Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop
The high narrow window was, however, once more pretty securely blocked, and for many hours to come the defenders of the place had their work cut out to repel the attacks that were made, the two blacks proving invaluable in keeping up a supply of water to drench the woodwork that the enemy attacked with fire, so that pretty well a day had glided by without much change having taken place.
It was evident that the slaving chief had a strong force at his disposal in carrying on a desultory kind of siege of the plantation house, while at the same time it seemed to the besieged that a sort of running fight was being carried on with the Seafowl, whose guns were heard pretty constantly, though during the afternoon that followed Murray’s arrival at the plantation it seemed that the brig must have followed the slaving craft to the opposite side of the island, where firing was still going on.
During a lull in the attack upon the planter’s house, Lieutenant Anderson busily inspected his defences, and, like a prudent officer, saw to his supplies and examined as to whether he could not take further measures for their protection and the setting at defiance of the enemy for some time to come.
“He ought to have driven us out or taken us prisoners hours ago, Mr Murray,” he said, “for he has five times our force.”
“Yes, sir; he seems to have,” replied Murray.
“And yet we have managed to keep him at bay. He has the advantage of being able to set scores of blacks to work fetching fuel to try and burn us out, bringing up provisions, doing everything but fight – they are of no use for that – while we have only two of the dark-skinned fellows; but I must say those two have proved to be invaluable.”
“Yes, sir. That man, Caesar – we have him to thank for showing us how to utilise the water-tanks.”
“Yes, and the underground supplies,” said the lieutenant.
“And the whereabouts of the warehouses; otherwise we should have been starved out.”
“Yes, Mr Murray; we have been pretty fortunate, and I think we should have been able to hold out if it were not for one thing.”
“Should have been, sir?”
“Yes, of course, my lad. You see, I should have contented myself with having remained standing upon the defensive until the captain came to our help, though I should strongly have advocated a sally and the cutting of the way to the sloop so as to receive the help of the doctor for poor Mr Roberts – Eh? What were you going to observe?”
“That I venture to think that it would be the wisest plan in any case, sir.”
“No, not in any case, Mr Murray. You see, our position is a very serious one.”
“I don’t think the men think so, sir.”
“Eh? Do you think that they take a rosy view of it?”
“I’m sure they do, sir.”
“Humph! Well, I mustn’t damp them till the last extremity.”
“But surely, sir – ” began Murray.
“I surely see that you do not know what I know, Mr Murray.”
“I suppose not, sir,” said the lad.
“But I do not see why you as a youth growing into manhood, and who are sharing with me the responsibilities of this position, should not know everything.”
“I think I do know everything, sir,” said Murray, smiling, “and see fully how precarious our position is.”
“Indeed, Mr Murray?” said the lieutenant sadly.
“Yes, sir; I think I see all, and it makes me feel very proud to know how brave and contented the men are, poor fellows! If I were in command, sir, I should be delighted to see the confidence the men have in their leader.”
“Hah! Yes, my dear boy,” said the lieutenant, smiling more sadly than before. “Well, I think that perhaps I shall tell you all.”
“All, sir? Is there a graver peril than I know of?”
“Yes, my lad, and I think that you ought to know – that is, if you would rather share my knowledge than remain in ignorance.”
“I would rather share the knowledge, sir, and try to help you,” said the lad firmly.
“Good! Then you shall; Mr Murray, we have a strong little fort here, and provisions enough to last us a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But we shall be driven to cut our way somehow to the sloop.”
“Why not attack one of the schooners, sir – board her – for there are evidently more than one.”
“Because we want the sinews of war, Mr Murray.”
“Money, sir?” cried Murray.
“Tchah! Nonsense! Powder, my boy – powder.”
“Why, sir, I thought – ” began Murray.
“So did I, my lad; but unfortunately those blacks in supplying us with water to saturate that last fire – ”
“Threw it over the powder-supply, sir!” cried Murray, in horror.
“Yes, my lad; that is our position, and we have only a few charges left.”
“Hah! Well, sir,” said Murray drawing a deep breath, “then we must use the edges of our cutlasses.”
“Good!” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad upon the shoulder. “I am glad I told you, Mr Murray, for it has taught me that I have a brave lad upon whom I can depend. Yes, my lad, we have edges to our cutlasses, and when it comes to the last we must use them too.”
Chapter Forty Nine.
“Caesar don’t know.”
It was a little later on that, during a quiet interval and while in obedience to his officer Murray had been seeing to the men and taking care they were well refreshed ready for the next attack that might be delivered, the lieutenant joined the lad.
