There were so many opportunities for lying _perdu_ on the deck of a
man-of-war on a dark night that the shadowy figure had no difficulty in
keeping pretty close to Don Lavington and his companion as, decided now
upon their course of action, they laid hold upon a stout line where it
was coiled up, and after running a sufficiency over the side to touch
water, made it fast close to the main chains.
This done, they went cautiously forward so as to avoid the watch, and
after being nearly seen, more than once, succeeded in getting a second
line over the side close to the fore chains, in happy unconsciousness of
the fact that the shadowy-looking figure was watching every movement.
As is the fashion aboard a man-of-war, the actors in this scene were
barefooted, and thus able to pass quietly along the well-scrubbed deck;
but unfortunately for them, the sailor playing the spy had the same
advantage, and kept them in view unnoticed and unheard.
Now he was lying under the bulwarks, and so close that Jem's foot almost
touched his shoulder. Another time he was lying in one of the boats
slung from the davits--then behind a coil of rope--behind the cook's
galley--in the lee of a cask--once in a water barrel which was to be
filled with the icy fluid of the river which came down from one of the
mountains; always, with the activity of a monkey, contriving to be
somewhere close at hand, till they stood at last, silent and watchful,
about mid-way between the fore and main chains, peering out into the
darkness shoreward and listening for the faintest sound from off the
sea.
It was a wonderfully still night, and though out to the east the
restless waves beat heavily on reef and shore, their action here was a
slow heaving and curling over on the black metallic sand with a sound
that to those on shipboard was like a whisper, but whose movement could
be seen by a faint line of lambent light just in the blackest part to
leeward of the ship, where sea touched shore. Sometimes this was so
faint as to be hardly visible to the best-trained sight; at others it
was as if some phosphorescent serpent was gliding swiftly along the
sands, and it was in this direction that Don strained his eyes in the
hope of catching sight of Ngati's canoe, whose paddles would churn up
the water and shed on either side a faint golden light.
On board there were the customary anchor lanterns, and the faint glow
thrown up from the skylights; but these seemed to have scarcely any
effect upon the darkness, which hung down like a pall over the vessel,
and Don's spirits rose as he felt how well they were concealed. Then
they sank once more, for Jem placed his lips close to his ear and
whispered,--
"It's too dark, my lad; we shall never be able to see the canoe if she
comes."
Just then Don pressed his arm, and they listened together to what
sounded like a faint sawing noise, which stopped and was renewed several
times, and was followed by a slight splash.
The sounds came from forward, apparently somewhere in the direction of
the foreshrouds; but though they listened intently it was heard no more.
"Fish," said Jem in a whisper, "trying to climb up into the ship, and
then tumbled back into the sea."
"Nonsense!" said Don, shortly. "Now you look to the left, and I'll look
to the right."
"Right, my lad. I'll look, but she won't come."
The searching scrutiny went on, and to Don, as he strained his eyes, it
seemed as if all kinds of uncouth-looking monsters kept looming up out
of the sea and disappearing; and though from time to time he told
himself that it was all fancy, the various objects that his excited
vision formed were so real that it was hard to believe that they were
only the coinage of his fancy.
He turned and looked on board at the various lights, faintly-seen, with
the result that his eyes were rested, while he listened to the
monotonous talking of the watch and an occasional burst of laughter from
the gunroom, or the regular murmur from the forecastle.
Then he watched shoreward again for the faint golden flash made by the
paddles of Ngati's canoe.
No lambent glow, no sound of paddling, not even a murmur from the shore,
where the native huts were gathered together, and the great _whare_
stood with its singularly carved posts representing human form over
human form in strange combinations, with grotesque heads, pearly shell
eyes, and tongues protruding from distorted mouths.
Then Jem caught Don's arm in turn, for there was a splash far away to
the left, below where, faintly-seen, a great sugar-loaf mountain rose
high into the heavens.
The splash was not repeated, but, just as they had given up listening
for it, once more the dull sawing sound came out of the darkness, but
this time, instead of being forward it was away aft--how far they could
not tell, for in the darkness sounds, like lights, may be close at hand
or a couple of hundred yards away--it is hard to tell which.
The faint sawing went on for some time, ceased, and was renewed, to
finish as before with a curious rustling and a splash.
"What can that be, Jem?" whispered Don.
"Not going to wenture an observation again," replied Jem, sourly.
Then all was still save the murmurs of voices inboard, and Don stood
pressed against the bulwark listening intently, and thinking that before
they went below to their hammocks they must haul up the lines again and
coil them down, or their appearance would betray that something had been
going on.
How long they had been waiting since the last sound was heard, Don could
not tell; but all was so wonderfully still that the silence was
oppressive; and after arriving at the conclusion that the canoe would
not come, as from the utter absence of light or movement ashore it was
evident that none of the natives were stirring, he turned to Jem.
"Asleep?" he whispered.
"I arn't a horse, am I?" was the surly reply. "Nice place to go to
sleep standing up, Mas' Don.--Think he'll come?"
"I in afraid not, now."
"What shall us do?"
Don was silent.
"Say, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, after a thoughtful pause, "seems a pity
to waste them ropes after--"
"Hist!"
