Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop

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.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

“Where’s your Despatch?”

“It’s all right, sir,” cried Roberts. “Our lads coming.”

“Well done!” said the lieutenant, with a sense of relief running through him. “Can you see who it is?”

“Tom May, sir.”

“Only May? Well, he brings a message, I suppose. – Where’s your despatch, man?” he cried, as the big sailor came within hearing.

“Not got none, sir; on’y a message from Mr Murray, sir;” and the man related his experience.

“A regular fight, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But no one badly hurt?”

“No, sir.”

“Tut, tut, tut! Whatever has Mr Murray been about to go astray like that? I did think I could trust him! And now it is quite open to his being taken, boat and men, by these scoundrels before I can get down to him?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the messenger. “I don’t think they’ll be long afore they come up the river after him.”

“Then how could he be so absurd as to send you, when either of the others would have done? He ought to have kept you.”

“Thought I was a bit crippled, sir,” said the man.

“But you didn’t say you were much hurt.”

“No, sir; no good to holloa, as I see.”

“What to do?” muttered the lieutenant; and his first thought was to fire the building, his second to gather his men together and make a start.

He paused for a few moments to glance round in the full expectation of seeing a movement among the trees or some sign of their being watched; but the place was perfectly quiet and apparently deserted.

“Well, May,” he said, as he caught the man’s eyes fixed questioningly upon him, “what is it?”

“Thought perhaps you might be going to give orders to fire the place, sir.”

“What for, man?” said the lieutenant, starting at the sailor’s similarity of idea.

“Keeping ’em from holding it, sir.”

“We may want to hold it ourselves, and there seems to be a want of fortification.”

The next minute the big seaman was ordered to the front to act as guide, and being thoroughly now in an enemy’s country every needful precaution was taken – precautions which soon seemed to be highly necessary, for the little party had not proceeded far before, as Roberts with a couple of men brought up the rear, he became aware of the fact that they were being followed by what seemed to be a strong body of men stealing after them through the plantation.

A halt was called, and the rear-guard faced round, with the effect that those who followed could be seen to retire amongst the long lines of sugar-canes and maize, which offered plenty of cover.

The lieutenant impatiently gave the order again to advance, and this was followed by halt after halt; but the enemy seemed to be content with keeping just in touch, no attack being made; but it was evident that whoever was answerable for the tactics was pretty keen and ready, and the lieutenant thoroughly realised the precariousness of his position and the need for care if he intended to reach the boat.

“Nothing better can be done, Mr Roberts,” he said. “We must let them see that we are ready for them. It seems to check them every time.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the middy; “but doesn’t it mean that they are waiting till we reach some other party hidden between here and the river, and that as soon as we get close up they’ll make a dash for us?”

“Very likely, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant; “but if it does we must make a dash for them. Anyhow we must not let them think we are afraid.”

“Oh no, sir,” replied the middy excitedly. “But what about me letting my fellows give them a volley to drive them back a little faster?”

“A volley of two, Mr Roberts,” said the lieutenant sarcastically, “and a waste of ammunition that we must husband.”

“Beg pardon, sir; only what I thought,” said the middy.

“Quite right to speak, my lad; but tell me, can you make out what our pursuers are like?”

“Mixed lot, sir. They seem to be sailors and blacks.”

“Humph! Well, we are pretty well surrounded. I don’t like these cowardly-looking tactics, but I must get back to Mr Murray and the boat. We are gaining a knowledge of the country, and when we come again it must be in force. Much farther, May?” said the lieutenant, after pressing on to the front to where the big sailor was trudging steadily on.

“’Bout two hours, sir,” replied the man.

“Two hours? Surely not!”

“Yes, sir; quite that.”

“Are you certain? Surely you have not lost your way?”

“Not this time, sir,” replied the man confidently. “It’s much further than you thought.”

The officer was silent, and always with the signs behind of a party getting ready to close up, the retreat was kept up, till all at once Tom May stopped short, and once more the lieutenant hurried to his side.

“What is it – enemy in front?”

“No, sir. All clear; but that comes from about where the boat lies, sir.”

“Firing?”

The answer came at once in the sound of a distant shot, a faintly heard report which sent a thrill through every man of the party, who needed no incitement to stretch out in a quicker step, one which would have been increased to a trot but for the checking of the officer in command, who kept the sturdy fellows well in hand so that they might come up to their companions with the boat, cool and ready to take action.

But as the pace was increased somewhat, Roberts was made fully aware of the presence of the secretive enemies, who still kept under cover – cover that was fast becoming cane brake and wilderness, as cultivation grew more sparse.

