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The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 34. How To Get Back? |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. HOW TO GET BACK? "Almost as bad as you tacking out of the harbour, Morny," said Rodd that evening, as the two vessels glided up the rapidly narrowing and greatly winding river. "Oh no," replied the French lad. "There is no tremendous storm of wind blowing, threatening to tear the sails to ribbons, no soldiers in boats using their muskets, no big guns sending heavy balls from the forts." "No," said the skipper, who had overheard the remarks; "not a bit like it, Mr Rodd. It is rather awkward work, though, and we have to be always on the dodge, else the next thing would be we should go ramming our noses right in the muddy banks and getting stuck fast; and that wouldn't do." "Oh, you would get off again next tide," said Rodd carelessly. "Mebbe," said the skipper. "As the old country chaps at home say, we mought and we moughtn't." "Look, Morny," cried Rodd. "There's another of those great crocs. What a thick one! Why, that one must be five-and-twenty feet long." "Fourteen," grunted the skipper. "No, no; it must have been twenty," cried Rodd. "Fourteen, outside," growled the skipper. "How can you tell when you only catch sight of them on the move?" "Well, it was a tremendous thickness," said Rodd. "Ay, it was thick enough, and heavy enough; and they are stronger than horses. And just you look here, youngster, while we are up this river, where I dare say they swarm, you had better keep your eyes open, for those chaps will pull a deer or a bullock into the water before the poor brute knows where it is, and as to human natur', they lie waiting close to the banks for the poor niggers, men, women or children, who come down to get water, and they nip them off in a moment." "Ugh! Horrible!" cried Rodd. "Yes, and what made me speak to you was that we are going to settle down for a bit up here in the forest where the sun will be very hot, and where there'll be no end of great shady trees hanging over the river side and seeming to ask folks to jump in and have a nice cooling swim." "I say, captain!" "Oh, I'm not laughing at you, my lads," said the skipper sharply. "When we are lying moored or at anchor up here it's just the sort of thing that you might make up your minds to do without saying a word to anybody. I know I should have done so when I was your age. But I just say to you now solemn like--don't you do it. For if there's anything one of these great reptiles likes it's a nice clean French or English boy." "Oh, come now," cried Rodd merrily, "you don't call that talking solemn like, captain?" A grim smile dawned upon the old sailor's countenance. "Well, no," he said; "but I mean it solemn like. I don't suppose one of they crocs would study about what colour it was, but they go for anything that's alive and moving, hold on with those great teeth of theirs, and whatever it is they catch, it's soon drowned when it's pulled below, and never heard of again.--Starboard, my lads! Starboard!" he shouted, with both hands to his mouth, and the schooner curved round and went off on another tack in obedience to the helm.--"It's rather an awkward job, my lads," continued the skipper. "You see, we have to sail to all points of the compass, and one minute you have got the wind blowing gently fair and free from right ahead or dead astarn, and the next you are going into shelter and got no wind at all." "But we keep on going steadily up the river, captain," said Rodd. "Yes, my lad; we have got this strong tide in our favour. I am reckoning that if we drop anchor soon we shall be able to get as far as we want next tide." "But how far do you mean to go?" asked Morny anxiously. "Oh, a good way up yet," replied the skipper. "But why not keep on now?" asked Rodd. "Because I want to pick a good berth before the dark comes down and catches and leaves us nohow. Got any more questions to ask?" "Hundreds," cried Rodd merrily. "Humph! Then I think I ought to have my pay raised. I joined the _Maid of Salcombe_ to sail her, not to give you lessons in jography, etymology, syntax, and prosody, as it used to say in my lesson book when I was a little 'un." "Ah, well, I won't bother you any more to-day, captain," said Rodd; "only one always wants to know what things are when they are quite fresh." Captain Chubb did not answer for the moment, for he had to shout another order to the steersman and make two or three signals with his hand to those on board the brig, which was following in the schooner's track, keeping as close as it could to be safe. At the end of five minutes, though, he had returned to his old position, and grunted out with a look as if he wanted to be questioned more-- "Well, I suppose such youngsters as you like to know." Then all at once he shouted out a fresh order, which was followed by the rattling out of the cable through the hawse-hole as the anchor splashed and went down to a pretty good depth before the rope was stopped, one order having acted for both vessels, and just before dark they swung round head to stream, with the water lapping loudly against their bows. "That's enough for one day," grunted the captain. "Safe and snug a harbour as any one could wish to be in, and there's the trees, you see, on both sides, good, sound, solid forest trees such as would cut up into fine timber, and all the mangroves left far enough behind." In a remarkably short time, as the two lads stood watching the shores, the forest on either side grew intensely black, and though the steward announced that the evening meal was ready, no one seemed disposed to go below, for, succeeding to the solemn evening silence, they seemed to be surrounded by strange sounds from the depths of the forest as well as from the river, whose current began to grow sluggish, suggesting that before long the tide would be at its height, and ready to turn with the rushing of the water outward to the sea. "Why, it's awful," said Morny, in a subdued tone, as he stood with Rodd gazing at the nearest shore. "Yes, not very nice," replied Rodd. "You and your father had better stop on board here to-night." "Oh no. Our boat is hanging astern. We shall go back." Rodd thought that he should not like to attempt to row from vessel to vessel in the darkness of such a night, for something seemed to suggest to him the possibility of being swept out to sea; but he did not say so, for fear of making his companion nervous, and they stood listening and whispering together, trying to give names to some of the uncouth noises which floated to their ears. Many were sharp quick splashes as if some great fish had sprung out of the water in pursuit of prey, or in a desperate effort to escape a pursuer. Then every now and then there would be a resounding slap, as if one of the great reptiles that