CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
A DESPERATE ATTEMPT.
For the boat quivered as to a man all sprang up, and forgettingeverything in their excitement, the men were about to cheer, but werebrought back to a knowledge of their position by that softly-utteredwarning sound just as a lanthorn was seen moving at a distance oncemore, followed by a sharp sound like the closing of a hatch.
The boat rocked a little again as the men sank back in their places,while Mark felt as if he were being suffocated, as he trembled, and feltthe perspiration stand in big drops upon his forehead.
For he was startled at his venturesome plan, knowing that such a taskwould be that of a strong, experienced, determined man, and now that hehad made the proposal he felt as if he must have been mad.
To carry out such a venture needed quite fresh, active men. Those towhom he had proposed the attempt were in no wise fit, and to induce themto try and recapture the schooner was like tempting them to their death.
"It is all foolishness," he said to himself in the brief instants duringwhich these thoughts flashed through his brain, but the next moment heawoke to the fact that he had set a spark in contact with a train ofhuman gunpowder, that the spark had caught, and that it was impossiblenow to stop.
"Heads close together, mates," whispered Tom Fillot. "Not a sound onyour lives. Come, Mr Vandean, sir, say the word--when. Now? Atonce?"
"No, no," whispered back Mark; "you are all weak and ill. I've beenthinking about it since I spoke, and it is too much for you to do."
A low, angry murmur arose, and Tom Fillot chuckled.
"Too much for us, sir? Not it. You've only got to give the word, andthere's that in us now as'll carry us through anything. Only you leadus, sir, and we'll do all the work. Is that the right word, maties?"
"Yes," came like a hiss from the whole party.
"There, sir. You hear. Don't you be afraid as we won't do our duty byyou."
"No, no, Tom Fillot, I'm not a bit afraid of that, but the venture seemstoo wild."
"Not it, sir. Why, we're all red hot to be let go; so now then, whatabout the plans?"
"I have none, and we had better give up the business."
"You're saying that to save us, sir, but we don't want to be saved thetrouble. We want to get that schooner back, and serve out the rough'uns who half killed all on us. And what's more, me and my mates likedthe taste o' the prize-money we had got to our mouths afore it weresnatched away, so we want to get it back again. That's so, ain't it,lads?"
"Ay, ay," was whispered so deeply that it hardly reached Mark's ears;but there was a fierce earnestness in it that told how strong was thedetermination on the part of the men to try and wipe out the pastnight's disgrace, while, just as he thought this, by a strangecoincidence, Tom Fillot whispered,--
"We must take her, sir. You can't go back and meet the skipper withoutthe schooner."
The most cunningly contrived advice could not have affected Mark morepowerfully. His heart beat rapidly, and, carried away now by thecontagious enthusiasm of the men, he said,--
"Right; then we will take her."
A low humming buzz went up at this, and Mark went on,--
"We shall wait till everything is quite still on board, and then let theboat drift alongside. Dance will hold on with the hook; we shall boardher and take them by surprise as they did us, unless their watch issharper than ours."
"You trust us, sir. We'll have her," whispered Tom Fillot. "We must."
"Then, now--silence. We must wait for a time, the later the better.When I give the word, Tom Fillot will let the boat drift, two men willgive a few dips with oars, and I shall steer her alongside; then Dancewill hook on. You will all follow me--"
"And the schooner's ours once more."
"If it is the schooner," said Mark, dubiously.
"If she ain't, she's a slaver, sir," replied Tom Fillot, "and that'senough for we."
They waited in the silence and darkness, listening intently for everysound, but very little was heard from the vessel. Once there werefootsteps, and later on they made out a glow of light upon the water,which they judged rightly to be the reflection from the cabin windows,which of course was farthest from them, the vessel being moored from thestem.
Then they sat listening to the rippling of the swiftly-running water,and the peculiarly weird cries and other sounds which came from theshore, terribly suggestive of prowling beasts seeking their nightlyfood.
It must have been getting toward two bells when Mark, who had beenbending over Mr Russell, to try and make out by touch how he was,started up in horror, for, from the direction of the moored vessel,there came a burst of cries, as if someone was being tortured in aterrible way.
"What's that?" cried Mark, in an excited whisper.
"What I wanted to hear, sir," replied Tom Fillot in the same tone. "Itmight ha' been as that warn't a slaver, after all; but that there noisesettles it."
"Then you think it was the poor wretches crying out?"
"Sure on it, sir; as sure as I am that there's somebody going to shoutat 'em to be quiet, or he'll come and chuck some of 'em overboard."
Even as the man spoke, footsteps were heard, and then there was a sharpsound like the banging of the top of the hatch with a capstan bar,followed by a fierce shout delivered in a threatening way.
