The "Halcyon," it will be remembered, was moored head and stern, but her
bows did not point to the opening of the bay. A warp had been run from
her starboard hawse-hole, and an anchor earned out far beyond the narrow
entrance, so as to enable Captain Weber to cast his ship in that
direction when he wished to sail. With his masts in the state they
were, and the weather besides dead calm, it would have been a slow and
tedious affair to move the brig from her anchorage. There were no
boarding-nettings now she no longer belonged to the navy, and but for
the missionary's warning, the "Halcyon" would have been wholly
unprepared for resistance. Creeping aft, Captain Weber rejoined the
party on the quarter-deck.
Quietly and courteously he offered his arm to Dona Isabel, who, quite
unconscious of what was passing, was still looking into the night.
A glance at the entrance of the bay told him at once that the boats were
concentrating for a dash, but it told him too that help was at hand, for
several dark figures came tumbling up the hatchway. Carefully
conducting the lady to her cabin, the old seaman raised his cap,
uncovering his grey hair as he did so, and bade her good night. The
next moment he was on deck, pointing out to the astonished passengers
the danger. Mr Lowe stood by the arm-chest, concealed by the bulwarks,
distributing the arms, and the whole crew were now alarmed.
"See," said Captain Weber; "there, they separate. Yonder two boats will
board on the brig's bows, the third on her quarter."
"They are ready for the dash," replied the soldier, "and think us
unprepared."
"Creep forward and train the nine-pounder on them, Captain Hughes."
Sheltering under the bulwarks, Hughes obeyed. The gun was already
loaded with rifle bullets, and heavily charged. The boats came
leisurely on, for all on board the brig seemed buried in sleep. The dip
of the muffled oars could hardly be distinguished even by those who were
watching, consequently the noise could never have awoke men asleep. The
wash of the wave made itself heard on the beach, and so still was the
night that the quack of the ducks, and the call of the widgeon and wild
geese feeding among the reeds, came on the air. On the forecastle the
creaking of a gun-carriage told that Captain Hughes was not idle, and
those in the boat heard it too. They stopped rowing, the three drawing
closely together, apparently in consultation. This was the moment the
captain chose, and the loud hail, "Boat ahoy!" rang out from the
quarter-deck. A shrill yell and a musket-shot was the reply, followed
by the boom of the forecastle gun, as it scattered its bagful of rifle
bullets right among them. The aim had been deliberate and deadly. The
loud scream of agony, the yell of vengeance, replied to by the cheer of
the English seamen, rang out in the silent night. One boat had been
sunk, and its crew apparently either killed or drowned, for not waiting
to rescue them the other two dashed on with a wild scream for vengeance.
Leaving the useless gun, for there was no time to load it again, Hughes
and the three men on the forecastle made their way aft.
A spattering fire now ran along the brig's deck, replied to from the two
boats, as they dashed on, the one for the bow, the other on the quarter.
In a few seconds, the Malays were alongside. Grasping the rigging,
their long knives between their teeth, they swarmed over the bulwarks
fore and aft.
The deadly musketry struck them down, the pistol shots, at point blank
range, shattered their heads, but still they came on. The English
seamen cheered as they struck right and left with their short cutlasses,
and there on the main deck stood Dom Maxara, a long curved sabre in his
hand, dripping with blood, cheering on the men in a language they did
not understand. The boat which had boarded on the quarter was beaten
off, but joining the other the two had united their numbers, and some
fifty maddened and nearly naked pirates came pouring over the bows,
driving the crew before them.
Among the Malays, one tall, powerful fellow, nearly naked, seemed the
leader of the rest; shouting, gesticulating, and striking right and
left, he urged the assailants on. Once already had the crew been driven
back to the break of the quarter-deck, but, led on by Captain Weber, had
repulsed their enemies. Brandishing a jagged piece of broken spar, his
hat having fallen off, and a streak of blood on the forehead showing him
to be wounded, the old seaman fought like a tiger.
