The Second Mate's Story.
The face at the window was that of Jacob Duff, the second mate. He
shook his head in a melancholy way and beckoned with his hand.
"Come a little closer. The blacks are drunk and have exhausted their
ammunition. The magazine is in the lower hold, double locked and they
haven't found it yet."
Ralph slowly pulled under the stern where he would be protected from
missiles. Over his head was a screaming crowd of savages who, however,
confined themselves to unintelligible threats.
The other boat was gone. Duff, leaning out, motioned with his hand.
"There is no time for explanations now," said he. "Let us get away
from here while those demons are too drunk to know how to hinder us.
Heavens, but what a time we've had!"
While speaking he handed out a pair of oars, a bag of ship's biscuit,
and a breaker of water.
Meantime the negroes evidently discovered that the boy was
communicating with some one on board. The cries and uproar redoubled.
The noise of a crowd surging down the companionway and into the main
cabin could be heard. Then came a tremendous crash against the door of
the stateroom.
"Hurry up!" exclaimed Duff coolly, handing out the things all in a heap
and scrambling to get through the small aperture himself. "I braced
the door, but they are battering it down. Quick, Ralph, pull me
through by the arms."
[Illustration: "Quick, Ralph, pull me through by the arms."]
The boy was none too swift. Tugging with might and main, he dragged
the mate through and both fell heavily to the bottom of the yawl,
nearly capsizing the craft, just as the stateroom door gave way.
A stream of frantic blacks swarmed into the little apartment, one of
whom, thrusting his hideous face out at the window, was unceremoniously
pushed through by his comrades. He fell across the gunwale of the boat
and was shoved overboard by Duff, while Ralph, seizing an oar, placed
an end against the schooner's stern-post and threw all his waning
strength upon it, sending the yawl out from under the shelter of the
ship.
When the negroes saw two whites instead of one they appeared beside
themselves with rage. A few missiles were thrown; among other articles
a Winchester, which the boy strove in vain to reach as it rebounded
from the boat's bow into the sea. Duff was struck with a marlin-spike,
but he still clung to the oar he was trying to use. Another black
plunged through the window into the water, while several threw
themselves from the deck and began swimming towards the boat.
Ralph noticed that Duff could not stand. He took both oars, and,
notwithstanding his weak condition, soon placed the boat beyond the
reach of pursuit.
The blacks, realizing this, turned and were swimming back to the
schooner, when one of them rose half his length from the water, sending
forth a piercing cry of agony. Then he was suddenly jerked beneath the
waves, as if by some powerful though unseen agency.
"What did that?" exclaimed Ralph, horror stricken.
"Sharks," returned Duff sententiously, pointing to several dark pointed
fins that now appeared, all making for the schooner. "The rascals are
never far away from a ship in these latitudes."
"This is horrible!" exclaimed the lad, pulling on one oar to turn the
boat round.
"What are you doing?" demanded Duff.
"I am going to try and save some of those niggers. I know they are
bad; but we made them so. I can't stand it, I tell you, to see them
eaten up in that way. Look!"
There came another shriek, and a second trail of blood rose to the
surface of the sea as another victim was dragged beneath.
"I know," replied Duff. "But--self preservation first. Lock there,
will you!"
Regardless of their screaming comrades who were trying to reach the
ship, the blacks on board were striving to turn the big Long Tom
amidships so as to bring it to bear upon the yawl.
"That cannon is loaded--with slugs and scrap iron. Captain had it done
in order to sweep the decks, if necessary. But they gave us no chance
and the load is in it yet. Give me an oar. Pull now--for your life!
Lucky it is they don't know much about sighting a gun."
Suiting his action to his words the mate literally forced the lad to
obey. Other cries sounded, and Ralph caught a glimpse of two or three
scrambling on board again by the aid of a rope that happened to hang
over the side.
His strength was nearly gone, and only an intense resolution kept him
to his task at the oar. Duff, behind Ralph, also pulled away, though
the strain caused him to groan now and then.
"Are you hurt?" asked the boy as they drew rapidly away from the now
dreaded ship.
"Leg broke. Shot below the knee. Hist! They are going to try it now."
A large negro was hastening from the cook's galley with a flaming
brand. The instant of suspense that followed was awful. A bright
flash followed, and as the accompanying roar met their ears a harsh
spattering and hissing beyond relieved their anxiety immensely.
Not a thing touched the boat or its occupants.
"Overshot--by thunder!" cried Duff with an exulting whoop, that ended
in a groan of pain. "We are all right now; the beggars can never
reload. They don't know how, and be hanged to 'em!"
After that, while resting, Ralph briefly related his own adventures,
though touching lightly upon his suffering for food and the pain of his
wound.
"You've had a time of it, sure," replied Duff. "Yet it was lucky for
you and me both that you parted company with us as you did. Ah! 'twas
a very trying day yesterday and a fearful time last night. Eat a bite,
lad. I can't till I've tried to do something for my leg."
