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Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the "Seafowl" Sloop, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 26. A Fight In The Dark |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. A FIGHT IN THE DARK It was sooner than they expected that the darkness came on--thick, black, dense darkness, which in spite of its gradual approach seemed strange and full of suggestions of being peopled with enemies ready to draw trigger on the banks and send lightning-like flashes at the occupants of the boat--flashes each of which might be a messenger of death. The boat was set in motion and glided down stream slowly, with Murray in the bows peering straight before him, trying to pierce the darkness; Tom May right astern with one oar dipped, with which he kept the boat level; while the others sat with oars balanced ready for use in case of attack, and so as to ensure retreat. In this fashion they floated down, carried along by the gentle current, not a word being spoken, and the midshipman hardly daring to breathe as he listened to the strange nocturnal sounds which came from the banks on either side--weird croakings, pipings, and strange trumpeting notes which sounded like a challenge to the strangers who were daring to penetrate the thick darkness of the night. More than once there was a sudden motion, a heaving and a rising wave as of some huge fish or reptile which had been disturbed from its slumbers, and from which attack was expected at any moment. It was a strange ride, with the black water whispering by the boat's side, while the men as they listened hardly seemed to breathe. Murray had laid down his plan of action to the men before starting, and that was to plunge oars and back-water with all their might to get out of the sphere of danger, for to press on in the darkness seemed too great a risk to run. But for quite two hours nothing occurred that could be attributed to the agency of man, and the midshipman, who had begun to grow used to the cries, croaks and movements of bird and reptile, felt his spirits begin to rise, his heart to swell with hope of reaching the mouth of the river unmolested, where he felt sure that another boat would be awaiting them, and then and there he would at last be able to perform his long-delayed mission. "I've done wrong," he said to himself, "and alarmed myself without reason. There have been no enemies waiting for us. They have settled in their own minds that we should not venture to come down the river in the darkness, and we might very well have had the oars out and come quickly." He had no sooner thought this than he mentally retracted his notion as being so much folly, feeling as he did that it would have been impossible to steer, and that in all probability they would have been aground--perhaps wedged in amongst the trees or shrubs of the bank. "I don't know what to do for the best," said the lad to himself. "One moment I feel one way; the next something seems to tug at me the other. I wish I could come to a decision that I knew was for the best." He had his wish, for he had hardly had the desire when as the boat glided on through the profound darkness it came in contact with something hard with a heavy shock. For the moment all was excitement. To the men it seemed as if the cutter was rising up to ride over some huge tree-trunk that was floating across the centre of the stream--some obstruction that had been washed out of the bank during a flood and whose roots still clung to the place of its growth. "Boat-hook," said Murray, in a low business-like tone. "Steady, lads. Try if you can shove her off." Then like a flash the lad grasped the reality of their position, for voices rose from the right bank of the river, to be answered from the left, and as the occupants of the boat came to the same conclusion, that the great trunk against which the boat had struck must have been placed there by their enemies, so many flashes of light streaked the darkness, followed by loud reports, and then came a fierce yell of despair or pain and a loud adjuration full of rage. "Shove all you know with that boat-hook," whispered Murray, "and strain all with those oars. Do you hear? Back-water!" There was no question about the men hearing, for every one was striving his best in a fierce struggle to get free from a tangle of sharp water-washed boughs; but the boat, after running stem on to the floating trunk and making as if to climb over the impediment, had swung round almost parallel; the water pressed heavily all along its side, and then seemed to be engaged in heaving it over, so that when Murray thrust one hand down over to his left he found that the stream was rippling within an inch of the gunwale, and in another few moments would have been over the side. It was a question of decisive action, and Murray shouted-- "Trim the boat starboard, all!" That saved them for the moment, but at terrible risk, for it spoke loudly to the enemy of their position, and in rapid succession almost simultaneously three more streaks of light came from the right bank of the river with their reports. Murray gave vent to a low hissing sound, and then remained silent, striving his utmost the while to thrust the boat away from the strong tree-trunk; but his efforts, like those of his companions, were in vain. "It's no good, sir," whispered Tom May; "we're a-shoving against one another. Let me lead, sir, and I think I can do it. There's hard bottom here, sir, and we're almost aground.