"Yes, sir; fighting takes time. I say, how the smoke has cleared away!"
"Yes; it is less choking now," said the captain thoughtfully; and he
went slowly to where Gregory was waiting and watching still for an
attack upon the boat.
The captain said nothing further for some few minutes, and then returned
to Morgan, who was very silent, and evidently weak and in great pain.
Here he had a long discussion, and as Mark watched him wonderingly,
trying the while to make out what steps his father would take next, the
captain went slowly to where the major was talking calmly enough to Mrs
O'Halloran and his child.
"Nonsense!" he was saying; "there is no such a fine bit of Latin
anywhere as nil desperandum. You never know what course a battle may
take. Old Nap thought he had won Waterloo; but he had not. Cheer up,
my dears! Look how young Mark Strong takes it. Well, captain, he
added, leaving the cabin and joining him, what news? Have you naval
gentlemen hatched the conspiracy?"
"It is no conspiracy, major," said the captain quietly; "but we have
been trying to arrive at the best course of proceeding."
"Well, captain, and brother in affliction, what's to be done?"
"I propose a bold attempt to clear the deck of these scoundrels, major,
during the night. Once get them over the side, we could keep them out.
Will you give me your advice as a brave soldier who understands these
things better than I, and will you fight with me?"
"My dear Strong," said the major sharply, as he caught the captain's
hand; "you ought to have been a soldier, sir."
"But you see I am a sailor," said the captain with a sad smile.
"There's the pity, sir. Now to business. Will I fight with you!
Bedad, sir, I've proved that."
"You have, my dear major, like the bravest of men."
"No, no. Tut, tut! Like a soldier should, sir. But now about this
plan of yours."
"Yes, major, yes."
"Well, sir, there must be about eighty or ninety of these tawny rascals,
and we are all more or less damaged, and, counting our young friend
Mark, eleven men and three hospital nurses. Now the nurses can't fight,
and Mark must still be powder-monkey, so there we are ten men, and, as I
said, all damaged, to fight eighty."
"Yes," said the captain, "the odds are very great; but I think we might
do it."
"Humph!" said the major. "I don't. No, my dear Strong; it would be a
failure. I should like it immensely. I've been in several fights, and
I was never in one yet which stood at eight to one. Yes, I should like
it immensely; but there are the women."
"Yes," said the captain sadly; "there are the women."
"You don't think me turning tail because I speak so plainly?" said the
major.
"No;--how could I, major!"
"Well, I don't know, sir. The world is far more ready to think a man a
coward than a hero. But set aside that, it would not do, my dear
fellow. We are Englishmen and Irishmen, and can do a great deal; but
when it comes to eight to one there isn't room for one to move."
"You are right," said the captain with a groan. "My poor ship! my poor
wife and boy!"
"Get out with you! Why, what now!" cried the major, whose eyes were wet
with tears as he grasped the captain's hands. "We're not beaten yet, my
dear boy, and we're not going to be. Now I tell you what is our duty,
sir."
"Yes?"
"To put into that boat all the food and ammunition we've got, and then
all get in quietly but one; and he'd stop back to get the old ship well
alight; and then bad luck to the scoundrels on board, much good may it
do them!"
"My poor ship!"
"But you'd rather sink her or burn her than let these dogs grow fat on
what they get?"
"Certainly I would," said the captain.
"Then to-night, as soon as it's dark, let's do it, me dear boy, and make
for one of the islands."
"But we could hold out for long enough yet."
"No," said the major gravely; "we're beaten, me dear sor. The poor lads
are getting more stiff and sore every minute. To-morrow morning they
won't have a bit of fight in them; why, even your humble servant, sir,
who adores a scrimmage, would rather lie on a sofa and smoke till his
wounds are healed. Now isn't it all true?"
"Yes," said the captain; "you are quite right; but we'll hold out till
to-morrow. Help may come."
"To be sure it may," said the major cheerily. "I'm ready to wait. I've
only spoken my mind."
"I thank you, major," said Captain Strong. "You are quite right. I
felt that my plans were next door to madness; but I was ready to do
anything sooner than lose my ship."
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
HOW THERE WAS ANOTHER ENEMY TO FIGHT.
It was rapidly growing dark as Billy Widgeon went slowly up to Mark. He
limped as he walked, and there was a bandage round one of his short
legs.
