"Sail Ho!" (continued 7)

“Then was it there you were stuck?” I asked.

“Yes, sir; but by a bit o’ giving and taking I got round, and come out face forrard, as you see.”

“I am thankful,” I murmured.

“Well, if you come to that, sir, I liked it better when I’d got face outwards; for it arn’t nice to feel yourself set fast in among a lot o’ cargo which may shift if the ship gives a roll, and there you are, just like a blue-bottle shut in a big book, and come out next year flat and dry.”

“Why, you must be a thin ’un, Barney,” growled Bob. “You’d better leave the sea, and take to being first-class messenger to go up and down steam-pipes.”

“Be quiet, Bob!” I said angrily. “Here, tell me, Barney,” I continued; for now that the man was safe, the horror and nervousness of a terrible accident rapidly passed away.

“Tell you what, sir?”

“Is it hopeless? Is there no chance of getting to the forecastle bulk-head that way?”

“Well, sir, I can’t say only that you know how far Neb Dumlow got, and then how Bob Hampton got a little farther.”

“Didn’t,” growled Dumlow.

“Now what’s the good o’ you talking, messmate? because he did, just a bit farther,” said Barney, in a tone full of protest. “You may just as well say I didn’t go three times as far.”

“Nay, I won’t say that, lad.”

“’Cause I did; and arter the tight nip of a bit where them two stuck, it were pretty easy, and I got along fast, though of course it’s all ups and downs like. Then there’s the widish bit ’tween them two big cases, where I twisted round; and after that the cargo’s closer together, and nigher the beams, till it got too stiff for me, and I give it up; for I knowed that if I got stuck there, I should have to stay.”

“Then there is a way on?” I said excitedly.

“Kind of a sort of a way, sir. I don’t think I could ha’ got along if I’d tried ever so hard, ’cause the cargo’s jammed up so close to the roof; but a small sort o’ man might do it, or p’r’aps I might if old Frenchy keeps me here long enough to get precious thin.”

“But a boy could get along?” I said.

“Oh yes, sir, I dessay a boy could; but don’t you get thinking it’s a regular pipe or a passage, ’cause it arn’t. It’s all in and out, and over chests and cases and things as don’t fit together, or has got settled down; and you have to feel all this as you go, and trust to the tips of your fingers for leading of you right. It arn’t as if there was any light, you see; ’cause their ain’t enough to show a mouse the way to the inside of a Dutch cheese.”

“Then if any one got along there far enough, he would come to the forecastle bulk-head?” I said eagerly.

“Well, that I can’t say, sir; ’cause, you see, he might find he had to creep along right under the forksle floor, and the men’s bunks.”

“If he got to the place where our friends are, that would not matter,” I cried excitedly. “The distance must be very small.”

“O’ course, sir.”

“But one moment, Barney. Could any of the cargo be pushed out of the way, so as to make more room?”

“No, sir, for sartain, ’cause it’s all wedged together, and there’s nowhere else to put it so as to make room.”

“And I don’t see, if one got there, that it could be a great deal of good, because they couldn’t get here, and we couldn’t all get there.”

“They seems to think it would be some good, sir,” growled Barney, “because they keeps on knocking. There they goes again.”

For once more the tapping commenced, and was repeated impatiently as we did not answer.

“Give ’em the sigginals, Bob,” said Dumlow, gruffly.

The tapping was answered—three taps together, two, then one, and in all manner of variations; till the others stopped, and so did we, and there was silence till Bob spoke.

“That’s all very pretty,” he said; “but, you see, it don’t lead to nothing. They raps, and seems to say, Here we are! And then we raps, and says, So are we! And so it goes on, over and over again, till you don’t know what they mean, or what you mean, or where you are. I wish we could do something to make ’em understand as we’re stuck fast.”

“The only way to do that is to tell them so,” I cried passionately. “Even if nothing more comes of it, I feel as if it would be something to feel that you can communicate with your friends when you like. We might contrive something too, some means of escape. Yes, we must get to them, my lads.”

“Then you’ll have to starve down, Barney, till you’re as thin as a skelington,” said Bob, “and then have another try.”

“All right, messmate, I’m willin’,” said Barney, with a sigh. “I don’t like going without my wittles, but what we gets here arn’t much to lose. There you are then, Mr Dale, sir; starve me down till I’m small enough.”

“No, Barney,” I said firmly; “there’s no need. I’m small enough already; and if you’ll follow me for company as far as you can, and to help me if possible, I will go myself. I said when you were in there I’d try and help you; now you must try and help me. Will you come?”

“My hand on it, sir, if you’ll shake it.”

I shook it.

“I shall keep as close to you as I can, sir,” said the sailor. “You won’t want any telling which way to go, for there is only one way for you to get along, as you’ll soon find out.”

I started, and soon felt that I must be past where the two men had found it so tight a fit, though I had had no difficulty in getting along whatever, and gaining courage from the excitement, I crawled forward over the tops of rough packing-cases and between others, finding the passage uneven, and with a different level every minute. Now there would be plenty of room; but a foot or two farther I had to crawl over a case that came so close to a beam arching over from side to side of the ship that I began wondering how my companion had passed in, and as soon as I was through and into the wider space beyond, I stopped with my head turned back to speak.

“You can’t get through there, can you?” I asked.

“Well, it is pretty tight, sir, but I did it afore, and I’ve got to do it again.”

I listened to his efforts, and could make out that he was getting through inch by inch, and he kept on commenting upon his progress the while.

“Good job as one’s bones give a bit, sir,” he was saying, when the knocking ahead came clearly, and seemed not so very far away. “Give ’em an answer, sir; not too loud. Do it with your knuckles on something.”

I was upon a case as he spoke, and I answered at once; but to my annoyance this only drew forth fresh knockings in various ways—two knocks together, then two more very quickly—a regular rat-rat—and then all kinds of variations, to which I replied as well as I could, and then left off in a pet.

“Who’s going to keep on doing that?” I cried angrily. “They must wait.”

