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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 18. A Confused Awakening |
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_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A CONFUSED AWAKENING "Now then, out you come." Mark Vandean did come out of the bunk in remarkably quick time, but he was still confused, and his brain refused to solve the puzzle before him, so he, to use a familiar expression, pulled himself together. The young officer resented being spoken to in this rough manner and threatened by a stranger with an American accent, and in as haughty a tone as he could assume he cried,-- "Who are you? What are you doing here?" "Come, I like that. Hear him. Oh, all right," cried the man, as there was a hoarse chorus of laughter. "Who'm I, eh, my bantam cock? Waal, I'm Cap'n Ephrum Bynes, o' Charleston, South Car'lina. That's who I am. And what am I doing here? I'm kicking a set o' sarcy Britishers out o' my ship. Now you know that." "Where's Lieutenant Russell?" "Down in the boat, my sarcy Tom chicken; and that's all you've got to know. Say another word, and I'll have you pitched into the sea among the sharks instead of into the boat. So mind that. Bring him on deck." Rough hands seized Mark on the instant, and as a man carrying the lanthorn stepped back, Mark saw the legs of the Yankee skipper ascending the companion ladder, and a minute later he was rudely dragged on deck, his heart beating wildly as he tried to pierce the darkness around in search of his companions. But all was pitchy black, and though his eyes wandered in search of the bright star-like lamp of the _Nautilus_, it was not to be seen. The next moment he knew why; a pleasant breeze was blowing off shore, hot but powerful enough to be acted upon, and in those brief moments he knew that the vessel must have sailed. He had little time for thought. He was suddenly lifted from the deck, and he began to struggle wildly, striking out with his fists, but all in vain. "Over with him!" cried the Yankee skipper, and a cry escaped from Mark's lips as he felt himself swung out over the side of the schooner, to fall, he expected, splash into the sea. He had time to think all this, for thought flies fast in emergencies, but his fall was partly upon someone below, partly upon the thwart of a boat, and a deep groan came from close to his ear as he looked up and saw the lanthorn resting on the schooner's bulwark, and several faces staring down. "My compliments to your skipper," said a mocking voice, "if you ever ketch him, and tell him he's welkim to my boat. I'll take a glass o' liquor with him if ever he comes our way.--Now then, shove off, you there forward. If you stop another minute, I'll send a pig o' ballast through your bottom." This was said with a savage snarl, and as Mark struggled up into a sitting position, he felt the boat begin to move. "Here, ahoy, below there! You'd best lay your head to the north," came the voice again, as the light was suddenly hidden or put out. "Your skipper made signals when the wind rose, and we answered 'em for you. Get your oars out sharp, or you won't overtake them this year." Then all was silence and darkness save where the movement of an oar sculling over the stern made the water flash and gleam with phosphorescence, and raised up ripples of pale lambent, golden light. "Who's that?" said Mark, in a whisper. "On'y me, sir," replied a familiar voice, in company with a smothered groan. "Tom Fillot?" "Ay, ay, sir," came back dismally. "I've got us out o' reach o' that pig o' ballast." "But, Tom," cried Mark, excitedly, "what does it mean? Where's Mr Russell?" "Somewheres underneath you, sir. I think you're a-sitting on him." "There's someone lying here," cried Mark. "Yes, sir, several someuns," said Tom Fillot. "Oh, my poor head!" "But you don't tell me what it all means," cried Mark, angrily. "Didn't know as it wanted no telling on, sir. Thought you knowed." "But I know nothing. I was roused up, dragged out of the cabin, and thrown down into the boat." "Yes, sir; so was we, and not very gently, nayther." "Then the--" began Mark, but he did not finish. "That's it, sir. You've hit it. The Yankee captain come back from up the river somewhere in his boat as quiet as you please, and the first I knowed on it was that it was dark as pitch as I leaned my back against the bulwarks, and stood whistling softly, when--_bang_, I got it on the head, and as I went down three or four of 'em climbed aboard. 