"Here, hi! Look-out, lads! Where's our orficer?"
These words greeted Mark Vandean as, after a few struggles, his head
shot up from the black water into the bright moonlight, and, giving it a
good shake, he struck out for the boat.
The cold plunge had braced him up, clearing away the brain mists caused
by exhaustion in the fight; and now once more he was himself, ready to
save his own life, and think, as an officer should, about his men. Of
course his first thoughts ought to have been about saving his men, and
self afterwards; but he followed the natural instinct, and strove to
reach the boat.
"Here I am," he shouted, as soon as he could get his breath; "shove out
an oar."
Tom Fillot had already caught sight of his wet face shining in the
moonlight, and thrusting an oar over the stern, began to paddle to turn
the boat, but was checked directly by the painter, which he had made
fast to the chains when they boarded the schooner.
To have stopped to unfasten it would have meant too much loss of time,
so throwing himself on his chest, he reached out as far as he could with
the oar toward Mark, who had been borne down from where he was plunged
in at the bows toward the boat.
"Lay hold, sir!" cried Tom, excitedly.
"Yah! Cowards! Look-out!" was yelled behind Tom; the boat received a
violent jerk as Dick Bannock gave it a thrust right away from the
schooner, and simultaneously the men were deluged with water by a
tremendous splash close to their side. Then a big wave rose and lapped
over into the boat, striking Mark just as his fingers touched the tip of
the oar blade, and the next moment he was swept on by the tide up the
river.
"All right, sir!" cried Tom Fillot, loudly; "swim steady. We'll have
you directly. You, Dick Bannock, cut that painter. Now, then: oars!"
He dropped down into a seat, and pulled a big stroke to send the boat's
head round.
"Here, help me aboard, mate," cried a voice.
"And me, messmet," cried another, the two speakers holding on by the
side which they had reached after being thrown from the schooner.
"No, no, hold on, mates," cried Tom. "Let's get Mr Vandean first.
What was that 'ere?"
"Pig o' ballast they chucked over to stave the bottom," growled Dick
Bannock, beginning to row. "If I hadn't shoved her off, they'd ha' sunk
us."
"We'll sink them yet," growled Tom Fillot. "Coming, Mr Van, sir.
We'll have you directly. Easy, mates," he cried, throwing in his oar,
and leaning over again toward where Mark was swimming steadily facing
the tide, but letting himself drift, content to keep afloat.
"Can you reach him, mate?" growled Dick.
"Not quite; pull your oar," cried Tom. "That's right. Hooray! Got
him!"
This last was given with a yell of triumph, as he made a snatch at
Mark's wrist, caught it firmly, and hauled the dripping lad over into
the boat.
"Thankye," said Mark, panting. "I'm all right. Now then, help these
two fellows in.--Well done!"
He said this breathlessly as he stood up and gave himself a shake, and
then as the two men who had held on went to their places, he resumed his
seat and looked round.
"Who's missing?" he cried.
"All here, sir, 'cept poor Joe Dance. I ain't seen him."
"Ain't looked," said a faint voice from under the men's legs. "They
chucked me over, and I'm afeard I've squashed poor Mr Russell, for I
come right down upon him."
"Then nobody's missing," cried Mark, joyously. "Look here, my lads;
oars out--pull! pull!"
The men obeyed as vigorously as they could, rowing back toward the
schooner, but slowly, for the tide was running sharply still, and the
fight was hard.
"What yer going to do, sir?" said Tom Fillot, in a low tone.
"Do?" cried Mark, excitedly, for his blood was regularly up; "why, have
another try, of course."
"Well done us!" said Dick Bannock, thickly. "I'm ready. We ain't
beat."
"No good, sir," growled Tom Fillot, in a low, deep voice. "We ain't
beat, but we can't do it, sir, for want o' strength."
"What?" cried Mark, who was determined upon his mad project--mad now in
the face of so many difficulties. "There isn't a man here who will not
follow me, and I'm sure you won't turn tail, Tom Fillot."
"Not me, sir," said the man; "you're orficer, and where you goes I
follows. It's hard lines to let go of a prize like that. Lay her close
alongside, sir?"
"Yes, of course," cried Mark, standing up as they began to near the
schooner once more. "Why, there's something the matter on board--
they're fighting--they're killing the blacks. Here, pull, men, pull.
Quick! Don't you see? The blacks have got loose, and are fighting for
their liberty; pull!"
