Kitabı oku: «Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop», sayfa 30
Chapter Fifty Two.
What the Powder did
The horrible dank odour of exploded gunpowder; a blinding smoke; thick darkness; a strange singing in the ears, and then, in connection with a sensation as of having been struck down and stunned, an awful silence.
These were Murray’s impressions as he slowly struggled to his feet. Then as his scattered senses began to return he cried hoarsely —
“Who’s here? – Who’s hurt?”
There was no reply for a few moments, and then from somewhere up-stairs as it seemed to Murray, Roberts shouted —
“Do speak, somebody! Are you all killed?”
“No, no,” panted Murray, who now began to cough and choke. “Speak, somebody! Who’s hurt?”
“Here, avast there!” now burst forth the hearty tones of the big sailor. “Let’s have it, messmates, only don’t all speak at once. Arn’t all on you killed, are you?”
“No, no,” cried one.
“Knocked the wind out of us,” said another, from the upper room.
“Here, steady there,” cried Tom May now, in a voice full of excitement. “Avast there, what did you do with the rest of that there keg of powder?”
“Me?” cried Harry Lang, who had handled it. “You, yes! What did you do with it, messmate?”
“Took it up-stairs. I mean, brought it up here.”
“Then ’ware sparks.”
The dread of a fresh explosion in the presence of the faint sparks that could be seen lying here and there for some distance about the front of the planter’s house set every one to work with bucket and water, and it was not until broad daylight that confidence began to reign, with the calmness which accompanied the knowledge that the door which had been blown in had been replaced by a strong barricade to act as a defence against a renewed attack.
Of this, however, there was no sign, the danger resting only in the imagination of the wearied-out and wounded men, several of whom had sunk into a stupor of exhaustion, while Murray, Tom May and the black were out exploring, and finding here and there at a distance from the front of the house traces of the havoc which could be produced by the explosion of a keg of gunpowder.
Not to dwell upon horrors, let it suffice to say that one of the discoveries made was by Tom May and the black, when the following words were uttered —
“Well, look ye here, darkie, you needn’t shiver like that. Y’arn’t afraid on him now?”
“No; not ’fraid; but he make niggah ’fraid all many years, and Caesar keep ’fraid still. But nebber any more. He dead now.”
“But are you sure this was him?”
“Yes, Caesar quite suah. Only ’fraid now poor Massa Allen dead too.”
“Ah, well, messmate – black messmate, I mean – we had nothing to do with that, and Master Huggins will never make an end of any more poor fellows; so don’t shiver like jelly, for I says it’s a blessing that the beggar’s gone.”
“Yes, Massa Tom. No ’fraid no more. All a blessing Massa Huggins gone.”
“And all his men, darkie.”
“Yes, sah, and all his men. They never come back no more.”
“What is it?” said Murray, coming up. “Have you found out anything more?”
Tom May made an announcement which Murray communicated to the wounded lieutenant, and he had hardly finished when the sound of firing began again.
“What’s that?” cried Mr Anderson, raising himself upon one arm. “There, you needn’t tell me, Murray, lad; I know. It’s the captain attacking, or being attacked by, some of the slaving scoundrels, and we are not there to help him.”
“But surely, sir, we have been helping him by what we have done,” said Murray; and the lieutenant stretched out his hand, wincing and groaning as he did so, and clutched the midshipman’s arm.
“Thank you, my dear boy,” he said; “that does me good. We have been helping him, haven’t we?”
“Why, of course, sir. That explosion has ended in killing the chief slaver, the head of the gang, as well as a terrible number of his wretched followers.”
“So it has, Mr Murray; so it has. Your doing too.”
“Oh no, sir; I only played my part. We did,” said Murray, smiling.
“We? Nonsense! You fired the train.”
“Yes, sir, as your deputy, and with your instructions. It was done by us in following out duties that the captain would have wished carried out.”
“Ha! Thank you, Mr Murray. I am weak and faint and troubled by the idea that I have not done my part.”
“Oh, nonsense, sir. There, let me put this wet handkerchief to your head. You’re feverish again.”
“Thank you, Murray,” sighed the lieutenant gratefully. “You are a good fellow. I wish Mr Roberts were as good an officer.”
“Well, you have your wish, sir,” said Murray laughingly. “He’d have done his share if he hadn’t been wounded.”
“Ah, yes; how is he?”
“Getting better, sir, certainly.”
“That’s good, Murray,” said the lieutenant, with a sigh. “I want to make as good a show of the men as I can when I have to face the captain again. I’m afraid, though, that it will be a very bad one, eh?”
“Plenty of wounded, sir, but none very bad. The poor fellows have broken down a bit now that the work’s done, but they’ll soon mend.”
“Then you don’t think, Murray, that the captain will find much fault with me and my men?”
“He’d be very unreasonable if he did, sir.”
“Hah! You think so, Murray? But he can be rather unreasonable sometimes, Murray, eh?”
“Terribly, sir.”
“Hah! That’s comforting, Murray, for I am very weak. I feel, you see, that I ought to be up and doing now, my lad, and I haven’t the power to stir.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Murray, “but now you’re hors de combat am I not leading officer?”