“Yes,” growled Barney; “I’d go on, sir. That arn’t doing nobody no good.”

The consequence was that I went forward slowly, with an accompaniment of taps, which kept irritating me in that hot, stifling passage—no, it is not fair to call such a place a passage, seeing that it was merely an opening formed by the settling down of the packages, or their opening out from the rolling of the ship in the storm.

I was passing along one of these latter portions with great care when a cold chill ran through me, for the thought came—suppose the ship heels over now, I shall be nipped in here and crushed to death.

But the ship did not heel over; though I did not feel comfortable till I was out of the opening, and flat once more on the top of a huge crate, between whose openings, the sharp ends of the straw used in packing it projected and scratched my face. Here I paused to listen to Barney panting and grunting as he struggled along.

“Mustn’t make quite so much noise, sir,” he whispered; “or some ’un uppards ’ll be hearing of us.”

He was more careful, and I once more went crawling laboriously, and finding on the whole so little room that I began to think I must have gone much farther than Barney had been before. And there was a strange thing connected with that creep over and amongst the cargo. Time seemed to be indefinitely prolonged. I could fancy one moment that I had been crawling and crawling for hours, and going a tremendous distance, while the next my idea was that I had hardly moved and not been there a minute. Every now and then, in spite of setting my teeth hard, and even biting my tongue, that horrible feeling of fright came back; and I have often asked myself since whether I was an awful coward. But I never could give a fair judgment, for I have thought that most people would have felt the same, whether they were lads or grown men, and certainly my three companions in talking it over said it upset them more than going in for a real fight.

It was curious, too, how busy one’s brain was when I could keep from thinking of being smothered or crushed, or so fixed in that I could not get out. For then I began to think about moles burrowing underground, and worms in their holes, and rabbits and mice; and on one of these occasions I started and wondered at the peculiarity of the coincidence, for I suddenly became aware of a peculiar, half-musky smell, and then there was a scuffling, squealing sound which sent a shudder through me.

“Hear the rats, sir?” whispered Barney; but I was so upset that I couldn’t reply.

All at once, as I was crawling more freely, my companion whispered—

“You ought to be close to where I turned myself round, sir. Aren’t there more room?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then that’s it, sir. Eh?”

“I didn’t speak.”

“But some one did, sir. It arn’t them in the forksle, is it?”

We listened, and there was whispered, close to us apparently—

“How are you getting on?”

“It’s them behind, sir. I’ll lay down flat as I can, and you whisper back as we’re all right. Sound travels easy.”

I found that I could readily turn, and I did as he proposed that I should, hearing my voice sound so smothered that it startled me again. But the tapping was resumed; and answering it again, I turned and went on once more in silence till all at once my way was stopped by a crate which touched the beams overhead.

“Is this where you got to, Barney?” I said.

“Where there’s a big crate thing, sir, as goes right up? That’s it.”

“Then we can’t get any farther?”

“I don’t think I can; but that tapping wouldn’t come so plain if there warn’t a way. It weer too tight for me; but you can try if you can’t get round the end of the stopper. It may be big enough for you.”

I would have given anything to get back now, feeling as I did that I had done enough; but I plucked up my courage, and began feeling about to make the discovery that while one end of the crate was closed solidly against the next package, the other end did not touch.

“There’s a way here,” I said to my companion, who was sitting up behind me, having found a place where he could let his legs go down.

“Well, sir, that’s what I thought,” said Barney. “But it’s too small for me, arn’t it?”

“Yes, far too small,” I said. “I don’t think I could get along. Is it any use to try?”

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

That knocking came so plainly and from so near now that I at once said—

“Yes; I must get through.”

“Bravo you, sir. That’s your sort. Take it coolly. Where the head ’ll go, the rest on you’ll follow if you wiggles yerself well. Don’t you get scared, sir. I’ll pull you back if you get stuck.”

“But it’s horribly hot here, Barney,” I whispered.

“Yes, sir; but I s’pose we mustn’t mind that. Go it, sir, and let’s get it over.”

I did not need his words, for I was already trying to get round that great crate. It was, I felt, an impossible job, for I had to pass round one angle, and the heat as I wedged myself in became insufferable. But I forced myself along inch by inch till I could get my arms round the end, where to my great joy I found that I could get hold of the bars of the crate, the straw with which its contents were packed yielding enough to allow my fingers to obtain a firm grip, and with this purchase I pulled and pulled, getting myself farther and farther till I was part of the way past the angle; then more and more, till my hips checked the way for a few minutes, and I stopped short, feeling that it was all over, for I could get no farther.

Then I felt that I had done enough. It was useless fighting against the impossible, and I made up my mind to go back; but at the first movement I rucked up my jacket and trousers and literally wedged myself in, finding that I could not get back an inch, and that if I tried more I should be stuck beyond the hope of extrication.

I felt faint with the heat and horror, then a peculiar giddiness came over me; I saw lights dancing before my eyes, and my senses were fast going, when, sounding quite cool and unconcerned, Barney’s voice came to me, teaching me the value of companionship at such a time as this.

“Having a rest, sir? Say when, and I’ll give your feet a shove.”

Just those few simple words, but they were sufficient to give me courage once more, and drive away the mists of horror.

I was myself again, tightened my grip on the stout bars of the crate, gave a spasmodic jerk, and dragged myself as I lay edgewise two or three inches along the end of the great crate.

“That wins it, sir,” whispered Barney, and feeling desperate I tried again and again, the bars giving me so much assistance that I got on and on till I was lyings as I said, edgewise along the end, with my back against a large wooden case.

Then I stopped, panting with my exertion, the perspiration streaming from me, and feeling as if it would be impossible to get any farther. But all the same I was cheered by my success, and after gaining my breath I was just going to have another try when Barney whispered—

“What’s ahead of you? Can you touch anything?”

I stretched out my hands as far as I could reach, and this action elongated me a trifle, so that I felt myself slipping down a little—only a few inches, but that was enough; a curious oppression of my chest followed, and to my horror I realised that the passage narrowed downwards, and my weight had carried me lower, so that now at last I felt that I was hopelessly wedged in.

