Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Black Bar > This page
The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 33. Methodical Madness |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. METHODICAL MADNESS Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on. Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him. The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men's bare feet over the deck. Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around. "Yah!" growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; "it's court-martial for you." At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which passed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole. "Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?" "No," said Mark; "two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain." "Again, sir?" whispered Tom. "Yes, man, quick!" Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward. "Ready, sir," cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place. "Now then, in with it!" cried Mark. "In with it, sir?" "Yes; into the cask." "Oh!" cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water. "I think that'll puzzle 'em now, sir," cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again. But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces. Only a short time before the big black had been an utter savage, but now in this very brief space, though unable fully to comprehend the words and ways of the English officers, he had grown to realise what discipline and authority meant; and as he stood there before Mark, who looked frowning and stern, he literally shivered, his eyes dropped, and he stooped before the midshipman, as if expecting a blow. For he knew that he had betrayed his trust, and that some punishment was about to be inflicted upon him for his lapse from duty. The men looked on eagerly, and thoughts of flogging, putting in irons, even of hanging, flashed across their minds, as they gazed in their young officer's face. Mark did not speak for a few moments, and then drawing a long breath, and forgetting his youthfulness, everything in the fact that he was in supreme authority as a British officer there, he spoke out firmly. "It is of no use to waste words with you, my man," he said. "I was ready to trust you and treat you as a British sailor, but you have broken faith. You cannot understand my words, but your own heart tells you that you have done wrong. There--I cannot punish you for being neglectful and ignorant, but in future you will be only one of the blacks." He turned his back upon the great fellow, who shivered at the lad's words, and then, with a cry of despair, ran after his officer, flung himself down on the deck at his feet, and held up the cutlass he had drawn when he went on duty and had held ever since. He held it up by the blade, and made signs for Mark to take it and use it upon him. "There is no need to punish you," said Mark, quietly; "you feel your position quite bitterly enough. There, get up, man, and go to your duty. I ought to have known better than to trust you. Get up." As the black still grovelled at his feet, Mark stooped down and caught hold of his collar, giving it a drag, and the man rose to his knees. "No," said Mark, making signs; "sheathe your cutlass. I am not a West-coast tyrant, ready to take off your head. Get them away, Bannock, I want to think of what is to be done next." The sailor stepped forward, and clapped the big black on the shoulder. "Come along, my hearty. You've got off wonderfully easy. No cat for you to-day. It's all right." "All righ'?" cried the black, eagerly. "Yes." "No all righ'," he continued, mournfully, as he shook his head and rose to follow the sailor; but he turned directly and ran to Mark's side, sank on one knee, and kissed his hand. Then he rose, and hurried off with his fellow sleeper. "You're a rum 'un, Soup," growled the sailor. "Who'd have thought it of a savage? Why, it was reg'lar polite and genteel. I couldn't ha' done that. Who'd ha' expected it of a chap who dresses in an orstridge feather and a wisp o' grass when he's at home?" The black gazed at him inquiringly, striving hard to make out his meaning, the poor fellow's face growing more puckered every moment. "Dessay you were a prince when you was over yonder; now you're a foremast man. Well, ups and downs in life we see, Soup old chap. Mebbe I shall be a prince some day. Ah, well, you're not a bad sort, and I'm glad you haven't got flogged." Meanwhile Mark was talking to Tom Fillot about the culprits. "Then you think I ought to have punished them, Tom?" said Mark. "Well, sir," said Tom, rubbing one ear, "I do and don't, sir. What's to be done with chaps like that, as don't know no better?" "Exactly," cried Mark. "They fought for us as well as they could." "They have, sir, and it ain't as if they'd had a twelvemonth of the first luff to drill 'em into shape. But, bless your 'art, sir, if they had they mightn't have been able to fight agin sleep. Able seamen can't always do it, so what's to be expected of a regular black just picked out of a slaver's hold?" "That will do, then," said Mark. "You have helped me so that I didn't like you to think I went against your advice." "Don't you be afeared of that, sir," cried Tom. "I give you my bit of advice for you as a gentleman and a scholard, to see if it's worth taking. Well, sir, what about the prisoners now?" "I think they must be safe this time, Tom," said Mark, walking back to the cask, and