CONCLUSION.
Round the southernmost point of the island a small vessel was creeping
stealthily. Owing to the lack of wind she could set no canvas, but was
evidently being propelled by a number of sweeps.
Undoubtedly it was the brig. I recognized her at once.
Naturally her progress was slow, but our boat was unwieldy and had no
great turn of speed. The draughts of air were the merest catspaws, and
scarcely ruffled the surface of the water. Flying-fish sprang about us,
and occasionally a bonito. The sun was mounting high in the heavens and
casting down rays of burning heat. A track of molten gold stretched
over the deep, the glare from which was almost intolerable.
“Mother Bunch” shut her jaws with a snap when her dark, round eyes fell
on the shadowy vessel. It was as if a crocodile had closed with some
succulent morsel. The pickaninny began to roar lustily as if it had a
dim presentiment of coming evil. The two negroes jabbered excitedly in
some strange and guttural dialect.
“The brig can’t make much way,” said Ned, fixing his eyes intently
upon her. “I reckon we can outstrip her as things go at present.
If a favourable breeze springs up, however, she’ll overhaul us
hand-over-fist, and then we may look out for squalls.”
“The worst of it is, she’s got guns aboard,” observed Mr. Triggs
anxiously. “Now, if she could creep up within range, she might pepper
us in a mighty unpleasant manner—there’s no question about that.”
“I wonder if she has any boats with her,” exclaimed I. “It might be
equally unpleasant if she sent some of them in chase of us.”
Ned looked intently across the sea, shading his eyes with his hand.
“Boats they have, sure enough,” he said after a long survey. “Why, two
of ’em is atowin’ of her!”
“That’s what the sharks are up to, is it?” observed the gunner. “I tell
you what, that’ll make ’em slip along a bit faster than we expected.”
“What arms are there in the boat?” asked Ned, lying on his oar for a
moment.
The negroes produced their store of weapons, and laid them down for our
inspection. It was a sorry enough lot.
Two extremely old-fashioned pistols, one fairly effective cutlass (used
by the negroes for cutting their way through the dense jungles), and
two rusty and jagged daggers. These constituted our armoury.
As we were gazing at them rather hopelessly, and demanding ammunition
for the pistols, “Mother Bunch” produced a weighty-looking club, armed
with metal spikes, from some corner of the stern-sheets, and with many
grins and exclamations of satisfaction, whirled it around her head in a
bellicose fashion.
“Bravo, my shegro brave and true!” shouted Ned in great delight. “We’ll
let you go for some of them swabs and brain ’em by-and-by, jiggered
if we don’t. Amazons aren’t in the running when you’re out on the
war-path, I reckon!”
“She is more likely to capsize the boat than anything else if it comes
to a scrimmage,” said the gunner grimly.
It was fortunate that “Mother Bunch” did not understand this ungallant
remark, or Mr. Triggs’s head might have made acquaintance with the
Amazonian club!
How we longed for a little breeze to help us on our way and cool the
air! Our saturated clothes had dried in the hot sun; but our exertions
made us perspire so freely that it seemed probable that before long
they would be in much the same state again.
Still we made the unwieldy old boat move; we could take that much
credit to ourselves.
I glanced for the twentieth time at the brig. She was slowly but surely
gaining on us, and Ned had been quite right about the boats—two of them
had her in tow. How many sweeps she was able to utilize I could not
tell, as she was at least two miles distant. I wondered how far her
guns could carry, and whether, when the pirates found that there was no
chance of a breeze, they would not detach the boats in chase of us.
We now began to feel uncommonly peckish, and it became necessary to
make inquiries into the state of the commissariat department.
“Sambo,” said Mr. Triggs, addressing one of the negroes, “what have you
got to eat?”
“Golly, sah, no got nuffin,” said the fellow with a frightened
expression.
“Nothing!” thundered the gunner. “How are we to get on without any
food?”
Sambo scratched his woolly poll, and looked bewildered.
“Der am six or sheven cocoa-nut,” he said at length, “and tree fiss.
Berry mosh afraid dat all, massa.”
It was quite true; these were all the provisions there were. The
negroes had intended to go out fishing only for the day, and had
therefore not thought it necessary to provide themselves with anything
but a few cocoa-nuts wherewith to quench their thirst. The three fish
had been caught just before the earthquakes commenced, and appeared to
be red mullet.
Mother Bunch’s face when Sambo explained to her that we wished to
voyage to Cuba without any provisions on board lost all its rotundity,
and lengthened out into a most dolorous, woe-begone visage. For about
ten minutes she talked fifteen to the dozen in a most excited manner,
evidently telling her husband that she foresaw an early death for
herself, and perhaps giving him leave to present her skeleton to some
West Indian museum in the interests of science.
Into such a state of excitement did the good lady work herself, that
at length she jumped up and double-banked her husband’s oar, leaving
her offspring to kick by itself in the stern-sheets. Right lustily did
she pull, too—so lustily that her spouse at length relinquished the oar
entirely to her, and went to the tiller to take a spell of rest, where
he promptly fell fast asleep.