The men forgot their pains and weakness once more as a fierce yelling,
shouting, and shrieking arose from the deck of the schooner. Then shots
were fired, and as the boat approached, now unobserved, they could see
that the crew were driving back quite a little crowd of naked blacks,
who seemed helpless before the attack of the armed men, but still in
their desperation they gave way slowly, uttering fierce cries of rage
and despair.
It was all plain in the bright moonlight which flooded the scene, and
Mark could see the slaver captain making a rush here and a rush there,
and at each effort he struck down some poor wretch with a heavy bludgeon
he wielded with terrible force.
Then, as the boat glided in close under the stern, all this was shut
out, but the noise increased.
"Now, my lads!" whispered Mark, "we shall take 'em between two fires.
As soon as the blacks see us come they'll fight like fury, and we shall
win. Do you see, Tom Fillot?"
"See, sir? yes. It's all right. We'll have 'em yet. I'll make fast to
the main chains, and then up we go. But don't give the word till I'm
ready, sir. I can fight now."
The preparations took almost less time than the talking, and then,
freshly nerved by the exciting scene on deck, Mark Vandean and his men
climbed on board to collect for a rush, just as the blacks were making a
desperate stand. There in the front were two of the stoutest armed with
capstan bars, and as the crew of the boat were about to dash forward,
these two blacks yelled together and charged at the schooner's men,
striking out so savagely that two of their adversaries went down, and
the next they attacked shrank back.
"Stand aside!" roared the slaver skipper, raising a pistol, but it was
not fired, for as the two blacks whirled their bars about and fought on,
Mark gave a cheer, his men followed suit, and, taking the schooner's
crew in the rear, they were scattered at the first charge.
What followed was a series of furious, short hand-to-hand conflicts, men
being driven in among the blacks, who came on now wild with excitement.
They seized their enemies and, in spite of their struggles, hurled them
overboard to swim for the shore, till only the skipper was left, and he
was being hunted from place of vantage to place of vantage, till he made
a dash and ran down into the cabin. But the biggest of the blacks, one
of the two armed with capstan bars, rushed down after him, followed by
his brave companion, and the next minute there was the sound of a
plunge, evidently from the cabin window.
Mark and Tom Fillot rushed to the stern together, and looked over.
"Have they killed him?" said the midshipman, hoarsely.
"No, sir; he's swimming like a seal--the warmint. He'll reach the
shore. But hadn't you better get us together, sir? The niggers may
have a turn at us now. P'r'aps they don't know we're friends."
"Oh yes they do, Tom; they must have seen how we fought for them." But
all the same the lad gave a long piercing whistle, and his men clustered
about him, ready for the blacks, who were now coming aft in a body.
"It means another fight, sir," whispered Tom. "Can't anybody say in
nigger lingo as we're friends?"
"Yes, friends; all friends," cried a harsh voice, as the great,
perfectly nude, black sprang up out of the hatchway, and threw down his
heavy wooden bar, an example followed by the other, while, as the moon
now shone full upon their convulsed and excited faces, Tom Fillot burst
into a roar of laughter, rushed forward, and slapped first one and then
the other on the bare shoulder, yelling out,--
"Here's a game, mates; why, it's old Soup and Taters. Why, my
black-mugged messmates, we thought you was both on you drowned. What's
become of your _tog-a-ree_?"
The blacks' faces relaxed into a broad smile, as, led by Mark, the men
crowded round to shake hands warmly, while the crowd of slaves set up a
peculiar cry, and danced about them, waving their arms, ending by going
down upon their knees about Mark and laying their foreheads on the deck,
while the women in the background set up a strangely wild wail.
"Then you two escaped," cried Mark, as soon as the excitement had
subsided a little; and the big black tried to explain, but could only
get out the words, "All right, messmate," and then spoke volubly in his
own tongue.
"Never mind, sir; they did get off," cried Tom Fillot. "They must have
been chucked below along with the rest, and then kep' prisoners."
"And a good job for us, Tom," said Mark.
"Ay, ay, sir, and no mistake, for we couldn't have took the schooner
again without them."
"There, silence!" cried Mark. "These men must keep the blacks in order,
while you, my lads, get the arms together. We must have a strong watch
kept. The scoundrels may try to retake the schooner."
"They'd better, sir," growled Tom, who was in the act of restoring his
cutlass to its sheath. "I didn't use this," he muttered, "but if they
came again I'm sorry for the chap as hits at me."
The watch was set, and when Mark could extricate himself from the crowd
of blacks who pressed about him, he looked round for Soup and Taters,
even going so far as to ask for them, rather unwillingly, by these
names, but they were missing.