For some moments the horror of my position rendered me helpless. I could not struggle, but lay as if paralysed till Barney roused me by whispering in his cheery way—

“Takin’ a rest again, my lad?”

“No, no,” I panted in a hopeless tone of voice; “I’m fast, Barney; I can’t move.”

“Oh yes, you can, sir,” he replied; “take it coolly.”

“But the packages on each side are holding me,” I panted.

“Have another go, sir. You don’t know how ingyrubbery you are till you try, sir. Take it coolly, sir, then wait your time, and you’ll work yourself out just as we did. All three on us got fast.”

“Yes; but there was some one to pull Bob Hampton out,” I said angrily; and in this spirit I made a fierce effort after reaching up with one leg and one arm, and somehow managed to drag myself higher, so that I did not feel so much oppression at my chest. Another inch or two made me wonder why I had been so much alarmed, and in another minute I had passed the great crate, and found more room between the cargo and the beams overhead.

But I hesitated to go farther in that horrible darkness, dreading some fresh complication, and feeling that now I had reached a part where I could hear, it would be wise to go back and accept my fate of a prisoner, and see what Jarette would do, when all at once the tapping, which had been unheard for some time, recommenced, and apparently so close, that my cowardly dread passed off, and I determined to go on.

“All right now, aren’t you, sir?” whispered Barney.

“Yes.”

“Told you so. Only be careful, sir, I can’t help you now.”

I felt about a little, and then crawled forward in no narrow perpendicular crevice, but flat on my chest, between the cargo and the deck, and in less than a minute my hand touched an upright piece? of roughly-sawn wood. Then another and another, and passing my hand between them I felt board, while the next instant there was a dull jar as if some one on the other side struck the board I touched, and gave three taps. I answered directly with my knuckles, and a strange feeling of emotion made my heart palpitate as a voice came through the narrow opening between the boards.

“Is any one there?”

I placed my mouth as close to the crevice as I could in my constrained position, and chancing being heard, I cried—

“Yes.”

“Who is it?” came back.

“Dale; and the three men are with me.”

“Can you force off one of these boards?”

“No. Who is it?” I said.

I was almost sure when I asked the question, and my ideas were confirmed. It was Mr Brymer speaking, and he told me that Mr Preddle, Mr Frewen, and the captain were with him.

That was good news, but he had not told me all.

“Where is Miss Denning?” I asked.

“With her brother in their cabin still, I think. Now look here, Dale, we will try and pull out one of these boards, and you and the others must join us here.”

I must have made his heart sink in despair the next minute, when I told him that it was impossible, and said how I had had to struggle to get to him.

“Then either you or we must get out, and the party that gets on deck must help the other. Wait a minute.”

I waited, and heard the sound of boring, and a few minutes later, as I kept a hand upon the board, I felt the point of a knife or gimlet working its way through.

After it was withdrawn conversation became more easy, and I had a few words with Mr Frewen and Mr Preddle, all of which were cheering, though as far as escape was concerned it did no good. But I learned how that they had been literally thrown down there, as they supposed, for they had come-to very much as we had, to find themselves lying helpless on the floor.

We had reached this point when Barney’s voice came, and it sounded anxious.

“Better come now, Mr Dale, sir,” he whispered. “We can get along here again.”

“Yes, I’ll come soon,” I whispered back, for to a certain extent I forgot my troubles in the satisfaction of having been able to reach my friends.

“Better come now, sir. They’re getting scared behind yonder, and seems to me there’s on’y just wind enough left for us to breathe going back. If you stop any longer there won’t be none, for I shall swaller it all.”

I explained what he said to me, and it was Mr Frewen who now spoke through the tiny hole.

“Yes, go back directly,” he said. “Come again in a few hours’ time, the air will be better again then, and we will cut this hole big enough for you to come through.”

I could have wished it to have been made bigger then, so that I could get to my friends, but I knew it would be like forsaking the men I had left, so after promising to return soon—thinking nothing now of the difficulty of the journey—I said good-bye, and began to crawl back, remembering directly plenty of things I should have liked to ask.

But now I had to think of my perilous journey back, and I shuddered as I thought how nearly I had been wedged fast beside the crate. Somehow, though, now that I knew the extent of my risk, it did not seem half so bad, I reached the crate, changed from the horizontal to the perpendicular opening, kept close to the top with my head and shoulders, and let my legs go down till I could rest them on the crossbar of the crate, made my way to the end round the corner, and reached the place where Barney was anxiously waiting, and then paused for a few moments to rest, ready to wonder at the ease with which I had returned. I said something of the kind to Barney, and he laughed.

“Oh yes, sir,” he said. “It’s like going aloft when you’re young. I remember the first time I went up to the main-topgallant mast-head, I said to myself, ‘On’y let me once get down safe, and you’ll never ketch me up here again;’ while now one goes up and does what one has to do without thinking about it, and— Hear that?”

“Yes; what are they bumping about on the deck?”

“Dunno, sir. Sounds like getting the big boats off from over the galley. But they won’t hear us, sir; let’s get back to where we can have a pull at the fresh air. Will you go first?”

“No; you know the way best.”

Barney chuckled.

“There arn’t much queshtion of knowing the way, sir. There arn’t no first turnings to the left, and second to the right. It’s all go ahead, and you’re sure to come out right if you don’t get stuck, and I s’pose I mustn’t get jammed anywhere ’cause of you.”

He went on, and as I followed I could not help thinking about how terrible it would be if he did get fast, and more than once a curious sensation ran through me as he struggled on. But we had no mishap, and at last crept out to where Bob Hampton and Dumlow were waiting for us.

“You have been a long time, sir,” growled the former. “Did you make anything out of it?”

“Yes, Bob, I reached the forecastle.”

“You did, lad! Well done you! I allus thought you’d do something some day.”