“Certainly, my dear boy, and I tell you that you have done wonders.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Murray, “but I was not fishing for compliments. What I wanted you to say was that I was to take the lead.”
“I say so, then, certainly, my dear sir.”
“Well, then, sir, I say that your duty is to lie still and get better, and that our lads are to do the same.”
“Well, leaving me out, Murray, that’s quite right.”
“Yes, sir, and including you. The best thing is for me to give our lads a rest to recoup a bit. We can’t do better than hold this place in case of a fresh attack.”
“Quite right.”
“And wait until the captain sends help.”
“Excellent, Murray; but the captain may be waiting for help to come from us.”
“Yes, sir, and if he is I am sorry to say that I could not lead four men to his aid.”
“Oh dear, that’s bad,” groaned the lieutenant.
“You couldn’t get up and lead us, sir.”
“Get up? Lead you, Murray? My dear lad, I am as weak as an infant.”
“Ray – ray – hooray!” came loudly.
“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant excitedly. “Quick, lad! My sword. A fresh attack.”
“No, sir,” cried Murray, who had run to the window as the cheering was responded to loudly. “It’s Mr Munday with over a dozen men coming up at the double. Do you hear, sir? – ‘Seafowls ahoy!’”
“Ah!” sighed the lieutenant, sinking back upon the now stained pillow which had been taken from one of the planter’s beds.
“Mr Murray, that you?” came from the front.
“Yes, sir,” cried Murray, who was looking from the window.
“Well, I shouldn’t have known you. You’re as black as a sweep.”
“Yes, sir,” said the middy, clapping his hand to his face.
“Seen anything of Mr Anderson?”
“Yes, he’s lying up here, wounded.”
“What! Not badly?”
“Got a nasty wound, sir, but it will soon be better,” replied the middy, glancing back at the half-fainting officer.
“Come up, Munday,” cried the latter; and in a few minutes the second lieutenant had forced his way over the barricaded entrance and reached the rooms that now formed the temporary infirmary.
“Very, very glad to have found you at last,” said Mr Munday, shaking hands warmly. “My word, sir, you have had a tremendous fight here!”
“You can report to the captain that I have done my best, Munday, and our lads have fought like heroes.”
“That’s good, sir. I’m sure they have. I wish, though, we had been here.”
“And now you will either get us aboard or send for Mr Reston.”
“I’m sorry to say that I can’t do either,” said the second lieutenant.
“What!” cried the chief officer.
“It has been like this; the captain sent me ashore with a boat’s crew to find you and the rest, and as soon as we were out of sight he was attacked by a couple of schooners.”
“How did you know that?” asked Murray, who had laid his hand upon the chief officer’s lips to keep him from speaking.
“From the two boat-keepers; and one of these schooners our lads report as being commanded by that scoundrel who tricked us with his lugger. He was the real owner of the schooner that escaped.”
“Ah! Go on,” said Mr Anderson faintly. “Tell Murray, and let me lie and listen.”
“Well, then,” continued the officer, “these two schooners attacked the skipper just when he was shorthanded, and before I could get back to my cutter they had been there, driven the two boat-keepers ashore, and scuttled her. Of course my two men could do nothing but make for me. So there I was ashore, listening to the firing, while the skipper had to keep on a running fight, and that’s been going on ever since, for they’ve been a bit too many for the Seafowl, it seems to me.”
“How unfortunate!” said Murray.
“Horribly, sir,” said the second lieutenant. “Here have I been hunting you ever since, though I’ve had a few skirmishes with the scoundrels, who have seemed to swarm.”
“Yes,” said Murray, nodding his head. “White, black and mongrel scum of the earth.”
“Exactly, my lad. Well, to make a long story short, the place is such a maze that I’m sure I should never have found you if we hadn’t seen the flash of this explosion. Of course we heard the roar far enough away, but that would not have guided us without we had seen the direction.”
“No, sir, I suppose not. Well, sir, what’s to be done now?” said Murray.
“Let’s hear what Mr Anderson says.”
“Hush! He has fallen asleep,” whispered Murray. “Poor fellow! He is very weak.”
“And ought to have Reston to him. We’re in a nice hole, Murray, upon my word! Have you got a morsel of prog? My lads are starving.”
“We’ve plenty, sir.”
“Hah! Then feed us, dear lad, and then we shall be ready to fight or do anything you like. But hullo! What about Dick Roberts?”
“Wounded, but getting better. He’s in the next room, doing nothing but sleep.”
“Next room! Upon my word you middies are pretty sybarites! Well, let us have this prog.”
“Come down to the dining-room,” said Murray. “Mr Anderson cannot do better than sleep.”
“Dining-room!” said the second lieutenant in a whisper, as they left the chamber. “What next? You haven’t got such a thing as a cellar of wine on the premises, have you, my lad?”
“Yes, sir,” said Murray, laughing; “but that’s where we have our powder magazine.”
“Give us something to eat, then, my dear fellow, and then let’s see if we can’t use the powder to blow up the two schooners which are pounding the Seafowl. Hark! They’re at it still.”
