THE END OF THE BLACK BARQUE
“For God’s sake bring the light,” said Hicks.
Jones did so, and, as its rays lit up the cabin, we saw that the smoke
was thicker than when we first stopped firing. The peculiar pungent
odour of burning tar and wood now became apparent.
The noise on deck had almost ceased entirely, but, as we listened, there
broke upon our ears the dull boom of a heavy gun.
We looked at each other. Then it sounded again, and a loud crash above
told of a shot tearing through our hull, while the dull report was
repeated.
“Man-o’-war,” said Jones, significantly.
“Break down the door,” I cried. “We must get Miss Allen and Ernest.”
Hicks had already started for the light, and Jones bounded up the steps,
cutting at the panels as he reached the top, while we hurried back to
the lazarette.
Even as we went, the barque’s deck seemed to slant a trifle forward, and
I wondered at it vaguely, as we made our way along the dark passage
under the cockpit. In a few minutes we had made our way clear aft to the
vessel’s run. Here, behind boxes and barrels of stores, that Hicks had
broken out and formed into a barricade, was Miss Allen. She greeted us
calmly, but I could see the terror in the girl’s eyes that the horror of
the night had produced.
“I expected you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Hicks looked at her sadly, and held out his hand.
“Come,” he said, “we haven’t a minute to spare. Where’s Ernest?”
“Here, sir,” said the sailor, rising from the deck. He was badly hurt,
and could hardly stand.
“Take a grip of my shoulder,” I said, “and hurry along. We must get out
of this.”
Even as we went, the deck began sloping forward. The incline was getting
greater all the time, as though the barque was settling by the head. By
the time we reached the cabin, she had listed to starboard, and Jones,
who was cutting away at the shattered companion doors, broke through
just as the steps or ladder, torn from its fastenings by the rush upon
it when the savages came below, fell to one side and crashed down upon
the floor, bringing the big sailor with it. We tried to place it back
again in position, but, while we lifted it, the deck began to slant
dangerously. A flickering light shone down through the opening Jones had
made in the barricade, and, as he staggered to his feet, he called out
that it was no use.
“She’s listed too much. It won’t stand. She’s all afire forrads, and
goin’ down by the head. The devils have plugged her, too, an’ she’s
fillin’ like a basket! Put it on the starboard side, an’ I’ll hold it
while ye mount.”
We tried this method, but it wobbled so that Jones was sent up first to
hold the top.
The barque was now sinking rapidly. The blacks had evidently cut a hole
in her, besides setting her afire, to make sure of catching us below.
She was to be our coffin,--a fitting end for men engaged in the foul
trade. Jorg must have gone forward with his axe, mad with the blow he
had received from Shannon’s men, and, after he had liberated some slaves
by knocking the irons off, they had evidently overpowered him, taken his
axe, and cut a hole in the vessel’s bottom, while the mass of them had
surged aft for vengeance.
It took several precious moments to clear the barricade above
sufficiently for a man to get out. Jones tore and pried at the shattered
woodwork, but the negroes had piled a lot of gratings, lines, etc., over
the opening, after fastening the doors by spiking some of their
bunk-boards or slave-deck timber over the shattered panels.
They had intended to make certain of us before leaving in the small
boats.
Gradually Jones forced his way out, while the noise of the escaping air
under the sinking deck grew into a deep snore, rushing as it did through
every aperture, while the sea followed after.
Quickly we passed Miss Allen up, while we felt the ship settling. Then
Ernest was lifted until Jones could reach his hand and get him out. Then
the big sailor disappeared a moment from the opening, and we knew he had
taken the girl to safety, if such a thing existed near. The listing
motion increased rapidly. There was a loud roaring below.
Hicks seized the ladder, while I held the foot of it to keep it from
sliding to starboard. Then he turned.
“After you, Heywood,” he said, quickly. “Jump, there’s no time to lose.”
“Go!” I yelled; “go while you may. She’s going down now.”