“Are the men satisfied?” he said quietly.
“Yes, sir; any one would think that we were out upon an excursion.”
“Poor lads!” said the lieutenant. “I’m afraid it is going to be a sad excursion for them.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir,” said Murray cheerily. “Who knows, sir, but what the captain may come and cut us out at any time, and call upon us to help him rout out the horrible wasps’ nest?”
“That’s a good, bright, boyish way of looking upon things, my boy,” said the lieutenant, “and we shall see. There, come and let’s look at our wounded ones. Have you had a chat with your messmate lately?”
“I’ve been to see him three times to-day, but he is very weak yet. You have been with him too, sir. He told me. I wish you would speak to Titely, sir. He wants to get up and fight, and he is not fit.”
“I’ve already forbidden it, Mr Murray,” said the lieutenant; “and the poor fellow looked quite cut up, so I promised him a double allowance as soon as he got well enough.”
The lieutenant was silent for a few minutes, and stood as if listening so intently that Murray grew uneasy.
“Do you hear anything, sir?” he asked.
“No, my lad; I wish I could. I am getting anxious.”
“The men are keeping a very sharp lookout, sir.”
“Oh yes; I am not afraid of that, my lad. My anxiety is for the Seafowl. It is so long since I have heard her guns, and then they were apparently a long distance away.”
“Yes, sir,” said Murray cheerfully; “but then it is a long while since we heard the slaver’s guns, and that seems to mean that the captain has silenced and perhaps – ”
“Perhaps what, Mr Murray?”
“I was going to say sunk the schooner, sir; but I hope he has not done that, for the men’s sake.”
“What, on account of prize money?” replied the lieutenant. “Oh, by the way, Mr Murray, I suppose you still believe in that black fellow, Caesar?”
“Oh yes, sir, thoroughly. I’m sure he saved my life.”
“Humph! Well, I want to have faith in him, but it is hard work to trust in people sometimes. Then I get thinking a great deal about that Mr Allen. I suppose he is sincere.”
“Oh, I feel sure he is, sir. The thorough reverence the black Caesar has for him is sufficient to prove that his master is good to his people.”
“Well, after the ill these slave-owners have done the poor creatures they owe them something in the way of recompense. Humph! How strange! We begin talking of the black, and here he is. He wants to speak to you, seemingly. Call him up.”
Caesar had come peering in at one of the doors, and as soon as Murray signed to him he hurried eagerly into the room, when the lieutenant looked at him searchingly and said —
“What about your master, my man? Where do you think he is now?”
Caesar started violently, and his lips quivered as he said huskily —
“Caesar don’t know, sah. Berry much frighten.”
“What, about the slavers and their schooners?”
“No, massa. Caesar ’fraid Massa Huggin take um and kill um.”
“What for? Why should he kill one who is his master?”
“Bad man, massa. ’Fraid Massa Allen talk to Bri’sh cap’en and set all a black free. ’Fraid Massa Huggin kill um.”
“Not so bad as that, I hope,” said the lieutenant.
“Caesar berry much ’fraid Massa Allen no let Caesar kill Massa Huggin.”
“I should think not!” said the lieutenant; and Caesar looked at him curiously.
“Massa Huggin bad man, sah. Caesar kill, sua. Him take away and kill um. Caesar t’ink so first time. T’ink so now.”
“Where would he take them?”
“Caesar know, sah. Show Bri’sh officer where. Oder side island where slabe barracks and slabe ship come.”
“You could take us there, my man?” said the lieutenant.
“Yes, massa. Caesar show way when Bri’sh cap’en come wif plenty men. Not ’nough now. All get kill. Show Bri’sh officer all um slabes. All Massa Huggin strong men, berry strong men.”
“Good. You shall, my man,” said the lieutenant; “and as you say this Huggins’s men are so strong we will wait for reinforcements, so as to make sure of taking them.”
“Massa try,” said the black. “Try sabe Massa Allen. Try quick.”
“But what are you fidgeting about?” said Murray sharply.
“Caesar t’ink Massa Huggin man come and fight soon.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Murray.
“Caesar don’t know, massa. Caesar feel Massa Huggin man come soon. Look, massa. Big Tom May come ’long.”
The black turned excitedly to point in the direction of the head of the open staircase, where the big sailor had suddenly appeared.
“Rocks ahead, sir,” he said, in a low gruff whisper.
“Something wrong to report, my lad?”
