THE CHASE.
As the Montpelier bowled upon her way, after Lark had so
unceremoniously left his prisoners upon the ice, the giant rubbed
his hands with delight, and glancing up at the squared topsails,
which were now filled by the northerly breeze, he thus communed with
himself:
“It’s all right now. A fair wind, and the craft cleared of all
unnecessary rubbish. That’s as it should be--that’s equal rights!”
His eye fell upon the steward as he spoke, when he suddenly
remembered that he had another duty to perform before he could
experience that intense satisfaction which, in his opinion should be
felt by the captain of a newly-acquired ship.
So, he dispatched one of the islanders into the cabin for the
“cat-o’-nine-tails,” an old heirloom that had descended to Briggs
from a nautical grandsire, who was famed for his dexterous and
frequent use of this instrument.
The native soon returned, and, armed with this cruel weapon, the
chief mutineer advanced to the mizzen shrouds, to commence the work
of punishment.
The Portuguese writhed like a serpent beneath the torture, which was
inflicted with an unsparing hand, and his screams rung in unearthly
peals through every corner of the ship--thrilling the hearts of the
New Zealanders even with the most uncomfortable sensations.
The captain, himself, soon became disgusted with these cries, and,
wishing to entertain himself in a more agreeable manner, cut the
steward loose, and, by a dexterous movement of his right leg, sent
him headlong to the companion-way, ordering him, in a very impolite
manner, to go below and prepare his dinner.
“Keep a sharp look-out there, ahead!” he shouted to the man upon the
look-out, “and if you see any thing in the shape of a boat, let me
know it at once!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the islander, as he peered with redoubled
vigilance through the thick fog that covered sky and sea.
With another glance aloft, and a hasty look at the compass, Captain
Lark then stepped to the companion-way, with the intention of
descending and hastening the movements of his steward. But, he had
not quite reached the middle of the staircase, when one of those
prolonged and unearthly cries, such as only the wild men of the
Pacific isles can utter, broke upon his ear and caused him to start.
“Boat, O-o-o!”
And before the shrill, vibrating voice had quite died away, the
captain cleared the entrance of the companion-way with a bound, and
ordering the man at the wheel to keep off a couple of points, rushed
forward and sprung upon the knightheads.
Yes, there it was, sure enough--a boat lying just a little off the
starboard bow, within ten fathoms of the ship, with her oars apeak
and her crew looming up like grim phantoms in the fog!
“Ship ahoy!” shouted a deep, stentorian voice, which Lark immediately
recognized as that of the hoary-headed Briggs; “isn’t that the
Montpelier?”
“No,” promptly answered the mutineer, and, as he spoke, the bows of
the ship fell rapidly off, “it’s the Neptune!”
“Blow me, but I know that voice!” retorted the mate. “It’s Tom
Lark’s, and--and--ay, may I be swallowed by a shark if the craft
_isn’t_ the Montpelier! My eyes can’t deceive me with regard to a
vessel I’ve once sailed in! Pull ahead, Mr. Spooner!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” retorted the second mate, and he ordered his crew to
take to their oars.
By this time the ship--which had been kept off a couple of points,
thus bringing the wind upon the quarter--had forged ahead so far that
the boat was now abreast the main-rigging; and, as the oar-blades of
its crew splashed in the water, the mutineer rushed to the waist, and
watched the approaching vessel with an anxious eye.
“A pull on the lee-braces, men!” he shouted to the three islanders,
who, besides the man at the wheel and the steward in the cabin, now
constituted the crew of the Montpelier. They were all strong men,
and, with the assistance of their powerful leader, they soon had the
yards properly braced, to agree with the new course of the ship.
The latter was now booming along through the water, at the rate of
eight knots, with a man at the wheel who understood his business;
for the New Zealander, besides his readiness in learning to wield
the barbed harpoon, soon acquires a good practical knowledge of
seamanship. “White Squall”--so named by his shipmates, on account of
his fitful temper--was no exception to the rule, and he handled the
spokes like a veteran--keeping the vessel so straight that even a
frigate’s quartermaster could not have found fault with his steering.