So Ralph fell to on the bag of biscuit and the keg of water, while Duff
bathed and bound up his leg as best he could. The bone had been
fractured just above the ankle by a bullet.
Fortunately it was an easy though painful matter to straighten the
limb, as nothing had been unjointed. A spare shirt and some of the
canvas sufficed to keep the bone in place after a fashion. As Duff
said grimly:
"It will do until we're picked up; and if we ain't picked up, it will
do anyhow."
Ralph, after eating, dressed his own wound, and the two made themselves
as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. The mate's account
of what happened after Ralph's drifting away was in substance as
follows.
Things remained tolerably quiet for several hours after the defeat of
the attempt on the part of the blacks to gain the deck by way of the
forecastle. It was concluded that the negroes were sleeping off the
effect of the rum they must have taken. As most of the water was
below, they probably quenched their thirst without stint.
Meanwhile, on deck things looked more blue than ever. The whites were
without provisions, nearly everything in that line being in the store
rooms below. A large breaker of water was on tap in the waist, which,
with some ship's biscuits, formed their only diet that morning.
No sail was sighted all that day. Ralph's absence was detected only
when it was found that one of the boats was gone. Gary swore some at
the loss of the last, but seemed relieved rather than otherwise over
the fate of the boy.
"He's gone and a good riddance," said he. "We're short of help, but we
can stand the loss of the cub better than that of the boat."
During the day the blacks below threw overboard the bodies of the
slain, having no fire wherewith to indulge their cannibalistic tastes.
One of the wounded seamen died and was consigned to the deep by his
desperate comrades.
The hours wore on until the strain of anxiety lest the blacks should
fire the ship, or renew their assaults, grew unendurable. Some
proposed a desperate charge down the gangway with cutlasses and loaded
rifles. Could they once force the blacks into the main hold, the
howitzer might again be trained on them. One fatal discharge, said
these bolder ones, would cow the negroes into submission.
But Gary, who was no coward, would not allow any such rashness. What
could seven men do against a hundred? The negroes now had a few
weapons; they had all the ammunition but what was in the magazines of
the Winchesters.
"We must wait, keep cool, and watch for a sail," said the captain. "In
rescue and in keeping these beggars below decks lies our hope."
"What will we do when our grub gives out?" asked some one.
"Die like men when the time comes, I hope," replied Gary, with grim
determination.
He was as game as he was heartless and cruel. But later on one of the
men found a demijohn of liquor in the cook's pantry. Neb, thoroughly
cowed by his uncivilized brethren below, had deserted his post and was
in hiding somewhere. The liquor was secretly hidden away, and the men
began drinking.
By the time Gary found out what was up, every one but himself and Duff
was recklessly intoxicated. He made a search for the stuff, but was
recalled by another effort of the blacks to force open one of the
hatches.
The attempt was foiled, but night had fallen before Gary found where
the liquor was hidden. He promptly broke the demijohn, and was knocked
down thereupon by one of the drunken sailors. This led to a general
melee on the quarter deck, where the row began.
The forecastle was entirely deserted by the men, who were maddened by
the destruction of their liquor. Duff used his efforts to part them,
but growing uneasy over the unguarded state of the ship, he started to
go forward.
He had hardly reached the main deck when he saw a black form leaping
out of the forecastle. The blacks, taking advantage of the fight
overhead, and the absence of a guard, had battered down the bulkhead
between the main hold and the sailors' sleeping quarters with the very
howitzer which had been mounted below for their subjection.
Duff raised the alarm, but it was too late. Scores of negroes poured
upon the decks, now dimly lighted by ship's lanterns, and fell upon
their oppressors with a fury intensified by rum and a sense of
cruelties that had been inflicted upon them when bound and helpless.
They had armed themselves with knives, pieces of furniture converted
into clubs--anything that could be had. Those who had Winchesters
opened a wild though almost useless fire on the whites, then clubbed
their guns.
One ball did indeed strike the second mate, and another put out the two
lanterns, leaving the after part of the ship in darkness. But the
terrible conflict was over soon.
The last Duff saw of Gary he was backed against the main mast defending
himself. One arm hung useless, as he faced a circle of savage,
merciless faces. Then one of the negroes felled the captain from
behind, and a shower of blows was rained upon his prostrate figure.
Duff, who had done his part during the fighting, managed to make his
way to the quarter deck by striking down a negro or two who opposed
him. It was then that he was shot.
Realizing that all was over, and determined to sell his life as dearly
as possible, he limped to the stern, and awaited his fate. As if by an
inspiration, he thought of his stateroom which, as far as he knew,
might have remained locked after he had abandoned it upon the first
breaking forth of the blacks.
For the moment he was unobserved in the darkness that now reigned aft.
The negroes had just brought forth Neb's body, and were manifesting
their disapproval of his association with the whites by beating and
kicking the inanimate clay.
Duff, despite the pain of his fractured limb, lowered himself by a rope
to the still open window, and managed to pull himself through into his
stateroom, and drag his body to his berth. Here the agony of his wound
overcame him, and he fell into a deep swoon.