“It means a rush before long,” thought the lad, and he did not fail to utter a few words of warning from time to time as his heart began to beat heavily with excitement, and at the same time he had hard work to control the longing to hurry forward to the help of those who were plainly heard to respond to a steadily-kept-up fire which all felt must come from the enemy.

“We’re getting pretty close now, sir,” said May, in answer to a question from the lieutenant, who was marching by the guide’s side. “Enemy’s got a boat up the river, sir, I’m sartain, and that’s our Mr Murray and the lads keeping ’em in check. Don’t you think it might be double, sir, now?”

“I’d say yes, my man, but we must get in cool and steady.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the big sailor, and he gave a sidelong glance at his officer as he spoke, shifted his musket from his right shoulder to his left, and passed a hand over his streaming face in a way which made Mr Anderson smile.

Another five minutes, during which the fire on both sides was evidently growing hotter, and then with a cheer which was answered from the river, the party of relief dashed forward, and the firing ceased as if by magic, while the lieutenant, as he reached the water’s edge at the head of his men, looked down the slowly gliding water in vain for signs of the enemy, the long curve of the bend to his right being unoccupied, and no trace of a boat in sight.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

Where is the Slaver’s Lugger?

“Murray!” came from the Seafowl’s boat, as Murray gave orders for the men to let it float down from beneath the trees where he had kept it moored with his men, partly screened by the overhanging boughs, while lying down in the bottom firing from behind the bulwark.

“Thankye, sir,” cried the lad excitedly. “We have been longing for you.”

“But the enemy, my lad?”

“Place four men behind the trees there, sir, ready to fire. You’ll see their boat come stealing out from round the bend, sir, directly. We have driven them back for the moment.”

“A boat attacking from below?”

“Yes, sir; a lugger, full of men. We were quiet for some time;” and the lad hurriedly explained to his chief how that the enemy must have cleared away the tree-trunk with which the river had been dammed, and brought up a boat, from which for quite an hour they had been firing, after making one fierce attack, and being met with a steady fire which drove them back.

“Bravo! Well done, my lad!” said the lieutenant warmly.

“But it was quite time you came, sir. We couldn’t have held out much longer.”

“Nonsense!” said the lieutenant, laughing encouragement. “You would never have given up. Why, you had plenty of water.”

“Yes, sir,” said Murray, with a grim smile; “but the cartridges had nearly run out.”

“Ours have not, Murray,” said the lieutenant, for the men whom he had posted according to the middy’s advice just then opened fire upon a boat, which looked at the first glance uncommonly like the dismasted lugger which had been seen lying in the mouth of the little river when the Seafowl first entered the river.

A shot or two came in reply from the enemy before the lugger drew back round the bend, to be followed by the cutter, which came in sight of the enemy at last in time to see that the lugger’s masts had been stepped and her sails hoisted, to be filled out by the breeze, which sent the boat rapidly gliding down stream.

The men looked sharply at their commander, as if fully expecting to receive orders to row with all their might; and Mr Anderson noticed it, for he turned to the two middies, and by way of answering the silent question —

“No,” he said; “we’re all fagged as it is, and no pulling on our part will bring us alongside of a boat that can sail like that. Pull steadily, my lads, and let the stream do the rest. The chances are that the captain has sent a boat up the river to look after us, and that we shall catch the lugger between two fires, if Mr Munday has not been first.”

A good lookout was kept as the cutter dropped down the stream, and at every bend the men were ready to fire, but they searched with eager eyes in vain, and a general feeling of disappointment had attacked the hungry and exhausted party, while the lieutenant’s countenance was over-clouded by a stern look which betokened the bent of his thoughts in connection with the coming meeting with his chief, when a glimpse was seen through the trees at a sharp curve which sent a thrill of excitement through the boat and made Murray spring to his feet.

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant.

“The lugger, I think, sir,” whispered the middy. “I just caught sight of one of her masts.”

“Hist! Silence!” said the lieutenant. “Dip as quietly as you can, my lads. Two of you there, Titely and Lang, be ready to fire, and drop the steersman if they don’t lower their sails.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” came back, in a whisper, followed by the clicking of musket locks, and the oars dipped into the water with scarcely a sound.

“I can’t make her out, Mr Murray,” whispered the lieutenant. “Are you sure that you were not deceived?”

“Certain, sir,” was the reply.

“I saw her too, sir,” put in Roberts, “but the trees were very thick and there’s a big bend there.”