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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 19. A Disabled Crew |
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_ CHAPTER NINETEEN. A DISABLED CREW "I thought it was all over with you, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, regardless of those over whom he had passed, had plunged aft and thrown himself upon the coxswain, bearing him and the young midshipman down into the stern-sheets of the boat, and holding the former till he was dragged away, laid in the bottom, and held down forward, in spite of his struggles and cries. "I thought so, too, Tom. Ugh! how horrible! As if our position was not bad enough before; it is too hard to have a madman on board." "'Tis, sir; but I wonder we ain't all mad. My head's bad enough for me to be. Are you much hurt, sir?" "More frightened than hurt. I thought we should have been over into the black water." "And it you had been, he'd ha' drowned you, as sure as sure, sir, for we couldn't ha' found you in the darkness." "And the worst of it is, I don't know what to do," said Mark. "If Dr Whitney were only here." "No use to wish, sir. If it was, I'd wish the _Naughtylass_ was here to try and catch the schooner and her crew. There is one thing to wish for, though, and that's for to-morrow morning to come instead of to-night, sir." "Yes, and I'm afraid it's a long way off yet," said Mark, with a sigh, as he looked round at the veil of black darkness which shut them in, and then sat listening to the struggles and cries of the unfortunate coxswain, till by degrees they grew weaker and weaker, and the men who had been holding him relaxed their efforts, for their prisoner sank into a heavy stupor. Startling and painful as this episode in their night's adventures had been, it had had one advantage, that of making the time pass more swiftly; and in consequence it was with a feeling of wonder that the young officer turned sharply round as Tom Fillot said drily,-- "Good morning, sir." "What! What do you mean?" "First signs of it, sir. Listen! you can hear the birds beginning to pipe." "Yes; that's a bird's whistle," said Mark. "Then we can't be so very far from the shore." "That's right, sir, and what I hope is that we're not very far from the _Naughtylass_, and that they'll be at work with the spy-glasses to see where we are." "And I've got to face the captain," thought Mark, "and give him an account of our night's work. How shall I do it? It's horrible to go back like this." As the time glided on, the sounds grew more frequent from the shore, and by degrees there was a lightening around them, and they made out that they were slowly gliding along over the calm sea beneath a thick canopy of mist, some eight or ten feet above their head; and this was gradually growing opalescent, and shot with bright tints, till all beneath was fairly light, and the midshipman looked round for the _Nautilus_ and the schooner. But there were no signs of either, perhaps because the mist prevented them from seeing fifty yards in any direction. There was plenty to see, however, inboard, and at the first glance round, before his gaze was concentrated upon his officer, Mark Vandean's heart sank within him at the sight of the wretched, dilapidated men, whom he had seen on the previous evening looking so smart and active. To a man they were battered, bruised, and bore traces of the terrible struggle through which they had passed. The coxswain lay asleep, and, upon examining him, he seemed cool, and with the hope that he might wake up calm and collected, Mark gave one look at Tom Fillot--who was the most disfigured of all, the blows he had received having caused his face to swell up till he was hardly recognisable--and then devoted his attention to Mr Russell, who lay senseless. It seemed terrible to have him once more lying helpless in the bottom of the boat, and as the lad gazed at his companion, he began to think it would be wise to study surgery, ready for acting in an emergency like this. Mark did what he could with Tom Fillot's help, doubling up a jacket for a pillow, and laying the lieutenant at his ease, before taking advantage of the mist beginning to disappear beneath the powerful rays of the morning sun to try and make out their position. This was soon done. They were about a couple of miles from the shore, and the tide was carrying them southward right away from the river at whose mouth the schooner had been ashore, for the water was perfectly clear here, while there it had been muddy and discoloured. Getting a clear view northward as the sun rose higher, both Mark and Tom Fillot carefully scanned the horizon in search of the _Nautilus_, but she was not in view. There was a possibility of her being round a headland which stretched out some ten miles away, but that was all. The next search was for the schooner; and, as she was nowhere in sight seaward, they had to content themselves with the possibility of her having taken refuge in some river or creek, such as were plentiful enough on the low-lying shore. Mark thought of his previous experience in an open boat, as he looked at their position, lying there with a crew suffering from the effects of their encounter--two men seriously injured, and neither provisions nor water. As to weapons, some of the men had preserved theirs, but others were unarmed. Tom Fillot watched his officer as he looked round, and then ventured an observation. "Looks lively, sir, don't it?" "It's horrible, Tom; but we must act, and at once." "Right, sir, and we're ready. Four on us can take an oar well enough, if you'll give the word." "We must row in shore and coast along till we come to a stream." "Not row out after the ship, sir?" "Without food or water? Have you forgotten our last trip?" cried Mark. "No, sir, and never shall forget it," said the man, with a shiver. "You're right, sir, of course. Water we must have, victuals if we can get any. Nothing like having an officer with you, clever as you may think yourself." Five minutes later the men were rowing steadily toward the land, while Mark rejoiced at the only piece of good fortune he had encountered since the previous night when he lay down, and that was in the fact that to get rid of the party who had captured the schooner, the slaver captain had not scrupled to send them adrift in his own boat, one which proved to be light, swift, strong, and admirably adapted for facing the heavy swell that deluged the shore. Mark's time was pretty well divided between steering, watching his patients, and keeping a look-out for an inlet into which the boat could be run. So as not to weary the men, he