The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

“All loaded,” was the echoed answer.

“Then draw, each of you, one in each hand,” said our hero, “and have each pistol ready for instant use. But keep your cutlasses suspended by the cord from the right wrist.”

Coe’s order was instantly obeyed; and he himself at the moment prepared his weapons as he had commanded the others to prepare theirs.

“Gentlemen pirates,” he said, sarcastically, addressing those of the boarding-party who had been engaged in the fight, “you will remember that when I accepted the high and distinguished office of captain of marines on board of the brig Falcon, the free rover, I did so provisionally, and on the express condition that I retained the right of resigning whenever I should think proper to do so. I exercise that reserved right now. I resign the honourable post so flatteringly offered to me; and I am, therefore, no longer a member of the gallant band composing the crew of the brig Falcon.”

“What’s the meaning of all this fine talk?” asked a gruff-looking pirate. “What have we got to do with your affairs at this time?”

“It means that I never have been, and never have intended to be, a pirate,” answered the captain; “I had rather die a thousand deaths than be one of your kind. I was taken prisoner by deceit, and was then entirely in your power; yet, even in such circumstances, my first impulse was to defy your whole band and thus to bring on my own death rather than to seem to become a member of your ship’s company. I was induced to act as I have done, partly by the advice of a friend whom circumstances had forced to remain among you, but mainly by the conviction that the Ruler of Events would not have allowed me to be taken prisoner by you merely for the purpose of permitting my death. I hoped not only that I might thus be able to make my escape, but that I might prevent some of the evil which you are accustomed to do in your vocation, and might also find amongst your number some whom I could induce to become again honest men. I see a good prospect of success in all these objects.”

“What’s the use of all this argufying?” said the sailor who had before spoken, and who was boatswain of the Falcon. “Tell us what do you mean? What are you going to do?”

“What I mean is this,” answered Coe. “Lay down your arms at once and surrender. You have no chance of defending yourselves successfully against such odds as will now be opposed to you.”

“You don’t mean to say,” said the boatswain, “that Leftenant Bowsprit and them others there have turned agin us?”

“We are all,” answered Bowsprit, “pledged to stand by Mr Coe for life or death.”

“As to them other fellows there,” said the boatswain, “I never had much faith in them; but I didn’t think, leftenant, that you would ever desert us.”

“I am determined,” replied Bowsprit, “to live hereafter, and to die, an honest man.”

“And to get yourself hanged,” sneered the sailor.

“I had rather things should come to that,” said Bowsprit, “than ever to be a pirate again.”

“Come,” said Coe; “you must decide quickly. Do you surrender?”

“Never,” answered the boatswain. “We can hold out until old bully Afton comes from the cabin – confound him, he’s always after the gals and the rhino – we shall then be equal to you. Never say ‘die’ – heh, boys?”

The pirates answered him by cheers, mingled with oaths, swearing that they would rather die where they stood like men, than to be hanged like dogs.

“You need not expect help from Afton or his men,” said the resolute Coe, addressing the pirates; “I have them all bound in the cabin.”

“Mr Coe,” said Bowsprit, who did not like to take a part in consigning any of his old comrades to the gallows, “suppose we allow them to escape to the Falcon?” That question was never answered. The reference made by Bill Bowsprit to the brig caused most of the pirates, and the boatswain among the number, to turn their faces towards the vessel. What they saw determined them to immediate action. Most men come to a resolution very speedily when a sudden emergency leaves them but a brief time for doing so.

When the two cannon were fired by Captain Johnson and one of his mates at the very moment when the pirates boarded the Duchess, the effect of the rebound of the guns upon one vessel and of the striking of the shot upon the other had a violent tendency to drive the ship and the brig apart. The hold of the grappling-irons and other fastenings which kept the two vessels together was therefore, much weakened by the shock. The violent dashing against each other of the ship and the brig had not only carried away a considerable part of the upper-works, but threatened, if continued much longer, to dash in the very sides of the two vessels; of course, this ceaseless motion tended to weaken more and more the bonds which held the ship and the brig together.

At the very moment when the boatswain and others of the pirates looked towards the brig, these fastenings gave way, and the two vessels were about to part.

“Come, boys! quick!” cried the boatswain, rushing towards the guards of the ship. He was immediately followed by all of his men who were left alive, except the one who lay wounded upon the ship’s deck. The next instant they sprang from the broken guards of the Duchess towards the deck of the Falcon; in the confusion and hurry three of them missed the leap, fell into the sea and were drowned. At the same time the vessels parted.

When the boatswain gained the brig, he turned round to those whom he left on the deck of the ship, shook his fist, and exclaimed, in a voice that was heard above the sound of the wind and the sea:

“Look out for the Long Tom!”

“We should not have allowed them to escape,” said John Coe to Captain Johnson.

