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

Chapter Fifty One.

Laying the Train

The dangerous preparations were soon made, and Tom May’s and his comrades’ hands were plainly seen trembling as they handled their kegs.

“Look at that now, sir,” said the big sailor. “Did you ever see such a set o’ cowards in your life?”

“Cowards, Tom? Never,” said Murray, who was all of a quiver too.

“More did I, sir. I wouldn’t ha’ believed I could ha’ been in such a shiver and shake. I supposed it’d be for fear we shouldn’t be ready for the warmint; but it don’t look like it, do it?”

“Yes, Tom, for your hands are steady enough now you’ve done.”

“Well, I hope so, sir,” said the man, “because it seems such a bad example to the lads, and they’ve all ketched it. Hullo, darkie! What, are you shaking too?”

“Yes, Massa Tom,” replied the black, with his teeth chattering. “Caesar drefful frighten we no get the gunpowder go off when Massa Huggin man come. You let Caesar take lilly barrel now and light um, massa.”

“Why, here’s another awfully cowardly chap, Mr Murray, sir. It’s a rum un, arn’t it?”

“You make has’e, Massa Tom May; not talkee so much palaver,” cried the trembling black, seizing hold of one of the barrels and hoisting it upon his shoulder. “You bring candle; set light.”

“No, no, Caesar,” cried Murray. “Not ready yet. Wait.”

The man parted with the little keg unwillingly, and stood with his hand to his ear straining his neck out of the window, and listened.

“Massa Huggin man come along,” he panted.

“Well, we’re ready for them, my coal-dust messmate.”

“Hush!” whispered Murray. “Who’s that calling?” For a voice reached them from the next room.

“It’s Mr Roberts, sir. Ahoy, there! Coming, sir.”

Murray ran through the opening to where the middy was lying trying to make himself heard.

“Were you calling, Dick?” said Murray, his voice still trembling with excitement.

“Calling? Yes! Shouting till I was hoarse. I could hear. You’ve got powder now. Bring some here, and the fellows’ muskets. I can load if I can’t do anything else.”

“Yes, bring powder,” said another voice, one, however, that sounded very weak and faint. “I think I can reload, too, for the lads.”

“No, no, Mr Anderson,” cried Murray excitedly; “leave it all to us, sir. The enemy are coming on again, and there is no time to make fresh preparations.”

“Ahoy, there, Mr Murray! Now’s your time!”

“Off with you, my lad, and Heaven help you!” groaned the lieutenant. “Roberts, we must bear our lot, and be satisfied with our defenders.”

Murray was already through the door which separated the two rooms, to find the men waiting, as ready and eager as if not one amongst them had been wounded.

“Are they very near?” asked Murray excitedly.

“Quite nigh enough, sir,” growled the man who was hugging one keg, another able-seaman holding another, while the black grasped a couple of the extemporised shells.

“No, no, Caesar,” said Murray sharply. “Put those down here; they are for throwing. You lead the way out through the lower door along the path the enemy will come.”

“Yes sah. You come too?” cried the black.

“Yes; quick! Off with you!”

The man hurried down the staircase, followed by the two sailors, whose comrades had received their orders to stand fast at the upper window to cover the engineering party. The door was thrown open, and Murray led the way out into the darkness, Caesar holding his hand tightly.

“Too late!” said the lad hoarsely; and he drew back.

“No, no, sah; plenty time,” whispered the black. “Come ’long.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” growled Tom May. “Sharp’s the word.”

“But we shall be running into their arms, my lad, and lose the powder.”

“Not us, sir. They can’t see us coming, and we mustn’t let ’em hear us.”

“Forward, then,” whispered Murray. “What! there, Caesar?” he continued, for the black had run forward a few steps and then stopped short in a dark alley leading towards the side of the plantation and the quarters of the black servants.

“Yes, massa. Huggins man mus’ come ’long here.”

There was no time for consideration, for the enemy was evidently approaching cautiously, and before any further order could be given Tom May had plumped down the keg he carried, and his companion was about to follow suit with the other, but Murray checked him.