"I've been having a look at that there monkey, Mr Mark, sir," said the
little sailor. "He's just come out of his hole, looking scared because
he thought the fellows was shouting at him. He came down over the stern
and in at one of the windows, and he's been a-making no end of fuss over
old Bruff's crocodilly leg, and he doesn't seem to understand it a bit.
But I say, sir, what are we going to do next? Some of the chaps is
rather bad."
"Poor fellows!" said Mark. "I suppose we shall have to fight again."
Billy made no answer, for another engagement seemed terrible enough to
think of now in cold blood, and they were soon after joined by Small,
who said nothing, but held out his hand to Mark, to give the lad's
fingers a long silent pressure, which seemed to him to mean only one
thing, and that was good-bye.
After a time the captain's voice was heard to summon the men, and Small
was sent to relieve Gregory; but the mate declined to leave his post,
and no attempt was made to enforce obedience.
Then half the men were placed at the barricade, and the weapons of the
other half were placed by them, while these latter were drawn up by the
saloon windows.
"What's we going to do?" whispered one of the men to Mark; but he could
give no answer.
It was now dark, even darker than the previous night, but a slight
breeze was beginning to rise in fitful gusts, and there was now and then
the ripple of water against the stern.
"You've made up your mind then?" said the major.
"Yes," replied the captain firmly. "We have done our duty. Now
humanity must be heard."
The captain then spoke a few words to Mr Gregory, and the question of
how the boat was to be brought from where she was secured exactly under
the cabin-window was discussed and settled by Mark volunteering to go
down.
"You lower me into the water with a rope," he said, "and I'll soon swim
to her and get in."
The captain hesitated for a few moments, and then the sheet-rope was
once more brought into use, and with it fastened round his waist Mark
climbed out, glanced up at the stern-rail to see if anyone was waiting
ready with a spear to thrust him through, and directly after he was
lowered into the water.
A few strokes took him to the boat, and after a good deal of trying he
managed to scramble in. The unfastening was a matter of very few
moments, and then with the painter in hand he worked right beneath the
cabin-window, when Mr Gregory slid down and joined him.
For the next two hours slowly and silently ammunition and such food as
they possessed in the shape of preserved meats and such like from the
captain's store were lowered down and packed in the bottom of the boat
and beneath the thwarts, and this was hardly done when a dull glow
seemed to show up the window above their head.
"Climb up, Mark, and tell them to put out that light," whispered Mr
Gregory.
Mark obeyed, not without some difficulty, and found that the saloon was
in a state of excitement.
"I've been smelling it this last half 'our, sir," said Billy Widgeon,
"but I thout it was some queer kind o' bacco as they Malay chaps smoked,
so I didn't speak."
"Ah, there's no mistake about it, Captain Strong!" said the second-mate;
"the ship is on fire, sir. They'll take alarm directly."
Almost as he spoke the Malays, who must have been asleep, did take the
alarm, and in a minute the whole deck was in an uproar.
"We've no time to lose," said the captain, and he ran to the window and
whispered down to Gregory what was wrong.
"Go down, Small," said the captain then, "and help take the ladies as we
lower them. Every man keep to his arms."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Is the ammunition down?"
"Yes, father," said Mark. "I stowed it myself in the locker."
Already the smoke was gathering in the cabin, and bright light shining
in through the damaged barricade, but thanks to the example set there
was no confusion after the first minute. The captain took his place by
the window and gave his orders, and one by one the ladies, the wounded,
the dog, and the monkey were lowered down, and then turn by turn the men
followed.
It now became evident that there was no farther need to fear attack, for
the Malays were rapidly quitting the burning ship amid yells and
confusion, while the light increased, and fortunately made the spot
where the boat lay beneath the stern seem by comparison more dark.
At last Mark followed the men, and was resting on the sill trying to
recollect whether all the arms were in the boat, when he heard the
captain say:
"Did you set her on fire?"
"My dear boy, no," cried the major.
"You proposed burning the ship."
"Just as I would if I were in command and about to evacuate a fort, my
dear sir; but how could I do this? She caught fire somewhere amidships,
I should say from their carelessness. Gun-wads have been smouldering
about, perhaps."