haunted the river had struck the surface a tremendous blow with its tail. "What's that?" asked Rodd, directly after, as a low, deep, mournful sound came from amongst the trees upon the shore, sounding like a piteous cry for help from some woman in distress. This was succeeded by a painful silence, and then Rodd raised his voice-- "Captain! Captain Chubb! Do you hear that? Are you there?" "Oh yes, here I am, my lad," came from out of the darkness. "And I should be precious deaf if I hadn't heard it." "Well, ought we to take the boat and try and save her?" cried the boy passionately. "How do you know it's a _her_, my lad? I should say it was a _him_. It's the cock birds and not the hens that shout like that." "Bird!" cried Morny. "It was a human being." "Ah, it do sound something like it, my lad, but that aren't a human. It's one of them great long-legged storky chaps with the big bills, calling to his wife to say he's found frogs, or something of that kind. You wait a minute, and if she don't come you will hear him call 'Quanko!'--There, what did I say?" said the skipper, with a chuckle, as in trumpet tones came the cry of the great long-legged creature in a sonorous _Quang, quang, quang, quang_! "Why, the captain seems to know everything," said Morny admiringly. "I say, how did you know that, sir?" "Oh," said the skipper modestly, "one just picks up these sort of things a little bit at a time. Now then, do you hear that?" The two lads did hear it--a peculiar musical (?) wailing cry which was repeated again and again and then died out, half-smothered by a chorus of croaking from the swampy river banks. "Oh yes, we can hear," cried Rodd. "We can do nothing else but listen. But what was it made that cry?" "Ah! That's one of the things I don't know," said the skipper, chuckling. "What should you think it was?" "Oh, I don't want to be laughed at again," cried Rodd, "for making another mistake. Perhaps it's some other kind of stork." "Nay, you don't think it is," said the skipper. "You think different to that. Come, have a guess." "Well," said Rodd, "I should say it was some kind of great cat." "Right, my lad; not much doubt about that. I don't know what sort it is, but it's one of them spotted gentlemen. I should say there'd be plenty of them here. Well, I have had about enough of it for to-day. I am just going to see about the watch, and to say a few words below to your father about having a good look-out kept, and then it won't be very long before I turn in to my cot, for I am tired. This has been a rather anxious day." "You are going to speak to my father about having a good look-out kept?" "Well, yes, my lad, and with our men well-armed. I don't say as it's likely, and we are too near the sea for any villages of blacks; but it wouldn't be very nice to have two or three big canoes come and make fast to us in the night, and find the decks swarming with niggers who might think that we were made on purpose for them to kill." "Why, you don't think that's likely, do you?" cried Rodd. "Not at all, my lad. But safe bind, safe find. What I have always found is this--that when you keep a very strict look-out nothing happens, and when you don't something does. Are you lads coming down?" "Not yet," said Rodd. "I suppose you will be going soon, won't you, Mr Morny?" said the skipper, who somehow always forgot their visitor's title. "I am expecting my father will be coming up soon to say it is time." "Yes; I shouldn't leave it much longer," said the skipper. "I'll tell him.--Joe Cross, there!" "Ay, ay, sir!" "You and four men stand by with the gig to take the Count aboard his vessel. You will just drop down head to stream ready to pull hard if the tide seems a bit too heavy; and you, my lad, be ready forward with the end of the line made fast to the thwart and the grapnel clear, ready to drop overboard to get hold of the mud if you find the current too strong." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried the man; and the skipper went below. "I am glad of that, Joe," said Rodd eagerly. "I was thinking whether there was any risk of the boat being swept away." "So was I, sir; but it's always the same. Whenever I think of something that ought to be done I always find that our old man has thought of it before. Did you see that we have swung round to our anchor?" "No," said Rodd. "We have, sir, and the tide's running out like five hundred million mill-streams. You come for'ard here and feel how the cable's all of a jigger, just as if the river had made up its mind to pull it right out of the mud." The two lads followed, and it was exactly as the man had said, for the great Manilla rope literally thrilled as if with life, while the river glided by the schooner's cutwater with a loud hiss. "Why, Joe," cried Rodd, as he gazed in the sailor's dimly-seen face, "how are you going to manage to row back?" "Well, sir, that's one of the things I have been asking myself." "Well, you had better speak to the skipper." "Not me, sir. I'm not going to try to teach him. If I was to say a word he'd jump down my throat bang. Oh, he knows what he's about, or he wouldn't have told me to stand by with that there grapnel." "Yes, of course he'd know," said Rodd quietly. "I should like to know how you'd got on." The two lads stood listening to the weird sounds from the shore, every now and then being puzzled by something that was entirely fresh, while the swiftly running water gleamed dimly with the faintly seen reflection of the stars, showing that a mist was gathering overhead, while Joe Cross and the men lowered down the boat and hauled her up to the gangway, ready to convey the visitors to the brig. They had hardly finished preparations before the voices that had come before in murmurs from the cabin were heard ascending to the deck, and the Count cried out of the darkness-- "Are you ready there, Morny, my son?" "Yes, my father," replied the lad, and Rodd walked with him to the side. The men were in their places, with their oars ready to hand to lower at once, Joe Cross holding on in front with his boat-hook through a ring-bolt. A few more words passed between the Count and Uncle Paul, and then the former bade his son descend into his place, following slowly directly after. "Good-night," he said. "Good-night, Rodd!" cried Morny. "We shan't be long getting to the brig." "No," cried Rodd. "Good-night! Here, one moment; I'll slip down and come back with the gig." Before any one else could speak he had dropped into the boat, his feet touching the nearest thwart as the skipper cried "Let go!" and almost the next moment the men were pulling hard, while Joe Cross dropped upon his knees to feel for the grapnel so as to make sure it was at hand, while to Rodd it seemed that the boat was motionless in the rapid river and that the schooner had been suddenly snatched away. _ |
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