“No, no,” he whispered; “one first. Is the top quite open, Tom?”

“Open it is, sir,” was the reply.

“Now then, my lad, take the other keg and lay the train. Sprinkle it thickly, walking backward right away along the path here to the door.”

“Right it is, sir,” growled the big sailor. “No, no, messmate; you keep hold o’ the barrel and walk alongside. I’ll ladle it out. Mind, all on you, not to tread in the dust. D’yer hear, darkie? Keep back, I tell you; too many cooks ’ll spoil the broth.”

It was rough work, and clumsily executed, but somehow or other, and in spite of the near approach of the enemy, who seemed to be aware of their proximity, the train was effectively laid, and the engineers regained the doorway, just in front of which the train was made to end.

“Now for the candle, Tom,” whispered Murray. “Here, you, Caesar, where are you going?”

There was no reply, for the black had dashed in and run up the staircase, to seize the light from the upper room where the covering party were standing ready to fire from the window.

It was a risky proceeding, and Murray stood below in the doorway looking on, but afraid to speak for fear of doing more harm than good, as he saw the faithful black steal rapidly down the stairs, his black fingers enclosing the burning candle like an open lanthorn which threw its glowing fluttering flame upwards over the black weird-looking face with its glistening eyes and white teeth. Every moment the flame threatened to be extinct, but it fluttered and recovered itself as the black tottered down into the hall and then stepped quickly past Murray in the effort to shelter the candle behind the door.

“Dah, massa,” he panted. “Now say when Caesar set fire to de powder.”

“No, my man,” panted Murray. “I must fire the powder myself. You tell me when.”

“Caesar say when, massa?”

“Yes, and I will fire the train. Now then, you stand close behind me when I step out. You, Tom, stand behind the door, and as soon as I have fired the train Caesar and I will dash back into the house, and you clap to and fasten the door. Do you see?”

“No, sir, but I can feel,” growled the man; “but won’t the ’splosion bust it open?”

“Very likely, Tom.”

“Ay, ay, sir; but right it is, sir.”

“Now then, Caesar,” whispered Murray, thrusting one hand behind the door to seize the candle and place it ready in shelter.

“Not yet, massa,” said the black, who stood out a couple of yards from the door. “Dey come ’long close, but all ’top now.”

“Ah, they have found the powder keg,” ejaculated Murray.

“No, sah. Dey all close ’longside and wait for more Massa Huggin man.”

“Then I will not fire yet.”

“No, sah. Caesar fink dey watch see Murray Frank, want know what um do. All talkee palaver. No fire yet.”

“I must fire soon,” whispered the lad, in a strangely excited tone of voice, which sounded as if he were being suffocated.

“No; Murray Frank not fire yet,” whispered the black, in eager tones. “Wait plenty more Huggins man come. Yes,” he whispered, as a burst of voices as of many of the enemy hurrying up could be heard; and then above all came the strangely familiar tones of one who had been leading the newly-arrived party, and Murray started violently as there fell upon his ear in fierce adjuration —

“Wall, why are you waiting? In with you, curse you, and finish them off!”

The black started back to retreat into the house, but Murray extended his left hand and caught him by the shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he whispered.

“Run!” was the reply. “Massa Huggin.”

“Not yet,” whispered Murray. “Is it time now?”

The lad’s calm words had the effect of steadying the trembling black as they listened, and his voice was no longer the same as he said firmly now —

“Yes, massa. Time now. Fire!”

Murray thrust the black from him as he snatched the light from behind the door, took a couple of steps towards the enemy, and stooped down with the candle burning blue and seeming to become extinct as the lad touched the path. Then there was a bright flash as the powder caught, sputtered and began to run, lighting up the figure of the midshipman in the act of dashing in through the doorway, a score of bullets rattling after him in answer to an order; and then the door closed with a heavy bang.

Darkness within and a blaze of light without, where the voice of the Yankee could be heard shouting orders which rose above the buzzing fluttering noise of the running train.

“Hurt, Mr Murray, sir?”