'What's that? You there, Fillot?' I heered in a dull sort o' way, and then the poor lufftenant went down with a groan, and same moment I hears a scrufflin' forrard and aft, cracks o' the head, and falls. Minute arter there was a row going on in the fo'c's'le. I heered that plain, sir, and wanted to go and help my mates, but when I was half up, seemed as if my head begun to spin like a top, and down I went again, and lay listening to the row below. There was some fighting, and I heered Joe Dance letting go awful. My, he did swear for a minute, and then he was quiet, and there was a bit o' rustling, and I hears a voice say, 'Guess that's all. Show the light.' Then there seemed to me to be a light walking about the deck with a lot o' legs, and I knowed that they were coming round picking up the pieces. Sure enough they was, sir, and they pitched all the bits of us overboard into a boat alongside; and I knowed we hadn't half kept our watch, and the Yankee skipper had come back and took his schooner." "Oh, Tom Fillot!" groaned Mark. "And was that all?" "No, sir; for I heered the skipper say, 'Anyone been in the cabin?' And when no one spoke he began to cuss 'em for a set o' idgits, and they all went below with the lanthorn, and come up again along o' you. My word, Mr Vandean, sir, how you must have slep'!" "Oh, Tom Fillot!" cried Mark again. "Yes, and it is 'Oh, Tom Fillot,' sir," groaned the poor fellow. "My skull's cracked in three or four places sure as a gun." "And the others. Oh! the others. Are they killed?" "I dunno, sir. I ain't--not quite. Sims to me that they'd got bats, and they hit us with 'em like they do the pigs in the north country, or the cod-fish aboard the fishing smacks. My poor head feels as if it's opening and shutting like a fish's gills every time I moves my mouth." "Are all the men here, Tom?" "Yes, sir; I think so. If they're not, it's 'cause they're dead." "This is Mr Russell; I can feel his uniform," whispered Mark; "and he's dead--no, I can feel his heart beating. Come here, Tom, and help me." "I'll come, sir; but I can't help you, and it don't seem no use for me to be waggling this 'ere oar about. Just as well let the tide send us along." There was the sound of the oar being laid along the thwart, and then of someone stumbling. "That was most nigh overboard, sir. Wish it warn't so dark. Why, it's black. What's that?" There was a creaking sound from a little distance, and the man whispered,-- "They're making sail, sir, and they'll creep out afore morning, and get right away." "With those poor creatures on board." "Just as we'd made 'em clean and comf'able, sir. Oh, my poor head!" "Let's see to Mr Russell first, and then I'll bind up your head as well as I can." "How's one to see to Mr Russell, sir? Why, plagues o' Egypt's nothing to darkness like this." Mark bent over his brother officer, and passed his hand over his face and head. "He's not bleeding," he whispered, impressed as he was by the darkness and their terrible position. "More am I, sir, but I'm precious bad all the same. Don't s'pose any one's bleeding, but they got it hard same as I did. Wood out here ain't like wood at home. Oak's hard enough, but iron-wood's like what they call it." "Who is this?" said Mark, as, after gently letting Mr Russell's head sink back, his hands encountered another face. "I dunno, sir. It was every man for hisself, and I was thinking about Tom Fillot, AB, and no one else. What's he feel like?" "Like one of our men." "But is it a hugly one with very stiff whiskers? If so be it is, you may take your davy it's Joe Dance." "How am I to know whether he's ugly?" cried Mark, petulantly. "By the feel, sir. Try his nose. Joe Dance's nose hangs a bit over to starboard, and there's a dent in it just about the end where he chipped it agin a shot case." "Oh, I can't tell all that," cried Mark--"Yes, his nose has a little dent in it, and his whiskers are stiff." "Then that's Joe Dance, sir." "Avast there! Let my head alone, will yer?" came in a low, deep growl. "That's Joe, sir, safe enough. Harkee there! Hear 'em?" Sundry creaking sounds came out of the darkness some distance away now, and Tom Fillot continued in a whisper,-- "They're hysting all the sail they can, sir. Look! you can see the water briming as she sails. They're going same way as we. Tide's taking us." "Oh, Tom Fillot, I oughtn't to have gone to sleep. I ought to have stopped on deck." "No yer oughtn't, sir. Your orders was to take your watch below, and that was enough for you. Dooty is dooty, sir, be it never so dootiful, as the proverb says." "But if I had been on deck I might have heard them coming, Tom." "And got a rap o' the head like the pore fellows did, sir." "Well, perhaps so, Tom. I wonder why they didn't strike me as they did you." "'Cause you're a boy, sir, though you are a young gentleman, and a orficer. Fine thing to be a boy, sir. I was one once upon a time. Wish I was a boy at home now, instead o' having a head like this here." "I'm thinking of what the captain will say," muttered Mark, despondently, as he ignored the man's remark. "Say, sir? Why, what such a British officer as Cap'n Maitland's sure to say, sir, as he won't rest till he's blown that there schooner right out of the water." "And those poor blacks," sighed Mark. "Ah, it's hard lines for them poor chaps, and the women and bairns too, even if they are niggers. Oh, if I'd only got that there skipper by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his breeches! Sharks might have him for all I should care. In he'd go. Hookey Walker, how my head do ache all round!" "I'm very sorry, Tom Fillot." "Which I knows you are, sir; and it ain't the first trouble as we two's been in together, so cheer up, sir. Daylight'll come some time, and then we'll heave to and repair damages." Just then there was a low groan from forward. "That's one of our blacky-toppers, sir. 