Then came a low, piteous moaning and sobbing, mingled with the crying ofchildren, and once more the top of the hatch was banged.
"Guess I'm coming down to give it to some of you. Stop that! Do yerhear?"
These words came clearly enough over the water in the silence of thetropic night, and once more all was still again, and there was a lowwhistling, as if someone were walking back to the cabin-hatch, where hestood for a few minutes, and then went below.
"Tom," said Mark, "that's the slaver skipper."
"Yes, sir, so I s'pose. Nobody else wouldn't bully like that."
"I mean the skipper of the schooner we took."
"Think so, sir?" cried the man, excitedly.
"I'm sure of it. I know his voice again. That's the man who had methrown into the boat."
"That's right, then, sir. I couldn't tell, because my head was all dumbwith the crack I got; but you weren't hit, and of course you'd know."
Just then there came a low, piteous, half-stifled wail from the vessel,which went so home to Mark's feelings, that his voice sounded changedand suffocated, as he whispered,--
"I've often said that I was sorry I came to sea, Tom Fillot, so as to besent on this horrible slavery business, but I'm glad now."
"That's right, sir."
"And we'll have that schooner back, and set those poor creatures free ifI die for it."
"That you shall, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "No, no, that you shan't, Imean."
"Not take her?" said Mark, half aloud in his surprise.
"Hist! No, no, sir. I didn't mean that; I mean not die for it."
"Oh, I see."
"You shall take her, sir, as soon as you give the word; but, beggingyour pardon, sir, if I might ask a favour for me and the men--"
"Yes; what is it?"
"Don't be too hard on us, sir, in the way of orders."
"What do you mean? I won't ask you to do anything I shall not try to domyself."
"Oh, it ain't that, Mr Vandean, sir. We know you for a fine, pluckyyoung gent, as we'd follow anywhere. What I meant was, don't be toostiff with the men in the way o' stopping 'em. We don't want to killany of the beggars, but we should like to give it 'em as hard as wecan."
"Do, Tom," whispered Mark, excitedly. "The beasts! the wretches! theunmanly brutes! Oh, how can those poor blacks be such pitiful,miserable cowards, and not rise up and kill the villains who seize themand treat them in such a way!"
"I'll tell you, sir. It's because they've been beaten. I don't meanlarruped with a stick, but beaten in some fight, and made prisoners upthe country. Since then they've been chained and driven and starved andknocked about till a
ll the man's gone out of 'em, and made 'em so thatthey haven't got a spark o' pluck left. You take 'em and treat 'emwell, and it all comes back, like it did to poor old Soup and poor oldTaters. They was fast growing into good, stiff, manly sort o'messmates, with nothing wrong in 'em but their black skins, and I don'tsee as that's anything agin a man. All a matter o' taste, sir. Dessaythe black ladies thinks they're reg'lar han'some, and us and our whiteskins ugly as sin."
"We must have that schooner, Tom Fillot," said Mark, after a shortpause.
"You've got it, sir, and we'll sail her up to the port with flyingcolours. You'll see."
"I hope you'll turn out a true prophet, Tom."
"So do I, sir, and I'm just going to whisper to the boys what you say,and then I'm thinking it'll soon be time to go on board and kick thosechaps over the side."
"No killing, Tom."
"No, sir. You trust us. We won't go quite so far as that," said thesailor grimly; and he crept away to begin whispering to his messmates,while Mark sat straining his eyes in the direction of the schooner, hot,excited, but without the slightest sensation of shrinking. This hadgiven place to an intense longing for action, which made his heart beatwith a heavy throb, while, from time to time, there was a strangeswelling in his throat, as he thought of the agony of the poor creaturespent-up in the stifling heat of the schooner's hold, some of them,perhaps, dying, others dead, and waiting to join their fellows in thesilent waters, happily released from their pain.
He was so deeply plunged in thought that he did not notice Tom Fillot'sreturn, and he gave quite a start as the man laid a hand upon his knee.
"Look there, sir," he whispered.
"Eh? where?"
"Over the trees, behind me."
"Fire?" whispered Mark, excitedly, as he gazed at a warm glow awaybeyond the forest.
"No, sir; the moon. She'll soon be up, and we must have that schoonerin the dark."
"Then we'll begin at once," said Mark, decisively.
"Right, sir. The lads have some of 'em got their cutlashes, and them asain't have each got two good hard fists; and it strikes me as they'lluse 'em too. So when you're ready, sir, give the word."