Then I told them both of all that had passed, as I lay there in that hot, dark, stifling hole, thinking though all the while how delightfully fresh and light it was. When I had finished, Bob rubbed his ear, and growled softly—

“Why, my lad,” he said, “seems to me as it’s like pig-shearing.”

“Pig-shearing? What do you mean?”

“Much cry and little wool, sir. We’ve all been crawling about in the hold like rats, and got to where the t’others are—leastwise you have—and then you’ve come back again.”

“Yes, Bob.”

“Taken all that trouble for nothing.”

“Well, but I have been able to talk to them, and make plans.”

“Bah, sir, I don’t call them plans. What was the good of us all getting smothered as we was, just to find out as we couldn’t do nothing?”

“I communicated with Mr Brymer and Mr Frewen,” I cried.

“And said ‘How de do? I’m quite well thank you, how are you?’ Didn’t pay for the trouble, sir. We must do something better than that. What do you say, Neb?”

“I says as I arn’t going to squeedge my carcadge into that hole again if I knows it, messmate.”

“And you, Barney?”

Barney Blane uttered a low deep snore. Worn-out by his exertions, he had lain down on his back and gone to sleep at once, and ten minutes later the hot vitiated air had produced such an effect upon me that I was just as fast, and dreaming of bright sunshine and lovely tropic lands, till I was aroused by strange noise, and a sharp angry voice cried—

“Now then, all! Vite! vite! Tumble up.”

Chapter Thirty Four.

I was so confused by being awakened suddenly from a deep sleep, and by the light of a lantern flashing in my eyes, that for a few minutes I moved about quite mechanically, getting out of the way of my companions in misfortune, as first Barney, and then Neb Dumlow, obeyed and climbed out on deck.

“Now then, look sharp,” cried the same voice, “don’t keep us here all night.”

“You go next, my lad,” growled Bob, “and I’ll give you a hyste. Take hold o’ the combings and give me one leg.”

I obeyed, in a sleepy stupid way—in fact, if I had been told to jump overboard I think I should have done so then—and as I grasped the combings Bob Hampton seized the leg I lifted as if I had been going to mount a horse, and jerked me right up to where I was seized by a couple of men, thrown down, and then dragged along the deck to the open gangway, where, as I awoke to the fact that there was the black sea all gleaming with yellow scintillations, I suddenly made a desperate effort to escape.

“No, no,” I shouted. “Help!”

“Hold still, will you?” cried one of the men. “Now then, out with him!”

In spite of my struggles they forced me onward, holding on to my wrists the while; and speechless now in my horror, I felt that the next moment I should be plunged into the black water to drown.

Those were terrible moments, but they only were those brief spaces of time, for just as I felt that all was over, the man who had just spoken shouted—“Below there! Now then, together, mate,” and they stooped as low as they could, lowering me down, and then snatched their hands away, and I fell what seemed to be a terrific distance, though it was only a few feet, before I was caught by strong arms and lowered into a boat.

“There you are, sir. Go aft.”

I staggered in the direction in which I was pushed, and dropped on to a thwart, still half-stunned and confused, but sensible enough to understand the words uttered about me, and to see the dull yellow light of the lanterns held by the gangway lighting up a number of drink-flushed faces.

“I don’t want chucking down, I tell you,” growled Bob Hampton. “Give’s a hold of a rope and I’ll drop down.”

“Yes, you pig,” snarled Jarette, for I knew it was he now who gave orders, and now came full into sight, with the lights showing: his evil-looking face. “It’s rope you want, is it? Hah, for two sous I’d have one round your neck and run you up to the yard-arm. Treacherous lying dog.”

Bob Hampton was a big heavy man, but as quickly and actively as a boy he swung himself clear of the men who held him, and lowered himself down.

“Stand clear,” he shouted, and the next moment he had dropped down into the boat.

“Was you talking ’bout the rope for yourself, Frenchy?—because they keep that round the yard-arm for thieves and pirates, not for honest men.”

“Pig—cochon!” yelled Jarette, and there was a flash of light and a sharp report as he fired a pistol to hit the sailor, or perhaps only to frighten us, for no harm was done.

“Silence, man, don’t exasperate him,” whispered a voice from close by where I sat, and I knew that if I raised my hand I could have touched Mr Frewen.

“All right, sir,” growled Bob, and Jarette spoke now.

“Below there,” he cried. “I’m behaving better to you than you all deserve. Some men would have pitched you all overboard to drown. Now then, listen you, Captain Berriman; you can row west and get into the line the packets take, or you can row east and make the coast somewhere, if you don’t get caught in a storm and go to the bottom. But that’s none of my doing, I can’t help that. Now then, push off before I alter my mind and have a bag of ballast pitched through the bottom of the boat. Off with you. Fasten up that gangway, my lads.”

“No, no, stop,” cried Mr Frewen, excitedly. “We are not all here,” and I glanced round, but it was too dark to make anything out below where the light of the lanterns was cast outward in quite a straight line, well defined against the blackness below, which looked solid.

“Not all there, doctor? Oh, I forgot,” said Jarette. “Wait a minute.”

He turned away from the side, and we heard him give some order, which was followed a minute later by a sharp shrill cry, which went through me, and then there was a series of frantic shrieks, which seemed to pierce the dark night air. We could hear a scuffling too, and appeal after appeal approaching the side from somewhere aft.

“Silence!” snapped out Jarette, and a sharp smack was followed by a low moan.

Then in loud hysterical tones, as if a hoarse frantic woman were appealing, I heard as I sat shuddering there—

“No, no, don’t, Captain Jarette. I’ll work with you, and stick to you, and help you always. Don’t do that.”

“You—you cowardly, sneaking traitor! Who’d trust you an inch out of his sight? Over with him, lads. No, no, not there. Over with him here.”

“Help! Mercy, pray! help! help!” came with frantic shrieks, for the poor fellow evidently did not know of the boat over the side. He felt that he was going to his death, and then he was evidently clinging to something, for there was a pause, and in a hoarse yell we heard him cry—

“Don’t kill me, Jarette, and I’ll tell you where the money-chests are stowed.”