“Ay, ay, sir. They arn’t come out yet, but three lookouts report seeing the enemy just inside the edge of the plantation, sir.”
“Off with you then, Mr Murray,” cried the lieutenant, “and take your old station. Use your ammunition carefully,” he added, with a meaning intonation and a peculiar look which made the lad nod his head quickly. “Keep the sharpest lookout for fire. They must not get hold of us there.”
Murray hurried off with Tom May, followed by the black, and before many minutes had elapsed the expected attack had developed so rapidly, and was delivered with such energy, that but for the brave resistance, the enemy must have carried all before them. As it was the little party of defenders met them with so fierce a fire that the savage-looking mongrel crew were sent staggering back, followed by the triumphant cheers of the Seafowls, who were still cheering when Mr Anderson made a gesture and called for silence.
“Up on to the head of the staircase, my lads,” he cried. “We must make our stand there.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” growled Tom May, with the look of an angry lion, “but will you have some cartridges sarved out, for me and my messmates have fired our last.”
“Yes, my lads,” said the lieutenant, “that is a bitter fact. We have fired our last shots, and we must fall back now upon our cutlasses.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the big fellow coolly. “D’yer hear, my lads? Cutlashes it is.”
And at that crucial moment, as Murray ran his eyes along the faces of the men, there was no sign of dismay – just the cheery, contented look of Seaman Jack Tar ready for the worst, and the deep threatening tones of the beaten-back enemy were pretty well deadened by a hearty cheer.
But an hour later, the enemy were back in stronger force, to be driven off once more, but at a terrible expenditure of force, for as Murray and Tom May came back from the sheltered room where they had laid their gallant leader, badly wounded, by the side of Roberts, it was to find the members of their sadly diminished force sitting wearily together discussing another loss which Harry Lang unwillingly communicated to the young officer.
“But have you looked round well? Perhaps he’s lying somewhere among the trees.”
“Oh yes, sir, we’ve looked, and he arn’t there. We’ve been talking it over, sir, and we all think the same: he’s had enough of it, sir, and gone.”
“Who has?” said Tom May gruffly.
“That there nigger, Caesar, Tom.”
“Dunnot believe it,” said Tom May fiercely, for he was very sore.
“Well, messmate,” said Harry Lang, “he arn’t here.”
Chapter Fifty.
Caesar finds the Key
It was at the end of a desperate struggle, during which the brave little party of sailors had again and again driven their assailants back and repaired the defences of the two windows they held by dragging fresh pieces of furniture to their breastwork from other rooms, and they had now thrown themselves down, panting and exhausted, so as to recover what strength they could before another attack was made.
Nothing could have been better done, but as Tom May said, they wanted time.
“’Tain’t wittles and drink, Mr Murray, sir,” he said. “There’s been plenty o’ that, sir. I think we’ve all had too much. What we want is, as I says afore, time, sir, for it all to turn into strength.”
“Yes, Tom,” said the middy bitterly; “we are all completely exhausted – that is to say, you and all our brave fellows are.”
“Well, arn’t you too, sir? Seems to me as you’re much more zausted than we lads is.”
“Oh, don’t talk about me, Tom. I’m as weak as a child now.”
“Nat’rally, sir. Your muscles is done up, and what you ought to do now is to see if you can’t hit on some dodge.”
“Tom,” cried Murray despairingly, “I’ve tried to hit on some plan till my brains refuse to act.”
“Yes, sir; nat’rally, sir; but can’t yer hit on something in the blowing-up-of-the-beggars line?”
“Tom!” cried the lad passionately. “How can I scheme an explosion and blow the wretches up without powder?”
“Zackly so, sir; that’s what I’ve been thinking. You can’t, can yer?”
“No, Tom.”
“Couldn’t make a big pot or kettle so hot that when they come along next time it would bust, could you, sir?”
“No, Tom, I certainly could not,” said the middy decisively.
“Course not, sir,” growled the man, frowning.
“We’re beaten, Tom; we’re absolutely beaten,” said Murray bitterly; “and the next time the wretches come on it will be the last.”
“Oh, I dunno, sir. Never say die! Don’t you be downhearted, sir. There’s a deal o’ fight in us yet, as you’ll see nex’ time the beggars makes a roosh.”
“No, Tom; we’re getting weaker and weaker.”
“Yah! I wonder at you, sir,” said the sailor, moistening his hand, taking a good grip of his cutlass, and then laying it down again. “We’re getting a bit longer rest this time, and jest as like as not, sir, they’ll begin to tire soon.”