Don's hand was on his lips, for voices were heard from aft, and directly
after they heard the captain say,--
"Yes; extremely dark. Think we shall have a storm?"
"No," said the first lieutenant, "the glass is too high. Very dark
indeed."
Then two faint sparks of light could be seen, indicating that the
speakers were smoking, and the low murmuring of their voices suggested
that they were chatting carelessly together.
"Keep your hand down, Mas' Don," said Jem in a whisper, after removing
it. "They can't hear us, and if they did they'd think it was the watch.
Say, look here, seems a pity to waste them ropes after we've got 'em
down ready."
"Yes, Jem, it does."
"Such a short way to slide down, and no fear o' their breaking, same as
there was in that cock-loft. What d'yer say?"
"What to?"
"Let's slide down and swim for it. 'Tarn't quarter of a mile. You
could do that easy."
"Yes, Jem; I think so."
"And I'd help you if you got tired. Let's go."
"But the sharks."
"There I goes again. I always forgets them sharks; but look here, my
lad, it's dark as pitch."
"Quite, Jem."
"We can't see twenty yards afore us, not clear."
"Not ten, Jem."
"Well, that's through the air. We couldn't see an inch through water."
"What of that?"
"More couldn't the sharks."
"Think not, Jem?"
"I feel 'bout sure on it. Look here, Mas' Don, I arn't got any money,
but if I had, I'd wager half-a-guinea that all the sharks are at home
and fast asleep; and if there's any of 'em shut out and roaming about in
the streets--I mean in the sea--it's so dark that they couldn't see more
than an inch before their noses; so let's open our knives ready, in case
one should come, so that we could dive down and stab him, same as the
natives do, and then swim on ashore. I'll risk it: will you?"
Don was silent for a few moments.
"Don't say _yes_, my lad, if you'd rayther not," said Jem, kindly. "I
don't want to persuade you."
"I'm ready, Jem. I was thinking whether it was right to let you go."
"Oh, never you mind about me, my lad. Now, look here, shall us one go
down each rope, or both down one?"
"Both down this one close here, and whoever goes down first can wait for
the other. Yes, Jem; I'll go first."
"When?"
"Now, at once."
"Hoo--ray!" whispered Jem in Don's ear, so sharply that it produced a
strange tickling sensation.
"Open your knife, Jem."
"Right, my lad; I'm ready."
"This way, then. Hist!"
Don caught Jem's arm in a firm grip as he was moving along the deck,
each feeling somewhat agitated at the daring venture of exchanging firm
planks for the treacherous sea, infested as they knew it was by horrible
creatures which could tear them limb from limb.
Jem had heard a sound at the same moment, and he needed no telling that
he should listen.
For from some distance off along the shore there was a faint splash,
and, as they strained their eyes in the direction from whence it had
come, they could see flashes of pale light, which they knew were caused
by paddles.
"It's them, Jem," whispered Don, excitedly. "We must not start yet till
the canoe is close up. I wish I had told him that I would make some
signal."
"It'll be all right, my lad," said Jem huskily. "Give 'em time. Think
the watch 'll see 'em?"
"I hope not," panted Don, as he strained his eyes in the direction of
the faintly flashing paddles, which seemed to be moved very cautiously.
"Think it is them, Jem?"
"Who could it be?"
"Might it be a war canoe coming to try and capture the ship?"
"Not it," said Jem sturdily; "it's Ugly, as put out his tongue, coming
to help us away. My, Mas' Don, how I should like to chop him under the
chin next time he does that pretty trick of his."
"Silence, man! Listen, and look out. Let's get close to the rope
first."
They crept softly toward the rope hanging down from the main chains,
ready to their hand, and, as they crept, the dark figure that had seemed
to be spying over their movements crept too, but on toward the
quarter-deck, where the captain and the first lieutenant were lolling
over the rail, and talking gently as they smoked--rather a rare custom
in those days.
"It's the canoe, Jem," whispered Don; "and it's coming closer."
They strained their eyes to try and make out the men in the long, low
vessel, but it was too dark. They could not even hear the plash of a
paddle, but they knew that some boat--that of friend or foe--was slowly
coming toward the ship, for the flashing of the paddles in the
phosphorescent water grew more plain.
"Ready, Jem?"
"Yes, I'm ready, lad. Rope's just where you stand."
"What!" cried the captain's voice loudly, and then there was a quick
murmur of talking.
"What's that mean, Mas' Don?"
"Don't know. Some order."
"Boat ahoy!" cried one of the watch forward, and there was a buzz of
excitement which told that the paddling of the canoe had been seen.
"Watch there forward!" roared the captain.
"Ay, ay, sir," came back.
"Follow me, Jem; we must swim to her now."
"I'm after you, my lad."
"Jem!" in a tone of despair.
"What is it!"
"The rope's cut!"
"What? So it is. Never mind. After me! There's the one in the
forechains."
In the midst of a loud buzz of voices, and the pad, pad--pad, pad of
bare feet on the deck, Jem and Don reached the forechains; and Jem ran
his hand along in the darkness till he felt the knot by which he had
secured the rope.
"Here she is, Mas' Don. Now, then, over with you quick, or I shall be
a-top of your head."
"I've got it," whispered Don.