“You? Why, I know. Over with him!” cried Jarette, and then, uttering shrieks that horrified us, we saw Walters for a moment above the bulwarks in the full light of the lanterns, and then he was pitched outwards, shrieking as he fell, a loud splash and a gurgling noise, which ceased suddenly, telling us where he had gone down.

The boat was pushed along in the darkness, and without an order being given.

“See him?” said Mr Brymer, in a hurried whisper.

“No, sir, not yet,” growled Bob Hampton.

Almost at that moment there was a wild shriek for help just by the boat’s side, and Dumlow growled out—

“I got him.”

Then came a splashing and a repetition of the cry for help, but this time from the bottom of the boat.

“What has he done wrong?” said Bob Hampton. “Want us to chuck you in again?”

“Oh, help!” cried Walters piteously.

“What, have you took him aboard?” said a sneering voice overhead. “Better let him drown. He isn’t worth the biscuit and water he’ll want.”

“Oh, only wait!” cried Walters, rising up to his knees.

“Wait,” snarled Jarette. “Yes, you cur, I will with one of the shot-guns if you ever come near my ship again. And you, Berriman, and you, Brymer, take my warning; I’ve given you your chance, so take it. If you hang about near here I’ll have the signal-gun loaded and sink you, so be out of sight by daylight. Now push off before you get something thrown over to go through the bottom of the boat.”

There was a low whispering close by me, and then I could just make out the doctor’s figure as he stood up.

“Stop,” he shouted. “Mr Jarette, we are not all here.”

“What? Why, who is left behind?”

“Mr Denning.”

“The sick passenger?”

“And his sister, sir.”

“Oh yes, I know, board.”

“No, sir, they must come with us. I warn you that Mr Denning’s health is such that he must have medical attendance.”

“Oh, I see,” cried Jarette, with a sneering laugh. “You are afraid of missing your job. There, cure the captain. One patient is enough in an open boat.”

“If anything happens to him, sir, you will have to answer for his life.”

“You are stupid,” sneered Jarette. “You wish to trap me. It would kill the patient to keep him with you, exposed in an open boat. No, Monsieur le docteur, I am too wise—too much of the fox, le renard—to be trapped like that. Push off.”

“No, no, sir,” cried Mr Frewen; “for mercy’s sake, sir, let Mr Denning and his sister be lowered down to us.”

“But they do not wish to come, monsieur.”

“I will not argue with you, sir, or contradict. You hold the power. I only say, for mercy’s sake let that poor suffering invalid and his sister come. We will then push off and leave you to your prize.”

Jarette was resting his arms on the bulwark, gazing down at us, no doubt maliciously, but the lights were behind him and at his side, so that his features were in the dark, and as I looked up I could not help thinking how easily any one might have shot him dead and thrown him overboard. But I shuddered at this horrible idea as it flashed through my head, and waited for him to speak.

Mr Frewen waited too, but he remained silent, only making a slight movement as if to pass one arm over the bulwarks, though from where I sat I could not quite make out his act.

“You heard me, Jarette?” said Mr Frewen, after this painful pause. “You will let your people help Mr Denning and his sister down?”

Still the man did not answer, but appeared to be staring hard at the doctor.

“Mr Jarette.”

“Captain Jarette, doctor. There, you see what a merciful man I am. You do not know that I have been taking aim at you right between the eyes for the last five minutes, and could at any moment have sent a bullet through your head.”

“Yes, sir,” said the doctor, calmly; “yes, Captain Jarette, I knew that you were aiming at me.”

“Then why did you not flinch and ask for mercy!”

“Because I am accustomed to look death in the face, sir, when I am doing my duty, I am doing it now. Mr Denning’s life is in danger. Come, sir, you will let him and his sister join us?”

“In an open boat? No.”

“Mr Jarette.”

“Captain Jarette, doctor,” cried the man, angrily. “Now all of you row and take this mad fellow away, before I am tempted to shoot him.”

Bob Hampton uttered a low growling sound as he sought in the darkness for the boat-hook, stood up, and began to thrust the boat from the ship’s side.

“No; stop,” cried Mr Frewen, fiercely, “we cannot desert the Dennings like this. Ahoy!—on board there! Mr Denning, where are you?”

“Here,” came from one of the cabin-windows aft.

“Row beneath that window,” cried the doctor, and the boat was not rowed but dragged slowly there by Bob Hampton, who kept hooking on by the main and mizzen-chains.

“Keep off!” roared Jarette fiercely. “Do you hear? Keep off, or I fire.”

But Bob Hampton paid no heed to his orders till the boat was beneath one of the round cabin-windows, and then he thrust the boat about six feet from the ship.

He had a reason for so doing, and he had hardly steadied the boat when, in obedience to an order from Jarette, something tremendously heavy was thrown over the side, and fell with a loud splash between us and the ship, deluging us with the shower it raised, and making the boat rock.

But Mr Frewen paid no heed to that which would have driven a hole through the bottom of the boat, perhaps killed one of its occupants at the same moment.

“Are you there, Denning?” he said, in a quick whisper.

“Yes.”

“Quick, run with your sister to the stern-windows and jump out. For heaven’s sake don’t hesitate. We can pick you up.”

“Ay, ay,” growled Bob Hampton.

“Impossible! We are both fastened in,” said Mr Denning.

“Can you pass through that window?”

“No. Save yourselves; you cannot help us now.”

“Over with it, my lads. Well out.”

We could not see what was heaved over the side, but something else, probably a piece of pig-iron, was thrown over, and fell with a heavier splash, making the phosphorescent water flash and sparkle, so that I could see the light dancing in the darkness for far enough down.

Jarette’s savage design was again frustrated, and in spite of our terrible danger no one among us stirred or said a word about the risk.

“Do you hear?” cried Mr Denning, from the cabin-light. “Save yourself; the wretch will sink the boat.”

“I cannot go and leave you and your sister in this man’s power.”

