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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 40. Firing A Train |
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_ Chapter Forty. Firing A Train A sound like a sigh or the escape of some pent-up emotion came from the little group of prostrate men, all of whom, save the black, knew that the powder might after all, while driving out the cabin door and its barricading, injure, perhaps kill them, in its explosion. But no one flinched, as the schooner careened over in obedience to a turn or two of the wheel, and glided rapidly off on a fresh tack, while the flame of the heavy train ran here and there over the cabin floor, its peculiar hiss suggesting to Mark the idea of a fiery reptile, and the strain of those exciting moments growing till they appeared to be minutes. Away it sped in its serpent-like trail, for Tom had made liberal sweeps of the powder, and the whole course was marked by an ever-increasing cloud of white smoke, which rapidly filled the cabin, till only about four of the bends remained between the fire and the heap of powder, when with a suddenness that sent a thrill through all, there was a tremendous crash, followed by a heavy, dull jar which shook the vessel from stem to stern. Mark Vandean sprang up, gave one glance toward the stern window as if he were going to spring out, and then flung himself between the burning train and the powder tins, rolling himself over and over in the hissing flame, and at the same time sweeping the powder, so carefully laid in zigzag curves, right and left and away toward the cabin window, where it sputtered and flashed innocuously. "Quick, Tom!" he panted; "sweep away. Mind it don't go off." "Why, it has gone off," cried Tom, rising up on his knees and speaking from out of the dense white smoke, which now completely filled the cabin and rendered the men invisible to each other. He was making for the cabin door, when Mark seized and clung to him. "Come on, my lads," cried Tom. And then, "All right, sir; you lead them." "Don't--don't you see?" panted Mark. "No, sir; who is to see in this blessed smoke? But you're losing time. Come on." "The door isn't open." "What? It must be. Come on." "I mustn't go near," cried Mark. "Look. These sparks." "Ay, you're all afire, sir. What made you go so soon? You ought to have waited." "You don't understand," cried Mark, who could hardly sneak for trembling. "That was not the explosion. I--I stopped it." "You stopped it, sir," cried Tom Fillot, as he kept on passing his hands over Mark's garments to press out a few sparks which lingered there. "Yes, of course. Didn't you hear what that was?" "Course I did, sir, though I was down on my face with my fingers in my ears. It went off well. Come on, the door must be down." Another heavy report seemed to strike the schooner again, as the smoke curled rapidly out of the cabin window, and Mark pressed to it, thrust out his head, and uttered a loud cheer. "Why--no--yes--hooray!" roared Tom Fillot, as he caught a glimpse of something half a mile away, seen through the thick white smoke. "Cheer, lads, cheer! It's the _Naughtylass_ just astarn." "I--I knew it," panted Mark, "and stopped the train just in time. Look at the floor and sweep away any sparks that are left. I--I can't now. Mind the powder doesn't go off." The smoke in the cabin was less dense now, and, awakening fully to the fact that there were sparks here and there where the train had ignited a few tindery spots between the boards, Tom Fillot and Bannock carefully trampled them out and swept away with their caps any portions of the loose powder which might communicate with the heap by the cabin door. "That's about right now, sir," said Tom; "and that's about safe, but I'm blessed if I didn't think it had all gone off." _Bang_! went another gun. "Go it, old gal," cried Tom. "I say, sir, that first shot must have hit us somewheres forrard. Oughtn't we to give 'em a cheer?" "Yes," cried Mark; and the men pressed to the cabin window, but before they could shout there was the smashing of glass overhead, and the barrel of a pistol was thrust down. "Say, there," came in the skipper's voice. "Just yew all lie down. Yew show yewrselves at that winder any one of yew and I'll send a bullet through the fire that signals." Mark's first idea was to commence war on their side, but he waited his time, and sat down smarting and throbbing, as the black came across to him and laid a hand upon his knee, looking commiseratingly in his face. "Oh, it's nothing much," said Mark, hastily, though he was quivering with pain. "But it is much, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, at a sign from Mark, had drawn back and now stood gazing at his young leader. "Does it show, Tom?" "Want me to tell you the hull truth, sir?" "Yes, of course." "Hair's all singed off, sir, and you ain't got a bit a' eyebrow or eyelash left." Mark groaned. "But they'll all grow again, sir," cried the sailor, eagerly, "and it might ha' been worse." "Couldn't, Tom. It does smart so." "But s'pose your whiskers had growed, sir. Why, it would ha' took all them off too." "Don't--don't talk, man," cried Mark impatiently. "Only try if you can see what's going on. How was it we didn't see the _Nautilus_ before?" "She must ha' come round some pynte sudden-like, and took 'em on the hop, sir. We couldn't make her because we can only see just astarn. They're luffing a bit aboard the _Naughtylass_ to fire. There she goes." Almost as he spoke there was a white puff of smoke, a shot came skipping along the surface and then went right over the schooner, and splashed in the sea beyond. "Hadn't we better hyste them colours out o' winder?" said Tom. "What for?" said Mark, trying to suppress the manifestations of pain which would keep showing. "They'll think we've surrendered and cease firing." "But that would be helping the schooner to escape." "Why, of course, sir," cried Tom, slapping his leg; "that wouldn't do no good. I was only thinking of its being onpleasant to sit here and be shot at by one's own messmates. But it don't matter; they can't hit very often." Mark glanced up at the skylight, to see if they were being watched, and had ample proof of that being the case, for he could see the skipper looking down at him. Directly after the man walked away, and they heard him giving some orders, which were followed by a quick