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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 23. A Strange Awakening |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. A STRANGE AWAKENING "What's a wonder to me, sir," said Tom Fillot, respectfully, "is as no one seems to have been killed." "But we don't know that," said Mark, sharply. "Tired as I was when I lay down last night, I couldn't sleep for thinking of those men. Do you think they could reach the shore?" "Reach the shore, sir! Why not? What was to prevent 'em?" "Some of them were half-stunned when they were dashed overboard." "Then the water would make 'em come to, sir, and freshen 'em up. Don't you wherrit yourself about that, sir. I saw 'em all swimming for the bank, and they'd get there before the crocks woke up to try for 'em." "Crocodiles?" "Oh yes, sir, I should think there'd be plenty of them in the river: sure to be in a hot country like this." "I wish I could feel sure they were safe." Tom Fillot's look at the young officer was a mingling of admiration and contempt. "It's very nyste of you, sir, to think so much about the enemies as nearly killed our Mr Russell, I didn't think nothing o' them. I was hard at it about our poor chaps as has been knocked about, and the way they bear it all without hollering is, I says, sir, a credit to a Englishman, let alone a Scotchman such as Dick Bannock is. As I says afore, it's wonderful as none of us was killed, being whacked over the head as we was, 'sides being nigh drownded." "It was wonderful, Tom, and if only poor Mr Russell would come round, I should be as happy as could be. But he doesn't show a sign of recovery." "No, sir, he don't, but there's the t'other side o' the book in keeping account like--he don't show no sign o' getting worse and dying. You know what's the matter with him, o' course?" "Matter?" said Mark, looking at the man wonderingly, as the schooner glided along, a mile away from the coast, the evening after their struggle in the river. "Of course I do. He was beaten about the head worse than any of us." "'Zactly, sir; but did you examine on him?" "Yes, and retied the bandage about his head." "That's good, sir; but you didn't find out quite what was the matter." "I thought I knew enough." "Yes, sir, but I did examine him when you sent me below to see how he was, and I found out." "What?" cried Mark, eagerly. "Well, sir, he's got the same as an old messmate o' mine had in my last ship--the _Foogoose_." "The what?" "_Foogoose_, sir." "Oh, the _Fougueux_." "That's her, sir. Well, we was up aloft shortening sail on a rough day, and Micky missed the stirrup just as the ship give a regular pitch. 'I'm off, Tommy,' he shouts, and down he went head fust on to the yard below, and then Snoots off on to one of the stays, and from there on to the deck, where every one thought he was killed. But he warn't, only onsensible because his skull was dinted in, and the doctor said it rested on his brain; and that's what's the matter with our lufftenant, for I felt his head." "And did the man die?" cried Mark. "No, sir; the doctor tackled him, and lifted up the bit o' broken bone, and made him a better man than ever; and that's what Mr Whitney'll do with Mr Russell, sir, as soon as we get back to the _Naughtylass_." "Oh, if we only could get back, Tom!" "All right, sir; give us time; and the longer the better, I say, sir, for if you goes aboard with us lads looking all chipped and knocked about like we are, Cap'en Maitland'll be arksing you why you ain't took better care of your men." "Oh, I don't mind that, Tom," cried Mark, triumphantly; "I've got the schooner, and the slaves." "You have, sir, and it's such a splendid job for a young orficer like you to have done, that Mr Howlett'll be ready to eat his head off like with disappyntment because he warn't in the game. You've done it this time, sir. Why, our skipper ought to put you down for a swab on your shoulder as soon as you've got one big enough to carry it." "Now, no joking, Tom Fillot, because I'm friendly with you. Recollect I'm your officer." "Right, sir, I will. I didn't mean no harm. It's only a way my tongue's got o' saying things. I say, sir, just look at them poor half-starved blacks. 'Most makes me feel like a girl, sir, and soft, to see how happy they are." "Yes, poor creatures. But tell me, Tom. It's a terrible responsibility for me with this vessel and all those people. Are they likely to make a fight for their liberty?" "Why, they've got it, ain't they, sir?" "Yes, but they don't understand it. They may think it's only a change of masters, and rise against us." "Not they, sir. Why, see how they looks at us, sir. They'd lay down and let you walk over 'em, sir. Why, I've seen all them poor women look as if they could eat you, sir. I don't mean with their teeth, but with their eyes. They're safe enough, sir. They've been well-fed on Soup and Taters--I mean them two black messmates of ourn's talked to 'em till they understands about being under the Union Jack, and all that sort o' thing." "I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy." "Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there's nothing for you to fear, so if you'll take my advice, you'll go and have three or four hours' sleep below." "What?" "I mean it, sir. You can't keep on without rest, so go and have it. Joe Dance and me'll keep the schooner steady on her course till you've had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below." "I can't leave the deck, Tom." "Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk. Look here, sir; you're dead beat. Out, ain't you? Why, you warn't down below an hour." "Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but--" "You can't do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There's Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore's a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?" Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner's sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right. "It's horrible," he muttered; "but it may not mean death;" and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then--to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay. _ |
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