“It is madness to stay. You have done all that is possible. Captain Berriman, order your men to row you out of danger.”

“I am not in command,” said the captain feebly.

“Mr Brymer, then,” cried Mr Denning. “Quick, they are dragging up something else to throw over.”

“I should not be a man, sir, if I ordered the men in cold blood to leave you and your sister,” said Mr Brymer huskily.

“But you are risking other lives. Mr Frewen,” cried the young man, “I wish it; my sister wishes it. You must—you shall go.”

Mr Frewen uttered a strange kind of laugh.

“If I told the men to row away, sir, I do not believe they would go,” he replied. “Answer for yourselves, my lads; would you go?”

“’Bout two foot farder,” growled Bob, “so as they couldn’t hit us; that’s ’bout all.”

“But you can do no good,” said Mr Denning. “Lena, my child, they have been very brave, and done everything they could; tell them to go now; it is to save their lives.”

“Don’t—don’t, Miss Denning,” I shouted, for I could bear it no longer. “There isn’t anybody here but Nic Walters who would be such a cur.”

I said the words passionately, feeling a kind of exaltation come over me, and everything was in the most unstudied way, or I should not have said it at all.

The words were not without their effect, for they stung Walters to the quick. The moment before he had been lying shivering in the bottom of the boat, but as I spoke he sprang up and cried in a high-pitched, hysterical voice that might have been Mr Preddle’s—

“It isn’t true, Miss Denning. I’ve been a treacherous coward and a beast, but I’d sooner die now than leave you to come to harm.”

“A pity you didn’t, my lad, before you betrayed us as you did,” said Mr Brymer, in a deep-toned voice.

“Ah, yes. Words are no use now,” said the captain slowly.

“No! No use now—no use now,” cried Walters wildly. “It is too late, too late,” and before any one could grasp what he was about to do, he leaped over the side into the black water.

But not to drown, for the scintillations of the tiny creatures disturbed by his plunge showed exactly where he was, and Bob Hampton only had to lower the boat-hook and thrust it right down as a wild cry came from the cabin overhead. The next minute he had caught the wretched, half-distraught fellow, and dragged him to the surface, where Neb Dumlow seized him and snatched him over the side to let him fall into the bottom of the boat, and thrust his foot upon him to keep him down.

“Want to doctor him, sir?” then said Dumlow gruffly.

But there was no answer, for our attention was taken up by a savage burst of rage from Jarette, who fired at us unmistakably this time, and a sharp cry came from one of the occupants of the boat.

“I warned you,” cried Jarette. “Now row for your lives.”

“Yes, in heaven’s name, go,” cried Mr Denning, “you are only adding to our agony.”

“No,” cried Mr Frewen, “I will not give up. Brymer—my lads, you will fol—”

“Hush,” said Mr Brymer, as there was another flash and a report from Jarette’s pistol. “Of course we will follow, but not now. It would be madness. Wait, man! We will not go far. Use your oars, my lads.”

“No, no, I forbid it,” cried Mr Frewen wildly, “and I call upon you men to help me board this ship.”

“You are not in command here, sir,” said Mr Brymer sternly. “Take your place. Now, my lads, oars, and give way.”

There was another shot from the deck, and one of the men uttered an exclamation as the blades were thrust over the side, dipped, and seemed to lift golden water at every stroke.

“Good-bye, and God bless you!” came from the cabin-window, and directly after the same words were spoken by Miss Denning, and I heard Mr Frewen utter a groan.

Another shot came from the ship, whose lanterns showed where she lay, while, but for the golden oil the oars stirred on the surface of the water, our boat must have been invisible, though that bullet was sufficiently well aimed to strike the side of the boat with a sharp crack.

“That will do. In oars!” cried Mr Brymer, when we were about a hundred yards away.

“How can you be such a coward?” I heard Mr Frewen whisper passionately.

“No coward, sir,” replied the mate. “I am ready to risk my life in trying, as is my duty, to save those two passengers from harm, but it must be done with guile. It is madness for unarmed men to try and climb up that ship just to be thrown back into the sea.”

“Then you will not row right away?” said Mr Frewen, excitedly.

“And leave the ship in the hands of that scoundrel? Is it likely?”

“I beg your pardon, Brymer,” whispered Mr Frewen, “I did not know what I was saying. I was half mad.”

“My dear fellow, I know,” was the mate’s reply in the same tone. “I’m not going to give up, nor yet despair. There’s always a chance for us. That scoundrel may come to his end from a quarrel with one of his men; a ship may heave in sight; or we may board and surprise them, and if we do, may I be forgiven, but I’ll crush the life out of that wretch as I would destroy a tiger. Now just leave me to do my duty, and do yours.”

“What can I do?” replied Mr Frewen. “You do not want me to row away?”

“No; but I do wish you to attend to our wounded.”

“Ah! I had forgotten that,” said Mr Frewen, hastily bestirring himself. “Here, some one cried out when one of those shots was fired, and again I heard an exclamation just now.”

“It was Walters who was hit first,” I said, from where I knelt in the bottom of the boat.

“Where is he? Somewhere forward?”

“No; here,” I said.

“Has any one matches? It is impossible to see,” muttered Mr Frewen.

“He is hit in the chest, sir,” I said.

“How do you know?” cried Mr Frewen. “Is this your hand, my lad? What are you doing?”

“Holding my neckerchief against his side to stop the bleeding,” I said in a low voice.

“Hah!”

It was only like a loud expiration of the breath, as Mr Frewen knelt down beside me, and cutting away Walters’ jacket he quickly examined the wound by touch, and I then heard him tear my neckerchief and then one of his own pocket-handkerchiefs.

“Your hand here. Now your finger here, my lad,” he whispered to me. “Don’t be squeamish. Think that you are trying to save another’s life.”

“I shan’t faint,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t even make me feel sick.”

“That’s right, my boy. Now hold that end while I pass the bandage round his chest.”

I obeyed, and there was dead silence in the boat as the doctor busied himself over his patient.

“Is he insensible, sir?” I whispered; “really insensible?”