trampling, and directly after, to the lad's annoyance and disgust, the cabin was partially darkened by a sail being hung down over the stern. "To keep us from seeing what is going on," grumbled Dick Bannock. "No," said Mark; "to keep us from signalling." But though they could not see, they could hear, and they all sat listening with intense excitement as shot followed shot, and the schooner lay so much over to one side that it was evident that she was carrying a very heavy press of sail, and that the slaver captain was straining every nerve to escape. "Now, then," cried Mark, "be ready for a rush either at the door or up through the skylight, in case the boats board. We can then take the Yankee between two fires." "Ay, ay, sir," cried Tom; "strikes me, begging your pardon, sir, as some of us aboard the _Naughtylass_ is terrible bad shots. I want 'em to hit us--forrard, o' course; not here." "They could hit fast enough," said Mark, petulantly, for he was in great pain, "only they are firing at the rigging, so as not to injure the slaves." "Course. I forget that, sir; only if they don't bring down a spar, and the beggars escape again, where are we?" Just at that moment there was a rattling and thumping at the cabin door, as if something was being removed; and as the prisoners listened, the skipper's voice was heard at the skylight. "Below there!" he cried. "Ah, it's of no use. I'm covering yew with this pistol. Look here, I've got a boat alongside ready; that door's a-going to be opened, and one of yew will come out a time, and tumble into the boat. One at a time, mind; and if there's any show o' fighting, we'll shoot you down without mercy. Do yew hear?" "Yes, I hear," said Mark bitterly. "Soon as yew're all over the side, we'll cut yew adrift; and when yew're skipper picks yew up, yew may tell him that I'll throw every nigger overboard before he shall take us, and run the schooner aground and blow her up this time." "You can give your message when Captain Maitland has you safely in irons, sir," said Mark, stoutly. "Thankye," said the skipper; and at that moment, in obedience to an order previously given, the cabin door was dragged open. "What d'yer say to a rush, sir?" whispered Tom Fillot. He had hardly uttered the words, when there was a fresh crashing noise, a heavy report, and a splintering of wood, accompanied by a strange rustling sound. The door was clapped to again and fastened, and as there was a rush of feet, a shouting of orders, and the sound of axes being used, the schooner swung round, stopped, and the prisoners set up a cheer. "Mainmast down by the board," cried Tom Fillot, slapping his leg. "We can aim straight, sir, arter all." Mark forgot the smarting and throbbing from his burns on the instant, as he snatched out his dirk, for knowing as well as if he could see everything that the whole of the after-rigging was lying across the deck and dragging at the side, so that the schooner lay on the water like a gull with a broken wing, he felt that in a few minutes a couple of boats' crews from the _Nautilus_ would be aboard; and if there was to be any resistance, now was the time to make a diversion. "Make ready, my lads," he cried. "Cutlasses only. Quick!" Just then there was a fresh crackling and breaking sound, and the skylight, through which he had meant to lead his men, was also darkened by the falling over it of a part of the great sail and the gaff; so that they were in twilight. "Better try the door, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "We'll kick it out now, sir; there's nothing behind." "Quick, then, quick!" cried Mark, excitedly; and the men went at it with a cheer, while the shouting of orders on deck grew more loud and angry. "We must get out, Tom," cried Mark, "and make a desperate effort ourselves. If the boats get here first, they will claim to have taken the schooner, and rob us of all the honour." "We'll try, sir," cried Tom. "Go it, my lads! Lay your backs into it. Soup, heave!" But the door resisted all their efforts, and it was evident that the Americans had wedged it with a couple of pieces of wood. "Oh, this is maddening," cried Mark. "They mustn't find us prisoners here below." "Let's try the skylight, sir," cried Tom Fillot; and at a word from Mark, he mounted the little table, and began to drag at the heavy canvas, so as to get it aside, but came down with a crash, as there was a flash and the report of a pistol. "Hurt, Tom?" cried Mark, in agony, as he went down on one knee in the dim cabin, and caught at the sailor's arm. "Hurt, sir!" grumbled the man. "Just you lose your footing, and come down with your ribs on the edge of that table, and see if you wouldn't be hurt." "But I mean shot--wounded." "Yah! no. He couldn't hit a hay-stack, sir. I'm all right." "Let me try," said Dick Bannock, "while he's loading his pea-shooter." The man mounted the table, and began to drag at the canvas and tangle of rope, and blocks, but there was no attack made upon him, and he struggled on till he was obliged to give up with a sigh of despair. "Can't you do it?" cried Mark. "No, sir, nohow. Wants someone on deck with a hax." "Let's try the window again," cried Mark; but a few minutes decided that. Hampered by the great sail hanging down, there was no exit there without cutting a way through, while those who tried would have been quite at the mercy of the men on deck. Back at the door, they hammered and beat and thrust, trying all they knew without avail, till suddenly, as a cheer was heard alongside, one of the pieces of wood which wedged them in so securely gave way a little, then a little more, and with the tramping of feet increasing overhead, the door flew open. Mark bounded out, but was driven back into the cabin by Bob Howlett, who forced his way in with his men, his first words shouted in the dark cabin--doubly dark to those who entered from the glaring Afric sunshine--silencing Tom Fillot and his comrades, who shrank back puzzled at first, then full of mirth and enjoyment at the midshipman's mistake. For, seeing in the blackened object whom he had helped to drive back into the cabin a foe of a calibre suited to his size, and one whom he could tackle, Bob Howlett shouted to his men--"Cut 'em down if they resist," and then to Mark. "Now you slave-catching dog, surrender, or this goes through you like a spit." _ |
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