Lark’s tormentor, however, was still dashing along toward the ship,
with that peculiar rapidity which characterizes the whale-boat--a
craft which, being sharp at both ends, and gracefully and lightly
modeled, is especially formed for speed. The boat was pulled with
“double-banked oars”--that is, Briggs and his party, who were in
the boat, assisted the crew of the second mate, and it soon was not
further than seven fathoms from the Montpelier, abreast the mizzen
rigging; and the grim-visaged Briggs, with a voice which certainly
could not fail to make an impression, was doing his utmost to
encourage the men.
A suspicion of the truth had flashed across his mind at the moment
when Lark answered his hail, and, as there were many thousands of
dollars already belonging to him, as his share of the cargo now in
the Montpelier, he did not feel at all inclined to allow the vessel
to escape him.
“Oh! you lubberly rascal, you! But there’ll be some fine flogging
in that craft when I get aboard of it!” he shouted, as Captain
Lark, with a pipe in his mouth, and his loaded pistol in his right
hand, although kept out of sight, coolly peered at him over the
quarter-rail.
“Nonsense,” replied this individual, blowing a defiant puff of smoke
toward the boat. “You’ll never get a chance for that, my jolly mate!
Twist me if I don’t think it’s an impudent piece of business--your
wishing to board _my_ ship, when I’m not willing you should!”
“Why, you villain!” roared Briggs, perfectly furious; “you talk as
though the vessel belonged to you. I’ll teach you better manners
presently!”
“The craft _is_ mine,” retorted the mutineer. “You and Captain Howard
have enjoyed her and had the good of her for two years. Now, _I_ take
possession, and I doubt, were the ship alive, that she would not be
mightily pleased with her change of owners. That’s equal rights!”
During this conversation, the boat had lessened, another fathom, the
distance between it and the ship, and Captain Lark became aware that
it was time to show a little resistance.
Accordingly, he ordered the three islanders to arm themselves with
harpoons, and take their station at his side--a command which they
obeyed with alacrity.
“And now,” said the chief mutineer, leveling his pistol at the head
of the second mate, “you’ll have the goodness to tell your men to
stop pulling. I do not care to have you any nearer, and the sooner
you act according to _my_ directions, the better will it be for you!
If you object, I shall be obliged to send a bullet through your
brains; but if, on the contrary, you comply, I shall leave you in
unmolested possession of your boat. That’s equal rights!”
But the second mate, who was a brave old fellow, and who, having
“seen some fighting” in a frigate during the war of 1812, was
familiar with gunpowder as well as with whales, coolly eyed the
mutineer, and replied:
“Fire, and be hung to you! You can’t scare me with any such little
plaything as that; besides which, I know you are nothing of a
marksman, and couldn’t hit the broadside of a frigate, though it were
but a few fathoms off! Pull ahead, lads!”
“We’ll see about that!” replied Lark, and, taking deliberate aim, he
fired.
The second mate did not utter a word of complaint; but the hand that
held the steering-oar dropped bleeding and powerless by his side.
Seizing the implement with his left, however, he still encouraged
his men, in a low, stern tone, that denoted his sufferings, and the
effort he made to prevent the expression of them.
The next moment, Briggs had taken his place, and, tearing off a piece
of the boat flag, the wounded man, with the assistance of the after
oarsman, proceeded to wind it about the bleeding hand.
As soon as this task was accomplished, his assistant seized the
boat-keg, with the intention of pouring some of the fresh water
it contained upon the rag. But, of all the precious elements in
this world, that simple but invaluable one, fresh water, is most
prized, and hoarded with most scrupulous care, by seafaring men,
whose prolonged absence from hospitable shores renders it difficult
for them to procure a sufficient supply of the treasure. Hence, it
followed that Mr. Spooner very promptly and decidedly pushed aside
the keg.
“Not a drop,” said he, “shall be wasted on me. We’ll need that water,
badly enough, before we get through with this business!”
Another bullet, at this instant, came whistling toward the boat, and,
striking the handle of one of the oars, passed through the sleeve of
the mate’s jacket.
“Spring, men, spring!” roared Briggs. “Lay back to your oars with a
will, and we’ll be aboard the craft before that big rascal can load
and fire again.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Lark, as he proceeded to charge
both barrels of his weapon. “Some of you must suffer before you board
me, if you succeed in doing that little piece of business at all. I
shan’t give you any quarter, as why should I? You wish to board _my_
ship; I don’t wish you to do so. You insist, and I kill some of you
men--that’s equal rights!”