“No, Tom; they fight with a desperate energy which is too much for us.”
“Well, they do go it, sir, I must say. You see, it makes a deal o’ differ when a man’s got a noose round his neck. They knows that if they don’t get the best of us they’ll be strung up to the yard-arm, and it sets ’em thinking that they may as well fight it out as that. But there, we’re not licked yet, sir, though I must say as it was a nasty knock for us when the first luff went down, knocked silly as he was by that swivel-eyed Molatter chap – ’bout as ugly a ruffian as ever I did see. Then, too, it was a bit o’ hard luck for us when that darkie chap got rooshed off in the muddle. He would ha’ been useful to fetch powder and help load.”
“When there was no powder, Tom?” said the lad bitterly.
“Yes, sir; I meant if there had been any, o’ course. Poor chap, he couldn’t help being a black un, could he, sir? I’ve thought over and over again that if he could ha’ grown white and talked like a Christian, sir, he’d ha’ made quite a man.”
“Lie still, Tom,” cried Murray, laying a hand upon the big sailor’s arm.
“Thought they was coming on agen, sir?”
“No, no! I’ll rouse you up the moment I hear them advancing. Rest all you can.”
“Thankye, sir,” said the man drowsily. “But you won’t go to sleep, sir? You must be dead tired yourself, sir, and it’s so dark it may tempt yer, sir.”
“You may trust me, Tom.”
“Course I may, sir. But I think if I was you I’d give the first luff another drink o’ water, sir.”
“I did a short time ago, Tom.”
“And I been thinking, sir, that if you could tie three or four sheets together and slide down ’em you might get hold o’ that ladder they put up again’ the window to swarm up.”
“I did, Tom, when you told me the last time.”
“Course you did, sir, and I forgot,” said the man drowsily. “But what’s that there?”
“What?” asked Murray, as he sat listening in the darkness, with his exhausted comrades lying about beside the barricaded window.
“That there,” whispered the man, pointing through the gloom over where a dark line was formed by a piece of furniture.
Murray made a snatch at the sailor’s cutlass, took a firm grip of the hilt, and then creeping cautiously over two of the recumbent sailors, made for the opening, now quite satisfied that May’s eyes even now had been sharper than his own, and that one of the enemy was stealing up by means of some bamboo pole or ladder, to guide his companions into the bravely defended room.
Murray rose slowly, threw back the heavy sharp blade till the hilt rested against his left ear, and gathering into the effort all his force he was about to deliver his cut upon the unguarded enemy’s head, when there was a quick whisper:
“Massa Murray no hit. Take hold ’fore Caesar tumble down.”
The middy loosened his hold of the cutlass just in time, and catching hold of the black’s hand with both his own, dragged him over the barricade right into the room.
“Hullo, darkie,” whispered Tom May; “it is you, is it?”
“Yes, Massa Big Tom,” replied the black feebly, and as if speaking in weakness and in pain.
“Thought you’d come back to your friends again. Didn’t bring in any more powder, did you?”
“No, Massa Tom,” replied the poor fellow faintly. “Caesar nearly get kill. T’ink nebber see poor Massa Allen again. Couldn’t find um.”
“Did you, blackie? Well, we all began to think something of that kind.”
“Massa Murray Frank and all Bri’sh sailor come ’long o’ Caesar. T’ink take um where Massa Allen must be.”
“No, my man,” said the middy sadly. “I can’t leave my friends here. We must hold this place to the last.”
The black sank back on the littered floor and groaned.
“Poor Massa Allen!” he said.
“Lookye here, darkie,” said the big sailor; “tain’t no use to howl. What do you say to getting a good bunch of palm leaves and waiting till these slaver beggars come again, and then setting fire to the place and burning them all up together?”
“Yes, sah,” said the black sadly. “Caesar go and set fire to sugar-barrel; all burn up.”
“Bah! Take too long, darkie. Now, if you’d got a barrel o’ powder!”
“Big Massa Tom want barrel o’ powder?”
“Do I want a barrel of powder?” growled the big sailor, in a deep-toned voice full of contempt and scorn.
“Not big barrel sugar,” said the black sadly; “lilly barrel black powder, all black like niggah.”
“Here, what are you talking about, you old pitch kettle?” cried the sailor, full of animation now. “You don’t know where there’s a lilly barrel, do you?”
“Yes,” said the man quietly.
“Not a lilly white barrel?”
“No, sah; lilly black barrel. Two – ten – twenty lilly barrel.”