"Perhaps so," said the captain thoughtfully; and Mark sat with one leg
in and one leg out of the window gazing at his father as he stood there,
his fine, manly face thrown up for a moment by the glow which shone
through a hole in the door as a puff of wind set in through the open
stern and wafted back the smoke which seemed to settle down directly.
"Well," said the major, speaking as coolly as if he were on parade,
"shall I go first?"
"I was thinking, major. I can't do it. It seems like breaking my
pledges, and acting dishonourably to the owners of the ship to leave
her."
"My dear Strong," said the major, clapping him on the shoulder, "the
more I know of you the more I regret that you took to the sea."
"My dear sir," said Captain Strong angrily, "is this a time for
compliments?"
"It was meant sincerely," replied the major; "but let me point out to
you that however painful this may be to you we must go now."
"Why?" said the captain. "The Malay scoundrels are escaping to their
praus."
"Yes, there is no doubt of that."
"Then it is my duty to call back my men, and attack the flames."
"Now, my dear Strong, even if we had the whole crew instead of half a
dozen men, all more or less wounded," said the major, "you know as well
as I do that we could not master a fire like this. Look out of the
window yonder, how the sea is lit up, and then through that hole; why,
the mainmast and rigging must be all in a blaze!"
"Yes," said the captain, as if to himself, "from deck to truck, and the
burning pitch falling in a fiery rain. But if we could master the
flames, now the enemy are gone--"
"They would be waiting close at hand to come back and take possession,
my dear sir. Come, Strong, you've done your duty to everyone; it is now
time to save life."
"I cannot go," cried the captain fiercely. "I must have one try first."
He ran to the barricade, closely followed by the major, to see that the
deck had become quite a furnace, the waves of fire running upward, and
seeming to be borne here and there by the strong current of air which
the heat produced, and which now swept through the saloon, clearing it
of the smoke and rushing out of the jagged openings to fan the flames.
The captain stood gazing through for a few minutes without speaking, and
then turned sadly away.
"It would be impossible," he said.
"Is anything wrong?" came in a whisper from the boat to Mark.
"No, no," he whispered back; "they are coming directly."
"Yes, impossible, my dear fellow," said the major quietly.
As he spoke there was a sudden flash and a roar; the barricade was
driven in, and Mark felt as if something soft, but of enormous power,
drove him from his hold where he sat, so that he fell headlong into the
boat, his fall being broken by his coming down upon the men in the bows.
He was not hurt, and as he struggled up it was to see that there was
comparative darkness and a huge cloud of smoke over them; but directly
after, there was a rushing noise, and a glare of light seemed to blaze
out, showing the smoke rising red-edged and lurid, while the effect of
the explosion seemed to be that there was more food set free for the
flames.
"Help me up," said Mark excitedly. "Let me go back. They must be
killed."
"Nay, nay, my lad, it's all right," whispered the first-mate; "they're
coming down."
It was a fact, for the major slid quickly down the cotton rope, and the
captain could be seen leaning out ready to follow, as he did directly
and took his place in the boat.
"Will you give orders, or shall I?" whispered Gregory, as Mark gazed to
right and left, and then back over the stern, where his mother sat by
Mary O'Halloran, and as he looked he could see that there was a black
shadow of the ship stretching far away over the shining waters.
"Go on," said the captain; and, taking an oar to steer, the mate gave a
short order, oars were dipped, and the heavily-laden gig moved slowly
out from under the stern, the mate keeping her in the shadow as soon as
she was turned.
In the act of turning Mark caught sight of one of the praus glistening
as if gilded, and just a slighter glimpse of the second prau, while for
a minute or two all sat in silent dread of their having been seen.
But there was no yell to announce their discovery, and directly after
they were back in the shelter of the shadow, and moving steadily in the
face of a soft breeze farther and farther from the praus.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
HOW THEY FELL IN WITH GREATER PERIL.
The peril was still great, and there was the risk that at any moment
another inadvertent movement on the part of the boat, such as that made
by Mr Gregory in his ignorance of the side on which the enemy lay,
might result in discovery, for the sea glowed in the intense light shed
by the burning vessel, and the faces of all in the gig stood out so
plainly that it seemed to be only a question of moments before they were
seen.
But the mate carefully manoeuvred his steering oar; the men pulled a
slow, silent, and steady stroke; and fortunately for all, the Malays
were so intent upon the fire that they did not alter the positions of
their vessels.
