FURTHER CONCERNING THE SAME
“Yonder breaks the dawn, Hector!”
“Aye, lad, and ’tis an unco’ inspirin’ sicht tae watch the sun rise
abune this weary waste o’ waters like the speerit o’ life. ’Tis mony a
sunrise I’ve watched syne I was a wee bit laddie ... an’ ’tis nae wonder
’twas worshipped by the ancients as a god.... See, yonder he comes, a
flamin’ majesty! Could ony human mind conceive anything sae glorious, sae
deevine, sae—— Ten thousand deevils! Look yonder! Ahoy, Sharkie—Sharkie
man!”
Glancing whither Sir Hector’s long finger pointed, Sir John espied the
top-gallant sails of a ship uprearing from the mists of dawn, topsails of
radiant glory flushing from scarlet to pink, from pink to saffron, and so
at last to shining gold. Slowly the vessel herself came into view, her
high, clean bow, the line of her grinning gun-ports.
Suddenly from her fore-chase gushed roaring flame, and round shot hissed
athwart the lugger’s forefoot.
And now upon the _True Believer’s_ deck was a scurring of men, silent
no longer—men who cursed and laughed, shouting and pointing, yet never
in each other’s way, taking their appointed stations like the true
sailor-men they were, and who stared, one and all, from their pursuer to
the brown-faced, serene man who neither shouted nor pointed, but stood
with Sir Hector, gazing at the oncoming brig in dispassionate judgment of
her pace—and all voices were hushed awaiting his command. When at last he
spoke, his word was obeyed on the jump; reefs were loosed, shaken out
and hauled taut, lee-stays eased, and the _True Believer_, heeling to the
wind, drove hissing upon her course at increased speed.
“What ship’s yon, Sharkie man?” inquired Sir Hector of the imperturbable
man beside him.
“’Tis the _Seahorse_ brig, y’r honour ... ten guns out o’ Ryde.... Must
ha’ been layin’ hove-to hereabouts in the mist ... waitin’ for us, which
is strange ... strange! But there aren’t a craft anywheres along the
coast can forereach the _True Believer_ on a wind—aye, or goin’ free,
much less yon lubberly brig!” quoth the placid Sharkie, balancing himself
serenely upon the sloping deck.
“John!” cried Sir Hector, clutching a weather-brace in one hand and
flourishing the other towards the speaker. “This is ma frien’, Sharkie
Nye, a man o’ sound judgment except i’ the doctrine o’ Predestination!
Sharkie man, this is Sir—umph!—John Derwent, wha I ha’ kenned from his
cradle, and moreover, Sharkie—— Losh, man—yon was nearish!” he exclaimed
as a round-shot hummed between their raking masts.
“Aye, y’r honour, though I’ve ’ad ’em nearer afore now!” nodded Mr. Nye;
“but we’ll be out o’ reach in a bit if none o’ our gear is carried away
or——” A rending crash, a whirr of flying splinters and a gaping rent
appeared in the _True Believer’s_ bulwarks forward.
“That,” quoth Mr. Nye, viewing the damage with calculating eye, “that
were a bit nearer, sir. Forward there!” he roared suddenly. “Any on ye
hurt?”
“Nary a soul, Sharkie!” a cheery voice roared back; “us du be layin’
low-like!”
“The brig be gettin’ ’er range on us,” continued Mr. Nye, “which may
mak’ it a bit ark’ard for a minute or two, ’specially for the young
’ooman—best take ’er below, sirs.” And away he lurched for a word with
the steersman, while Sir John made his way to her who clung, staring
wide-eyed at their oncoming, relentless pursuer.
“Rose,” said he, “I will see you below!”
“Sir,” she answered, “you will no such thing!”
“There is danger on deck here!”
“So is there below.”
“Will you obey me?”
“Never!”
“Then I shall carry you.”
“Then I shall kick!”
“Egad!” he exclaimed; “I believe you would!”
“I’ faith, sir,” she nodded, “I vow I should!”
Here, meeting each other’s glance, they laughed; then he was beside her
and had caught her hand.
“Rose child, if I begged you to leave the deck——”
“’Twould be of none avail!” she answered, her eyes very bright. “This is
life!”
“And in the midst of life we are in death!” he retorted.
“Then if death come I prefer to die here in the sun and wind.”
“Ha’ you no fear, child?”
“Not of death!”
“Of what, then?”
“Of myself!” she answered, turning to glance at their pursuer again.
“Why of yourself?” But ere she could reply he had leapt and dragged
her beneath him to the deck as the guns roared again, followed by a
clamour of shouts and cries forward, a confusion of dismayed shouting
and a great flapping of rent canvas as the _True Believer_, swinging up
into the wind, lay a fair target for the Preventive brig’s gunnery. A
shot furrowed her deck abaft the mainmast, another crashed through her
bulwarks aft and, struck by a flying splinter, Sir Hector staggered and
brought up against the lee-rail grasping at torn and bloody sleeve.