Mark felt for his dirk, which was safe in his belt, and then thought ofthe quiet little parsonage at home, and of the horror that would assailhis mother if she could know of the perilous enterprise upon which hewas bound. Then came the recollection of his grave, stern-lookingfather, and of what would be his feelings.
"Would he say don't go?" thought Mark.
The answer seemed to come at once.
"No; he'd say, `It's your duty, boy. In God's name go and do yourbest.'"
"I'm ready, Tom Fillot," he said half aloud, as he felt for and seizedthe rudder-lines. "Now, my lads."
There was a low buzz of excitement, and then, in obedience to an order,a couple of oars were softly thrust into the water. Dance stood ready,but there was no boathook, and he fretfully asked what he was to do.
"Hold on by the chains, mate," whispered Tom Fillot, "and I'll help you.Dessay we can make the painter fast afore we get aboard."
As he spoke, he was busily loosening the rope which held them to thetree, and then stood holding the end just round the bough.
"Ready, sir, when you like to say `Let go!'"
Mark paused a moment or two, breathing hard, and tried to think ofanything that had been left undone, knowing as he did that the slightesthitch in the proceedings might mean failure; but he could think ofnothing, and leaning forward, he whispered,--
"You understand, my lads? Drop down, make fast, all in silence. Thenfollow me aboard, make for the cabin, and knock down every man who triesto get on deck."
"Ay, ay, sir," came in a whisper that was terribly impressive in itsearnestness.
Nothing then remained but for him to say "Let go!" But he hesitatedyet, and looked about him, to see that in a very few minutes the moon'sedge would be rising above the forest, flooding the river with itssilvery light. If a watch was kept, which seemed to be certain, theywould be seen, the captain and crew alarmed before they could getaboard, and, with so weak an attacking party, they would be at aterrible disadvantage. So hesitating no longer than to give himselftime to loosen his dirk in its sheath, he leaned forward once more, andin a low, earnest whisper gave the order,--
"Go!"
There was a faint rustle as the rope passed over the bough, a littlesplash as it struck the water, the two oars dipped without a sound, asthe boat swung round, and they glided rapidly up the river with thetide.
The distance, at the rate of speed at which they were going, wasextremely short, and Mark had to whisper to the men to pull harder, soas to make the boat answer to the rudder: while the moon rose higher,and though still invisible above the horizon, sent upward so warm a glowthat the topmasts of the schooner became visible, and Mark was able tosteer right for her bows.
"Now!" he whispered, "in with your oars."
He was obeyed, and the men laid them in, but made a slight noise--a meretrifle of sound, but it was sufficient to alarm the man forward, who waskeeping watch; and to Mark's horror, he heard a quick movement, followedby a shout of alarm.
But it was just as the boat grazed up against the schooner's side,glided along, and Tom Fillot gripped the chains, stopped her course, andmade fast the painter.
"What's the matter? Are they getting out?" cried the skipper, hurryingon deck, and of course upsetting the plan of keeping him and his menbelow.
But before he had quite finished his question, Mark's voice rangout,--"Forward!" and he sprang up in the chains, followed by his men,leaped on deck, and directly after there was aflash and the report of apistol, but the man who fired it was driven headlong down upon the deck,to roll over and over until stopped by the bulwark.
It was the skipper who fired, and then went down with a fierce cry ofrage, for Tom Fillot had rushed at him, striking him in violentcollision, the weight of the running sailor being sufficient to send himflying. But he struggled up in a moment, and using his pistol as aclub, struck with it fiercely in all directions as he cheered on hismen, and bravely resisted the attempt to drive him and his followersbelow.
It was still very dark; the schooner's crew had rushed up at the firstalarm, and as fast as they cleared the combings of the hatch, theydashed at their assailants, with the consequence that in a very fewseconds the deck was a confusion of struggling, yelling, and cursingmen, the two parties fighting hard for their different aims, to beat thedefenders below--to drive the attacking party overboard into their boator into the river--anywhere to clear the deck.
It was a wild and savage affair, the energy of desperation being fullydeveloped on either side. Weapons were little used, for the two partiesclosed in a fierce struggle, or else struck out with their fists; and asthe two parties were pretty well balanced for numbers, the fight wasobstinate to a degree.
Cheering on his men, Mark had been one of the first to leap on deck,and, once there, he had dashed, dirk in hand, at the first sailor heencountered, and immediately found out that even if armed with a dirk, amiddy of seventeen is no match for a sturdy, well-built fellow ofthirty; and though he caught his adversary by the throat with one hand,and pointed his dirk with the other, as he bade the man surrender,matters went badly for him.