made them row with the tide until they had gone south some miles, and he was hesitating as to whether he ought not to turn back, when there were signs ahead of the mouth of a river whose banks were heavily timbered. These signs proved to be correct, and in half an hour the boat was steered into a narrow canal-like channel among the mangrove growth, made fast to a stem, and the men, feverish--hot and suffering, drank eagerly of the swiftly rushing water, forgetting its muddiness in the delicious coolness it imparted to their burning throats; while Fillot and his young officer busied themselves, as they lay in the shade of the overhanging trees, in bathing the heads of the two sufferers, in each case winning for reward sighs of satisfaction and content. "Hah!" ejaculated Tom Fillot, when, after holding down his face close to the water, and drinking for some time like a horse, he sat up with a tin baler in his hands, sipping from the full vessel, enjoying himself, and making comments for his comrades to hear. He had tried to smile, but the effort consequent upon the state of his swollen face was too painful, and he gave that up. "Yer health, messmets," he said, raising the baler, "and wishing us all out of our difficulties." He took another sip of the muddy fluid, and nodded as he passed the tin to the next man. "Drink hearty, messmet," he said, "and pass it on. This is something like water. Reg'lar strong slab stuff as has got plenty o' victuals in it as well as drink. Reg'lar meaty water, like soup." "Why, it's on'y mud, mate," said the man who held the tin; "hadn't we better let it settle?" "What for? Drink, my hearty. What's mud but dust o' the earth made wet? Well, we're all made o' the dust o' the earth, ain't we, and consequently wet dust's just the stuff to make yer grow strong again. Deal better than salt junk and pickled pig and biscuit, I can tell yer. There, tip it up. It's wonderful filling at the price." The man laughed, and emptied the baler. "'Tarn't bad, mate," he said, as he leaned over the side to refill the tin. "Bad? I should think not. I feel like a noo man." "And you looks it, too, matey," said the other grinning. "I shouldn't ha' knowed you with that boiled duff fizz-mahogany o' yourn. How much bigger's it going to get?" "Well, of all the pot calling kettle black as ever I knowed on," said Tom Fillot, "that's about the rummest. Why, your head's all o' one side like an ugly turmut, and your eyes is on'y two slits." "We ain't none on us got much to boast on, 'cept our orficer," said Dick Bannock. "Pass that there tin." "To be sure," said Tom Fillot, "and handsome is as handsome does. Might be a deal worse off, mates. Drink away; the mud won't hurt us. We're in the shade and got plenty o' water. Different to being right out at sea in a calm, eh, Mr Vandean, sir?" "Don't talk about it, my lad," said Mark. "But look, Joe Dance is getting up. Pray don't let him break loose again." For the coxswain suddenly sat up and stared about him wildly. Then calming down, he cried,-- "Got a drink o' water, messmets?" "Plenty, my lad," said Tom Fillot, passing the tin. "How's your head this morning?" "Bit achey," said the coxswain, who took the tin and drained it. "Hah!" he ejaculated, as he drew a long, deep breath, "that's good, but you forgot to send it through the skipper's pilfer." "Warn't time, matey," said Tom watching him curiously. "'Sides, pilfered water ain't good for you." "Feel better this morning, Dance?" said Mark. "Yes, sir, thankye sir. Head aches a deal and feels muzzy like, and I didn't sleep quite as I should like. Too much bad dream to please me." "No wonder, mate," struck in Tom Fillot. "Having your head rubbed so hard with a big bat ain't good for no one." Mark sat by his brother officer in the comparative coolness trying to think out some plan to adopt, for though they were resting in the shade, and the agonies of thirst were assuaged, he knew that it would not be long before they were all suffering from hunger, and he shuddered as he thought of the tales he had heard respecting the straits men had been driven to when perishing for want of food in an open boat. But though he thought long and patiently, no idea came to him better than for them to coast along till they came abreast of some village, though he felt very little hope of meeting with such good fortune upon that sparsely inhabited shore. Further north there were towns and villages, but these were hundreds of miles away. There was a possibility of their finding a native village, the home of some black chief, if they proceeded up the river; but it was chance work, and, unless compelled, Mark shrank from leaving the coast and cutting himself off from the chance of being seen by the _Nautilus_ if she came back in search of them. So he decided to keep along the shore. And now he blamed himself bitterly for his ignorance. For if he had devoted a little time to studying the charts, he might have had a fair knowledge of the coast, and the chance of finding some trading settlement north or south; while now, as he told himself, here he was in command of a boat, and, boy as he was, answerable to his superior officer for the lives of the men. Accident had placed him in his present position, but then officers had, as he knew, to be prepared for such emergencies, and he was not ready in the slightest degree. He made a vow to make up for lost time if the opportunity occurred again, and began once more to examine Mr Russell's state. The insensibility continued still, and the faint hope he had nursed of the lieutenant recovering sufficiently to relieve him of his responsibility died away, so he landed with Fillot and began to look about him. The place he had selected at the river's mouth, for the sake of the shade and water, was hidden from any vessel passing, but it was so suited for their purpose that he felt it would be unwise to change it, as they could row out if a vessel hove in sight, and a good watch would be kept. Anything was better than exposing the men to the broiling sun, weak as they were with their injuries, and he felt that such a course would be fatal to Mr Russell, so he determined to stay, at all events till the heat of the day had passed, and then make the men row steadily north. He had just come to this conclusion, when he caught sight of Tom Fillot's occupation, which was the unravelling of the boat's painter. "What's that for, Fillot?" he asked, sharply. "Well, sir, I couldn't see no fruit trees nor no fields o' corn ashore, so I thought the best thing to do would be to have a try at ketching a fish." _ |
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