For a very short time the boat was in the black shadow cast by the
stern; then they were floating as it were on golden waters; and the same
feeling animated every breast, though it remained an unspoken thought:
This is all in vain; we must be seen and brought back.
"A little more room there; sit close; move steadily," said the
first-mate hoarsely. "Now two more oars."
These were laid in the rowlocks silently, and with four men pulling in
place of two the heavily-laden boat made more rapid progress, so that
before long there was a space of several hundred yards between the
fugitives and the flaming ship, and they could look at the two praus
lying a short distance away without so much fear of being seen.
"Steady, my lads! pull!" said the mate, whose was the only face turned
from the ship, and as he stood in the stern his shadow was cast upon the
water.
"Were you hurt, father?" said Mark.
"No, my lad, not much," said the captain. "The explosion struck us both
down. That was all."
Nothing more was said, for everyone was too much intent upon the sight
before them, one which was grand in the extreme, and lit up the ocean
far and wide. The main and fore-masts were blazing right to the very
trucks, and as the fugitives watched the mizzen-mast caught, and they
could see the flames leap from spar to spar, running along ropes with
quite a rapid motion, while great burning drops seemed to keep falling
toward the deck. By rapid degrees the burning ship now assumed the
aspect of a pyramid of fire, sails, yards, cordage, and masts being all
involved, while from the blazing cone a steady burst of great golden
sparks rose toward a huge purple canopy, all folds and wreathing volumes
edged with orange and gold, the cloud of smoke that floated lazily in
the heated air.
By degrees the sparks became invisible, and the flames were merged, many
tongues in one, as the distance was increased; while the praus, out of
whose sight it was no longer necessary to keep, looked comparatively
small, with their sides still glistening in the light.
"There is no occasion to keep silence now," said the captain quietly.
"We are far out of hearing."
"What caused that explosion there?" said the mate, as he seated himself
now, but continued to steer.
"We cannot tell for certain," said the captain.
"No," said the major; "but there seems to me to be no doubt that it was
a powder-keg which the Malays had brought on board, I should say to blow
open the cabin-door. And it did," he added grimly, "and I hope they
liked it."
"What do you propose doing, captain?" said Mr Gregory at last, and the
answer was eagerly listened for. "We are heavily-laden and ought to
make land."
"Yes, but it must not be in the sight of the praus. It is early in the
night yet, and we are evidently in a sharp current."
"Yes, a strong current," said the mate.
"Then row steadily till daybreak, and by then we shall be well out of
sight, and can make for one of the islands to the south, or try and get
in the route of the China ships."
"Right!" said the mate. "Give way, my lads; a slow easy stroke, and
we'll all relieve you in turn."
This was done all through the rest of the night, but with great caution,
for the gig was very low in the water; and while they rowed in turn
those who were not at the oars sat gazing at the burning ship, and the
wounded men sometimes slept.
But wounded or no, all took a turn at the oars, from the captain
downward; and towards morning, when all were utterly exhausted, fair
progress was still made in the boat as she was pulled by the two ladies,
and Mary O'Halloran and Mark.
The night had not been without incidents, for when they were about a
couple of miles from the ship the mainmast fell over the side with a
rush of flame, and lay burning on the surface of the water; to be
followed almost directly by the fore-mast; and the mizen alone remained
standing like a pillar of light for about another hour before it fell in
the opposite direction.
This altered the shape of the fire, but the ship blazed on, the size of
the conflagration seeming less as the distance increased, but still
flaming plainly on the horizon, till just at daybreak a low cloud seemed
to come sweeping over the sea, borne on a sighing breeze, which faintly
rippled the surface, and as this enveloped them the glow astern was
blotted out and a soft rain began to fall.
As it grew lighter the rain became more heavy, and at last it came down
in a perfect deluge, increasing so in violence that before long one of
the men was set to work with the baler emptying the water out that
collected under the thwarts.
It was a depressing time, for as the hours passed on, the rain never
ceased for a moment, but kept on in a regular tropic deluge; while, in
spite of food and stimulants, exhaustion and suffering from their wounds
told more and more, till one by one the men gave up, and the boat at
last drifted with the swift current into which they had been drawn.