“Yes, and no wonder.”

“Is it a very bad wound?”

“Yes; bad enough. The bullet has passed through or else round one of the ribs. It is nearly out on the other side; I could feel it, but it must stay till daylight. That’s it.—I’ve plugged the wound. He cannot bleed now. Thank you, Dale.”

“What for, sir?” I said innocently enough.

He did not answer, but busied himself laying Walters down, and then the lad was so silent that a horrible feeling of dread began to trouble me. I was brought back to other thoughts, though, by the doctor’s speaking out of the darkness.

“Who else was hurt?” he said.

“Neb Dumlow’s got a hole in him somewheres, sir,” said Barney.

“Wish you’d keep that tongue o’ yourn quiet, Barney,” growled Dumlow. “Who said he’d got a hole in him, my lad?”

“Why, you did,” cried Barney, “and I knowed it without. Didn’t I hear you squeak?”

“Well, only just then. It was sharp for a moment, but it’s better now.”

“Let me pass you, my man,” said the doctor quietly.

“There you are, sir. This way. Neb’s on the next thwart.”

“You needn’t come to me, sir,” protested Dumlow. “I’m all light, I tied a bit o’ line round the place. You can give me a pill or a shedlicks powder or something o’ that kind to-morrow if you like.”

“Hold your tongue, Neb, and let the doctor tie you up,” growled Bob Hampton. “What’s the use of being so jolly independent? Don’t you take no notice o’ what he says, sir. Dessay he’s got a reeg’lar hole in him.”

“Tut tut tut!” muttered Mr Frewen. “What is this,—fishing-line?”

“That’s it, sir,” said Dumlow. “It’s right enough, there arn’t no knobs on it, and it stopped the bleeding fine.”

“Difficult work here, Dale,” Mr Frewen whispered to me. “One need have well-educated fingers—what surgeons call the tactus eruditus—to work like this in the dark.”

“Terrible,” I replied, and I noticed how his voice trembled. For he seemed to me to be doing everything he could to keep himself from dwelling upon those we had left in the ship.

“Hurt you, my man?” he said to Dumlow.

“Oh, it tingles a bit, sir; but here, stop, hold hard a minute. None o’ them games.”

“What games? I don’t understand you.”

“No takin’ advantage of a poor helpless fellow as trusts yer, doctor!”

“Explain yourself, man.”

“Explain myself, sir? How?”

“Tell me what you mean.”

“I mean, I want you to tell me what you mean, sir.”

“To dress your wound.”

“Ay, but you’re a-doing of something with that ’ere other hand.”

“No, my man, no.”

“Arn’t got a knife in’t then?”

“Certainly not. Why?”

“Dumlow thinks you were going to cut his leg off, sir,” I said, feeling amused in spite of our terrible position.

“Course I did,” growled the man. “I’ve been telled as there’s nothing a doctor likes better than to have a chance o’ chopping off a man’s legs or wings, and I don’t mean to go hoppin’ about on one leg and a timber toe, and so I tells yer flat.”

“I’m not going to cut your leg off, Dumlow.”

“Honour, sir?”

“Honour, my man.”

“Honour bright, sir?”

“On my word as a gentleman.”

“Thankye, sir, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather as you said honour bright.”

“Well then, honour bright. There, I am not going to do any more to you now; I must dress the wound by daylight.”

“Won’t bleed any more, sir, will it?”

“Not now.”

“That’ll ’bout do then, sir, thank ye kindly.”

“You are welcome, my man,” said the doctor, and then, “What is it?” for I had grasped his arm.

“I want you to tell me about Walters,” I whispered. “Feel his pulse first.”

He turned from me and bent down over my messmate, who lay in the bottom of the boat perfectly motionless.

I could not see what he did, but listened attentively, not for the sake of hearing his movements, but so as to hear a sigh or moan from that unhappy lad.

“Well?” I said excitedly.

“I can tell you nothing yet,” said Mr Frewen, as I thought, evasively.

“He—he is not dead?” I gasped; and I fell a-trembling with horror at the idea of one whom I had known vigorous and strong so short a time before, lying there at my feet, robbed of the power of making any reparation for the crime he had so weakly committed, and with no chance for repentance.

“I—I say, he is not dead, is he?”

I spoke fiercely, for Mr Frewen had not replied; and now I caught and held on by his hand.

He quite started, and turned upon me.

“I—I beg your pardon, Dale,” he cried. “I was thinking of something else—of those on board that unfortunate ship. It seems so cowardly to leave them to their fate.”

“How could we help it, Mr Frewen? What could we do? But tell me about Walters.”

“Yes,” he said, drawing a long breath, as if he were making an effort to keep his mind fixed upon the present—“yes, I’ll tell you.”

“Then he is dead?” I whispered, with a shudder; and as I looked down into the bottom of the boat, where all was perfectly black, I seemed to see the white face of the lad quite plainly, with his fixed eyes gazing straight at me, full of appeal, and as if asking forgiveness for the past.

“No, not dead, Dale,” said Mr Frewen in a low voice. “Be quiet. Don’t talk about it. We have quite enough to depress us without that. I can say nothing for certain in this black darkness, and he may recover.”

“Is the wound so very bad?” I asked.

“Dangerous enough, as far as I can tell; but he has everything against him, my lad.”

“But if he dies?” I exclaimed in horror.

“Well?” said Mr Frewen bitterly. “If he were a man, I should say it were the best thing that could happen. He has as a young officer hopelessly dishonoured himself. He can only be looked upon as a criminal.”

I could not argue with him, and relapsed into silence, thinking the while of the horror of my messmate’s condition, and asking myself whether it would not have been possible for him to redeem the past, and grow up into a straightforward, honourable man.

It was a hard matter to mentally discuss, but as I sat in the darkness that night, with hardly a word spoken by my companions, I forgot all Walters’ bitterness and dislike, and only thought of his being young and strong like myself; and that he had those at home who would be heart-broken if they heard of his death, and would feel his disgrace as bitterly as he must have felt it himself, when all came to be known.

