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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 24. A Responsible Position |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A RESPONSIBLE POSITION Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous bump, which made her shiver. "Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!" came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel. "Where are you, Tom Fillot?" shouted the midshipman. "Here, sir. Wheel," came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf. "Where are we?" shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves. "Ashore, 'mong the breakers," cried Tom with a groan. "But I think we're 'most through 'em, sir." Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and passed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the shore; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate. Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, Dick Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use. To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation. "I had no business to go below," he said to himself; land then aloud, "How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?" "Me, sir," said the cutter's coxswain. "Me it were, and I don't want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--" "Well, what?" cried Mark, angrily. "What do you mean, man?" "Dunno, sir--dunno, I'm sure," said the coxswain, humbly. "It's my head won't go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was--was--was--was ashore with the breakers all around." "Why, you went to sleep!" roared Mark. "_You_! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!" "Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o' them blacks?" "Oh, they're all right, messmate," growled Tom Fillot. "Fact is, sir, he ain't quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn't to ha' let him take his trick at the wheel." "I ought not, you mean, Tom," said Mark, bitterly. "I had no business to go below." "Nay, don't say that, sir, 'cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain't a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance's got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better." "Yes, I'm better," said the coxswain. "All right again, mate, but I can't get over it about them blacks. What was it as--" "Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?" cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro. "Want to send us ashore among the breakers again?" growled Fillot. "Nay, my lad, nay. There's something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won't go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can't get 'em out." "Go below and lie down, Dance," said Mark, gently. "You'll be better after a good long sleep." "Sleep, sir? No, I can't sleep. Who's to take my trick at the wheel? Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?" "Help him down below," said Mark, and two of the men lifted the poor fellow to his feet and then helped him down to the place prepared for the crew close to the skipper's cabin. "He'll come round again, sir," said Tom from the wheel. "Spoke or two loose in his steering gear, that's all. Lucky I got to him in time, or we should have been ashore hard and fast." "Was that on a sandbank we struck?" said Mark. "Yes, sir, twice over; and if the masts had gone it would have been all over with us. But plenty of sail on and a nice breeze helped us to scrape off, though my heart was in my mouth all the time." "The schooner must be wonderfully well-built, Tom." "Well-built and ill built, sir. First as to timbers, second as to use, sir. Why, some of our merchant craft would have been shook to pieces like one o' them card houses as we used to build when we was little ones." That morning, as they were sailing on over the calm waters, rising and falling slowly to the gentle Atlantic swell, it seemed hard to believe that they had been so near wreck only a few hours before. But Mark had only to turn his eyes eastward to where the great billows broke upon the shore, making a chaos of foaming, tumbling waters, to be convinced of the danger they had escaped. The blacks soon forgot the scare, and lay basking about on deck perfectly happy, and ready to smile at the crew; and, saving a few cuts and bruises, which did not show, apparently very little the worse for their encounters. The swellings, too, on board the prize crew, to use Tom Fillot's way of expressing it, had diminished rapidly. A little too rapidly, Tom said. "You see if we've got no marks to show the officers and men, they won't believe we've been in so much trouble, sir. My heye! wouldn't the skipper have given it to you, Mr Vandean, if you'd took us back without this craft." Mark had plenty of anxieties to cope with. So long as the weather kept fine, he had no great difficulty about the navigation. There was the low-lying shore, two or three miles on their starboard bow, and as far as was possible this distance was kept to. Provision on board was ample; the water-casks had been well filled, and even if the store of this prime necessity had failed there would have been no great difficulty in running up one or other of the rivers for a fresh supply. As to the blacks, the hours glided on, and there was very little to disturb Mark's confidence. The two sailors--Soup and Taters--paraded the deck forward with a great show of authority, to which their unclothed fellow-countrymen submitted with a very excellent grace; and it was evident that there was nothing to fear from them. "They're rum sort of beggars, sir," Tom said. "Why, Tom?" "Well, sir, I ain't good at explaining what I mean, but it seems to me like this:--Give them enough to eat and drink, and plenty of sunshine to lie about in, that's about all they want." "Yes, Tom, they're soon satisfied." "That's so, sir, and they don't seem to have no memories. You'd think they'd all be fretting to get away ashore, and back home; but look at 'em: they don't, and it seems to me that they're not troubling themselves much about to-morrow or next day neither." The young sailor appeared to be quite right, for hour by hour as the horrors of the slaver's hold grew more remote, the little crowd of blacks forward appeared to be more cheerful. Mark's great trouble was the state of Mr Russell, who still lay calmly enough either below in the Yankee skipper's cot, or under an awning the sailors had rigged up on the deck. He ate and drank mechanically, but made not the slightest sign when spoken to, and for his sake Mark kept every stitch of sail on that the schooner could bear, so as to reach medical assistance as soon as possible. Dance was decidedly better, but subject to fits of absence; and on these occasions Tom Fillot said he was mad as a hatter. But in spite of the anxieties and the terrible feeling of responsibility, Mark found something very delightful in being the captain for the time being of the smart schooner which sailed swiftly along at the slightest breath of wind. There was the hot, hazy shore on his right, and the glistening sea on his left, an ample crew which he could recruit if he liked from the blacks, and all ready to obey his slightest order with the greatest alacrity. He felt at times as if he would be glad to sight the _Nautilus_, and so be relieved of all his cares; but, on the other hand, he could not help feeling that he would be sorry to give up and return to the midshipman's berth. "I wish, though, that Bob Howlett was here," he said to himself, as he longed for a companion of his own age and position. "I don't know, though," he said, directly after. "If Bob were here, he would not like to knuckle under and play second fiddle. Well, I shouldn't either. Perhaps it's best is it is, I'm captain, and can do as I like, only it isn't always nice to do as one likes, and I often feel as if it would be much nicer to have some one to order me." But there was no one to order him, and with the whole responsibility upon his shoulders, he for the first time in his life began to realise what it meant to be the captain of a ship, answerable for everything thereon. _ |
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