“I’ll teach you equal rights with them cat-o’-nine-tails of mine,”
thundered Briggs. “They were made for just such rascals as you are.”
“Ay, ay, excellent,” responded Lark. “I’ve been practicing with ’em,
and I like ’em pretty well. Now, then, Driko,” he added, turning to
that worthy, “let us see what stuff you are made of. Dart your iron,
and pin Briggs.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the swarthy islander.
And, bending back, with his long, lithe figure stretched to its
utmost tension, he lifted the barbed weapon, and directed the point
toward the heart of the mate.
To say that the latter could stand unmoved before the point of this
deadly instrument, directed by an arm and an eye so unerring as those
of Driko, would be to declare that Briggs was more than human. He
turned pale, and stood prepared to dodge the harpoon, when it should
be thrown, and, viewing his emotion, the men relaxed their exertions
a little, in order to turn their glances over their shoulders.
Then the glimpses which they caught of the uplifted weapon, which
the islander had not yet quite placed to his satisfaction, created
considerable confusion.
The oars of two of the men “caught crabs,” and the rest fairly turned
around upon their thwarts.
“What are you about, there?” yelled Mr. Spooner, with flashing eyes.
“The harpoon isn’t pointed at you; it’s directed at Mr. Briggs!”
A fact which that worthy knew but too well, and which, when it was
thus verbally expressed by his brother officer, did not inspire him
with any very comfortable sensations. He was now “ducking” his head,
and twisting himself about in a manner which would certainly have
been deemed ludicrous under different circumstances.
“Whiz-z-z!” came the deadly weapon at last, and down went Briggs,
with a suddenness that caused him to tumble over the after oarsman.
He had dodged the iron in time, but it had passed close to his ear,
just grazing it and severing one of his locks.
“Now then, one good dash, men!” he roared, springing to his feet,
“and we’ll be alongside!”
But at that instant, another iron came whizzing from the ship, and
the ’midship oarsman fell back with a low groan, as the barbed
instrument entered his body.
The horror and confusion resulting from this calamity was such
that the exertions of the crew at the oars were entirely suspended
for some moments; and it was not until the dying sailor had been
carefully placed in the stern-sheets, that any thing like order could
be restored.
Then the men again took to their oars, although they were now so far
astern of the ship that she was nearly out of sight in the thick fog.
“Never mind, lads!” cried the dauntless second mate. “We’ll be up
with ’em yet, for if I ain’t mistaken there’ll be a calm before many
hours. The breeze has already fallen away a little.”
And so the men, anxious to avenge their shipmate whose dead face and
glazed eyes in the stern-sheets, confronted them, tugged and strained
at the oars with redoubled energy.
The breeze, as Mr. Spooner had declared, was gradually dying away,
and Captain Lark deemed it necessary to set the top-gallant sails,
which he now had an opportunity of doing, as the boat was too far
astern at present to give any trouble.
The additional canvas, when the yards had been hoisted, and the sails
sheeted home, increased the speed of the ship to such a degree that
her pursuers could do but little more than keep her in sight; and
when an hour had passed with no better result, the oarsmen became so
fatigued by their almost frantic exertions, that the breath came from
their lips in short, rapid gasps, while the perspiration rolled in
big drops from their foreheads.
It was at this juncture that Lark--who stood upon the round-house
rubbing his hands with great glee, and mentally predicting the entire
discomfiture of Spooner and his crew--was startled by an exclamation
from one of the islanders in the waist. He turned quickly, and was
still more startled by the sudden apparition of another boat a few
fathoms off the lee beam, and rapidly approaching the ship!
“Ship ahoy!” thundered the voice of Captain Howard; “isn’t that the
Montpelier?”
“Up helm! Stand by with your harpoons, men!” roared the mutineer,
springing to the quarter-deck with a bound and cocking his pistol.
But, before the vessel could fall off a quarter of a point, the bow
of the boat struck her side, and a couple of her crew succeeded, a
moment afterward, in grasping the man-ropes.
But Lark’s pistol pointed at the head of one of them, and a
harpoon directed at the heart of the other, together with a fierce
declaration from the mutineer, that he would shoot the first man that
attempted to board him, rather startled the two sailors and caused
them to let go their hold.
