A RACE FOR LIFE.
It was a boat of some kind; there could be no doubt about that.
A somewhat large, unwieldy-looking craft she appeared to be, but
apparently there were only a couple of oarsmen on board, who were
slowly propelling her seawards with a species of long paddle. The ocean
was still in a more or less agitated state, which must have been owing
to the seismic disturbances to which the island and its surrounding
waters had so lately been subjected, for the atmosphere was just as
stagnant as it had been all the morning. This motion made the boat bob
about in a strange unnatural manner, as if she had a trawl down. She
was about half a mile from the shore, as near as we could judge; and
besides the two oarsmen there appeared to be a third person occupying
the stern-sheets.
“We must try to signal that craft,” said Mr. Triggs, emphatically;
“’tis our only chance of escape.”
“But suppose those men on board her are pirates,” said Ned; “we should
just be jumping from the frying-pan into the fire.”
I had been gazing intently at the boat all this time. My sight was
naturally very keen, and I felt almost confident that the occupants of
the boat were negroes. I hurriedly communicated my suspicions to my
shipmates.
“I’m jiggered if I don’t think you’re right, sir,” said Ned, slapping
his thigh vigorously, and peering intently at the unwieldy craft. “Now
I wouldn’t mind wagering a plug o’ baccy that those are the niggers
we saw working in the garden of their shanty, and that figure in the
starn-sheets is the old ‘Mother Bunch’ that lost the run of her legs
and went a cropper on her nose.”
“If it is, can we persuade ’em to take us off?” asked the gunner;
“that’s the question. The boat would hold us all; but as the niggers
are probably the slaves of the pirate chief, they might be afraid to
take us on board.”
“And if they _did_ take us on board,” said I, “it might only be to pull
us round to the creek on the other side of the island, and give us up
to their masters, the pirates.”
“Once on board we might overpower ’em,” said Ned, musingly. “I only
wish—”
A musket shot!
We started in alarm. It appeared to come from somewhere amongst the
sandhills on our extreme right. Anxiously we looked for the puff of
smoke, but could detect nothing.
The echoes of the discharge had hardly died away amongst the hills,
when our ears were saluted with a second and exactly similar report.
No bullets or shot fell near us.
I glanced at the boat to see if any firing was taking place on board.
The oarsmen had ceased rowing, and appeared to be gazing shorewards;
but no tell-tale smoke was wreathing itself above their heads.
“This is a queer business, and I don’t like the looks of it,” remarked
Ned. “I’d get up a tree and have a squint round, if I wasn’t afraid of
being spotted by Miguel or some lynx-eyed swab of his kidney.”
At this moment I caught sight of some thin vapoury smoke drifting
slowly over the sandhills at a distance of about a mile on our extreme
right, and drew my companions’ attention to it.
We strained our eyes to the utmost, but could detect no human figures.
“’Tis a signal to the craft yonder, or I’m a Dutchman!” exclaimed Ned.
“They’re not firing at us, that’s sartin.”
We all turned our eyes upon the boat. Her head was slowly swinging
round towards the shore owing to the efforts of the rowers, who had
resumed their oars.
“There’s no doubt about it,” said the gunner, angrily, “and I don’t
vote we remain passive spectators of it. If we don’t manage to get hold
of that boat, by hook or by crook, we may as well throw up the sponge
altogether.”
“I’m game for a shindy with the lubbers!” cried Ned; “and I agree
with you, Mr. Gunner, that it’s about our only chance of getting
off this plaguy island. But we’ll have pretty tidy odds against us,
and are middling short of ammunition. Now, if I had a few rounds of
ball-cartridge in my pocket, I’d play Old Harry with some of the
pirates before they could come to close quarters!”
There was no time to be lost. We had to traverse the sandhills, which
would be heavy ground to run over; but it did not appear to be more
than half a mile or so to the actual shore.
Ned had resumed his rifle and returned the sword to the gunner. We
had taken especial care to keep our pistols dry when wading down the
stream, and they appeared to be in good order and ready for use if
required.
We carefully noted the direction the boat was heading for, and then
set off at our best pace to try to intercept her. It seemed to me a
forlorn hope; but still I could not help agreeing with my companions
that it would be foolish to throw away such a chance, feeble as it was.
Had we chosen to hide away in the jungle instead, we should have been
unearthed to a dead certainty sooner or later; and then there would
have been a nice kettle of fish to fry. My theory with regard to the
invisible persons who had fired the muskets was, that they were members
of the party that had been pursuing us through the forest, and that
they had reached the sandhills by some short cut, and were anxious to
communicate the fact of our escape to the negroes, in order that the
latter might keep a look-out for us and bar our escape on that side of
the island.
This seemed the most plausible explanation of the mysterious affair.
And if the negroes combined to assist their masters—as there was every
reason to suppose they would—how terribly the odds against us would be
increased, especially if the black fellows were provided with weapons.
These thoughts passed quickly through my mind as we sped across the
sandhills. There was a very determined look on the gunner’s face and on
Ned’s. They felt, I am sure, that the supreme crisis was at hand, and
that in a few moments a decisive blow would be struck which would mean
to us victory or death.
“Ha!” said my coxswain in a savage tone, “there’s the whole gang of
villains!”
As he spoke I caught sight of a body of men running with great speed
across the sandhills, as if in an effort to intercept us. They were
then about a quarter of a mile distant, and had evidently just
perceived us. As we were both making for the same point on the beach,
it was only natural, of course, that we should converge on one another.
A terrible yell arose from the pirate ranks—a yell which rang with
vindictive and spiteful malice.
“Ay! shout away, my hearties!” muttered Ned; “it’ll play the doose with
yer wind.”
“We’re ahead of ’em!” cried the gunner, breathlessly. “Now for a
spurt, lads!—Can you keep up, Mr. Darcy?”
“_Rather!_” I replied. I was terribly excited, and felt no fatigue or
breathlessness. My feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground. It was a
race for life, and I knew it.
Hurriedly I glanced at the boat. She was still some distance from the
shore, and the rowers did not seem to be exerting themselves in the
least.
We had left the sandhills behind us, and were racing across a broad
expanse of tawny, hard sand.
What would the blacks do? That was the torturing question.
The band of pirates were pouring over the sandhills, yelling as they
came and brandishing their weapons with fierce gestures. They were,
however, a hundred yards in the rear and to the right of us. Every
moment I expected them to open fire on us; but I suppose they were
anxious to capture us alive, and I felt sure that we were caught in a
trap—hemmed in between them and their allies the blacks.
Oh, how slowly that boat came lumbering along over the waves! I eyed
her with astonishment.
We had recognized the chief and Miguel as heading the pursuing
band. There was no mistaking them. Thank God, they had not the other
bloodhound with them. What could have become of the brute?
I fingered my pistol, ready for a scrimmage at close quarters. It
seemed inevitable.