--Fire away, you lubbers," he added, in a whisper; "you can't hit us in the dark. Now then, Mr Murray, sir, you take an oar along with the lads and wait till I say 'Pull.' Then all on you do your best." "But what about you?" whispered Murray. "You leave that to me, sir. I'm big enough and old enough to take care o' mysen." Murray was silent, for it was no time to dispute. Every now and then-- as fast as their enemies could reload--there was a shot from the bank, and the bullets whizzed just over the heads of the men. The young officer's disposition was to ask what the sailor intended to do, but he contained himself, and, feeling for an oar, thrust it over the side and into the rowlock, conscious the while that the others had done the same, but in his case and that of the man in front for the oar-blades to rest upon branches of the submerged tree. He realised, though, that his was the bow oar, and for a few moments that was all he could grasp. Beyond that everything was confusion, and he sat ready to pull, and in spite of himself starting violently at every shot from the shore when the bullet struck the boat or splashed in amongst the branches of the ingeniously contrived dam. Then the lad felt something like a hysteric sob escape from his breast as the puzzle and confusion from which he suffered gave place to clear mental light, and he grasped the full force of the big sailor's plan. The noise of panting and splashing which accompanied what felt like a sudden lightening of the boat was caused by Tom May lowering himself over the side, after laying down the boat-hook with which he had been sounding the depth; and then Murray felt that the brave fellow had begun to wade with the water close up to his arm-pits, forcing the bows of the boat away from the tree-trunk against which it was pressed by the water, and gaining a little. "That'll do it," he said, with a deep grunt. "Shall I get to the boat-hook, messmate?" whispered Titely. _Bang_! came from the bank. "There's your answer," growled Tom May fiercely. "You 'bey orders and stick to your oar. That was precious nigh, though." Murray heard every word, and it was to him as if he could see everything that the big sailor did, as with one arm over the cutter's bows he forced it a little more and a little more away, fighting against the pressure of the water and meaning to get the boat at right angles to the dam and her stem pointing straight up stream before he gave the order to pull. But it was slow work, for the pressure of the water was so great and the man's foothold on the bottom so insecure that at last, and just as he was about to call upon the middy and the man who handled the third oar to try and pull, there was a slip and a splash, May's feet glided over the bottom, and he was swept back, fortunately still clinging to the bows, back to where he had started from--close against the trunk. "Are you there, Tom?" whispered Murray excitedly, for he feared the worst. "Here I be sir," growled the man. "I'm sticking tight enough." "Hah!" ejaculated the lad. "If it were only light!" "Jolly for us it ain't, sir," said the man. "Bad if they could see. Hear that?" _That_ was another shot from the right bank of the river, followed by a couple more, and the bullets splashed up the water not far from their heads. "Are you going to try again?" whispered Murray. "Arn't I, sir! I'm a-going to try till to-morrow mornin' if I don't do it afore. Now then, all on yer, I'm going to begin shoving off her bows again, and this time don't wait, my lads, for any orders from me. Use your own gumption, and all on it at once. It'll take all my wind to keep me going. You, Mr Murray, you get hold of the water first charnsh and pull, and you t'others back-water; on'y just remember this: a broken oar means done for.--Now here goes." Once more Murray felt right through his brain every movement of the big sailor as he began to wade, holding the cutter's bows nipped between his arm and his broad chest; and as the boat began to move the middy felt among the boughs and twigs with the blade of his oar to such good effect that at the risk of breakage he turned the oar into a lever which slightly helped to move the boat's head from its position. "Good!" grunted Tom May softly, and he thrust away steadily a little and a little, while the two who held the stout ash blades on the other side began to back-water. "Good!" grunted Tom again, and, as if in answer, _Bang! Bang_! came from the shore, and a couple of splashing sounds rose from the woodwork where the bullets struck. "All together," whispered Murray, as he bent forward and got a fresh hold of the boughs, while to his intense satisfaction he felt that the man behind him had got a good grip too, and the boat's head was thrust farther and farther away. "Good!" grunted Tom May again, and Murray could not refrain from uttering a low Hurrah! for at his next bending forward his oar cut down into the water so that he got a good hold and pulled with all his might--steadily too. "Back-water hard!" he panted, and the men whose oars dipped on the other side thrust with all their might. "Hooray!" came now from the man behind Murray. "I've got water!" "Then pull all you know," panted Tom May as he gave the boat's head what he intended to be one last tremendous thrust, "for you've got it all your own way now." "No, no," whispered Murray excitedly. "Keep on, Tom!" "Can't, sir," said the man, with a low hiss. "I'm off the bottom. Pull all!" he shouted now, and Murray felt the boat lose its trim, and sank over on his side bending down, knowing full well now that the brave fellow was heaving himself up so as to get over and seize an oar. But it was dark, black darkness. Every one was pulling his best now in obedience to the cry "Pull all!" There was no regular swing, but plenty of confusion, while a thrill of excitement half intoxicated the men, as they felt that they had mastered the pressure of the stream, and consequently they pulled away madly, conscious as they were that they were moving up stream and leaving the enemies, who were still firing, though with no effect, behind. "Starn all, you lubbers!" literally roared Tom May. "D'yer want to scrat me right out of the cutter's bows?" "Stroke there!" cried Murray to the man who wielded that blade. "Get your oar over astarn and steer. We're running into the bank." There was a quick movement, the boat rocked, and a scraping sound and a splash told that the order had been obeyed. "I can't see, sir," cried the man, who had begun to steer. "Do your best, my lad. Pull gently, my lads. We must feel our way. What about you, Tom May? Are you all right?" "Me, sir? I'm no use to steer," grumbled the man. "Let me come and take stroke oar; the lubbers pretty well scratted my eyes out." _Bang! Bang! Bang_! Three shots came quickly now in succession, but the flashes were from fully fifty yards back. "Keep silence, my lads," whispered Murray. "They're firing at the splashes of our oars." A minute later those scattered irregular splashes became almost as one, and though they were given slowly, the effect was steady and the steersman proved to be doing his part so carefully and well that the flashes from behind became more distant and sounded fainter, and the last seemed to come from round a bend of the river. _ |
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