We toiled on through the sweltering heat, and made the old boat buzz
along; but in spite of our almost superhuman efforts, the brig crept up
stealthily but surely. Our capture was only a question of time.
At length my head and back ached to such an extent that I was obliged
to relinquish my oar to Sambo, and throw myself down in the bows to
rest. I was rather alarmed lest I should have got a sunstroke, and
dashed some salt water over my head, which had the effect of cooling my
aching temples.
We now drank the contents of half a cocoa-nut each. It was necessary
to husband our slender resources to the utmost, so we only allowed
ourselves this quantity.
I think I dozed off for some time, but was presently roused by hearing
Ned shout, “The swabs have opened fire!”
Then came the distant report of a gun.
I started up and gazed at the brig, now only half a mile distant. A
puff of smoke was being wafted away from her bows. The shot had just
struck the sea several cable-lengths astern of us, and sent a column of
spray high into the air.
“Their popguns ain’t much use, or else they don’t know the range,”
observed Ned.
Mother Bunch was still pulling away sturdily at her oar. I went aft to
relieve her, as I saw that she was beginning to feel distressed.
At the same moment the brig fired another shot, which also fell short.
We now saw that the two boats which had been towing the brig were
shoving off in chase of us. Their oars flashed in the sunlight, and
they seemed to be full of men.
“Pull like old winky, lads!” yelled Ned; “they shan’t have it all their
own way, the thundering rascals!”
Mother Bunch resolutely refused to give up her oar; but Sambo went to
assist her, and I double-banked the other negro’s. All aches, pains,
want of food were forgotten. We were determined that the brig’s boats
should not overhaul us, if we could possibly help it.
We pulled like fiends, and the clumsy boat sped along over the glassy
sea. I expected every moment to see Ned’s oar break.
Our eyes never quitted the two black boats that were pursuing us. The
brig did not fire again, for fear of hitting them by mistake, but she
kept her sweeps going.
I should think that for quite an hour this exciting chase went on. Once
or twice the pirates decidedly gained on us, but on our putting on a
spurt they again dropped astern. Their boats were heavily laden with
armed men, or they would easily have overhauled us. Several times they
fired shots at us with muskets, and once a bullet struck the stern of
our boat.
After about an hour had passed, however, I saw, to my dismay and
horror, that we were beginning to lose ground rapidly. The fact is that
our negroes were exhausted, and Mother Bunch also. My arms, too, ached
as if they would drop off, and my hands were frightfully blistered.
How long was this agony to continue?
The gunner and Ned made no comment on the situation, but I knew that
they could not have failed to realize it. Silently and desperately they
bent to their oars, grim determination on their faces. The courage of
the British seaman seldom fails him; he is game to the end.
The brig was now far away, her black hull apparently motionless on the
mirror-like sea. Beyond her again lay the pirates’ island, above which
still hung eddying folds of volcanic vapour.
It seemed to me that there was great excitement on board the pursuing
boats—much shouting, yelling, and gesticulation. Every man seemed to
have tackled on to an oar, like galley-slaves, two or three abreast.
Their renewed efforts certainly lessened the distance between us very
perceptibly.
Our despairing eyes never left them. There was a horrible fascination
in watching their slow but sure approach—their furious and excitable
efforts to run us down.
Ten minutes passed thus.
_Bang—fizz—hiss-s-s-s-s-s!_
With a startling rush some fiery projectile flew clean over our heads,
leaving a trail of flame behind it to mark its line of flight. Then
with a sullen _plump_ it spluttered into the sea close to the bows of
one of the pursuing boats.
With a simultaneous shout of astonishment, we turned to ascertain
whence came this fiery messenger of wrath—a war-rocket, as we well knew.
Imagine our intense surprise when we caught sight of what looked
uncommonly like a man-of-war’s cutter bearing down on us.
We could scarcely believe our eyes.
Ned gave a yell of delight that might have been heard miles away.
Our pursuers still came on, regardless of the warning they had received.
The cutter now fired another rocket, and this one was so well directed
that it struck one of the pirates’ boats and sent it instantly to the
bottom.
These war-rockets alarmed poor Mother Bunch to such an extent that she
as nearly as possible fell overboard. As it was, the boat, in spite of
its beam, was within an ace of being capsized.
The cutter came bearing swiftly down on us.
“Jiggered if it ain’t one of our own boats!” sang out Ned, cutting a
caper of delight. Then he mounted upon a thwart, waving his cap and
yelling till he was nearly as black in the face as Sambo.
What an excitement it was!
After all our perils and adventures we were safe at last.
The next moment I was wringing the hand of my chum, Charlie Balfour,
who was in charge of the cutter, and who seemed to have quite recovered
from the wound in the head which he had received in the first
engagement. His joy at having been the means of rescuing us the reader
can well imagine.
“I’ve a good mind to try to sink the other boat,” he said; “but perhaps
I had better take you fellows straight back to the _Rattler_, and make
my report to the captain.”
“Where is the old hooker?” I asked.