"Give it them, my lads, no quarter for the bloody pirates. Overboard
with them!" he shouted, as he dashed full at the leader of the Malays.
A furious combat again ensued, shouts, oaths, execrations, mingled with
the pistol shots. The groans of the wounded, the yells of the
combatants, changed what had been a quiet, peaceful scene into one of
riot and bloodshed.
Dona Isabel, it has been said, had retired into her cabin; a single lamp
was burning, and, perfectly unconscious of danger, she was preparing for
rest, when the heavy boom of the forecastle gun startled her, and then
the silence of the night seemed to be suddenly at an end, and the
shouts, yells, and groans told too terribly of what was going on above
her head. The cabin was deserted, the steward having joined the
combatants, and as she opened the door her father's voice was heard
cheering on the men in her own tongue. She recognised the soldier's
shout as the pirates were slowly driven back, while, alone and
frightened, she dropped on her knees in prayer. Suddenly a loud report
right over her head startled her still more; for a moment all was
silent, the yells and shouts ceasing as by magic, then a wild cheer from
the crew followed, and Isabel, unable to bear the terrible suspense,
rushed up the cabin hatchway. The stars were shining brightly, but the
brig's decks were slippery with blood. Her own boats had been veered
astern, and close to her bows, two dark objects showed where the pirates
had boarded.
The survivors of the boat which had been cut in two by the shot from the
forecastle gun, had swum for the brig, scrambling over her bulwarks just
as the captain so fiercely attacked the Malay leader. Both had
grappled, and had rolled, struggling and fighting, into the chains, as
the new comers, at once dashing forward, again bore back the crew. The
forecastle was black with pirates.
"Lie down, men, shelter under the break of the quarter-deck!" shouted
Hughes, as he jumped aft, and with nervous strength slewed round the
second nine-pounder, pointing it so as to sweep the forecastle. "Down,
down, for your lives!"
The next moment the loud report which had so startled Isabel rang out,
and the rifle bullets swept in a storm of lead right among the black
mass of men crowding the forecastle. Seizing the moment, with a loud
cheer the now inspirited crew dashed on, over the dead and dying, and
the broken pirates leaped madly over the bows. Many dropped into the
sea, but swimming, were picked up; the boats shoved off, crippled, and
pulling but few oars, a ringing cheer from the crew following them just
as the frightened girl found herself on deck.
Hughes stood by the gun, his clothes torn, and his face black with the
smoke; the peculiar smell of blood was perceptible, mixed with the odour
of the gunpowder, and Isabel feeling it became sick and weak, just as a
dark form, bounding from the main chains, leaped on to the quarter-deck.
A loud shriek burst from her lips, as the Malay leader threw himself on
Hughes. Partially overpowered, the soldier grasped his powerful foe by
the throat. They swayed to and fro, struggling and fighting; the
frightened girl rushed forward, the Malay striking wildly at her with
his dagger. With a scream of pain Isabel fell on the deck just as a
tremendous blow from the broken spar, given with a hearty good will,
smashed in the Malay's skull, both he and the soldier, who was held in
the death grasp, falling to the deck.
"Hurrah for Old England!" shouted the excited captain, as he flourished
the jagged and blood-besmeared spar over his head with one hand, and
dragged Hughes clear of the dead Malay with the other. "See if any of
the miscreants are below. A short shrift and a pistol bullet if you
find any, my lads. Here, Mr Lowe, lend a hand with this lubber; he
nearly did for me just now, but we are quits."
A loud splash in the water told that the pirate had gone over the side,
and every now and then a similar splash, with a "Yeo, heave ho!" from
forward, marked the fate of a fallen Malay.
