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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 38. Tom Makes A Suggestion |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. TOM MAKES A SUGGESTION Morning was a long time coming to the prisoners, but at last the bright light of day shed hope into all their hearts, and, forgetful of the sufferings of the night, Mark's eyes were strained as far as the cabin window would admit in search of their prize. It was nowhere in sight. Dance's head had evidently proved sufficiently clear to enable him to sail the craft well enough to keep out of the would-be captor's reach, unless she were somewhere in sight forward and the American captain was in pursuit. Whenever any tack was made, eyes were strained to try and catch a glimpse of her, but all in vain, and the prisoners sat about avoiding each other's eyes, for, in spite of all determination to be patient and try and think out some plan, a hopeless state of despondency would creep over them. Their captors, following their own example, flung them some biscuit through the cabin skylight, and lowered a bucket of fresh water, the American skipper shouting down in a fierce snarl that if they made any further attempt to escape he would have them shot like mad dogs. "If you can," cried Mark, defiantly, and then he shrank and gave an uneasy glance round at his men to see what effect the American's words had upon them. For with a contemptuous laugh the Yankee uttered the one word "cockerel," and slammed down and fastened the light. "Never you mind, sir," whispered Tom Fillot at the first opportunity; "cockerels is young game cocks, and we know as you're game to the backbone. You'll give him one p'r'aps 'fore he knows where he is." It was weary work in that breathlessly hot cabin, but no one murmured, and Mark sat gazing out of the window and wondering why their captors did not set them adrift in a boat, the simple explanation being that they would have done so had they not dreaded being followed and caught when becalmed, and then surprised. For it was evident that, for reasons of his own, the American skipper shrank from leaving the coast, with its many creeks and rivers, where he could hide or run from pursuit. It soon became evident that either the other prize had been taken and sent off, or Dance had managed to effect his escape, for there was no further sign of her. Tom Fillot felt bitterly aggrieved. "He must ha' been a bit flighty still, sir, or he wouldn't ha' done it. He's gone off with that there craft. I would ha' stood by my messmates if it had been me." Night came, with the position unaltered. They were still coasting along south, and they had full testimony of the fact that their captors did not mean to give them the slightest chance to escape. The skylight was tried and the door. There was a discussion as to the possibility of getting through the bulkhead forward, and one or two attempts were made, but each time, at the first crack made by the wood, there was the report of a pistol, and the shattering of the bulkhead above their heads, plain proof that they were strictly watched by one who had had orders to fire at the first attempt. "P'raps we'd best take it coolly, sir," said Tom Fillot, the second time, "or else put it off till after dark." Mark nodded, and sat listening to some cries which made their black companion begin to pant and glare at the cabin-hatch; and Mark himself felt as if he could have enjoyed lashing with wires the backs of the scoundrels who treated their black fellows worse than they would have treated dogs. Then night came once more, with the resolve to make another attempt to get on deck; but to their disgust and misery, they found that a lanthorn was placed upon the skylight, where it would cast down its rays and show what they were about, and once more when a movement was made to make an attack upon the door, there came the splintering of glass, a bullet struck down into the floor, and a sharp report told them how well their captors were upon the _qui vive_. "Look here," shouted Tom Fillot, "I know who you are, Mr Skipper. You'll be hitting some one if you don't mind, and it may be murder." There was no response, and the little party subsided into a state of despair. Excepting Mark. He was as determined as ever to escape, and felt that there must be a way if he could only hit upon it. His last idea was to raise some of the cabin floor boards and get down below, where they might reach a hatchway; but there was no chance of doing this while a man was watching them, armed with a pistol. Nothing could be done but wait. Mark sat back against the bulkhead, with his hand playing with the hilt of his midshipman's dirk, which he had managed to retain all through his various struggles, from the habit of thrusting it into its sheath the moment opportunity served; and as he sat he glared up at the skylight feeling as if he would give anything to have a fair chance on deck, his men against the American skipper's, and the victory to the bravest and most strong. He was ready, boy as he was, to lead them on, being wound up to a pitch of utter recklessness. Almost, for he had sense enough and teaching enough to know that it would be an act of cruel madness to his men to force them to squeeze themselves, one by one, up through that light, ready to be knocked back helpless into the cabin. He glanced at Mr Russell, where he lay in his stupor, and recalled some words that officer had once said to him respecting the management of his followers:--"Always use them as if their lives were of greater value than your own, Vandean," he said. "Never risk them recklessly." "And that would be recklessly," Mark said, half aloud. "You speak to me, sir?" said Tom Fillot. "Eh? No, Tom; I was only thinking." "Of how to get out of this place, sir, and dropping on to them beggars up above?" Mark shook his head. "Don't say that, sir. Do think o' some way. It's 'orrid, and I feel 'shamed o' myself. I'd sooner have a fight for it, and be down in hospital six months arter, than be beaten like this here." "So would I, Tom; but what can be done?" "Why, here's five on us, sir, and you to lead us, all ready to make a rush for it. We're a bit knocked about, but full of fight. It's only for you to say the word." "I'm ready to say the word, man, but how can I?" cried Mark, eagerly. "Can we get out on deck through that light?" "Well, I'm feared as only 'bout a couple on us would, sir." "Right, even if we could manage that; and the survivors would be thrown back, worse off than we are now." "That's a true word, sir." "Well, you know what happened trying the cabin window?" "Yes, sir, I just do," said Tom, dolefully. "I thought Fillot AB's kit was for sale aboard the _Naughtylass_." "Then the door--the hatch; what about that?" "Ah," said Tom, thoughtfully, "what about that?" "Why, it's wedged and barricaded up, and exit that way is impossible." "Hah! Exit that way's impossible," said Tom, after a deep breath. "Exit that way's impossible." "We could not batter it open, but if we did, the whole gang would be waiting for us, ready to beat us back as we crept through, one at a time. Our only chance is to take them by surprise." "Only charnsh is to take 'em by surprise," said Tom, thoughtfully--"surprise--surprise. Look ye here, sir," he suddenly cried, eagerly, "why not take 'em then by surprise?" "How?" "Powder, sir, out o' that there locker." "What! and blow them up?" "O' course, sir," whispered Tom, "sky high." _ |
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