“No,” said Murray, listening; “those must be the Seafowl’s guns.”
Chapter Fifty Three.
The Captain’s last blow up
Murray proved to be right, for the distant reports which came from somewhere on the far side of the island proved to be the last fired by the man-o’-war, which, shorthanded though she was, and desperately attacked by the powerful well-manned schooners, had kept up a continuous fight, so cleverly carried on that it had at last ended by the running ashore of one of the big slaving craft, and the pounding of the other till in desperation the skipper, who proved to be the cunning Yankee hero of the lugger trick, – the twin brother of the scoundrel Huggins who had met his fate in the explosion, – set his swift craft on fire before taking, with the remnants of the crew, to the woods.
It was not until a couple of days later that, after extinguishing the fire on board the second schooner and setting sail with her for the harbour, Captain Kingsberry commenced firing signal guns to recall his scattered crew, and communication was made by the help of Caesar.
“Yes, Massa Murray Frank,” he said eagerly; “Caesar soon show um way to where big gun go off.”
He, too, it was who gave signals which resulted in the collection of as many of the plantation slaves as were wanted to bear the wounded men in palanquins through the maze-like cane brakes and down to the shore, where a shady hospital was started in which Dr Reston could rule supreme, his patients chuckling to one another as they luxuriated in the plantation coffee, sugar, molasses, fruit and tobacco, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves – so they said – in the jolliest quarters that had ever fallen to their lot.
Caesar, too, in his actions was certainly one of the greatest of the Caesars, for in spite of a terribly scorched face, and burned and wounded arms and hands, he worked almost without ceasing. Scores of his fellow-slaves flocked to help, and under his guidance the captain and crew of the Seafowl were perfectly astounded by the extent of the plantation buildings, and the arrangements that existed for carrying on the horrible trade and keeping up the supply from the far-off African coast.
It was a busy time for the Seafowls, as they called themselves, but they had the prisoners to deal with, for those left alive of the crews of the two schooners had managed to reach the familiar shelter of the dense shores, from which they did not wait to be hunted out, but utilised some of the light boats of whose existence they were well aware, and sickened by the terrible lesson they had received, made sail for one of the neighbouring bays.
It was, as has been said, a busy time for the Seafowls, for there were the two captured schooners to get afloat and the fired rigging to restore before they were fit to take to a destined port as prizes. There were vile barracks to burn, and plenty of other arrangements to make as to the destination of certain newly-arrived prisoners who had to be saved from their terrible fate.
Briefly, although the sailors called it a good holiday, it was a period of the hardest work, but what with prize money and tasks that paid mentally every lad and man who thought, it was a time of pleasure; and it was not till towards the end of the Seafowl’s stay that Caesar came on board the sloop of war one evening with his face flushing with excitement and showing all his teeth.
“Caesar find um at last, massa,” he cried.
“Find? Find? Not Mr Allen?” said Murray.
“Yes, massa. Find good ole Massa Allen.”
“Then he is not dead?”
“Yes, massa. No massa. Huggins no kill um. Shut um up. Tell um, massa, dat um poor crack looney.”
“What! Lunatick!”
“Yes, massa, looney, mad. Shut um up.”
“Where? And have you seen him?”
“Yes, massa. Tullus find um in niggah hut shut up, and take me dah.”
“Then that Huggins has not killed him?”
“No, massa; shut um up. Say um mad man. Berry bad. Get more bad ebbery day till Tullus find um. Black slabe woman ’top wiv him. Massa Huggins say kill her if she let um go.”
“Poor creature!” said Murray, wrinkling up his brow.
“Yes, sah; berry poor creature, sah. Caesar berry sorry. Massa Allen good massa, and Caesar lub um.”
“But where is he now? Not dead?”
“Yes, massa been die berry much all um time. Couldn’t quite go die till poor Caesar come, and den he shake hand. Say ‘Good-bye, Caesar, lad. Tell Massa Murray Frank. Tell um t’ink de bes’ ob a poor weak man.’”
“Mr Allen said that, Caesar?” said Murray.
“Yes, sah. Caesar cry bofe eyes. Tullus cry and slabe woman cry when we put um in de groun’ fas’ asleep. Everybody lub poor Massa Allen, sah. Gone dead. Say go to sleep happy now. No more slabe trade now. No more poor niggah leap overboard now Massa Murray Frank and Bri’sh sailor come.”
“Well, Mr Murray,” said the captain, about an hour later, “I hope you are ready to return to your duties.”
“Yes, sir, certainly,” said the lad, staring.
“I’m glad of it. And, by the way, this is a very favourable opportunity for saying a few words in season to you. Let me tell you that I am not at all satisfied with the way in which your duties have been carried out, any more, I may say, than I have been with the way in which I have been served by your brother officers. I look for something better in the future, sir, something decidedly better in the future, I may say;” and he stalked aft and went below.
“Did you hear what Captain Kingsberry said, sir?” said Murray to the chief officer, who just then came limping up with his spy-glass beneath his feeble arm.
“Yes, Murray, every word. My dear boy, it is a way he has. There, there, my lad, I think amongst us we’ve given the slave-trade its heaviest blow.”