'Tarn't a English groan. You feel; you'll know him by his woolly head, and nose. If he's got a nose hooked one way, it's Soup. If it's hooked t'other way--cocks up--it's Taters." "The hair is curly," said Mark, who was investigating. "P'raps it's Dick Bannock, sir. There, I said it warn't an English groan." By this time some of the men were recovering from the stunning effect of the blows they had all received, and there were sounds of rustling and scuffles. "Steady there, mate," growled one man. "What yer doing on?" "Well, get off o' me, then," said another. "Here, hi! What are you doing in my bunk? Hullo! Ahoy there! where are we now?" "Steady there, and don't shout, my lads." "All right, sir," growled a voice. "I was a bit confoosed like! Oh, my head!" "Ay, mate," said Tom Fillot, "and it's oh, my, all our heads. Beg pardon, sir, for the liberty, but if you'd do it for me, I should know the worst, and I could get on then. I'm all nohow just now, and it worries me." "Do what, Tom?" said Mark. "Just pass your finger round my head, and tell me for sartin whether it's broke or no. It feels all opening and shutting like. Go it, sir; don't you be feared. I won't holler." Mark leaned forward and felt the man's head. "It's not fractured, Tom," he said. "If it had been it would have made you feel very different from this. You would have been insensible." "Well, that what's I am, sir, and always have been. I never was a sensible chap. But are you sure as it ain't broke, sir?" "Certain, Tom." "Then who cares? I don't mind a bit o' aching, and I'm ready for any game you like. What do you say, sir, to trying to captivate the schooner again?" "You and I, Tom?" "Well, it ain't a very strong force, sir, be it?" "We must wait for daylight, Tom, and I hope by then some of the lads will be able to pull an oar." "Ay, ay, sir, o' course." "I'm ready now," said Dick Bannock, with his voice sounding husky out of the darkness; and there was silence, broken only by a groan or two for a few minutes, during which Mark, feeling the terrible responsibility of his position, tried to make some plan as to his future proceedings, but only to be compelled to come back to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done but wait for morning. At one moment insane ideas as to the recapture of the schooner came to trouble him, and this brought to mind what ought to have been his first duty as the officer upon whom the command had suddenly fallen. "Tom Fillot," he cried, excitedly, "go round the boat as carefully as you can, and count the men, ourselves included. We ought to be eleven, ought we not?" "Let's see, sir. Two orficers is two; six AB's and coxswain seven, and seven and two's nine; and the two nig--blacks, sir; nine and two's 'leven. That's right, sir 'leven." "Go round then, and count." "I think they could all answer to their names, sir, now, if I might be so bold." "Call them over, then." "Ay, ay, sir. Here goes, then, lads. First orficer, Mr Russell, sir, and you, sir's, two as we needn't count. Joe Dance, answer to your name." "Ay, ay," came in a growl. "Dick Bannock." "Here." "Bill Billings." "What's left on me, mate." "Sam Grote." "Here, but ain't got no head." "Bob Stepney." "Here; and wish I warn't," came surlily out of the darkness. "Don't you be sarcy 'fore your orficers, Bob, or there may be a row," said Tom Fillot, sharply. "I can't see no orficers, messmate," said the same voice. "That'll do, Bob Stepney. That's cheek. Tim Dunning." "That's me." "All here, sir, and able to use their tongues. Fisties, too, I dessay." "The two blacks!" said Mark, quickly, and with a feeling of thankfulness to find matters so far well. "Ay, ay, sir. Thought I'd give the white uns a chance first," said Tom Fillot. "Now, you two, try and understand plain English. Answer to your names. Soup." There was no reply. "Taters." Still no reply. "Not here?" said Mark, anxiously. "Don't sabbee, p'raps, sir. I'll try again." "Taters." No answer. "Soup." No reply. "Soup and Taters." "Aren't aboard," growled several voices in chorus. "I'm 'fraid the Soup and Taters is done, sir," said Tom Fillot in a low voice. "Oh, man, man, how can you try to joke at a time like this!" cried Mark, angrily. "'Tarn't no joke, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "I'm sorry as you are, for they were getting to be two good messmates. They'd on'y got minds like a couple o' boys, but the way in which they took to their chew o' 'baccy was wonderful to behold." "The men must have overlooked them," cried