“No! Where’s the black?”

Crash!

A fierce burst as of thunder, and the just-closed door was dashed in, while the hall and staircase were filled with light.

Chapter Fifty Two.

What the Powder did

The horrible dank odour of exploded gunpowder; a blinding smoke; thick darkness; a strange singing in the ears, and then, in connection with a sensation as of having been struck down and stunned, an awful silence.

These were Murray’s impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet. Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoarsely —

“Who’s here? – Who’s hurt?”

There was no reply for a few moments, and then from somewhere up-stairs as it seemed to Murray, Roberts shouted —

“Do speak, somebody! Are you all killed?”

“No, no,” panted Murray, who now began to cough and choke. “Speak, somebody! Who’s hurt?”

“Here, avast there!” now burst forth the hearty tones of the big sailor. “Let’s have it, messmates, only don’t all speak at once. Arn’t all on you killed, are you?”

“No, no,” cried one.

“Knocked the wind out of us,” said another, from the upper room.

“Here, steady there,” cried Tom May now, in a voice full of excitement. “Avast there, what did you do with the rest of that there keg of powder?”

“Me?” cried Harry Lang, who had handled it. “You, yes! What did you do with it, messmate?”

“Took it up-stairs. I mean, brought it up here.”

“Then ’ware sparks.”

The dread of a fresh explosion in the presence of the faint sparks that could be seen lying here and there for some distance about the front of the planter’s house set every one to work with bucket and water, and it was not until broad daylight that confidence began to reign, with the calmness which accompanied the knowledge that the door which had been blown in had been replaced by a strong barricade to act as a defence against a renewed attack.

Of this, however, there was no sign, the danger resting only in the imagination of the wearied-out and wounded men, several of whom had sunk into a stupor of exhaustion, while Murray, Tom May and the black were out exploring, and finding here and there at a distance from the front of the house traces of the havoc which could be produced by the explosion of a keg of gunpowder.

Not to dwell upon horrors, let it suffice to say that one of the discoveries made was by Tom May and the black, when the following words were uttered —

“Well, look ye here, darkie, you needn’t shiver like that. Y’arn’t afraid on him now?”

“No; not ’fraid; but he make niggah ’fraid all many years, and Caesar keep ’fraid still. But nebber any more. He dead now.”

“But are you sure this was him?”

“Yes, Caesar quite suah. Only ’fraid now poor Massa Allen dead too.”

“Ah, well, messmate – black messmate, I mean – we had nothing to do with that, and Master Huggins will never make an end of any more poor fellows; so don’t shiver like jelly, for I says it’s a blessing that the beggar’s gone.”

“Yes, Massa Tom. No ’fraid no more. All a blessing Massa Huggins gone.”

“And all his men, darkie.”

“Yes, sah, and all his men. They never come back no more.”

“What is it?” said Murray, coming up. “Have you found out anything more?”

Tom May made an announcement which Murray communicated to the wounded lieutenant, and he had hardly finished when the sound of firing began again.

“What’s that?” cried Mr Anderson, raising himself upon one arm. “There, you needn’t tell me, Murray, lad; I know. It’s the captain attacking, or being attacked by, some of the slaving scoundrels, and we are not there to help him.”

“But surely, sir, we have been helping him by what we have done,” said Murray; and the lieutenant stretched out his hand, wincing and groaning as he did so, and clutched the midshipman’s arm.

“Thank you, my dear boy,” he said; “that does me good. We have been helping him, haven’t we?”

“Why, of course, sir. That explosion has ended in killing the chief slaver, the head of the gang, as well as a terrible number of his wretched followers.”

“So it has, Mr Murray; so it has. Your doing too.”

“Oh no, sir; I only played my part. We did,” said Murray, smiling.

“We? Nonsense! You fired the train.”

“Yes, sir, as your deputy, and with your instructions. It was done by us in following out duties that the captain would have wished carried out.”

“Ha! Thank you, Mr Murray. I am weak and faint and troubled by the idea that I have not done my part.”

