FRUIT FOR DEAD MEN.
Among the Sargassons quarter is never asked or given.
The enemy were in possession of our upper deck, and had formed in a
hollow square around the main hatchway, leading below. Prior to the
engagement, a cover had been placed upon this hatch and securely
fastened. Otherwise, some of the enemy would have been sent below to
cut the throats of our wounded as they lay in the sick bay.
I was on the quarterdeck, and recognized the extreme gravity of the
situation.
Although I had passed through many critical moments during my long
and active career as a sailor and commander, I never felt the
absolute imminence of death so keenly. I realized that I must meet
my end bravely, but I confess that the thought that I must virtually
compel one of these savage brutes to carve me to pieces, still alive,
with the terrible double-edged knife that he carried in his hands,
was not pleasing.
Every man on board knew that there was no hope of saving his life by
surrender.
Earlier in the fight, Fidette had rushed to my side, and declared
that if I thought the ship could be saved by her surrender, she would
willingly give herself up. Naturally, such a suggestion was utterly
repugnant to me, and I had rejected it.
The few brave fellows around me regarded the situation far more
complacently than did I. Their breasts did not seem to be torn with
the agony that lacerated mine. They viewed the approaching extinction
as a mere incident, while to me it appeared the horrible crisis that
it is to most men of our race. Besides, I had accepted the care of
Fidette’s life, and was burdened with a responsibility that none of
my companions shared.
As we stood there, prepared for a final and hopeless defense, we felt
that within a quarter of an hour those of us who escaped the horrible
knives of our assailants would be lashed to some part of the rigging
and sent to the bottom of the sea with our scuttled ship.
I had sent Fidette to her cabin with the solemn injunction that she
must be prepared for death. She proved to be a very brave and heroic
little woman. She bade me farewell in a tender and affectionate
manner, wholly different from the well-remembered parting with the
trombone player, as he went over the side of the ship to a death that
she knew was prepared for him. I felt that I detected real affection
in the playful twist she gave to a lock of my hair that hung down
over my forehead.
Every man’s experience fits his own vanity!
I had not forgotten the dear girl, however, and, racked as was my
heart with conflicting emotions, I saw her, in my fancy, seated in
her cabin, awaiting her doom.
There was only six of us on the quarter deck, but we were determined
to sell our lives as dearly as possible. The rest of the ship’s
company, many of them being unarmed, were huddled together at the bow
of the vessel. We all carried heavy cutlasses, and had some sort of
a chance for defense, while the poor fellows forward meekly awaited
death, without hope of resistance.
We could see that the leader of the enemy was instructing his men. He
pointed to us in turn, evidently assigning two of his assassins to
each man. We were awaiting the onslaught with nerves at the highest
tension, when suddenly I observed the eyes of our enemies moving in
the direction of the starboard quarter. Something had diverted their
attention from the vital instructions of their commander.
Turning my head, I saw my pretty Fidette, arrayed in her newest
and brightest sea-grass, shell-bespangled dress, creeping above
the gunwale of the ship, evidently from the window of her cabin.
There was a sweet and gentle smile upon her face. Her long tresses,
carefully combed out, streamed in the air. With all the agility of
a cat, she sprang to the top of the rail and hurried forward to the
standing rigging.
I saw that she carried on the side away from the enemy’s view, the
little wicker basket filled with the pretty orange-hued bombs!
Was she determined upon self-destruction?
I sprang forward in the hope of stopping her, as I expected to see
her blown to atoms. Without looking in my direction, however, she
bounded toward the ladder, and quicker than I can say it her little
bare feet were climbing the worn and broken rattlings.
Then I understood the meaning of her actions! She was about to ascend
to the masthead, whence she evidently intended to hurl the bombs upon
the enemy below.
I watched her with bated breath, fearing that she might fall to the
deck. I knew how rotten and treacherous was the disused rigging.
Clearly, nobody besides myself comprehended her purpose. Twice she
nearly fell. Again and again the tarred ropes broke beneath her feet.
But she was firm of purpose and rapidly neared the top.
How can I pay tribute to her conduct? How can I cause the reader to
feel the boundless emotions of pride that stirred my bosom at such a
moment?
I forgave her everything--even the trombone man, even her lack of
sympathy and the frivolity of her character.
A moment! Now she was at the masthead! The crisis was at hand! The
men who formed the hollow square on the deck below had not taken
their eyes from the climbing figure. It is doubtful if they had not
mistaken the little wicker basket on her arm for a hat.
I enjoyed her triumph. I knew she was mistress of the situation. She
held the power of life and death over all of us.
She waved her hand to the men about to die. She gave a jaunty toss of
her head in my direction.
Our enemies were charmed as by a magic spell. Fidette softened their
hearts--hearts steeled against all human emotions.
She appealed to another and very different passion than the desire
for blood.
She stole murder from their hearts, and planted love there instead.
Her charms seduced them, even as her beautiful hand was about to slay
them.
It was well that it was so; for ’tis better that men die with
forgiveness in their hearts.
Only for a moment did Fidette stand gazing down into the upturned
faces of these pitiless assassins. I feared that her courage had
failed her; but I was mistaken.
Still clinging to the standing rigging with her left hand, she took
with her right hand from the little wicker basket four of the pretty
yellow bombs, and, true to the mark, sent them hurtling toward the
deck.
They landed simultaneously and quite near together in the centre of
the human square.
The concussion that instantly followed shook every timber of the
ship. It could not be described as an explosion, but as a white
flash. Very little flame was seen, but the deck was cleared as if by
magic. Pieces of wood and parts of human bodies were sent screaming
through the air. The very oakum between the deck planks was converted
into impalpable dust. The bulwarks were torn away on the starboard
side, and all the invaders who stood there were brushed into the sea
as with a broom.
On the port side, owing to the fact that the force of the explosion
had been spent in the opposite direction, a few men escaped. Many of
these were wounded, and several were suffering from shock.
Fidette had recaptured the ship!