A FIGHT WITH A BLOODHOUND.
An exclamation of mingled astonishment and alarm burst from our lips
simultaneously.
The chief, then, had returned—unknown to us—and was himself heading
the pursuit. Small chance of escape, indeed, had we under these
circumstances.
To my surprise, Ned’s calm demeanour vanished in a moment. He seemed
to be seized with a sudden frenzy of passion, and to utterly ignore
the dictates of prudence. It was the sight of Miguel, I suppose, that
provoked this outburst of anger.
Our pursuers could not see us as we crouched among the underwood.
My coxswain gave vent to some fierce exclamation, and quick as
lightning raised his rifle to his shoulder. He was an unerring shot.
“I’ll pay that thundering rascal out now for having me flogged,” I
heard him mutter between his teeth, “and send a bullet through his
ugly carcass!”
But Mr. Triggs seized him by the shoulder with a grip of iron.
“Drop your rifle instantly!” he said in an authoritative tone; “do you
want to betray our hiding-place to them, man?”
Ned had not been trained in a severe school of discipline for nothing.
Though his finger was on the point of pressing the trigger, he
instantly lowered his weapon. A strange but relieved expression swept
over his face as he turned to us. The sudden access of passion had
passed away as rapidly as it had arisen.
“Thank you for the reminder,” he said in rather a husky voice. “’Tain’t
often I feel in a revengeful mood, but I must confess I was off my
chump for a spell, and could think of nothing but corpsing that chap.”
The gunner rose swiftly to his feet.
“Our best foot foremost, and cut and run,” he said in a low but
emphatic tone; “’tis our only chance.”
In a moment we had plunged once more into the forest, striking off in
a diagonal, downward direction, so as to bury ourselves deeper in the
jungle depths, and yet draw nearer to the sea at every step.
Once more the much-dreaded bloodhounds gave tongue, warning us only
too palpably of the proximity of our ruthless enemies. The chief and
his henchman Miguel had obviously been taking a survey from the lofty
rock, hoping to detect some signs of our whereabouts; but now they
had evidently taken up the trail again, determined to hunt us down
mercilessly.
Ned again constituted himself our guide, and led the way swiftly but
noiselessly. Several times we knocked our heads against the pendent
creepers and the low branches of the trees, and abraded our shins
against fallen trunks and half-hidden rocks; but these little mishaps
did not really delay our progress much. The hue and cry in our rear was
too terrible a reality, and made us strain every nerve, every muscle.
Could we baffle our relentless enemies? could we outstrip them?
They had dogs, swift of foot and unerring of scent, pertinacious,
inured to fatigue, accustomed to the hunting of human beings; and they
themselves were active, wiry fellows, fired with angry and revengeful
feelings, and thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the country.
The odds were largely in their favour; no one could deny that.
Suddenly Ned turned to us with a triumphant look in his face.
“A stream!” he gasped out; “keep up this spurt for a spell, my
hearties.”
For some few seconds I had heard the sound of a rushing torrent ahead
of us, but had not attached any importance to the fact.
In another minute we were wading knee-deep in a brawling stream, some
of the waters of which we scooped up with our hands, and thus quenched
the burning thirst which was consuming us.
By Ned’s direction we began wading down-stream, keeping in Indian file,
and avoiding snags and rocks as best we could. In some of the pools
the water was up to our waists, and we could make but slow progress,
especially as it was necessary to make as little noise as possible.
We knew only too well that our pertinacious pursuers had already
entered the forest. Occasionally we could hear their shouts and the
deep bay of the bloodhounds.
Ned’s plan was to baffle them, and throw the dogs off the scent, by
wading for some little distance down the bed of the torrent. Mr. Triggs
approved warmly of the plan, for he saw clearly enough that we should
soon be hunted down if we kept to our original plan of flight, whereas
we might possibly gain half an hour by utilizing Ned’s strategy. That
half-hour might save our lives.
We floundered on for a considerable distance, and then emerged on
the bank, wet and dripping, and listening intently for any sounds of
pursuit. They seemed to have almost died away, but an occasional yell
arose from some apparently distant spot in the forest.
Ned was in high feather.
“Well, I didn’t expect to succeed as well as that,” he observed, “for I
thought to a dead certainty they’d twig what we was about, and follow
down-stream. What a lot of owls they must be!”
“They may discover their mistake at any moment,” said the gunner.
“Let’s make tracks for the sea-shore as hard as we can pelt.”
No sooner said than done! Following the downward course of the stream,
we once more took to our heels and dashed off over the broken ground,
rather handicapped now by our dripping garments and soaked shoes.
We had run about a quarter of a mile, and were inwardly congratulating
ourselves on our good fortune, when the blood was almost frozen in my
veins by hearing the unmistakable bay of a bloodhound in our rear. So
near us was the ponderous beast that we could hear it forcing its way
through the underwood as it followed on our spoor.
To my utter amazement Ned seemed pleased at an occurrence which seemed
to me to sound our death-knell.
“Good luck! We must swarm a tree!” he cried. “Here’s one will do
first-rate.”
I do not know if the gunner felt as bewildered as I did at this fresh
strategy of my coxswain. At any rate he said nothing, but signed to me
to scramble up the tree Ned had pointed out, the branches of which most
fortunately hung low down.
To sailors the feat was a mere trifle, and before many seconds had
elapsed we were all three ensconced in a sort of leafy bower, about
fifteen feet from the ground.
Ned spoke in a hurried whisper to the gunner.
“Change weapons with me sharp,” he said; “our lives depend upon it.”
