At seven o'clock on the following morning the boys had not returned,
and Martin Flemming, just as his wife brought him his cup of coffee, was
saying that they probably were still fishing, when he heard a sound that
made him spring to his feet--the long, hoarse, bellowing note of a conch
shell, repeated three times.
“That's a call to arms!” he cried, “what does it mean, I wonder. Ah,
there is another sounding, too, from the far end of the village. I must
go and see what is the matter.”
Scarcely, however, had he put his foot outside his door when he heard
his boys' voices, and in another moment he saw them running or rather
staggering along the path together with a crowd of natives, who were all
wildly excited, and shouting at the top of their voices.
“Father, father,” and the eldest boy ran to him, and scarcely able to
stand, so exhausted was he, he flung himself down on the verandah steps,
“father, Jack and Tom, and the two Anaa men... been stolen by a strange
ship... we must... we must save them.”
Hastening inside, Flemming returned with a carafe of cold water, and
commanding the boys not to try to speak any more just then, he poured
some over their wrists, and then gave them a little in a glass to drink.
When they were sufficiently “winded,” they told him their story, which
was, briefly, this.
In company with two canoes, they had put out to sea and began fishing.
Then they parted company--the boat pulling round to the other side of
Anaa, where they fished with fair success till daylight. Suddenly a
small white-painted barque appeared, coming round the north end of
the island. She was under very easy canvas, and when she saw the boat,
backed her main-yard, and ran up her ensign.
“They want us to come aboard,” said Bob, hauling in his line. “Up lines
everybody.”
His companions at once pulled up their lines, and took to the oars, and
in a few minutes they were alongside the ship, and an officer leant over
the side of the poop, and asked them to come aboard.
The boys ascended first, the four natives following; the former were at
once conducted into the barque's cabin, where the captain, an old
man with a white moustache, asked them their names, and then began to
question them as to the number of natives on the island, &c., when they
started to their feet with alarmed faces as they heard a sudden rush of
feet on deck, followed by oaths and cries, and Walter the younger of the
two, fancied, he heard his brother's name called by Jack Waterwitch.
“Sit down, boys, sit down,” said the captain, dropping his suave
manner, and speaking angrily, “you can go on deck and be off on shore
presently.” As he spoke a man came below, and made a sign to him.
“All right, sir.”
The captain nodded, and then told the boys to go on deck and get into
their boat. They at once obeyed, but the moment they reached the deck
they were surrounded by five or six of the crew, who hustled them to
the gangway, and forced them over the side, despite their struggles, and
their loud cries to their native friends, of whom they could see nothing
whatever.
The boat's line was cast off, and as she fell astern the boys saw that
a number of sailors were aloft, loosing her light sails, and in a few
minutes she was some distance away from them, heading to the eastward
with a light breeze. As quickly as possible the two boys set the boat's
sail, and sailing and pulling, they ran straight for the weather side of
the island, crossed over the reef into the lagoon, and gave the alarm to
the first people they met.
“Good lads,” said Flemming, “you have done all that you could do. We
shall see presently what can be done to save our men.”
Then turning to his wife, he bade her get ready enough provision for
his three boats, and have them launched and manned by their usual crews,
whilst he went to the mission to consult with Father Billot and the
chiefs, for he had already heard from one of the excited natives that
the barque was still very near the land, and almost becalmed; and he
knew that the Anaa natives would to a man assist him in recovering the
four men from captivity.
Half way to the mission house, he met the priest himself, hurrying along
the shaded path, to tell him the further news that the two canoes which
had accompanied the boat had just returned, after narrowly escaping
capture by the barque. It appeared that they, too, had seen the barque
crawling along under the lee of the land and close in to the reef, just
as daylight broke, and from the number of boats she carried--she had
two towing, as well as three others on deck--they imagined her to be
a whaler. They paddled up alongside without the slightest suspicion
of danger, and three or four of their number in the first canoe were
clambering up the side when they suddenly sprang overboard, just as
three or four grapnels with light chains were thrown from the bulwarks
over the canoes so as to catch their outriggers, and capsize them. Most
fortunately, however, only one of the grapnels caught--it fell upon the
wooden grating or platform between the outrigger and the hull of
one canoe, and was quickly torn away by the desperate hands of the
natives--in less than a minute both canoes were clear of the ship, and
racing shoreward without the loss of a single man. No attempt was made
to follow them in the barque's boats, her ruffianly captain and crew
evidently recognising that there was no chance of overtaking them when
the land was so near.
“The villains!” exclaimed Flemming, as he and the priest set off at a
run to the house of the head chief, who had just sent an urgent message
for them to come and meet him and his leading men in counsel, “she must
be a slaver from the coast of South America.”
The consultation with the chiefs was a hurried one, and a resolution
to board the barque and recapture the four men if possible, was quickly
arrived at. Over thirty canoes, and five or six boats, manned and armed
by nearly two hundred of the picked men of the island, and led by Martin
Flemming and three chiefs, were soon underway, and passing out through
the narrow passage in the reef, went northward till they rounded the
point, and saw the barque about five miles away. She had every stitch of
canvas set, but was making little more than steerage way, for only the
faintest air was filling her upper canvas.
The canoes and boats, at Flemming's suggestion, approached her in a
half-circle, his own boat leading. It was his intention to recover the
men if possible, without bloodshed, and he would first make an attempt
to board the slaver--for such she was--and alone try to achieve the
men's liberation by pointing out to the captain that his ship would be
captured and destroyed by the infuriated natives if he refused. If he
did refuse there would be a heavy loss of life--of that he (Flemming)
was certain.
Apparently no notice was taken by the barque of the approaching
flotilla, until it was within three quarters of a mile, then she hauled
up her mainsail, came slowly to the wind, and began firing with two of
the four guns she carried--nine-pounders. Flemming at once ordered all
the other boats and canoes to cease pulling and paddling, and he went on
alone. He was not again fired at till he came within a quarter of a mile
of the vessel, when a volley of musketry was fired, together with the
two heavy guns, both of which were loaded with grape. How any one of
them in the boat escaped was a marvel, for the bullets lashed the water
into foam only a few yards ahead, and some, ricochetting, struck and
damaged two of the oars.
To advance in face of such a fire would be madness. The barque evidently
carried a large and well-armed crew, so he slewed round and pulled
towards the little fleet, as those on the slaver yelled derisively, and
again began firing with the nine-pounders, and small arms as well.
And then, to his bitter rage and disappointment, a puff of wind came
over from the westward, and the barque's sails filled. In ten minutes
she was slipping through the water so quickly that she was leaving them
astern fast, and in another hour she had swept round the south end of
the land, and they saw her no more.
Sad and dejected, he and his native friends returned to Tuuhora, and
drawing up their boats and canoes, went to their homes in silence.