“Oh, nonsense, sir. There, let me put this wet handkerchief to your head. You’re feverish again.”

“Thank you, Murray,” sighed the lieutenant gratefully. “You are a good fellow. I wish Mr Roberts were as good an officer.”

“Well, you have your wish, sir,” said Murray laughingly. “He’d have done his share if he hadn’t been wounded.”

“Ah, yes; how is he?”

“Getting better, sir, certainly.”

“That’s good, Murray,” said the lieutenant, with a sigh. “I want to make as good a show of the men as I can when I have to face the captain again. I’m afraid, though, that it will be a very bad one, eh?”

“Plenty of wounded, sir, but none very bad. The poor fellows have broken down a bit now that the work’s done, but they’ll soon mend.”

“Then you don’t think, Murray, that the captain will find much fault with me and my men?”

“He’d be very unreasonable if he did, sir.”

“Hah! You think so, Murray? But he can be rather unreasonable sometimes, Murray, eh?”

“Terribly, sir.”

“Hah! That’s comforting, Murray, for I am very weak. I feel, you see, that I ought to be up and doing now, my lad, and I haven’t the power to stir.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Murray, “but now you’re hors de combat am I not leading officer?”

“Certainly, my dear boy, and I tell you that you have done wonders.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Murray, “but I was not fishing for compliments. What I wanted you to say was that I was to take the lead.”

“I say so, then, certainly, my dear sir.”

“Well, then, sir, I say that your duty is to lie still and get better, and that our lads are to do the same.”

“Well, leaving me out, Murray, that’s quite right.”

“Yes, sir, and including you. The best thing is for me to give our lads a rest to recoup a bit. We can’t do better than hold this place in case of a fresh attack.”

“Quite right.”

“And wait until the captain sends help.”

“Excellent, Murray; but the captain may be waiting for help to come from us.”

“Yes, sir, and if he is I am sorry to say that I could not lead four men to his aid.”

“Oh dear, that’s bad,” groaned the lieutenant.

“You couldn’t get up and lead us, sir.”

“Get up? Lead you, Murray? My dear lad, I am as weak as an infant.”

“Ray – ray – hooray!” came loudly.

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant excitedly. “Quick, lad! My sword. A fresh attack.”

“No, sir,” cried Murray, who had run to the window as the cheering was responded to loudly. “It’s Mr Munday with over a dozen men coming up at the double. Do you hear, sir? – ‘Seafowls ahoy!’”

“Ah!” sighed the lieutenant, sinking back upon the now stained pillow which had been taken from one of the planter’s beds.

“Mr Murray, that you?” came from the front.

“Yes, sir,” cried Murray, who was looking from the window.

“Well, I shouldn’t have known you. You’re as black as a sweep.”

“Yes, sir,” said the middy, clapping his hand to his face.

“Seen anything of Mr Anderson?”

“Yes, he’s lying up here, wounded.”

“What! Not badly?”

“Got a nasty wound, sir, but it will soon be better,” replied the middy, glancing back at the half-fainting officer.

“Come up, Munday,” cried the latter; and in a few minutes the second lieutenant had forced his way over the barricaded entrance and reached the rooms that now formed the temporary infirmary.

“Very, very glad to have found you at last,” said Mr Munday, shaking hands warmly. “My word, sir, you have had a tremendous fight here!”

“You can report to the captain that I have done my best, Munday, and our lads have fought like heroes.”

“That’s good, sir. I’m sure they have. I wish, though, we had been here.”

“And now you will either get us aboard or send for Mr Reston.”

“I’m sorry to say that I can’t do either,” said the second lieutenant.

“What!” cried the chief officer.

“It has been like this; the captain sent me ashore with a boat’s crew to find you and the rest, and as soon as we were out of sight he was attacked by a couple of schooners.”

“How did you know that?” asked Murray, who had laid his hand upon the chief officer’s lips to keep him from speaking.

“From the two boat-keepers; and one of these schooners our lads report as being commanded by that scoundrel who tricked us with his lugger. He was the real owner of the schooner that escaped.”