But he turned his face to me, and for an instant I saw its expression in
the dim light of the lamp still burning on the floor. There was no sign
of fear in it. Only a deep sadness, as in one who has suffered a sudden
great loss.
“After you,” he said, calmly, and made a motion with his hand toward the
sloping steps. There was something of an old-time courtesy in that
gesture that told of men who had gone before. They who had borne the
name he had disgraced. Bad man he may have been, but who shall judge him
after that gallant end?
I saw that argument would be useless, even had there been time for it.
Seizing the steps, I mounted as quickly as I could, while I felt them
slide beneath me. I grasped the coamings as the steps left my feet and
fell away to starboard, leaving me hanging.
In a moment I had thrown a leg over the edge of the opening, and drew
myself panting and gasping to the poop. Jones was just in the act of
disappearing over the rail, having lowered Miss Allen and Ernest
overboard to a couple of planks and gratings he had hove in. I called to
him for aid to help me get Hicks out, but it was just too late.
The barque was now almost perpendicular, pointing bow forward to the
bottom. As I staggered to my feet, she gave a sudden lurch. Then
straight as an arrow, she dived, and I found myself in the roaring,
swirling vortex she left behind.
In the choking blackness beneath the ocean’s surface, I seemed to stay.
Down and down I went, in spite of frantic struggles. Then the suction
ceased, and I began to mount. If I could only hold my breath a little
longer!
A roaring was in my ears, and stars flashed in my eyes, and just when I
was losing consciousness, my head came out into the air again.
How good was that first breath! I was back again in the world of air for
another struggle. It seemed useless, and I swam slowly, wondering why I
did so, yet my whole nature revolted against going under. It would only
be a matter of minutes, and why not take the rest of a somewhat hard
existence easy? My reason began to assert itself, and the uselessness of
effort began to be manifest. Turning over on my back, I floated easily,
only striking out now and then with a spasmodic kick.
Suddenly I heard voices. There were men near, and I quickly turned over
again to try to gaze about me through the darkness.
Something made a rushing sound through the water, and, following the
swish of the spray, I made out the regular stroke of oars. For an
instant I thought of the slaves who had taken our boats, and I had no
desire to call for aid. Then it struck me that the oar-stroke was very
regular and could only come from trained men.
I called loudly, and soon had the satisfaction of getting an answer. The
craft headed toward me, and in a moment I could make her out coming head
on.
I grasped the gunwale as she came up, and was hauled inboard by a couple
of men.
“Here’s another rascal who’d rather hang than drown,” said one to the
other. Then loudly to the man aft: “We’ve got him, sir.”
I was bundled aft, and made to sit in the bottom of the craft, which I
now saw, by the aid of the lantern the helmsman had between his feet, to
be a boat from a ship-of-war. The men were in uniform, and the man at
the helm was an officer of the United States navy.
“How many of you got away in the boats?” he asked, sternly. “And how did
you happen to be left behind?”
“I reckon I’m the only one left,” I said, sadly. “None of us escaped
except me.”
“A likely yarn,” snapped the officer. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m an American, like yourself, and was gunner of the barque _The
Gentle Hand_,” I answered.
I thought he would strike me when I said I was like himself, but he saw
I meant no offence.
“Did all the slaves go down in her after you fired her, when you saw you
couldn’t get away from us?” he asked again.
Then it suddenly dawned upon me that the cruiser had thought we had
burned and scuttled the ship ourselves, after finding he was closing in
and would soon have her under his guns.
“We didn’t fire her,” I answered. “The blacks did that, and there’s no
one left alive of her crew that I know of besides myself.”
He gave a grunt of disgust, as if it were no use talking to a rascal,
and headed for his vessel’s side. I could see her lights now only half a
mile away, and I wondered who and what she was, and what fate she had in
store for me.
It looked as if I had made a mistake in leaving _The Gentle Hand_, and
visions of a figure swaying at a yard-arm began flitting through my
tired brain.