-butt at the door brought some glimmering of sense into the man's bruised noddle.
Meanwhile the Spaniards who had survived the fight and escaped from their pursuers, had barricaded themselves in the officers' quarters, where they were unmolested while the majority of their late prisoners were on the quay. The victory could not be considered complete while they remained shut up, for they no doubt had arms and ammunition at their disposal. Some of the victors were for blowing up the house and all in it; but Dennis and Turnpenny dissuaded them from this, and declared for insisting on unconditional surrender. To obtain this they made use of the captive commandant. At Dennis's suggestion, Turnpenny put the case to him, pointing out how hopeless was the position of his men, and promising to spare their lives if they surrendered at once. The commandant was then led to the officers' house between two men with drawn swords, and after a few minutes' colloquy the men agreed to hand over their weapons.
Dennis meanwhile collected his whole party. They were a very ragged regiment. None was quite so tattered as Tom Copstone, but all were dirty, unkempt, unshorn, bearing many marks of toil and suffering, as well as the more recent marks of fight. Of the five maroons who had scaled the fort wall two were dead; the rest were all wounded. Not one of the little band had escaped unhurt. Dennis had several gashes in his arms. Turnpenny's big face was disfigured with cuts and bruises, while Copstone, who had fought with utter recklessness, seemed to have borne a charmed life, so many were his wounds. The released prisoners had come off best. With the exception of the two men shot down from the vessel, one being killed and the other badly wounded, they had escaped with a few scratches. They were a wild, rough lot, and Dennis wondered, as he looked them over, whether they would show themselves amenable to discipline.
The Spaniards having been disarmed and locked in the house, Turnpenny constituted himself master of the ceremonies. After a brief talk with Ned Whiddon and Hugh Curder, his special friends, he said to Dennis—
"Here we be, sir, masters of the fort, twenty-two all told, five being French. We must needs have a captain, and that be you, for 'tis all owed to your wit, and we pay you our humble duty."
"Thank 'ee, Amos, but I will not be captain save by the wish of all. Methinks 'tis an office for one older in years."
"Be jowned if it be, sir. Comrades, list while I tell the tale of these rare doings."
He related to the crowd the story of his rescue from the Spaniards on the island, the capture of the lumber-ship, the voyage in the maroons' canoe, and all that had happened since.
"And now, comrades," he concluded, "I ax 'ee, who so fit to be our captain as Master Dennis Hazelrig, of Shaston in Devon? We owe our lives to him, and there be many a thing to face afore we get across the thousand leagues to home. Who but him shall be our captain?"
The election was ratified with a great shout.
"Thank 'ee, comrades," said Dennis. "'Tis not a post I covet; willingly would I serve under an older man, my good friend Amos, to wit. But I accept your choice. One thing I say. There may be more fighting before us; if we fight, let us fight like Englishmen, not like savages, and treat our enemies according to the manner of civilized nations. Do you agree to that?"
"Ay, ay!" shouted the men,—all but Jan Biddle, whose growling protests were howled down by the rest.
"Then it is mine to choose my lieutenant. You are all good men and true, but 'tis my misfortune I am not so well acquainted with you as I hope to be. But I know Amos Turnpenny, and you know him also; and——"
"I crave your pardon, sir," said Amos, interrupting; "I was gunner's mate twenty-five year ago on the nobleAnne Gallant, and four year ago boatswain on Captain Hawkins hisJesus, and methinks the rank of boatswain befits my stature and my fancy both; and if I may be so bold, I say let these our comrades, good men and true, as you yourself did say, choose among themselves two to serve as mates aboard the vessel."
"A wise speech," said Jan Biddle. "There be good mariners among us; ay, and some of us are skilled in the manage of greater vessels than the poor bark yonder. Let us then do as Amos says, and choose who shall come next to our noble captain."
"So be it," said Dennis, with a glance at Amos. "Choose then, and we will abide the choice."
It was clear that Jan Biddle expected the election to one of the posts to fall upon himself. He could not hide his chagrin when by general consent Ned Whiddon and a man of quiet appearance named Gabriel Batten were selected. Dennis on his part was glad that Biddle was to remain a simple member of the crew; he disliked the man's overbearing manner and the shifty look in his eyes.