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Sail Ho! A Boy at Sea, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15 |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. "Well!" said the captain grimly. "Did you bring down your gaol-bird, sir?" "No," replied Mr Denning, as he drew back and began to reload. "I could not see any one, only that a bag of powder was being thrust along the deck with a hand-spike, and I fired at where I thought a man might be." "And hit him, seemingly," said Mr Frewen. "Now then, we must down with some of these trunks." They were seized directly, and pulled away, so that had we liked we could have opened the door widely; and Mr Denning now took up his position here, while Mr Frewen and Mr Preddle stood ready each with their guns, which had not yet been discharged, while I and Mr Brymer were in charge of the two buckets of water. There was now plenty of room for any one to look round the edge of the door and make an observation; and though our position was a good deal weakened, this was to some extent counterbalanced by the chests and trunks being built across as a breastwork, behind which the guns were stationed, Mr Brymer and I being between the breastwork and the door. "Now, Dale, look out and see how matters stand," said the captain. I peered cautiously round, and saw that the deck was blackened with moist powder, and that two powder-bags lay in patches of wet, while all round was rapidly drying up. There were the mutineers, standing in a group, every man armed, though some only bad knives and hatchets. By their side, as if in command, stood Walters, with two pistols in his belt, looking like a pirate in a penny picture; and they were all staring at the cabin-door; but I looked in vain for the leader of the mutiny. I drew back and reported what I could see, and Mr Frewen whispered-- "Could you reach the powder-bags with a walking-stick? I mean one with a hook." "No; but I could easily run out and pick them up." "No; never mind," said the captain; "the water would run up through them like in salt or sugar. There's no danger from them. Look out again." I peered out, and felt quite ready to laugh in spite of our perilous condition, for I could not help thinking what a conceited fool Walters looked. He seemed to me like a big school-boy playing at being a buccaneer; and the feeling was strong upon me that I should like to go out and punch his head till it was soft enough for some common-sense to get in. Then the reality, the stern, horrible reality, of all that was before me came with terrible force; for as I scanned the rapidly drying deck, all strewed and splotched with trampled wet powder, I saw one great patch that did not seem to dry up at all, and the next moment I grasped what it was, and shuddered, for it was blood. And then I felt that in spite of the absurdity of the appearance of Walters and some of the men, we poor creatures, shut up there in that saloon-cabin, with ladies depending upon us for protection, were face to face with death; for when weak, thoughtless men were once committed to an enterprise and led away, there would be no bounds to the excesses they might commit. Strong thoughts, terrible thoughts these, but the weapons, the powder, and the blood showed me that there was no exaggeration. A cold shudder passed through me as I stood there watching, and ready to report the next movement on the part of our enemies. My eyes felt a little dim, too, as I looked round vainly in search of Jarette, who must be, I was sure, planning some means of getting us all into his power. The door was only opened widely enough for me to look along the deck where the men were watching the door; and I was just thinking that if we all made a bold dash at them, armed as we were with right upon our side, there was no reason why we should not scatter them; and once scattered and Jarette mastered, the rest would, I knew, be easy enough. "And we shall have to do it," I thought. "I can't do much, but I could and I would lick Walters." My fingers itched to get at him as I thought all this, and the blood flushed up into my temples. "A mean, contemptible coward!" I muttered, as I gazed at him. "Yes, you may stand there as cocky as you like with your pistols, but they don't frighten me. You daren't fire them, and you showed what a coward you were when you were told to lay the powder here and--Hallo!" The current of my thoughts was changed on the instant as something came down very softly from above--something soft and grey-looking hanging from a string. There was not a sound, but I grasped directly what it meant. Some one had gone softly up on to the poop-deck, and was standing just over my head, letting down this something by a string, so that it should lie gently close up to the door. I could not look right up and see, but I knew as well as could be that it was Jarette there leaning over the rail; and as I watched, the bag-- for bag it certainly was--came lower and lower till it nearly touched the deck-planks, when it was swung gently to and fro till it would just touch the door. Then the string was dropped; and it had all been so well managed that the bag, with perhaps ten pounds of powder within, leaned close up. "The cunning wretch," I thought to myself, and I was so interested in the plan that I could not withdraw my eyes from the slit, but stood watching to see what would come next. I was