A short consultation was held between the heads, and failing
observations, it was decided that it would be better to make for the
island off which the ship had been becalmed; but even that desperate
resolve had now to be given up, for the strength of all seemed gone, and
the current set in, as far as they could judge, the opposite direction.
"We can do nothing, major," said the captain at last; "nothing now but
trust in God and hope for the best."
"Amen!" said the major quietly, and he calmly took his turn at the
baling, which had now become the one task undertaken, so as to keep the
boat clear of water.
Night came slowly as they drifted on, but it came at last--a densely
dark night, with the rain still falling; and in spite of their being in
the tropics, the cold and suffering, as they all sat in their saturated
garments wishing for the cessation of the rain, was terrible; and how
those hours next passed none seemed to know, for they were utterly
stupefied with weariness and exhaustion.
Morning at last, and with the break of day the rain partially ceased,
for its violence was not so great, but it kept falling; and now to add
to their peril a gusty wind came from astern as the sun began to rise.
It was plain to all on board that if the surface became rough their boat
must sink. For she was so heavily-laden that the space of side above
the water was small indeed. Under the circumstances Captain Strong
decided to raise the little lug-sail neatly rolled round its mast, and
this latter being stepped, the sail was unfurled, and in a few minutes
they were gliding rapidly on, shipping a little water from time to time,
but no more than could be easily mastered and kept down.
Where to steer was not in their choice. All that could be done was to
keep the gig afloat, and to this the captain and mate directed all their
energies.
Food was distributed, and of water they felt no want, their saturated
garments having quenched all thirst; but matters seemed to grow worse.
Mr Morgan was delirious, and one of the men lay rambling on about some
place in London where he meant to have called.
Morning, noon, evening, and the gig rushing on through the broken water
with a thick misty rain all around and no chance of making out their
whereabouts.
"Shall we be saved?" said Mrs Strong at last in a whisper as, utterly
worn out, the captain came at last and sat down between his wife and
son.
"Don't ask, my dear," he said calmly. "We have done, and are doing, all
that men can do. The rest must be left."
Night came, a night that was even blacker than that which had passed,
but the rain did not cease nor the sky clear. Everything a hundred
yards away seemed to be so much solid darkness; but, on the other hand,
the sea grew no rougher, and the wind sent the boat rapidly along.
It must have been about midnight that, as nearly everyone in the gig
were plunged in a stupor-like sleep, the first-mate was steering, the
boat gliding swiftly through the broken waves. The major sat on one
side and Mark on the other talking from time to time in a low voice.
A calm feeling of despair had settled down among them, and when they did
speak it was about some indifferent matter, all shrinking from anything
concerning their approaching fate, when Mark, who was stooping to pat
the poor wounded dog at his feet, where he lay curled in company with
shivering Jack, suddenly laid his hand upon Mr Gregory's arm.
"What's that?" he said in a whisper.
"What? I heard nothing," said the major.
"Silence!" cried the mate sternly; and he listened intently to a low
roaring noise.
"Breakers!" he said suddenly. "We are near land."
"Land?" cried Mark.
"Yes, my boy. Oh, if it were day!"
The mate changed the course of the boat directly so as to run off to the
left, but at the end of five minutes he altered the course again.
"Breakers there too," he said. "We are between them."
"Well, then, quick!" said the major. "Go about and let's turn back."
"My dear Major O'Halloran," said the mate calmly, "if I attempt to go
about, the boat will fill instantly and sink. Our only chance is in
keeping on."
As he spoke he resumed the course they had been just taking, and now,
rapidly increasing in power, the sound of the waves breaking on rocks
could be heard to right and left.
"But you don't know where you are going," said the major.
"No, sir. But it is all I can do. Mark Strong, rouse your father; and,
major, be prepared to swim right ahead if anything happens."
"What's the good?" said the major calmly. And then, "Shall I wake them,
or let them meet it asleep? I'll wake them," he said; and he crept
cautiously to arouse Mrs and Mary O'Halloran, as Mark was rousing his
father, his mother waking too.
"Breakers?" said the captain. "Well, I have been expecting it for
hours. Can you make anything out, Gregory!"
"No, captain. All's like pitch ahead."
The captain uttered a sigh, and as the rest were roused, and realised
what was taking place, they received it all with a dull quiet
resignation, as if death would be almost welcome now.