giving a pull at it, to find it as solid as so much iron. "Well, sir, that's what I think; but don't you trust 'em. They mean to get out and take the schooner again." "And we mean that they shan't, Tom," said Mark, merrily; "and as we have the strongest position, we must win." "That's it, sir; so if you'll give me the watch there by the fo'c'sle hatch, I'll promise you I won't go to sleep." "Take the watch, then," said Mark; and then suddenly, "Why, what does that mean?" For just then the prisoners began in chorus to whistle an American air, accompanying it with a rhythmic clapping of hands. Then the sound ended as quickly as it had begun, and there was a hearty burst of laughter. "Merry, eh?" said Tom Fillot. "Well, there's no harm in that." They listened in the darkness, and one man with a musical voice began a plantation ditty, his companions breaking in with a roaring chorus at the end of every verse, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, ending by one of the party starting up and breaking into a kind of jig or hornpipe, evidently keeping it up till he was tired, when, with a shout, another man took his place and danced with all his might. The listeners had to trust to their ears for all this, but it was perfectly plain, and it seemed to Mark that in despair of escaping the Americans had determined to make the best of their position. This went on for some time with great spirit and a tremendous amount of noise, sufficient to make the slaves in the hold uneasy, and a good deal of murmuring and talking went on. The sounds ceased, and there was a hail from the forecastle. "Hey, there, yew, on the watch!" "Hullo! What is it?" cried Tom Fillot. "Ask yewr young skipper to pitch us down a little 'bacco, will you, mister? My lads here is out, and they want to make their miserable lives happy." "I oughtn't to let them have any," thought Mark; "but it may keep them quiet. I hope they will not set the ship on fire." So a roll of tobacco was thrown down to them through the ventilator, pipes were evidently lit, for the strong fumes came up, and the singing and dancing went on again more uproariously than ever, till Mark began to feel annoyed. "The brutes!" he said to himself; "they've been asleep all day and can sit up all night. Ah, well, they're prisoners, so I will not be too hard upon them." Just then Tom Fillot left his post for a moment. "They must have got some grog below, sir, or they wouldn't keep on dancing like that. Nuff to tire anyone." "Oh, let them enjoy themselves," said Mark; "it's better than hatching plans to attack us." It was now within about an hour of daybreak, and Mark kept on looking longingly away over the mist eastward, in hopes of seeing the stars begin to grow pale. But all was deep, dark night at present, and he paced the deck, going from place to place, listening to the uproar made by the Americans, which was as loud as ever. "Yes," said Mark at last. "They must have got some spirits down below, Tom, or they would never keep up noise like that." Just as he was speaking one of the prisoners finished off a dance with a tremendous stamp, stamp, stamp, and the others began to applaud and cheer vociferously. Then all was silent, and Mark exclaimed,-- "At last!" "Perhaps they'll go to sleep now, sir, and I hope they won't wake again for a week." "Why, what's the matter now?" cried Mark. "I'm not going to have the blacks begin. Here, pass the word for Soup--Pish! I mean for the big black." "Ay, ay, sir;" and Soup came up quickly, all excitement at the noise going on in the hold. "Why, they're quarrelling and getting up a fight," cried Mark, as the noise increased; and there was evidently a struggle, while blows were being struck and savage cries arose. "Go down and stop it," cried Mark. "Stupid idiots! Why can't they be still?" Soup ran to the hold hatch and lowered himself rapidly down, just as the noise below culminated in shrieks and yells, while the fighting was rapidly growing desperate. "We must go down and stop it," said Mark. "Shall I pipe all hands on deck, sir?" cried Tom. "No, no; we can quiet them. Get a light. They'll settle down as soon as they see me." Tom Fillot fetched a lantern, and two men who had heard the fierce yelling came up to see just as Mark reached the ladder, and was about to descend, when, to his astonishment, Soup came rushing up, and fell heavily upon the deck. "Why, Soup, my lad, have they attacked you?" cried Mark, taking the lantern to hold over the prostrate black. "Hi! Look-out, sir!" roared Tom Fillot, blowing a whistle with all his might, as he drew his cutlass, and made a cut at a dark shadow which leaped on deck; and before Mark could grasp what it all meant, other shadowy figures rushed up from below, made a desperate charge, and a moment later he, Tom Fillot, and Dick Bannock, with Stepney, were driven down into the cabin, while the body of the big black was hurled upon them, and the hatchway doors banged to. For a few moments Mark could neither get his breath nor speak. Then wriggling himself out from beneath poor Soup, he cried angrily,-- "The treacherous brutes! This is setting blacks free, so that they may turn against us. Why, they've half killed him." "And us, too, sir," groaned Tom Fillot. "I always thought they'd be too many for us." "What do you mean?" cried Mark. "Why, sir, all that caterwauling and stamping was to hide what they were about." "Who were about?" cried Mark. "Them Yankees, sir. They've done us this time. I thought they would." _ |
||