The captain, however, whose previous suspicions of foul play were now
confirmed, darted to the bow with ready presence of mind, and, by
means of the boat-hook drew the little vessel under the mizzen-chains
before she could drop astern, and ordered his harpooner to secure
her with a rope. This was soon done, but, at the same instant, the
islanders threw their deadly weapons, which would certainly have
done terrible execution, had not the bow oarsman, whose eye had not
quitted his enemies for a moment, warded them off by means of the
drag--a square, thick piece of wood, with a rope attached to the
middle. With an oath of disappointment, the mutineer then ordered the
islanders to procure more arms, and leaning far over the rail as he
spoke, in order to make his aim sure, he directed his pistol at the
captain.
But before he could pull the trigger, the boat-hatchet was hurled
at his head with unerring precision, by the same courageous seaman
who had foiled the murderous intentions of the dusky islanders. The
back of the weapon struck the giant upon the temple with great force,
felling him to the deck like an ox. Then, arming themselves with
lances, the boat’s crew, headed by their captain, scrambled pell-mell
up the ship’s side.
Perceiving the uselessness of resistance, as they were outnumbered by
six to three, the New-Zealanders surrendered themselves, and every
one of them, not excepting the man at the wheel--who was relieved
by the orders of the captain, were ironed and thrust into the run.
Tom Lark--_Captain_ Lark no longer--who recovered his senses by the
time these little preliminaries had been gone through with, was also
secured with handcuffs--there are always plenty of these articles
in a whaleship--and placed in the hold to enjoy the company of his
fellow-conspirators.
“Ay, ay,” said this interesting character, as he was pushed through
the open hatchway, “my prospects have received a sudden check. I
haven’t had much opportunity to enjoy my newly acquired property,
which is no sooner in my hands than it escapes ’em. That isn’t in the
vocabulary of equal rights!”
It was about this time that the man at the wheel, upon casting a
careless glance over his shoulder, saw the boat of the second mate,
which was faintly distinguishable in the fog astern. He notified the
captain, who immediately had the main topsail backed and the ship
brought into the wind.
But he felt so much anxiety with regard to his niece and her
companions--for Driko had at once informed him of the disposition
that had been made of them by the chief mutineer--that he scarcely
heeded the boat when it dashed alongside.
The hearty shake of the hand which he received from Mr. Spooner,
however, as the old man confronted him, recalled him to himself.
“This has been a bad business,” said the poor fellow, as a contortion
caused by the pain in his wounded hand passed over his face. “Tom
Block was killed!”
“What!” cried the captain, with a start, “Tom--”
“Ay, ay,” interrupted the mate, “killed by a harpoon thrown by one of
the mutineers;” and he then proceeded to give a graphic description
of the incident.
“I am sorry--very sorry that this has happened!” cried the captain,
with much emotion.
“Shall we hoist the boats?” inquired Briggs, at this juncture.
“Ay, ay, the waist-boat, but not mine,” replied the captain, “for I
shall presently go in search of Alice!”
“And what shall we do with the body of Tom Block?”
“Sew it up immediately. We will have the burial as soon as we can.”
Accordingly, as soon as the boat had been hoisted, the corpse was
placed upon the carpenter’s bench--palms, twine and needles were
procured; a piece of an old sail was wrapped around the lifeless
form, which was securely stitched up, after a number of bricks had
been placed in the bottom of the shroud. Then the flag was hoisted
at half-mast, the gangway plank made ready to receive its burden,
and the captain, with an open Bible in his hand, stood ready to read
the funeral service. The men mustered at the given signal, and, with
uncovered heads, listened respectfully to the words that were read to
them from the Holy Book. The chapter was well chosen--well calculated
to touch the hearts of those rough men with its simple yet beautiful
truths, and when the reader had finished, and the shrouded body,
after sliding adown the sloping board, dropped into the water with a
dull splash--the crew walked forward with a feeling of consolation
that they had not dreamed they could experience so soon after the
death of their shipmate.
“He always did his duty--Tom did!” said an old seaman, “and if he
don’t go aloft it won’t be his fault!”