Carefully and gently Isabel was lifted from the deck and borne below by
the steward and Hughes. Dom Maxara was forward, staunching a severe
wound from a Malay creese in the shoulder. Wyzinski, who during the
hand-to-hand combat had fought like a tiger, and received a stab in the
leg, now remembered he was a missionary, and, though weak with loss of
blood, was engaged smoothing the passage of one of the crew from the
world his soul was quitting. Four men killed, and almost every one of
the crew wounded, three severely, were the casualties on board the brig,
while those among the pirates were never known, but must have been very
severe.
The Malay had dealt his blow wildly, his intention being revenge, for
Hughes's grip held him by the throat, and the savage pirate was choking
as he struck. The creese had entered Isabel's arm above the elbow,
making a nasty jagged wound.
They placed her on the crimson cushions in the cabin, Masters, the
steward, bathing her head with water, while the wounded arm hung down,
the soldier kneeling near her, and doing his best to bandage it. His
was a curious figure as he knelt by her side, for both face and hands
were nearly black with the powder and smoke, his dress torn in many
places, and what had been a shirt showing very many tokens of the bulky
pirate's terrible grip. All this was forgotten in the anxiety of the
moment, and there the two were in the almost deserted cabin eagerly
waiting for returning consciousness. Isabel's face was pale and
bloodless, and her teeth firmly clenched. There was no doctor on board
the brig.
"Masters, I wish you would step on deck," said Hughes, "and send
Wyzinski here."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the man, rising, and handing the basin and sponge
to Hughes.
"And, Masters, just ask Captain Weber for some arnica."
The man disappeared up the hatchway. On deck all was bustle, the crew
being busily engaged removing the traces of the late bloody affair. He
found the missionary forward, but unable to leave a wounded seaman, so
Masters knelt by his side and joined in the fervent but simple prayer
over the dying man. An oil lamp gave out a feeble light in the
fore-cabin, showing in one corner a large white sail. The heavy folds
covered something, which bulging out here, falling in there, took the
shape of the human form. The dead lay there, while, breathing heavily,
his hand plucking at the coverlet, the dying seaman passed slowly away.
His shirt was open, showing the jagged, ragged hole made by the Malay
creese in the broad, hairy breast.
The man spoke, but his tones were low. Masters leaned over him, and
caught the faint eager tones.
"Tell the skipper to heave up the anchor, and get into blue water. I
know these fellows, and they'll come back."
"Ay, ay, Sedley," answered the steward, "I'll tell him, sure enough."
"Trouble not yourself about the brig, my poor fellow," said the
missionary. "Prepare to meet your God."
The man rolled restlessly from side to side, the hand ever plucking at
the coarse blanket.
"I've done my duty," he said. "There's no one left to ask after me in
the old house at home, so I may slip my anchor as soon as I like."
"Pray with me, Sedley," replied the missionary, and the faint light
glanced and flickered over the dark cabin, making the white sail seem to
take strange shapes, sometimes even to move; for the feeble daylight
began to mingle with the yellow rays, and the dying sailor's lips parted
in prayer, as he tossed wearily from side to side. It was a sad and
solemn spectacle.
A heavy step was heard coming down the fore-hatchway, and a moment later
Captain Weber stood by the man's berth. He was without the tarpaulin
hat he usually wore, and his forehead seamed with a broad bloody gash.
"Ay, ay!" ejaculated the old seaman. "Four of them under yonder sail,
and here goes a fifth."
On deck the tread of the men was heard, the splash of the water as it
was dashed about the stained decks, the loud, careless laugh, and now
and then the "Yeo, heave oh!" followed by a splash, as the dawning day
showed some corpse, hitherto overlooked, lying stiff and stark among the
spars and rigging with which the deck was strewn.
The dying man appeared to revive; he looked around him.
"Heave up the anchor, captain! Fourteen years of Jack Sedley's life has
been passed off this here coast. Heave up the anchor, and make sail on
the old bark! Them murderous beggars will--"
The man fell back heavily, a rattle was heard in the throat, the eyes
became glazed, a long breath was followed by a deep silence; again the
chest filled, as though by a laborious effort, the eyelids twitched
nervously, a heavy sigh, and the seaman's course was run.
