THE PRISONERS IN THE HOLD
“Mutiny!” came from Barry’s lips.
“Bob must be right,” ejaculated Captain Gordon. “We must be on guard
ere it is too late.”
“How many men hidden in the hold?” questioned Bob, of Stults.
The cook could not answer this question. But he had seen several moving
cautiously around in the darkness and heard them conversing in whispers.
“It is undoubtedly a plot to capture the Arrow,” came from Barry. “And
the question is, how are we to prevent the move?”
“Let us fight the mutineers,” said Bob, promptly.
“To be sure, we will fight,” returned Captain Gordon. “But we are
placed at a disadvantage without our weapons.”
“My pistol is all right,” said Bob.
“I will go and see to mine instantly,” said Barry, and hurried off.
To get to his private stateroom he had to pass through a passageway
leading through the cabin.
As he was walking along he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned swiftly, but it was too late.
Down came a club in the hands of Captain Fenlick, and the owner of the
Arrow staggered and fell headlong.
Then all became a blank before his eyes, and Barry knew no more.
“Number One!” muttered Fenlick, savagely “That was easy.”
He had come from the hold but a few minutes before, followed by the
others of his lawless crew.
“What’s the next move?” asked Caven, who had joined the crowd.
“Where are Captain Gordon and Bob Baxter?”
Captain Fenlick was informed and started in the direction, with Caven
and one of the Spaniards at his heels.
In the mean time the second Spaniard, the negro, and the sailor from
the Arrow who had joined the rascals, moved forward on the crew who
were on the forward deck and in the forecastle.
Several minutes went by and Bob and Captain Gordon began to wonder why
Barry did not return.
“I’ll wager he found something wrong with his pistols,” said Bob. “He
must know----What’s that? Captain Fenlick, by all that’s wonderful!”
“Surrender!” came from Fenlick, as he pointed a pistol at Captain
Gordon’s head. “Raise a hand against us and you are a dead man!”
For the instant Captain Gordon could not speak.
He was taken completely by surprise.
In the mean time, Caven covered Bob with a pistol.
“It’s my turn now,” he said, with a wicked grin. “Don’t ye be afther
movin’ a single hair o’ yer head, b’y!”
“What does this mean?” asked Captain Gordon, at last.
“It means that we are in possession of the Arrow,” answered Captain
Fenlick. “Will you submit quietly or must we use force?”
“You in possession of the Arrow?” repeated Captain Gordon.
“Yes, I and my fourteen men,” went on Captain Fenlick, telling the
falsehood with great smoothness.
“Mine cracious, fourteen mens!” groaned Stults.
“You keep quiet!” ordered Caven, and then Stults was covered with a
pistol by the Spaniard and almost collapsed from nervousness.
“Do you know that your actions are treason on the high seas and
punishable by death?” said Captain Gordon.
“Bah! Don’t talk to me!” growled Fenlick. “Do you submit or not?”
“I presume we will have to submit.”
“That is where you show your common sense.”
“Where is Mr. Filmore?”
“He’s a close prisoner.”
“I don’t see why I should submit,” put in Bob, boldly.
“All right then, Baxter, we’ll put a ball through your head,” replied
Captain Fenlick, coldly.
“No, no, don’t shoot the lad,” interposed Captain Gordon. “Bob, we had
better submit, since they have the best of us.”
The youth was very wrathful, yet he could not help but see the wisdom
of Captain Gordon’s words.
Accordingly he allowed himself to be made a prisoner, the Spaniard
binding his hands behind him while Caven kept him covered with the
pistol.
Captain Gordon was treated in a similar fashion and then the pair were
marched off to the hold and tumbled into the darkness.
In the hold they stumbled over Barry, who was just returning to
consciousness.
“Barry, are you much hurt?” asked Bob, tenderly.
“My head! It’s almost cracked open!” came with a groan.
“Who did it?”
“Captain Fenlick. He wants to take possession of the Arrow, I guess.”
“He has taken possession.”
Barry was made as comfortable as possible, and then the three sat down,
wondering what would happen next.
They heard hasty footsteps on deck and several pistol shots, and then
Stults was thrown into the hold, also bound.
“Der game vos up!” sputtered the German cook. “Dot Captain Fenlick and
Pat Caven vos got der yacht to demselves!”
“What of the men?” questioned Captain Gordon, anxiously.
Before Stults could reply the question answered itself.
The hatch was opened and down came two of the crew, one wounded in the
leg from a pistol ball and the second suffering from a crack of a club
on the head.
They reported that Logger had joined the pirates--for such Captain
Fenlick and his gang really were--and that the others were in the
forecastle badly wounded and unable to do anything for themselves.
“There are six of ’em against us, cap’n,” said one of the wounded
sailors.
“Six!” repeated Bob. “And we are but six here, and two badly hurt.”
“And they have all of the weapons,” put in Captain Gordon. “Boys, I am
afraid we are in a pretty bad box.”
“Perhaps they will make us all walk the plank,” went on the sailor.
“Valk der blank!” cried Stults. “Ach!” And he raised his hands in
despair.
The hatch had been closed and all was dark. One after another they sat
down, Bob with Barry’s sore head resting in his lap. Certainly the turn
of affairs looked gloomy enough.
Meanwhile, Captain Fenlick and his villanous crew had taken possession
of the private cabin and were treating themselves to the best of the
liquors and cigars on board.
“Drink what you will,” said the captain, “but don’t go it too strong.
Remember, we are playing a game that will be worth millions to us!” And
for a wonder, none of those under him got drunk excepting the negro,
who filled up on whiskey and then went to the forecastle and almost
scared the wounded sailors to death by flourishing a razor in their
faces and offering to carve out their hearts if they uttered a word of
protest.
As hour after hour went by, those below wondered if they were to be
starved to death.
The negro had shipped with Captain Fenlick as cook, but was too drunk
to prepare any food.
One of the Spaniards went to the galley and did the best he could for
himself and his comrades, but the prisoners were entirely neglected
until noon of the next day.
By that time all had freed themselves of their bonds.
Yet they were prisoners in the hold, for all of the doorways leading to
the cabin and other places had been tightly locked and barred.
At last the fore hatch was opened and a basket of food and a can of
water were lowered by means of ropes.
“There’s yer hash an’ wather!” sang out Pat Caven, from above. “Be
thankful yer gittin’ it and be sure an’ make it last ye, fer ye won’t
git any more in a hurry.”
“Caven, I want to talk to Captain Fenlick,” said Barry, who was now
feeling better.
“All right, I’ll call him,” was the answer.
Soon Fenlick came up and glared down upon those below.
“Want to make terms, eh?” he said. “All right, fire away.” And he sat
down on the edge of the hatch to listen to what Barry might have to say.