not kept waiting many moments before there was a thick black shower of dust scattered down from above, and I knew that Jarette must be throwing down powder, so as to form a train. And this he did cleverly enough, so that the deck was thick with powder, close up to the bag, and then the train grew thinner, and I felt that he would have to come down on the lower deck to finish his task. Almost as I thought this, I saw a shadow, just the head and shoulders of a man, cast by the sun upon the deck, and I knew that our enemy was going to descend by the starboard ladder, and pass round to where he could scatter his powder. And now for a moment I drew back, and whispered to Mr Frewen. "Let me have the walking-stick now." "Right, my lad. Get yours, Mr Preddle, with the big hook." I heard a rustling behind me, and hurried back to watch, getting my eye on the deck in time to see a cloud of dust thrown toward the cabin-door, just as a farmer's man might be sowing some kind of seed broadcast. And all the while, though the firing of that bag of powder would mean destruction, possibly death to some of us, I did not--mind, I who write you this am not boasting, but setting down the simple facts--I did not, I repeat, feel in the slightest decree alarmed, but so full of confidence, that it was like participating in some capital trick which was to result in confusion to a scoundrel. The dust was thrown still, and I could see something very curious now, for as Jarette suddenly came into sight, I saw the mutineers, led by Walters, all draw back to some distance farther, while Jarette said something to him, I don't know what, but I think it was insulting, and laughed. Just as he had turned his head, Mr Preddle's soft, smooth voice said-- "Here is the stick," and without turning my head, I reached back my hand, took it, and passed out the great hook. It was ash, I remember, and of a light brown. It was none too soon, for all at once right along the deck I saw a flash, then a white puff of smoke as Jarette knelt down, lit a match, and held it to the dust upon the deck. Above the smoke in one glance I saw Walters slinking back behind the main-mast, and then the white vapour shut off everything, so that I reached out unseen, hooked the powder-bag, and after two or three tries drew it in, and shut the door close. "What is it?" cried Mr Frewen, excitedly; "are they coming?" There was no time to answer. I leaped over the breastwork with the powder-bag in my hand, meaning to run to the stern-window and throw it out, but I thought it might be useful, and I rushed into Mr Preddle's room to stand holding it behind me as there came a loud hiss and rush, and the saloon began to fill with smoke. As soon as the danger was over I went out, leaving the powder upon Mr Preddle's cot, and told them why I had rushed by. "Oh, come, that's better," said the captain; "we thought you were showing the white feather, boy. So you hooked the powder-bag?" "Yes, there it is," I said. "Ah, well, this is no time for praise," said the captain. "You did your duty well, my lad. Yes, it would have been a pity to have thrown the stuff overboard, we might have wanted it to send back with our compliments, eh? Leaden ones. What is it, Brymer?" "Hist! Jarette is outside, looking astonished that the powder has not done any damage." "And he'll be trying it again," said Mr Frewen, who, after a few words with the captain, took his gun, placed a chair on the saloon-table, and then mounted upon it, thus bringing his head well up in the sky-light and above the level of the deck, so that he could watch Jarette's motions if he attempted the same plan. In addition, after glancing astern to see whether he was out of the steersman's sight, he wrenched open the window a little more, pushed out the barrel of his gun, and stood there waiting. He was not kept long before he saw the man come on deck bearing a heavier bag of powder, and he was in the act of sitting down in one of the cane seats near the rail to tie on a piece of string, when, with all the caution of some wild bird, he looked sharply round for danger. In an instant he had caught sight of the barrel of the gun thrust through the window, and making a bound he reached the ladder, and swung himself down upon the main-deck, where he stood with the powder-bag in his hand, as if hesitating as to what he should do. The men were watching him, and he knew it. They must have noticed his ignoble retreat, and here was the way to redeem his character. This he did by coming straight to the cabin-door, and depositing the bag there, opening it, and throwing out several handfuls of powder to help form the train; but just at that moment the door was snatched open, and a gun thrust out so suddenly that it struck the mutinous leader on the side, and he leaped back, lost his balance, and fell heavily upon his back, while a roar of laughter arose from his followers. Jarette leaped up with a cry of rage, snatched a pistol from his belt, and bravely enough dashed at the door; but as he nearly reached it, there was the sharp report of a gun, and almost simultaneously there was a burst of flame from the deck, a heavy rushing sound,--and the mutineer disappeared in a dense white cloud of smoke, out of which he staggered back to his followers, panting, startled, but, with the exception of a little singeing, unhurt. _ |
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