“Dinna fash ye’sel’, John lad!” he panted, as Sir John leapt to him.
“Toots, man, let be! ’Tis nae mair than a wee scratch—though painfu’
forbye. But wha’s come tae a’ the lads? Sharkie!” he roared; “Sharkie
man, ye’ll no’ strike tae the de’ils yonder?”
“Not me, y’r honour,” answered Mr. Nye, signalling to the steersman;
“leastways, not while I’ve a sail as will draw——”
“An’ will ye let ’em shoot ye tae pieces an’ gi’e ’em nothing in return?
O man, hae ye no arteelery?”
“Aye, sir, a tidy piece under the tarpaulin yonder. But Lord love ’ee,
sir, to fire agin a King’s ship is treason, piracy, murder, Execution
Dock and damnation——”
“What o’ that, Sharkie? Wull ye look at me arrm?”
“I’ll whip my neckerchief round it, y’r honour——”
“Ye’ll no sic thing till I’ve tried a shot at yon deevils. Haul ye gun
aft, Sharkie; I was an arteelery officer, y’ ken——”
“No, no, y’r honour; we’ll be on our course again so soon as we’ve rove
new running-gear and——”
“Hoot, Sharkie—wull ye look at my arrm? An’ see yonder, they’re comin’
up wi’ us fast ... their next broadside should sink us. Aft wi’ the gun,
Sharkie, and I’ll dae me best tae haud ’em off a while.”
For a long moment Mr. Nye studied the oncoming brig, chewing placidly at
his quid of tobacco; finally he nodded, albeit unwillingly, whereupon
eager hands hasted to uncover, load and haul the gun aft; and there,
grovelling upon his knees, spattering blood all round him, Sir Hector
trained and sighted the long, deadly piece.
“A smoothish sea, Sharkie!” he muttered. “’Tis a fair shot ... if my hand
has no’ lost its cunning ... so and so ... a thocht mair eleevation!”
“And now, when you’m ready, sir,” said Mr. Nye, blowing upon the fuse he
had lighted, “if you’ll stand away I’ll give fire——”
“You!” exclaimed Sir Hector fiercely. “You, Sharkie? Man, d’ye ken I’m
Hector Lauchlan MacLean o’ Duart? Gi’e’s the match afore I heave ye tae
the fushes!” So saying, he snatched the fuse, blew on it, glanced along
the piece and gave fire. Smoke, flame, a roar that seemed to shake the
_True Believer_ from stem to stern, and then, as the smoke cleared, every
man aboard cheered lustily and long as the brig’s fore-topmast was seen
to sway, totter and plunge over to leeward in flapping ruin.
“O John!” exclaimed Sir Hector, staggering to the rail. “O Johnnie, am I
no’ ... juist a ... bonny gunner!” And then Sir John, with Sharkie Nye,
ran to catch him as he fell.
They carried him below, and there, having bared the gash in mighty
forearm, they set about such rough surgery as they might; but to
them, swift footed and authoritative, came one who took over the ugly
business—one with hands far quicker and more capable than their own, and
who, finding all things to her purpose, bade them begone.
Reaching the deck, they saw the _Seahorse_ brig, hampered by her wrecked
topmast, had brought to; and though her guns still flashed and roared,
their shot did no more harm, for the _True Believer_, her damage
repaired, was foaming upon her way once more.
“Ecod, sir,” murmured Mr. Nye, rubbing at bristly chin, “but for that
shot ... ’twas touch an’ go wi’ us for a minute, d’ye see! That shot ...
was ... a shot! Aye, a shot as’ll be ’eer’d and talked on all along the
coast ... ’tis for us _True Believers_—all on us—to keep tight mouths or
some on us may swing. That young ’ooman now ... I be a cautious man by
natur’, sir, so what o’ the young ’ooman? Females talk, d’ye see!”
“I can promise you that she will not,” answered Sir John, stretching
wearied limbs in the grateful sunshine. “You need be under no
apprehension on her account.”
“And to be sure she’ve a proper masterful, damn-your-eyes way wi’ her,
drown’d me if she ain’t!”
“Very true, Mr. Nye; you may ha’ noticed she has a chin!”
“Aye, aye, sir ... but so ’ave I.”
“Very bristly—like mine own, Mr. Nye, while hers is dimpled yet
determined.”
“And her carries it like any grand lady!”
“Exactly what I have thought, Mr. Nye!”
“Though I don’t set much store by fe-males, sir, being a bachelor, very
determinated, d’ye see!”
“My own case precisely!” murmured Sir John. Then, with one accord, they
turned to glance back at the _Seahorse_ brig, now fast disappearing in
the haze of a hot, midsummer morning.