“It is better as it is,” said the captain. “We have escaped from a fate so terrible, that all minor perils are but as trifles in comparison. I know not who you are, young gentleman; but your appearance and action among us have been so wonderful that it almost seems as if you were an angel sent from heaven to rescue us.”

“You do me too much honour,” said the young man. “But I will explain to you everything when we have leisure. At present, there are the wounded to be attended to.”

“True,” replied the captain. Then turning to his men, he added, “Bring lights, some of you, and remove the wounded below.”

By this time the vessels were some twenty yards apart.

“See!” exclaimed Billy Bowsprit, “they are loading the cannon on board the Falcon.”

Only dimly through the night shadows could the deck of the brig be seen; for now the last vestige of daylight had departed.

Some of the men who belonged to the Duchess were enabled to assist in loading the two cannon; for Captain Johnson had expressed his determination that, if a shot was fired from the pirate-brig, he would, as before, return them two for one.

“The two shots which I fired at the moment of their boarding us,” he said to Coe, “made a good-sized hole in their hull just above the water-mark; and they must have taken in considerable water through it, during the tossing and pitching of the brig. I will make another hole in their timbers if they fire at me again.”

Even while he spoke a shot came from the Falcon. It was fired, probably, by the skilful hand of Seacome; for it again carried away a part of the guards. Fortunately, no one was injured.

Captain Johnson quickly responded with his two guns. His object was to strike the enemy’s hull, near where his last two shots had struck; and he probably did so, for, in a few moments afterwards – by the light of the lamps on board the Falcon– men were seen hurrying to and fro in apparently great excitement. Loud tones were also heard, seemingly giving orders.

All who were on the deck of the Duchess stood still, listening and watching.

“Your shot must have done them serious damage,” said Coe, at length, to Captain Johnson; “the excitement seems to increase.”

“It seems to me,” said Billy Bowsprit, who was watching things sharply, “the Falcon is settling in the water.”

Upon the background of the sky, the spectators on board the Duchess could see the masts of the brig slowly bend forward; still slowly for a while they moved onward in the same direction, sinking, sinking from the horizontal line in the sky which they had formerly touched; and then their motion was gradually accelerated.

“See!” exclaimed Bowsprit, “her bows are going under, as sure as my name is William.”

That instant, a wild, despairing and mingled cry arose from the deck of the Falcon; the next moment that gallant craft plunged head-foremost into the sea and disappeared.

“God have mercy on their souls!” exclaimed Captain Johnson. “The best among them can be but little prepared to enter the other world.”

The captain of the Duchess then ordered a thorough examination to be made of the damage done to his ship. For many feet along the larboard beam and larboard bow the guards were almost entirely torn away. From the fact that the ship was also leaking, it was evident that the planks had been started somewhat where the larboard side of the Duchess had been beaten against by the starboard of the Falcon; a single pump kept regularly at work easily balanced the effects of this leak. A part of this labour was performed by some of Billy Bowsprit’s men, all of whom – at the suggestion of Coe – reported themselves to Captain Johnson for duty as a part of his crew.

Afton and three of his men who were unwounded were put in irons and removed to safe keeping in the forward part of the ship; and the man whose arm had been broken by Ada Marston’s shot was placed with the rest of the wounded in the sailor’s quarters, where they were all made as comfortable as circumstances would allow. After these tasks had been attended to, Captain Johnson read the “funeral service at sea” over the bodies of the dead, which, enshrouded and with weights attached to them, were launched into the ocean. The decks were then scrubbed by the light of lanterns, the watch set for the night, and all made secure.

These duties being performed, Captain Johnson, Coe, and Bowsprit went down into the cabin, to look after the condition of things there. They found Louise recovered from her swoon, but still very pale and nervous. She sat beside the sofa, on which lay her father, very ill from the shock of his recent terrible excitement. The quadroon girl was crouched upon the floor at the feet of her mistress; she also was very pale, and her eyes still had a wild and alarmed look. Ada, too, sat upon the floor, at a little distance from the others, her head against the seat of a chair, and her face hidden in her hands. She had been upon deck and had seen the brig sink in the ocean. She had learned of her husband’s death; that she was weeping proved that she was a woman.

There was not much rest for Captain Johnson that night; the leaky condition of his ship, and the still strong gale and high-rolling waves kept him on the alert. Billy Bowsprit, who was a thorough seaman, insisted upon watching with the captain. Coe was assigned a berth in one of the state-rooms forward of the saloon. Knowing that he could be of no farther use, he consented to retire for the night. Being much fatigued, he soon fell asleep, in dreams to recall, in forms more or less distorted, all the incidents of the day; yet amid all the scenes which his memory presented to his imagination, bent over him the soft, appealing eyes, the pale and beautiful face of Louise Durocher.

Story 2-Chapter XIII.

Gathered Ends

Melting and mingling into one

Two kindred souls.