“What!” cried Murray excitedly. “Where is it?”
“Down’tair,” said the black, speaking with more animation now. “Massa Murray Frank wantum?”
“Yes, of course,” cried the lad. “Where do you say it is? Down-stairs?”
“Yes, massa. Down’tair long wi’ Massa Allen bottle of wine. Plenty bottle o’ wine. Two, ten, twenty lilly barrel black powder.”
“Avast there, my lads,” said the big sailor, in a deep, low whisper. “Rouse and bit, my chickens. Here’s corn in Egypt and no mistake.” And then, as the men sprang up ready to meet another attack, even if it might be the last, Tom May turned to Murray. “Beg pardon, sir, but what’s it to be?”
“Get a barrel of powder up directly, Tom,” replied the lad; “that is, if it doesn’t turn out too good to be true. You serve it out to the lads, too, and be ready to give the enemy a surprise when they come on again.”
“Beg pardon, sir, but hadn’t we better make it a mine, sir? Clap a couple o’ barrels just in their way. Lay a train, and one on us be ready to fire it just as they’re scrowging together under the window.”
“Yes, far better, Tom; far better than blazing at the wretches with the muskets. Here, Caesar, show us where the powder is. Is it locked up?”
“Yes, massa; down’tair. Caesar know where key.”
The feeling that he was going to be of some great assistance to those who were the friends of his master seemed to rouse up the black, who staggered at first as he rose, and then seemed to grow stronger as he led the way towards the door, caught at the balustrade, and before he could be seized fell and rolled heavily down the stairs, to lie groaning feebly at the bottom.
“Look at that now!” cried the big sailor, as he helped Murray to raise the poor fellow to his feet. “Why didn’t you speak out about the gunpowder before?”
“Caesar not know,” moaned the shivering black. “Key dah,” he panted. “Key dah.”
“Key dah!” growled the big sailor. “Who’s to know where dah is? Can’t you show us? I believe we shall have the beggars here before we can find it, sir.”
But the black began to recover a little and ended by leading the way in the darkness to a closet in the principal down-stairs room, leaving it open, and then, armed with a key and hurrying his companions back, he opened a door in the wide hall, and holding on by the big sailor, showed the way down into the cellar of the well-vaulted house.
The rest proved to be easy, though every step was taken under a state of intense excitement, while the wounded and worn-out sailors forgot every suffering, inspired as they now were by hope.
At last, armed with a couple of fair-sized kegs of powder, held in reserve in case of troubles with the large body of slaves that were always about the plantation and at the so-called barracks, the plan of laying a mine and firing it when next the enemy made an attack was modified at Murray’s suggestion into the preparing of some half-dozen shells, each composed of an ordinary wine bottle or decanter fully charged and rammed down with an easily prepared slow match such as would occur to any lad to contrive ready for lighting from a candle held prepared in the upper chamber, risk being a matter that was quite left out of the question.
“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, as the shells were at last prepared. “Now they may come on as soon as they like. This must be the best plan, Tom – to wait till they begin to attack, and fire from here.”
“Well, it’s the safest, sir; but mightn’t we load every piece we’ve got and give ’em a taste of that wittles as well, sir?”
“Of course,” was the reply; and every piece was loaded; but still the enemy did not come.
“I say, sir, this here arn’t going to end in a big disappyntment, is it, sir?”
“What, do you think they mayn’t come?”
“Yes, sir, that’s it.”
“What could be better, Tom?” replied Murray.
“Oh, I want ’em to come, sir,” grumbled the man. “They’ve made us so savage that we shan’t none of us be happy without we gets a chance to use this here dust.”
“They’ll come; depend upon it, Tom,” said Murray.
“Then how would it be to light a fire out yonder, sir?” suggested the big sailor.
“What, so as to see the enemy?”
“Nay, sir; we shall manage that, and when the shells busts, sir, they’ll light it up a bit; but what I meant was, sir, to start a pretty good fire just at a fair distance in front of the window, sir, just handy for some of us to make up good big charges of powder tied up in the sleeves of our shirts, sir, handy and light ready to heave into the hot parts where the fire’s burning. They’re pretty tough, them slavers, but a few of them charges set off among ’em would be more than they’d care to face. We’ve got plenty o’ powder, sir, to keep it on till to-morrow; so what do you say?”
“I say, certainly, Tom,” replied Murray; “and on thinking again of what we had first planned, I say that we will lay a train from the door under this window to a mine consisting of one of the barrels just hidden.”