“Ay, ay,” responded another, “there’s a good deal of satisfaction in
that idea, although it’s hard to lose a chum so sudden-like. I’ll
miss him mighty bad--I will--as we always messed together--eating out
of the same pan and using the same knife and fork.”
“That _is_ hard,” responded the old tar, “but after you’ve lost as
many chums as I have, you won’t think so much of a matter of this
kind.”
Further conversation was now prevented by the voice of the captain
ordering the men to wear ship, and as soon as this task had been
accomplished, two men were posted upon the knightheads to keep a good
look-out.
This duty, however, was soon rendered almost unnecessary, by a dead
calm, which fell upon the sea before the vessel had advanced a mile
upon her new course. The sails hung motionless upon the yards, and a
feeling of unaccountable drowsiness stole over the weary helmsman. He
could scarcely keep his eyes open, and it was only the presence of
the captain, who, with rapid and impatient strides was walking the
quarter-deck, that prevented him from indulging in sleep.
“Mr. Spooner,” said the skipper, addressing the second mate, who was
near the companion-way bathing his wounded hand in cold water, “I
can’t endure this fearful suspense much longer. I shall have my boat
manned immediately after supper, and shall go in search of Alice!”
“Hadn’t you better wait until morning?” said the old man. “We are at
the least about four leagues from the ice, by this time, and then in
the darkness of the night--it is getting dark even now--coupled with
this fog, you won’t stand much chance of finding your niece.”
“I can’t endure this suspense. I should lose my senses before
morning! I _must_ look for her, and that as soon as possible!”
“Supper is ready, sir!” cried, at this moment, the Portuguese
steward, Joseph, thrusting his head through the companion-way.
Joe had escaped the handcuffs by a plausible tale, in which he made
it appear that he had no hand in the conspiracy to take the ship, and
had exhibited the red stripes upon his back, stating that Lark had
flogged him because he rebelled against his measures. Howard, who
was not of a suspicious nature, credited this story; but the steward
fearing that the prisoners in the run--or if not they, the young
harpooner, Harry Marline, and his friend Stump--(in case they should
ever be picked up)--would eventually betray him, had resolved to make
his escape from the ship as soon as possible.
The helmsman, whose drowsiness has been noticed, had been drugged
by the Portuguese, who had presented him with a glass of drugged
liquor soon after he took his position at the wheel. The consequence
was that, by the time the decks were deserted by the officers and
crew--who had gone below to get their suppers--the steersman’s head
dropped upon his breast and he fell into a deep slumber.
The next moment the steward--who, under pretense of going to the
locker for a certain dish, had contrived to make his way stealthily
to the deck--glided to the waist-boat, cautiously glancing around him
to make sure that he was not observed, quickly severed with his knife
the lashings and also the falls. Then he pushed the vessel overboard,
and making his way to the captain’s boat, he sprung into it, severed
the rope that held it to the ship, and seized the steering-oar.
“Free!” he muttered, exultingly, as he rapidly sculled the craft
away from the Montpelier, and gave the other boat a shove with his
foot, “me clear of dis vessel at last, and me soon be picked up by
some other ship, for de Ochotsk Sea is full of ’em. De cap’n can no
come after me,” he added, glancing toward the waist-boat, which was
drifting off with the current. “He! he! he! me serve ’em fine trick.
Good idee dat, to cut adrift Spooner’s boat, so dey no can catch me.
Dey hang me, sure, if dey did!”
As he spoke he redoubled his exertions, and he was soon so far from
the Montpelier that he would have been completely shrouded by the
fog from the gaze of any person on deck. The boats were not missed
until half an hour afterward. The captain was the first to perceive
the loss, which overwhelmed him with astonishment, indignation,
and grief. The helmsman was awakened and questioned, but he could
throw no light upon the subject; and it was not until many hours
afterward--when the prolonged absence of the steward from the cabin
began to be remarked--that any definite conclusions began to be
formed.
“Ay, ay,” said Briggs, in his blunt way, “I always _did_ suspect that
fellow; and now I feel certain that he has deserted the ship, and
that he cut away the other boat to prevent us from catching him!”
“It is a terrible loss,” replied the captain, with a groan--“the loss
of those boats, at the present moment; for we have not another in the
ship, and so have no means of going in search of Alice. God help her!
God help the poor girl!”