Captain Weber turned away, passing the sleeve of his coat over his eyes,
and so smearing his face with the gore which still flowed from the wound
in his forehead, as he slowly left the cabin.
The steward did not come back; but gradually the blood resumed its
wonted course, and Isabel's consciousness returned.
"Where is my father?" she asked. "What has happened?"
"The brig has been attacked by pirates. They are beaten off, and your
father is safe."
"Santa Maria! my arm, how stiff it feels! Ah, now I remember," she
continued, half rising, and a look of honour overspreading her
countenance.
"But for your scream," replied Hughes, "I should have been taken by
surprise. The smoke of the gun was in my eyes, blinding me, and so I
could not save you from the felon's blow."
The wounded arm, with its stained bandages, the kneeling figure, all
begrimed with smoke, the certainty of her father's safety, and of the
departure of the pirates, seemed to strike the girl's imagination. A
smile passed over her face.
"Isabel," said the soldier with a sudden burst of passion, his emotion
mastering him, "I have loved you from the first time I ever saw you!"
The black eyes had been gazing on him with a wild vacant look, as the
girl lived over again, in imagination, the terrible scene she had
witnessed on deck, when the bulky form of the Malay leader had so nearly
borne her lover down; the day, too, when on the banks of the Zambesi he
had stood between her and a terrible death; and now the tension of her
nerves giving way, she sobbed deeply and convulsively.
"I have loved you ever since I saw you, Isabel, and strange to say it is
the only love I have ever known," he continued, breaking the silence.
The heavy, convulsive sobs shook her slight frame, but she made no
answer.
"Left an orphan when a mere child, joining my father's regiment when a
youth, I have never known what even a parent's love may be, and it seems
now as if the devotion of a whole life were concentred on you, Isabel."
Again the soldier paused, and the sobs of the girl were alone heard in
the cabin. The grey light of dawn was showing itself down the hatchway,
and through the ports. The same grey dawn which was lighting the dying
seaman's long journey, was gradually creeping over the lover's dream.
He took her hand carefully, gently, for it was the injured arm; he
looked up into her face.
"Isabel, can you return a soldier's love?" he asked, eagerly.
The head fell on his shoulders, the hot tears deluged his hand.
"Dearest Isabel, speak!" he urged, as he passed his arm round her waist.
"I can--I will!" whispered the girl. "But, oh, for pity's sake be
silent now."
And he was silent, for his heart was full of sweet emotions, while
Isabel sobbed on, and the grey light grew more and more perceptible.
"And your father, Isabel?" at last asked her lover.
"He never denied me anything; my happiness is his; and here he comes."
Dom Maxara and the missionary at this moment entered the cabin. The
former had only just heard of his daughter's wound, and as it had been
exaggerated, his face, pale from loss of blood, showed great anxiety.
Rising, the girl threw herself into her father's arms.
"Oh, father, I am so happy!" she sobbed.
The old man's grey hair mixed with the dark tresses of his daughter, as
he bent over and soothed her, Wyzinski standing for a moment as if
astonished at the scene.
"Pardon me, Dom Maxara, you had better conduct the Dona Isabel to her
cabin, and I will dress the wound. It is but slight, and I am a bit of
a surgeon."
"I thank you, Senhor," replied the old Portuguese, again assuming all
the stateliness of manner which usually characterised him. "Come,
Isabel."
Isabel de Maxara turned, gave one look at her lover--a glance teeming
with gratitude and love, even though the eyes were running over with
tears, as she held out her hand. Hughes pressed it to his lips, and the
next moment she was gone.
"The Dona Isabel might have a cleaner lover," observed Wyzinski, after a
long silence.
It was the first time Captain Hughes had been conscious of his
dirt-begrimed, ragged condition; would he have risked the confession he
had made, had he been aware of it?
Volume 2, Chapter V.