Mr. Triggs looked intensely astonished, as well he might, but he knew
by the seaman’s emphatic manner that he meant business, and that there
was no time for explanations. Indeed, as Ned spoke, he thrust his
loaded rifle into the warrant-officer’s hand, and whipped the latter’s
sword out of its scabbard. The next moment—like a dream it seemed to
me—he was standing at the foot of the tree with the glittering blade in
his hand. Just at that very instant I saw a bloodhound, its eyes aflame
with anger and its jaws dropping saliva, rush out from behind a clump
of trees, and bound fiercely in my coxswain’s direction. It appeared to
be alone.
Still it seemed a dream—all a dream!
I was spellbound.
Not so Mr. Triggs! He was instantly alive to the situation, and began
scrambling down from the tree with great precipitation, carrying the
rifle with him—not an easy feat by any means even for a sailor!
It seemed to me that the fierce dog only took a couple of prodigious
bounds, and then sprang deliberately at Ned, utterly regardless of the
deadly sword blade. Like a man-eating tiger, he evidently relied upon
his weight and the suddenness of his attack.
I saw my coxswain aim a blow at the huge brute as it rushed in upon
him; but the next instant I saw him borne backwards to the ground as
the animal closed with him. At the same instant I caught sight of the
gunner raising his rifle to his shoulder as if with the intention of
blowing out the bloodhound’s brains.
It was no longer a dream, but a living tragical reality; and there was
I, safely ensconced in a tree, while my daring shipmates were fighting
for their lives with what was practically a savage wild beast! Of
course I saw now that Ned had unselfishly wished to place us in safety
before confronting the bloodhound single-handed. Recalled to myself,
and anxious to lend any assistance that lay in my power, I hastily
commenced to descend the tree; but as ill-luck would have it, I grasped
a rotten branch, which came away in my hand, and I was precipitated to
the ground—fortunately from no great height. As I fell, I fancied I
heard loud snarling and a deep moan. The next instant I was on my feet
again, feeling rather confused, but having suffered nothing but one or
two bruises. I was immensely relieved by the sight that met my gaze,
which made an impressive tableau.
The bloodhound lay stretched out on the ground, stone-dead, with a
puncture in the region of the heart. Ned was kneeling on the ground
close to the body of his assailant, and holding a gory sword in his
right hand. Leaning upon his rifle, and gazing down at the defunct
beast, stood Mr. Triggs.
“’Tis a good job, Ned,” the latter was saying, “that I didn’t let fly
at the beast. The report of my rifle would have brought a nest of
hornets about our ears, I’m thinking.”
“That it would,” answered my coxswain, wiping his sword in a tussock of
long grass; “but how it is them swabs have got separated from their dog
beats me.”
“Well, it’s the fortune of war,” said the gunner grimly, “and we must
be thankful for it. At the same time, mind you, they may not be a
hundred miles away, and we had better make ourselves scarce, and steer
for the sea-shore with steam up in all boilers.”
Ned sprang to his feet, and after inquiring of me whether I was hurt
by my fall out of the tree, he proposed that we should secrete the
bloodhound’s body for fear it should be discovered by the pirates.
This was good advice, and we proceeded to act upon it. The dog’s body
was cumbrous and heavy, but by our united exertions we dragged it to
the edge of a neighbouring ravine and cast it down. As this particular
chasm was fringed with bushes and underwood, it would not have been an
easy matter to detect anything lying among the rocks at the bottom of
it.
I told my shipmates that I felt sure that if the other bloodhound was
still at large, it would be certain, sooner or later, to scent out
Ned’s victim.
The latter, we knew, was the pirate chief’s bloodhound, as we had
instantly recognized it by its mutilated ear.
“Flaying alive would be too good for me now if ever I’m nobbled,”
said Ned, as we once more set out at a sharp run; “leastways if that
cut-throat head of the gang knew that I’d settled the hash of his
highly prized bow-wow.”
“How _did_ you manage to kill the brute?” I asked. “It was an awful
sight to see it fly at you, and I thought I saw it knock you over.”
“Well, it just _did_ bowl me over and no mistake, sir, but I fancied
that something better was in store for me than to be popped off by a
furriner’s dog, and so I kept as cool as a cowcumber, and let drive
with the sword just as the beast was on top of me, as it were. My
killing it was a bit of a fluke, there’s no denying that, for I didn’t
know the bearings of his heart in the least.”
“You’ve rid us of our worst foe, Ned,” I said, “and given us a much
better chance of escape.”
“That was in my mind, of course,” said the seaman. “Thinks I to
myself, ‘Here’s that blooming dog close astarn of us, and somehow got
separated from his mate and his owners. What a chance to put him out of
the way on the quiet! Jiggered if I don’t slit his weasand for him.’
Well, I did something more effectual than that, Mr. Darcy; and here we
are, with a fair start again, and I hopes as how we’ll stick to it.”
It certainly seemed like a turning-point in our fortunes; for though
we even now heard some occasional shouts, they seemed to be at a
considerable distance, and we could not detect any baying from the
other bloodhound. I do not know whether I mentioned the fact before,
but I had been rather sceptical as to this latter animal being upon our
trail at all—at any rate during the last half-hour.
We still suffered a great deal of discomfort from our wet clothes and
boots, but we ran gamely on, knowing that everything depended on our
speed.
At length, without further misadventure, we emerged from the jungle,
and found ourselves on a rather extensive expanse of sandhills, beyond
which lay the blue sea, still darkened by the dun volcanic clouds which
hung in mid-air.
“Is that a boat?” asked Ned, excitedly.