For the man, who knew that the capture of the vessel meant endlesstrouble and loss to him, had not the slightest intention of surrenderingto a mere boy, and in two vigorous efforts he sent Mark's dirk flying inone direction, and hurled him in another so violently that the lad fellheavily on his head and shoulder, and for the space of two minutes therewas no one to hold the command.
But Mark's semi-insensibility only lasted those two minutes; then he wasfully awake to the shouting and struggling going on around and over him.Naturally objecting to be trampled, jumped upon, and used as astumbling-block for friends and enemies to fall over, he exerted himselfto get out of the way, rolled over and found his dirk beneath him, roseto his feet, aching, half-st
unned, and, in pain intense enough to enragehim, he once more rushed at the nearest man, roaring to his followers tocome on.
The orders were unnecessary, for the men had come on, and were locked inthe embrace of their enemies, but the cry stimulated the brave fellowsto fresh exertion, and to the rage and mortification of the Yankeeskipper, the schooner's crew were driven back step by step aft, till thenext thing seemed to be that they would be forced below, the hatchclapped on, and the Englishmen be masters of the slaver.
But it was not so. Load a gun with powder, fire it, and the force ofthe preparation will drive the bullet a certain distance. But then thepowder has exploded, and its force is at an end. So it was with Mark'sfollowers; the force in them was expended and sent the slavers rightaft, but there was no more power left. They were all weak andsuffering, and in obeying Mark's last cry they were completely spent,while their enemies were vigorous and strong.
Finding out the weakness of the attacking party, the slavers ceasedgiving way, rebounded, and the tables were rapidly turned, Mark's menbeing driven back step by step, forward and to the side over which theyhad come to the attack. It was in vain that they shouted to one anotherto stand by and come on, and that Tom Fillot bounded about, making hisfists fly like windmill sails, while Mark's voice was heard above thedin: they were thoroughly beaten. It was weak and injured men fightingagainst the well-fed, strong and hearty, and in spite of true Britishpluck and determination, the former gave way more and more, till thefight resolved itself into assault against stubborn resistance, the menseeming to say by their acts, "Well, if you are to pitch us overboard,you shall have as much trouble as we can give you."
"Ah, would yer!" roared Tom Fillot, making one of his rushes in time toupset a couple of the schooner's men, who had seized Mark in spite ofhis struggles, and were about to throw him over the side.
As the men went down Mark had another fall, but he gathered himself up,looking extremely vicious now, and while Tom Fillot was still strugglingwith the slavers, one of whom had got hold of his leg, another man madeat the midshipman, and drove at him with a capstan bar, not striking,but thrusting fiercely at his face with the end.
Mark ducked, avoided the blow, and naturally sought to make reprisalwith the ineffective little weapon he held, lunging out so sharply thatit went home in the man's shoulder, and he yelled out, dropped the bar,and fled.
"Why didn't you do that before, ten times over, sir?" cried Tom Fillot,kicking himself free. "It's too late now, sir. I'm afraid we're beatthis time."
"No, no, no," cried Mark, angrily. "Come on, my lads!" and he made arush, which must have resulted in his being struck down, for he advancedquite alone, Tom Fillot, who would have followed, being beaten backalong with the rest, till they stood against the bulwarks--that is,those who could stand, three being down on their knees.
"Mr Vandean, sir--help! help!" roared Tom Fillot just in the nick oftime; and, striking out fiercely with his dirk, Mark returned to his menand released poor Dance, who was one of the weakest, by giving hisassailant a sharp dig with the steel.
"Now, my lads, never mind the boy," cried the Yankee skipper; "over withthem."
The men, who had drawn back for the moment, made a rush at Tom Fillot,seized him, there was a short struggle, a loud splash, and the schoonersmen had got rid of the most vigorous of their assailants.
A shout and another heave, and Dance had gone. Then Dick Bannock, whokicked and cursed like a madman, was swung up and tossed over. The restfollowed, and, with his back to the bulwarks and his dirk advanced, Markstood alone upon the deck, last of the gallant little crew, knowing thathis turn had come, but ready to make whoever seized him smart for theindignity about to be put upon a British officer, even if he were a boy.
"Bah! rush him," roared the captain, and Mark had time for two blows athis assailants, whom he could now see clearly from where he had runright to the bows, for a flood of moonlight softly swept over the scene.
Then as he struggled hard with the men cursing and buffeting him withtheir fists, there came a loud, wildly appealing cry, as it seemed tohim, from the hold where the poor blacks were confined; and it was witha bitter feeling of despair at his being unable to help them, that Markmade his last effort to free himself. The next moment he was jerked outfrom the side of the schooner, fell with a tremendous splash in theswiftly-running tide; there was a flashing as of silver in themoonbeams, then black darkness, and the thunder of the rushing waters inhis ears.
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