"Now, my lads," said Murray, at last; "speak out; let me know the worst.
Who is hurt?"
There was no reply, the men tugging slowly and regularly at the oars.
"Well, speak out," cried the middy. "Don't be too modest to let me
know. You, Tom May, what about your eyes?"
"Don't want 'em now, sir," said the man, in his deep, low growl. "Won't
be daylight yet awhile."
"I know that," said Murray testily; "but you said that you were getting
them scratched out."
"Yes, sir, but I just spoke out in time, or else they'd ha' gone. I'm
all right, sir; don't you worry about me."
"But I shall worry about you, Tom May," said the lad, "especially when I
make my report. You saved us all when it seemed all over with our
chance of escape."
"Did I, sir?"
"Ay, ay, that he did," chorussed the men.
"Well, don't make such a fuss about it, messmets," grumbled the man.
"Mere's two on 'em got a scrarp from that shooting, sir."
"Ah!" cried Murray. "Well, the wounds must be seen to as soon as it's
daylight. Can you tie the places up for the present?"
"Ay, ay, sir," said one of the men. "A hankychy's been teared up, and
there's nothing bad, sir."
But though nothing could be seen till daybreak, the young officer,
knowing his men as he did, insisted upon making an examination by touch
during a short rest in the darkness, with the boat hitched up to an
overhanging tree, after which the slow pull was resumed hour after hour,
till overhead the stars began to pale, and Murray sat trying to scheme
out some sensible course to be carried out in the daylight.
The lad thought and thought, gradually growing more low-spirited, as he
was always face to face with the thought that he had made a miserable
failure of the task he had attacked in such high spirits. He had hoped
to reach the boat-keepers and take them down the river to the _Seafowl_,
and return with the second lieutenant and a strong party of men to the
aid of Mr Anderson and his lads, who would probably proceed to rout out
the slaving nest. In fact, he had started full of glee to carry out his
instructions, but only to be dogged at every step by mischance.
Murray sank down in his seat, the image of despair. He had pulled on
for some hours, only to give up faint with hunger, and wearied by his
efforts during the night; but all these were as nothing to the trouble
that was to come with the rising sun. He would sooner or later have to
face the first lieutenant, who would say to him, "I sent you for
reinforcements and to make a report to the captain; and what have you
done?"
"It is of no use to make excuses," the lad said to himself; "I have
failed."
He was bending very low now with his elbows resting upon his knees, and
the only comfort he could find was in the thought that if Dick Roberts
had been sent instead, he could have done no better, when he roused
himself with the thought that he must not run any more risks; he must
reach the place where the boat had been left the previous day, and he
was now face to face with the thought that he might over-run the spot
during the dark hours, or, when full daylight came, be in the troublous
position of incertitude as to whether they had rowed too far or not far
enough.
The daylight at last, and the cane brake alive with the cries of the
various strange occupants of its wilds. A light mist was floating
overhead, the leaves were drenched with dew, and when the pale mist
began to grow opalescent, shot as it were with purple, ruby and gold,
everything was so beautiful that the lad's spirits rose with a bound.
"I did my best," he said to himself, "and though I shall get a good
bullying for not doing more, old Anderson will come round and make me
tell everything I have gone through, and then nod his head and say that
I could have done no more."
There was a good deal too in the way of making the subject appear more
cheerful, for the men were pulling at their oars easily and looked full
of contentment, in spite of a few bruises, blood-smears and bandages,
ready, too, to smile at him, when he fully expected to encounter surly
glances full of reproach, while as soon as a question arose for
discussion they plunged into it full of eagerness and excitement.
The first boat-keeper was thoroughly decisive about the spot where the
boat had been left.
"Further on yet, sir," he declared. "I can recollect going along here
yesterday."
"No, you don't," said Tom May surlily. "You don't know nothing about
it, lad."
"Not know? That I do, messmate! Why, I'm sure on it."
"On'y a-guessing, sir. Don't you believe a word he says."
"Oh, come, mate," said Lang, the other boatman; "he's right enough. We
ought to know better than you, because we stopped with the boat."
"Well, that's why you don't know, my lad," said the big sailor. "All
you did was to stop and sit cutting sticks or pegs. We others know
better because we landed and went with the first luff right inland."
"What of that?" said Lang. "You didn't go about the river high-up or
low down; so now then!"
"Don't argue, my lads," cried Murray sharply. "Pull, and let's see if
Lang and his fellow are right. For my part, I think we must be just
about the place where we landed now. Why, yes; there, it's just beyond
that overhanging tree."
"To be sure, sir," said Tom May excitedly. "That's the landing-place."
"Right you are, mate," cried the boat-keepers in a breath, "and there's
the sticks we whittled when we cut down that furren sapling to make
pegs."
A very few minutes' pulling brought the little party to the
landing-place from which the start had been made for the plantation, and
Murray stood up in the boat, trying to settle in his own mind what the
next step ought to be.
It was his greatest crisis of responsibility, and his face puckered up
as he glanced at his men and grasped the fact that they were looking to
him to lead. They were ready enough to obey his orders, but not to give
him the advice which he needed at such a crucial time.
"What can I do?" he asked himself. "It is a horrible task, but I must
let Mr Anderson know of my failure. I feel as if I could find my way
up to the plantation house now; but I can't leave the boat here, knowing
that the enemy may follow us up the river and attack and capture it.
That would be like cutting off Mr Anderson's retreat. I can't send one
or two of the lads up to the house, for Tom May and Titely proved that
they could lose themselves hopelessly, and if I sent the others they
don't know the way at all. There's only one I feel as if I could
trust--myself; and I can't trust him. Oh, was ever a fellow in such a
hole before!"
He stood thinking, and the longer he thought the worse off he seemed to
be; and his position grew more painful as he realised the fact that his
men were waiting for his orders; and, though they remained silent, they
kept on casting glances down stream as if expecting to see the armed
party of the enemy in pursuit.
"It's of no use," he said to himself; "the more I think the worse the
difficulties seem to grow;" and pulling himself together, he turned
sharply upon May.
"Look here, my lad," he said sharply, "you must find your way up to the
plantation and tell Mr Anderson how I am fixed. I can't leave the
boat, for I must hold that in case the enemy comes on; and I can't spare
any one to go with you, for three fellows will be small enough force to
beat the enemy back."
"Ay, ay, sir!" said the sailor promptly.
"You can tell Mr Anderson everything, and then he will settle whether
he will hold the plantation house or come here and help us to get back
to the sloop."
"Ay, ay, sir! Start?"
"One moment, Tom. You mustn't lose your way, but try and recollect the
track that black fellow led us; and one word more--this is not a time
for fighting, but for cunning. Now, off!"
The man stood for a few moments to thrust the ramrod down his piece and
make sure that it was well loaded; then throwing it over his shoulder,
he sprang ashore as lightly as if neither his rest nor his regular meals
had been interfered with, gained the track, which now seemed plain
enough, and disappeared.