WE ATTACK
In the darkness and rain we soon lost sight even of those nearest us on
each side, but we knew by the occasional almost imperceptible whisper of a
paddle in the water, or by the faintest murmur of speech, that the others
were keeping pace with us.
To this day I do not understand how the paddlers maintained the proper
intervals in our line of attack; yet maintain them they did, by some means
or other, according to a preconcerted plan, for we advanced without hurry
or hesitation.
Approaching the ship more closely, we made out the rigging, which the soft
yellow light of the lantern dimly revealed. We saw, too, a single dark
figure leaning on the taffrail, which became clear as we drew nearer. I was
surprised to perceive that we had come up astern of the ship--quite without
reason I had expected to find her lying bow on. Now we rode the gentle
swell without sound or motion. The slow paddles held us in the same place
with regard to the ship, and minutes passed in which my nervousness rose to
such a pitch that I felt as if I must scream or clap my hands simply to
shatter that oppressive, tantalizing, almost unendurable silence. But when
I started to turn and whisper to the cook, something sharp and cold pricked
through the back of my shirt and touched my skin, and from that time on I
sat as still as a wooden figurehead.
After a short interval I made out other craft drawing in on our right and
left, and I later learned that, while we waited, the canoes were forming
about the ship a circle of hostile spears. But it then seemed at every
moment as if the man who was leaning on the taffrail must espy us,--it
always is hard for the person in the dark, who sees what is near the light,
to realize that he himself remains invisible,--and a thousand fears swept
over me.
There came now from somewhere on our right a whisper no louder than a
mouse's hiss of warning or of threat. I scarcely was aware of it. It might
have been a ripple under the prow of the canoe, a slightest turn of a
paddle. Yet it conveyed a message that the natives instantly understood.
The man just behind me repeated it so softly that his repetition was
scarcely audible, even to me who sat so near that I could feel his breath,
and at once the canoe seemed silently to stir with life. Inch by inch we
floated forward, until I could see clearly the hat and coat-collar of the
man who was leaning against the rail. It was Kipping.
From forward came the cautious voices of the watch. The light revealed the
masts and rigging of the ship for forty or fifty feet from the deck, but
beyond the cross-jack yard all was hazy, and the cabin seemed in the odd
shadows twice its real size. I wondered if Falk were asleep, too, or if we
should come on him sitting up in the cabin, busy with his books and charts.
I wondered who was in the galley, where I saw a light; who was standing
watch; who was asleep below. Still we moved noiselessly on under the stern
of the ship, until I almost could have put my hands on the carved letters,
"Island Princess."
Besides things on deck, the light also revealed our own attacking party.
The man in front of me had laid his paddle in the bottom of the canoe and
held a spear across his knees. In the boat on our right were five natives
armed with spears and krises; in the one on our left, four. Beyond the
craft nearest to us I could see others less distinctly--silent shadows on
the water, each with her head toward our prey, like a school of giant fish.
In the lee of the ship, the pinnace floated at the end of its painter.
Still the watch forward talked on in low, monotonous voices; still Kipping
leaned on the rail, his head bent, his arms folded, to all appearances fast
asleep.
I had now forgotten my fears. I was keenly impatient for the word to
attack.
A shrill wailing cry suddenly burst on the night air. The man in front of
me, holding his spear above his head with one hand, made a prodigious leap
from the boat, caught the planking with his fingers, got toe-hold on a
stern-port, and went up over the rail like a wild beast. With knives
between their teeth, men from the proas on my right and left boarded the
ship by the chains, by the rail, by the bulwark.
I saw Kipping leap suddenly forward and whirl about like a weasel in his
tracks. His yell for all hands sounded high above the clamor of the
boarders. Then some one jabbed the butt of a spear into my back and,
realizing that mine was not to be a spectator's part in that weird battle,
I scrambled up the stern as best I could.
The watch on deck, I instantly saw, had backed against the forecastle where
the watch below was joining it. Captain Falk and some one else, of whose
identity I could not be sure, rushed armed from the cabin. Then a missile
crashed through the lantern, and in the darkness I heard sea-boots banging
on the deck as those aft raced forward to join the crew.
I clambered aboard, waving my arms and shouting; then I stood and listened
to the chorus of yells fore and aft, the _slip-slip-slip_ of bare feet, the
thud of boots as the Americans ran this way and that. I sometimes since
have wondered how I escaped death in that wild mêlée in the darkness.
