OTHERS DECIDE OTHERWISE
After following the street for a time, we concluded that our presence
would be noted by the natives, and we turned into a broad, poorly
lighted avenue, whose pavement shone white in the darkness. Here the
houses seemed of the better class, and, as the avenue stretched away
back inland to the southward, we decided to get across to the other side
of the island, and trust to getting a sponger or fisherman to take us to
some of the deserted cays until we could make good our escape.
“If you didn’t leave such a confounded trail,” said Tim, “the dogs
couldn’t follow us. But you must be mighty nigh as smelly as a nigger,
for they never even slowed down after they hit it fair.”
I was about to make a rather warm retort to this remark, but at that
instant the door of a large house across the street opened, and a boy
appeared upon the threshold. He was joined instantly by a large woman,
whose strong face in profile showed plainly against the light inside.
Tim halted and seized my arm. Then he swore softly, and stood gazing at
them while they came out into the street. The door was closed with a
bang by the woman, but not before I had time to note her figure. She was
huge. Almost as tall as myself, and her shoulders were those of a
prize-fighter.
“Georgie, you dear,” she said, “if you run off this time, you’ll be
sorry.” And her voice was peculiarly gentle and soft, almost absurdly so
for a person of her size. She locked the door, and they came toward us
until we started to turn aside to pass.
“Mary!” said Tim, in a low tone.
The woman stopped as if turned to stone.
“Who is it?” she asked, sweetly, and I saw her face clearly as she
looked full at me. She was handsome. It was dark, but her eyes shone,
and I could see the firm sweep of her chin and the well-cut nose and
lips. She was not young, but she had all the colour and vigour of a
girl.
“It’s me,” said Tim, shortly.
The next instant the boy’s stick fell across his shoulders with a loud
whack.
“Clear out, you rascal,” he said. “How dare you speak to a lady! Oh,
it’s you, is it--”
In an instant the boy’s arms were around Tim’s neck, and he was hugging
him closely.
“Oh, papa, papa!” he was crying, while the woman looked on silently.
In a moment Tim put him aside and stood before his wife. The scene was
strange, and, as I stood by, gazing at them, I thought of what the
little sailor had told me.
Tim advanced and held out his hand. The woman sprang forward and seized
it, pressing it to her lips and falling upon her knees.
“Forgive me,” she said.
But the sailor could not or would not answer. He stood looking down at
her a long time.
“Oh, Tim, Tim!” she pleaded, gazing up at him.
I was somewhat disturbed at the scene, for there were people abroad on
the streets, and here was a fine, large woman, as good-looking as one
would care to see, kneeling before a pitiful-looking sailor, who was as
ragged and dirty looking as a forlorn slave. If we were to make good an
escape from the barque, it was anything but the proper thing to make a
scene in the town streets.
“He is aboard the barque,” said Tim, slowly. “Will you give him up and
come back to me if I get away?”
I knew he was speaking of Renshaw.
“Yes, yes,” moaned the woman; “only say you’ll forgive me, Tim. I’ll try
and help you get away. You know I can handle a boat, and can come up to
you on the ship if you will let me--”
He placed his hand upon her head and bade her rise. As he did so, two
men came from the shadow of the houses across the street, and I
immediately recognized Renshaw, followed by the bos’n, who came
respectfully a few feet behind him. Old Richards drew up alongside his
master, and stood ready for further orders.
“Get back to your boat, sir,” said Renshaw, addressing Tim.
The little sailor waited to see his wife upon her feet. Then he turned,
and I expected to see him make a break for it, as he struck me as being
pretty good at running. But I was mistaken.
With a sudden lunge, he struck Renshaw a terrific blow in the face. The
next instant the bos’n sprang forward and tried to grab him, and would
have succeeded but for the fact that my foot slid out between, and
Richards went sprawling in the dust.
It looked as though things would take a more serious turn, for Tim had
now been in open mutiny. Renshaw had fallen and struck his head on a
piece of the flagging in front of the house, and lay quite insensible.
“For the Lord’s sake, Richards, let us get away,” I said, as the bos’n
arose angrily to his feet.
“Into the house, quick,” cried Tim’s wife, as she led the way toward the
door.
“He isn’t hurt half as badly as he ought to be,” said Tim, pointing to
the fallen man. “Take him away, bos’n, before some one sees him.”
Then we crowded to the door, which was flung open.
At that minute the deep baying of the hounds fell upon our ears,
sounding weirdly musical in the night, and a few moments later human
forms dashed up the street, with the leaping animals straining at the
chains that held them, fairly pulling the men into their tremendous
stride.
“Way there! way there!” bawled a voice I knew was Henry’s, and, before I
could move, one of the animals, with a howl, leaped straight for my
throat.
All thought of escape was gone in an instant, and I struggled
desperately with the animal, while the black conch beat and pulled to
drag him off.
Finally, after I had my hands badly torn with the brute’s teeth, they
succeeded in quieting him, and Henry clapped irons upon my wrists. Then
I saw Tim had also been taken, and was standing quietly with his hands
ironed behind him and his head bowed forward, his thoughts evidently far
away from the barque or her crew. Upon the white coral road lay a dark
object, and, while I looked, men raised it and bore it into the house
the woman had but left a few minutes before.
I stood gazing after them until Henry shoved me roughly ahead.
“Come, git a move on ye,” said he. And his fingers closed upon my arm
like a vice.
We went some distance before reaching the landing where we had come
ashore, and I was more astonished to find that, in spite of our wild
run, the boat was not only waiting for our return, but had an uproarious
crowd ironed in her. I could hear the voice of Martin raised in an
argument with Bill, insisting the devil had taken charge and was afraid
to stand to a true Christian like himself. And the big Norwegian would
earnestly try to strike him, and then bewailed his inability, owing to
his ironed hands. Above all, the deep roar of Jones floated over the
quiet harbour, joined now and then by the thick tones of the Doctor
bawling for Thunderbo’ to bring him something that would “scratch.”
We were hustled into the boat without ceremony, and started for the
barque.
As we drew alongside, Hawkson’s voice hailed us.
“Got ’em all?” said he.
“Hevery bloomin’ one, sur,” answered Henry.
“Knock off their irons, then, and let ’em turn in. We’ll make a start
early in the mornin’ if things turn out all right.”
“There’s been a bit o’ trouble ashore,” said Henry, climbing up the
chains, and then he evidently told Hawkson something of what had
happened, for Tim’s irons and mine were left on, and we were hustled
below, where we were hitched to ring-bolts in the slave-deck.
Shortly afterward, the noise of the howling men ceased, and I knew that
they had either obeyed orders and turned in, or had been gagged. It was
dark below, and I could see nothing of Tim. I spoke his name softly, but
received no answer. Then I heard a voice, agonized and full of great
suffering, praying and pleading for some one to come back again.