Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the "Seafowl" Sloop > This page
Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the "Seafowl" Sloop, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 27. Lost |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. LOST "Now, my lads," said Murray, at last; "speak out; let me know the worst. Who is hurt?" There was no reply, the men tugging slowly and regularly at the oars. "Well, speak out," cried the middy. "Don't be too modest to let me know. You, Tom May, what about your eyes?" "Don't want 'em now, sir," said the man, in his deep, low growl. "Won't be daylight yet awhile." "I know that," said Murray testily; "but you said that you were getting them scratched out." "Yes, sir, but I just spoke out in time, or else they'd ha' gone. I'm all right, sir; don't you worry about me." "But I shall worry about you, Tom May," said the lad, "especially when I make my report. You saved us all when it seemed all over with our chance of escape." "Did I, sir?" "Ay, ay, that he did," chorussed the men. "Well, don't make such a fuss about it, messmets," grumbled the man. "Mere's two on 'em got a scrarp from that shooting, sir." "Ah!" cried Murray. "Well, the wounds must be seen to as soon as it's daylight. Can you tie the places up for the present?" "Ay, ay, sir," said one of the men. "A hankychy's been teared up, and there's nothing bad, sir." But though nothing could be seen till daybreak, the young officer, knowing his men as he did, insisted upon making an examination by touch during a short rest in the darkness, with the boat hitched up to an overhanging tree, after which the slow pull was resumed hour after hour, till overhead the stars began to pale, and Murray sat trying to scheme out some sensible course to be carried out in the daylight. The lad thought and thought, gradually growing more low-spirited, as he was always face to face with the thought that he had made a miserable failure of the task he had attacked in such high spirits. He had hoped to reach the boat-keepers and take them down the river to the _Seafowl_, and return with the second lieutenant and a strong party of men to the aid of Mr Anderson and his lads, who would probably proceed to rout out the slaving nest. In fact, he had started full of glee to carry out his instructions, but only to be dogged at every step by mischance. Murray sank down in his seat, the image of despair. He had pulled on for some hours, only to give up faint with hunger, and wearied by his efforts during the night; but all these were as nothing to the trouble that was to come with the rising sun. He would sooner or later have to face the first lieutenant, who would say to him, "I sent you for reinforcements and to make a report to the captain; and what have you done?" "It is of no use to make excuses," the lad said to himself; "I have failed." He was bending very low now with his elbows resting upon his knees, and the only comfort he could find was in the thought that if Dick Roberts had been sent instead, he could have done no better, when he roused himself with the thought that he must not run any more risks; he must reach the place where the boat had been left the previous day, and he was now face to face with the thought that he might over-run the spot during the dark hours, or, when full daylight came, be in the troublous position of incertitude as to whether they had rowed too far or not far enough. The daylight at last, and the cane brake alive with the cries of the various strange occupants of its wilds. A light mist was floating overhead, the leaves were drenched with dew, and when the pale mist began to grow opalescent, shot as it were with purple, ruby and gold, everything was so beautiful that the lad's spirits rose with a bound. "I did my best," he said to himself, "and though I shall get a good bullying for not doing more, old Anderson will come round and make me tell everything I have gone through, and then nod his head and say that I could have done no more." There was a good deal too in the way of making the subject appear more cheerful, for the men were pulling at their oars easily and looked full of contentment, in spite of a few bruises, blood-smears and bandages, ready, too, to smile at him, when he fully expected to encounter surly glances full of reproach, while as soon as a question arose for discussion they plunged into it full of eagerness and excitement. The first boat-keeper was thoroughly decisive about the spot where the boat had been left. "Further on yet, sir," he declared. "I can recollect going along here yesterday." "No, you don't," said Tom May surlily. "You don't know nothing about it, lad." "Not know? That I do, messmate! Why, I'm sure on it." "On'y a-guessing, sir. Don't you believe a word he says." "Oh, come, mate," said Lang, the other boatman; "he's right enough. We ought to know better than you, because we stopped with the boat." "Well, that's why you don't know, my lad," said the big sailor. "All you did was to stop and sit cutting sticks or pegs. We others know better because we landed and went with the first luff right inland." "What of that?" said Lang. "You didn't go about the river high-up or low down; so now then!" "Don't argue, my lads," cried Murray sharply. "Pull, and let's see if Lang and his fellow are right. For my part, I think we must be just about the place where we landed now. Why, yes; there, it's just beyond that overhanging tree." "To be sure, sir," said Tom May excitedly. "That's the landing-place." "Right you are, mate," cried the boat-keepers in a breath, "and there's the sticks we whittled when we cut down that furren sapling to make pegs." A very few minutes' pulling brought the little party to the landing-place from which the start had been made for the plantation, and Murray stood up in the boat, trying to settle in his own mind what the next step ought to be. It was his greatest crisis of responsibility, and his face puckered up as he glanced at his men and grasped the fact that they were looking to him to lead. They were ready enough to obey his orders, but not to give him the advice which he needed at such a crucial time. "What can I do?" he asked himself. "It is a horrible task, but I must let Mr Anderson know of my failure. I feel as if I could find my way up to the plantation house now; but I can't leave the boat here, knowing that the enemy may follow us up the river and attack and capture it. That would be like cutting off Mr Anderson's retreat. I can't send one or two of the lads up to the house, for Tom May and Titely proved that they could lose themselves hopelessly, and if I sent the others they don't know the way at all. There's only one I feel as if I could trust--myself; and I can't trust him. Oh, was ever a fellow in such a hole before!" He stood thinking, and the longer he thought the worse off he seemed to be; and his position grew more painful as he realised the fact that his men were waiting for his orders; and, though they remained silent, they kept on casting glances down stream as if expecting to see the armed party of the enemy in pursuit. "It's of no use," he said to himself; "the more I think the worse the difficulties seem to grow;" and pulling himself together, he turned sharply upon May. "Look here, my lad," he said sharply, "you must find your way up to the plantation and tell Mr Anderson how I am fixed. I can't leave the boat, for I must hold that in case the enemy comes on; and I can't spare any one to go with you, for three fellows will be small enough force to beat the enemy back." "Ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor promptly. "You can tell Mr Anderson everything, and then he will settle whether he will hold the plantation house or come here and help us to get back to the sloop." "Ay, ay, sir! Start?" "One moment, Tom. You mustn't lose your way, but try and recollect the track that black fellow led us; and one word more--this is not a time for fighting, but for cunning. Now, off!" The man stood for a few moments to thrust the ramrod down his piece and make sure that it was well loaded; then throwing it over his shoulder, he sprang ashore as lightly as if neither his rest nor his regular meals had been interfered with, gained the track, which now seemed plain enough, and disappeared. _ |
||