Certainly I was preserved by no effort of my own, for not knowing which way
to turn, ignored by friend and foe alike, almost stunned by the terrible
sounds that rose on every side, I simply clutched the rail and was as
unlike the hero that my silly dreams had made me out to be--never had I
dreamed of such a night!--as is every half-grown lad who stands side by
side with violent death.
Of Kipping I now saw nothing, but as a light momentarily flared up, I
caught a glimpse of Captain Falk and his party sidling along back to back,
fighting off their assailants while they struggled to launch a boat. Time
and time again I heard the spiteful crack of their guns and their oaths and
exclamations. Presently I also heard another sound that made my heart
throb; a man was moaning as if in great pain.
Then another cried, with an oath, "They've got me! O Tom, haul out that
spear!" A scream followed and then silence.
Some one very near me, who as yet was unaware of my presence, said, "He's
dead."
"Look out!" cried another. "See! There behind you!"
I was startled and instinctively dodged back. There was a crashing report
in my face; the flame of a musket singed my brows and hair, and powder
stung my skin. Then, as the man clubbed his gun, I dashed under his guard,
scarcely aware of the pain in my shoulder, and locking my right heel behind
his left, threw him hard to the deck, where we slipped and slid in a warm
slippery stream that was trickling across the planks.
Back and forth we rolled, neither of us daring to give the other a moment's
breathing-space in which to draw knife or pistol; and all the time the
fight went on over our heads. I now heard Roger crying to the rest of us to
stand by. I heard what I supposed to be his pistol replying smartly to the
fire from Falk's party, and wondered where in that scene of violence he had
got powder and an opportunity to load. But for the most part I was rolling
and struggling on the slippery deck.
When some one lighted a torch and the flame flared up and revealed the grim
scene, I saw that Falk and his remaining men were trying at the same time
to stand off the enemy and to scramble over the bulwark, and I realized
that they must have drawn up the pinnace. But I had only the briefest
glimpse of what was happening, for I was in deadly terror every minute lest
my antagonist thrust a knife between my ribs. I could hear him gasping now
as he strove to close his hands on my throat, and for a moment I thought he
had me; but I twisted away, got half on my knees with him under me, sprang
to my feet, then slipped once more on the slow stream across the planks,
and fell heavily.
In that moment I had seen by torchlight that the pinnace was clear of the
ship and that the men with their guns and spikes were holding off the
natives. I had seen, too, a spear flash across the space of open water and
cut down one of the men. But already my adversary was at me again, and with
his two calloused hands he once more was gripping my throat. I exerted all
my strength to keep from being throttled. I tried to scream, but could only
gurgle. His head danced before me and seemed to swing in circles. I felt
myself losing strength. I rallied desperately, only to be thrown.
Then, suddenly, I realized that he had let me go and had sat down beside me
breathing heavily. It was the man from Boston whose nose had been broken.
He eyed me curiously as if an idea had come upon him by surprise.
"I didn't go to fight so hard, mate," he gasped, "but you did act so kind
of vicious that I just had to."
"You what?" I exclaimed, not believing my ears.
"It's the only way I had to come over to your side," he said with a
whimper. "Falk would 'a' killed me if I'd just up an' come, though I wanted
to, honest I did."
I put my hand on my throbbing shoulder, and stared at him incredulously.
"You don't need to look at me like that," he sniveled. "Didn't I stand by
Bill Hayden to the last along with you? Ain't I human? Ain't I got as much
appreciation as any man of what it means to have a murderin' pair of
officers like Captain Falk and Mr. Kipping? You don't suppose, do you, that
I'd stay by 'em without I had to?"
I was somewhat impressed by his argument, and he, perceiving it, continued
vehemently, "I _had_ to fight with you. They'd 'a' killed you, too, if I
hadn't."
There was truth in that. Unquestionably they would have shot me down
without hesitation if we two had not grappled in such a lively tussle that
they could not hit one without hitting the other.
We got up and leaned on the bulwark and looked down at the boat, which rode
easily on the slow, oily swell. There in the stern-sheets the torchlight
now revealed Falk.
"I'm lawful master of this vessel," he called back, looking up at the men
who lined the side. "I'll see you hanged from the yard-arm yet, you
white-livered wharf-rats, and you, too, you cabin-window popinjay!"--I knew
that he meant me.--"There'll come a day, by God! There'll come a day!"
The men in the boat gave way, and it disappeared in the darkness and mist,
its sides bristling with weapons.
But still Falk's voice came back to us shrilly, "I'll see you yet a-hanging
by your necks," until at last we could only hear him cursing.