Charlie laughed and pointed seawards.
“Don’t you see her hove-to there, just in the light of the sun?” he
asked. “There is a little breeze out there. After we shoved off she
went in chase of a suspicious-looking vessel in the offing, but has
evidently returned disappointed. We’ll have you on board in about an
hour.”
There was our dear old ship, sure enough. So taken up with the brig and
our pursuers had we been that we had never looked ahead to see if any
vessels had hove in sight.
We quickly transferred ourselves to the cutter, and cast the negroes’
boat adrift. Mother Bunch had now recovered her equanimity, and she and
her pickaninny were amusingly criticised by the cutter’s crew, who
seemed to be in a chaffing and hilarious mood.
The pirates in the second boat were now in full retreat, having found
that they had caught a Tartar with a vengeance. I believe they picked
up some of their comrades who were struggling in the water, but I fancy
that the rocket had killed a good many outright.
Of course I had to give Charlie a narrative of our adventures, and Ned
did the same for his mates of the cutter, one of whom was Jim Beddoes.
My chum told me that the burning island had brought the _Rattler_ into
those waters, so the volcano had actually done us another good turn—an
endless category it really seemed to be. While watching the eruption
from aloft, one of the signalmen had espied the brig apparently in
pursuit of a large boat, and had reported the circumstance to the
captain. This had eventually led to the dispatch of an armed boat’s
crew, and to our rescue just in the nick of time.
It seemed that Mr. Thompson and a picked force, after capturing the
mutineers of the _Flying-fish_ and recovering the greater part of that
unfortunate vessel’s cargo, had been left ashore in Cuba to search for
us, while the _Rattler_ took a short cruise to see if she could obtain
any intelligence of our fate from the coasting craft and other vessels.
There had been dire dismay among our shipmates as day after day passed
without any news of our whereabouts, and many came to the conclusion
that we had been murdered and our bodies buried away out of sight. Jim
Beddoes had acted as guide to the naval brigade, and conducted them to
the spot where the struggle had taken place between ourselves and the
pirates; but so cunningly was the entrance to the cave concealed that
they had failed to discover it.
All this Charlie told me afterwards.
In much less than an hour we were safely on board the old _Rattler_,
for she steamed down to meet us. After congratulations had passed, and
we had gone below to get some food and a change of raiment, Captain
Graves went in chase of the brig, which he very quickly overhauled and
took possession of, the pirates being completely cowed, and, of course,
aware that we could blow them out of the water if we chose to do so.
The volcano being still in eruption, it was decided not to land for
some days; and meanwhile we took our prize to Havana, and handed her
over to the Spanish authorities, who were delighted to be able to
lay their hands on such a gang of desperadoes. While at the Spanish
capital, we ascertained that it was perfectly true that some of the
pirate chief’s followers had fallen into the hands of the government.
It was therefore true enough, I daresay, that the chief had kidnapped
us in the hope that he might be able to effect an exchange without
compromising his own safety or betraying the whereabouts of the island.
Messages were at once sent to Mr. Thompson, telling him of our safety,
and a few days later we picked him and his men up at Santiago de Cuba.
Then, in the company of a Spanish cruiser, we sailed for the pirates’
island, the latitude and longitude of which had been noted.
How lovely it looked on the morning of our arrival! The eruptions had
entirely ceased, but a great upheaval had taken place, altering the
configuration of the land very much. A cone had arisen in the centre of
the island, and though not of any great altitude, its shape was very
perfect. My messmate Fitzgerald was enchanted with its appearance, and
made sketches of it.
On landing, with Sambo as guide, we found that the whole of the
pirates’ ill-gotten loot had been destroyed by the eruptions. We had
previously learned from the negroes that it had been stored away
in caves within the crater—in fact, close to the one where we had
ourselves been confined so long. This was a great disappointment; but
we ought, of course, to have been prepared for such a discovery. We
were slightly consoled by finding a boat among the reeds in the creek,
which had on board a case of doubloons and some bales of silk. Of the
brig’s prize we could not find any trace, and Sambo gave it as his
opinion that she must have broken adrift from her moorings while the
earthquakes were going on, and have been carried away from the island
by some strong current. Whether she had any one on board he did not
know, or what had become of the survivors of her crew.
Sambo and Mother Bunch keep a bumboat at Port Royal now, and the other
negro, who was a brother of Sambo’s, assists them. They were duly paid
the fifty pounds they had been promised by the gunner, though, to tell
the truth, it had almost to be forced on them.
If you ever go to Port Royal, you will probably see this happy trio
coming alongside your vessel. I do not include the pickaninny, because
the pickaninny you might see would not be the pickaninny of my story.
* * * * *
Reader, I trust that you have enjoyed reading these few leaves from my
midshipman’s log. Alas, the time has come all too soon to say, Farewell!
“As the earth when leaves are dead,
As the night when sleep is sped,
As the heart when joy is fled,
I am left lone, alone.”
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Notes
pg 142 Changed: several wales were distinctly visible
to: several weals were distinctly visible