He forgot all about them directly in the business and excitement which
followed, for there was much to be done. One of his first tasks was to
have the schooner's boat run up to the davits, and Mr Russell carefully
lifted out, and borne down into the Yankee skipper's comfortable cabin.
Then he found out more and more how multitudinous are the demands made
upon an officer. In this case he had to play the part of surgeon as
well, for many of the blacks were, like his own men, suffering from
contusions, though fortunately no one seemed to be seriously injured;
and the brilliant moonlight was a great aid in his endeavour to restore
something like order on board.
"I want those two fellows," cried Mark at last, angrily; "they could be
of so much use in managing the blacks."
"Here they are, sir," cried one of the men. "They've been below."
"What have they been doing below--getting at the provisions?"
He asked no more, for at that moment the two men came forward, smiling,
in their neat white man-o'-war garments, which had been confiscated by
the slaver captain when he turned them below into the hold with the rest
of the blacks, little thinking that by this act he was contriving the
means of restoring them all to liberty.
"Hah! that's better!" cried Mark smiling. "Now then see to these poor
creatures. I'm going to serve out something for them to eat and drink."
With the help of a little pantomime he made them readily understand, and
they went forward to the blacks, who at once sat down quietly on the
deck and waited.
At the words eating and drinking, Tom Fillot had gone below, and by the
time his officer was ready to show the way to the stores, biscuit and
water were being served out and eagerly attacked by all.
"And now I think it's our turn," said Mark, who had become conscious of
a peculiar sensation of faintness.
"I've put something ready for you in the cabin, sir," whispered Tom
Fillot.
But Mark was too sensible of his responsibility to go below to eat and
rest, and his refreshment consisted of the same food as was partaken of
by the rest--to wit, biscuit moistened with water.
For there was the watch to visit, the tide to be examined for the hour
of its change, and a score of other little matters to attend to, in
addition to noting Mr Russell's condition from to time.
"How soon will it be high water?" asked Mark at last, after wearily
watching the constant flow.
"Must be soon, sir," said Tom Fillot, who seemed to have dropped into
the position of first lieutenant. "Beg pardon, sir, you mean to sail
with the ebb?"
"Certainly. We must not stay here. That scoundrel may return with
help."
"You're right, sir. Sooner we're out at sea the better I shall like
it."
"Exactly. I want the men to go below and have a good rest. Poor lads!
they have been slaves."
"To save slaves, sir; but beg pardon, sir; you won' be offended?"
"Offended? No, Tom Fillot; you've been too good a friend," cried the
midshipman, eagerly. "What were you going to say?"
"Only this, sir. What we're most feared of is the Yankee skipper coming
back!"
"Of course."
"Then why not strengthen the watch, sir?"
"How? I wish I could."
"Oh, I'll soon show you how, sir. You get Soup and Taters, and make 'em
understand what you want, and it will be all right."
"But what do I want, Tom?"
"I'll show you, sir, and I think you can make 'em understand. Tell 'em
to pick out half-a-dozen of the strongest young blacks, and we'll give
'em a cutlash and a belt apiece, and set 'em to keep guard by the
schooner's side."
"But would it be safe, Tom?" cried Mark eagerly.
"Not very, sir, for the skipper and his men. Soup'll explain it to 'em,
and once they know, you see if they don't do all that dooty splendid,
and leave us free to navigate the schooner."
"Navigate the schooner, Tom?" said Mark, rather dolefully, as he thought
of his shortcomings in that direction.
"Oh, it'll be easy enough, sir. All we've got to do is to sail doo
north and hug the shore. We can't go wrong."
Soup and Taters were summoned, and grasped the idea readily enough, with
the result that in a very short time they had under their command six of
the blacks keeping watch and ward against surprise, leaving the weary
crew opportunity for getting up the anchor when the tide turned. Then a
sail was hoisted for steering purposes, and the men gave a hearty cheer
as they began to drop down the river with their prize.
"Lor', mates!" said Dick Bannock, "who'd ha' thought of our getting of
her after all. Shows as it never does to say die. `Persewere,' says
you, `and never mind the difficoolties.' What yer larfin' for, Tom
Fillot? Don't I say what's true?"
"I warn't laughing at you, messmate, but at the niggers keeping watch."
"Ay, they do look rum," said Dick, smiling; "but they do splendid. Seem
proud o' their uniform too, eh?"
"Yes," said Joe Dance, who was leaning his back against the bulwark,
"but you might give 'em a bit of something else to put on."
"Well, yes, I might--a sword-belt ain't much for a man to wear, and his
legs would be very thin to get 'em hid behind a scabbard. But we shall
see, my lad, we shall see."