“Ah! Go on,” said Mr Anderson faintly. “Tell Murray, and let me lie and listen.”

“Well, then,” continued the officer, “these two schooners attacked the skipper just when he was shorthanded, and before I could get back to my cutter they had been there, driven the two boat-keepers ashore, and scuttled her. Of course my two men could do nothing but make for me. So there I was ashore, listening to the firing, while the skipper had to keep on a running fight, and that’s been going on ever since, for they’ve been a bit too many for the Seafowl, it seems to me.”

“How unfortunate!” said Murray.

“Horribly, sir,” said the second lieutenant. “Here have I been hunting you ever since, though I’ve had a few skirmishes with the scoundrels, who have seemed to swarm.”

“Yes,” said Murray, nodding his head. “White, black and mongrel scum of the earth.”

“Exactly, my lad. Well, to make a long story short, the place is such a maze that I’m sure I should never have found you if we hadn’t seen the flash of this explosion. Of course we heard the roar far enough away, but that would not have guided us without we had seen the direction.”

“No, sir, I suppose not. Well, sir, what’s to be done now?” said Murray.

“Let’s hear what Mr Anderson says.”

“Hush! He has fallen asleep,” whispered Murray. “Poor fellow! He is very weak.”

“And ought to have Reston to him. We’re in a nice hole, Murray, upon my word! Have you got a morsel of prog? My lads are starving.”

“We’ve plenty, sir.”

“Hah! Then feed us, dear lad, and then we shall be ready to fight or do anything you like. But hullo! What about Dick Roberts?”

“Wounded, but getting better. He’s in the next room, doing nothing but sleep.”

“Next room! Upon my word you middies are pretty sybarites! Well, let us have this prog.”

“Come down to the dining-room,” said Murray. “Mr Anderson cannot do better than sleep.”

“Dining-room!” said the second lieutenant in a whisper, as they left the chamber. “What next? You haven’t got such a thing as a cellar of wine on the premises, have you, my lad?”

“Yes, sir,” said Murray, laughing; “but that’s where we have our powder magazine.”

“Give us something to eat, then, my dear fellow, and then let’s see if we can’t use the powder to blow up the two schooners which are pounding the Seafowl. Hark! They’re at it still.”

“No,” said Murray, listening; “those must be the Seafowl’s guns.”

Chapter Fifty Three.

The Captain’s last blow up

Murray proved to be right, for the distant reports which came from somewhere on the far side of the island proved to be the last fired by the man-o’-war, which, shorthanded though she was, and desperately attacked by the powerful well-manned schooners, had kept up a continuous fight, so cleverly carried on that it had at last ended by the running ashore of one of the big slaving craft, and the pounding of the other till in desperation the skipper, who proved to be the cunning Yankee hero of the lugger trick, – the twin brother of the scoundrel Huggins who had met his fate in the explosion, – set his swift craft on fire before taking, with the remnants of the crew, to the woods.

It was not until a couple of days later that, after extinguishing the fire on board the second schooner and setting sail with her for the harbour, Captain Kingsberry commenced firing signal guns to recall his scattered crew, and communication was made by the help of Caesar.

“Yes, Massa Murray Frank,” he said eagerly; “Caesar soon show um way to where big gun go off.”

He, too, it was who gave signals which resulted in the collection of as many of the plantation slaves as were wanted to bear the wounded men in palanquins through the maze-like cane brakes and down to the shore, where a shady hospital was started in which Dr Reston could rule supreme, his patients chuckling to one another as they luxuriated in the plantation coffee, sugar, molasses, fruit and tobacco, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves – so they said – in the jolliest quarters that had ever fallen to their lot.

Caesar, too, in his actions was certainly one of the greatest of the Caesars, for in spite of a terribly scorched face, and burned and wounded arms and hands, he worked almost without ceasing. Scores of his fellow-slaves flocked to help, and under his guidance the captain and crew of the Seafowl were perfectly astounded by the extent of the plantation buildings, and the arrangements that existed for carrying on the horrible trade and keeping up the supply from the far-off African coast.