Mark. "They were below asleep." "Nay, sir, they didn't care to go below. They was both asleep curled up forrard under the bulwarks. They'd had so much being below, that they shied at going down a hatchway." "Then what do you think about them, Tom?" cried Mark, excitedly. There was no reply. "Why don't you answer, man?" "Didn't like to tell you, sir," said Tom Fillot, quietly. "Tell me what you are thinking at once." "Well, sir, I thinks same as my mates do here. Them piratical sharks o' slavers didn't dare to be too hard on us because they knowed if they was ketched arterwards it meant a bit o' hemp round the neck, and a dance on nothing at all in the air; but when it comes to blacks, they're no more account to them than blackberries as grows on brambles. Strikes me they give them poor chaps a crack o' the head apiece, and knocked 'em down, same as they did we, but they wouldn't take the trouble to carry them and pitch them into a boat. They just chucked them overboard at once." "Oh, impossible!" cried Mark, excitedly. "They could not be such brutes." "What! not them, sir?" cried Tom Fillot, indignantly. "Harkye here, messmates; I says as chaps as'd half kill such a orficer as Mr Russell, who's as fine a gen'leman as ever stepped, 'd murder a King as soon as look at him." "Ay, ay," came in a low growl. "And if any o' you thinks different to my sentiments, let him speak out like a man." "That's what we all think, messmet," came in another growl. "And there you are, sir, and them's fax. They chucked them two pore chaps overboard, and, speaking up for my messmates and self, I says we don't hold with killing nobody 'cept in the name of dooty; but here's a set o' miserable beggars as goes about buying and selling the pore niggers, and treating 'em worse than they would a box o' worms to go fishing with. Why, it's murder, sir, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as the man said over his shop door in our town o' Bristol, and if we can only get at 'em--well, I won't say what we'll do, but if there ain't some fatal accidents that day, my name ain't Tom." "That's so, messmet--that's so," came in another deep growl. "It's horrible, horrible," groaned Mark; and he bent over Mr Russell's face, and tried to make out whether there was any sign of returning consciousness. "At a time like this, messmets," whispered Tom Fillot to those nearest to him, "I'd be quiet. Mr Vandean's in a deal of trouble about the lufftenant." "Hi! all on you," came sharply from the forward part of the boat, which rocked a little from some one changing his position; and as it rocked tiny waves of light like liquid moonbeams flowed away to starboard and port, while dull sparks of light appeared in the water down below. "What's the matter there?" said Mark, rousing himself up to speak. "Be silent, and keep the boat still." "Ay, ay," growled Tom Fillot, but the boat still swayed. "Do you hear there?" cried Mark, sharply. "Who's that?" "Hi! all on you!" came again. "Did you hear my order, Dance?" cried Mark. "Sit down, man. Do you want to capsize the boat?" "I want my hitcher," said the man, sharply. "Who's been a-meddling with my boathook? it ain't in its place." "Sit down, man. This is not the first cutter, but one of the schooner's boats. Your boathook is not here." "Do you hear, all on you? I want my hitcher. Some on you's been and hidden it for a lark. Give it here." "Are you deaf, Dance?" cried Mark, angrily. "How dare you, sir! Sit down." "I know," continued the man, who was tumbling about forward. "Some on you's took it for a game, and Lufftenant Staples ain't the man to stand no larks. 'Where's that there boathook, Joe Dance?' he says. 'Produce it 'twonce, sir, or--' 'Ay, ay, sir. Starn all it is. Where are you coming? Pull. Starboard there--On Portsmouth hard in Portsmouth town. Three cheers, my merry lads--Now then, pull--pull hard--Ay, ay, sir--Now all together, my lads!'" As the coxswain was speaking from out of the darkness, to the wonderment of all, Tom Fillot whispered quickly to his young officer,-- "It's the crack he got, sir. He'll be overboard if we don't mind. Poor chap, he has gone right off his nut." Creeping forward past the men, Tom made for where Joe Dance was speaking loudly, evidently under the belief that he was talking to a number of people around. Then, stamping about in the boat, his words came forth more rapidly, but in quite a confused gabble, of which hardly a single word was comprehensible. Invisible though he was, it was evident that he was growing more and more excited, for his words flowed strangely, swiftly, and then became a mere babble, as, with a shout, he rushed aft at the touch of Tom Fillot. "Stop him, some on you; he's mad!" roared Tom Fillot; and as instinctively Mark started up, it was to be seized by the poor wretch in his delirium, and held back, in spite of his struggles, more and more over the side of the boat toward the sea. _ |
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