“I won’t think it was his nature,” I said to myself. “It was a piece of mad folly. He was won over by that brute of a Frenchman, who, now that he has obtained all he wants, throws over the tool he used, and ends by shooting him. Poor fellow! how could he be such a fool?”

I sat on, thinking how bitterly he would have repented his folly, and how his last days must have been spent in the keenest of regret. And it was in this spirit that I bent down over him, to thrust my hand in his breast to feel for the beating of his heart.

“Mr Frewen,” I whispered as I rose, “tell me how you think he is now.”

The doctor bent down, and after a little examination, rose again.

“There is no difference which I can detect,” he said gravely.

“But you will—you will—”

“Will what, Dale?” he said, for I had paused.

“You will not treat him as if—as if he were a criminal?”

“How can I help it? He is one. We have him to thank for our position here, for those two people being left on the ship, at the mercy of those scoundrels.”

His whole manner changed as he said this, and his voice sounded full of fierce anger.

“Yes,” I faltered, “that’s all true; but you will not be revengeful?”

“A doctor revengeful, Dale?” he said quickly.

“I don’t mean that,” I said. “I mean, you will do your best to save his life?”

“For him to be punished by the law?”

“I was not thinking of that,” I said hastily. “I mean, that you will do all you can to cure him, Mr Frewen?”

“Why, of course, my lad—of course. Am I not a doctor? I am neither prosecutor nor judge. You have curious ideas about my profession.”

“I could not help it, Mr Frewen,” I pleaded. “It is only that I am so anxious for him to recover.”

“And do you another ill turn, Dale—betray us once more!”

“No, no, it isn’t that.” I cried; “it is only that I should like him to live and be sorry for all this. I believe, after what has taken place to-night, he would be only too glad to come over to our side, and fight for us.”

“Perhaps so, if he were well enough; but who would ever dream of trusting him again?”

I was silent, thinking as I was how terrible was the slip my messmate had made, and seeing now clearly how it must take years for him to climb back to the position he held when we left the London Docks.

“There,” said Mr Frewen at last, “you need not be afraid, Dale. I shall treat him as I would any other patient. A medical man has but one aim when he treats a sick person, a surgeon one who is injured—to make the sufferer well again. That is my duty here, and I shall do it to the best of my ability.”

I did not answer, only laid my hand upon his, and he pressed it warmly, holding it for some moments before turning his back to me; and I made out that he rested his arm upon the side of the boat, and sat gazing at the dim lights which showed where the ship lay.

For some time no one spoke, and we lay there gently rising and falling on the golden-spangled water. There was not a breath of wind, and the silence was so great that any one could have imagined that the occupants of the boat were asleep.

But no one dozed for a moment, only sat or lay there, trying to bear patiently their mental and bodily suffering.

It was the captain who broke the silence, toward morning, by saying to the mate—

“Have you settled what to do, Brymer?”

“Yes,” said the mate, starting. “I can’t quite make out how we are situated till daylight, but unless Jarette has taken them out, we have the boat’s spars and sails. You know how fast she is, and I propose, if we can do so, to—”

He stopped short, for Walters moaned piteously till Mr Frewen bent down over him and altered the position in which he lay.

“Yes, go on,” said the captain feebly.

“I propose hoisting sail in the morning.”

“And making for the Cape?”

“No, sir; weather permitting, and if we have a sufficiency of provisions and water, I shall keep pretty close to the ship—our ship. I shall keep just out of range of a bullet, and that is all; merely hang about or follow her when she catches the wind, until some other vessel heaves in sight. Captain Jarette is a clever, cunning man, but he has, I think, given us our chance, and we shall hang on to him till a chance comes for seizing the ship again.”

“I thought our case was hopeless to-night,” said the captain.

“And so did I, for a time, sir,” continued the mate; “but he has over-reached himself in trying to get rid of us—hoist himself with his own petard—if the weather will only favour us now.”

Mr Frewen drew a deep breath, which sounded to me as if full of relief, and the mate went on—

“It is not too much to expect that if at any time we make an attack now, some of the men will side with us.”

“Don’t matter if they don’t, sir,” growled Bob Hampton, in the deepest of deep bass voices. “We’re strong enough, if you’ll only give us a chance.”

“All depends on chance, my lads,” said Mr Brymer. “Let’s get the daylight, and see what we have on board.”

Chapter Thirty Five.

That daylight seemed as if it would never come, and a more painful and depressing time I never spent, in spite of the glory of the starry heavens, and the beauty of their reflections in the calm sea beneath. It was hard sometimes not to believe that many of the stars had fallen, and were sinking slowly down into the dark, inky black of the ocean, where I could see dots of light travelling here and there, now looking mere pinheads, now flashing out into soft effulgent globes, whose brightness reached a certain point, and then slowly died out.

Every now and then too there was a disturbance some little distance down, as if something had suddenly passed along, and caused all the phosphorescent creatures to flash and sparkle, and mingle their lights into a pale lambent blaze, which soon passed away, leaving all still and calm as before, with the tiny stars gliding softly here and there.

But the greater part of my attention was taken up by the lights dimly visible on board the ship, where I tried to picture what was going on in the cabin where Mr Denning and his sister were prisoned. Jarette would, I know, have taken possession of the guns, but without doubt Mr Denning would have kept the little revolver which I knew he wore hidden about his person. And, what was more, I knew that he had the stern courage to use it if put to the test, in spite of his weakness.

“And if he does use it,” I thought, “it could only be against Jarette.”

“If he does,” I said half-aloud, “what a change in the state of affairs it would produce!”

“What yer talking about, Mr Dale?” said Dumlow, who was nearest to me of those forward; “not asleep, are you?”

“Asleep!—who could go to sleep at a time like this?”

“Ah, it’s hard lines, sir,” said Barney Blane, joining. “Such a pity, too, just as we’d found a way of getting along over the cargo! Next thing would have been as we should have took the ship.”

“And we’ll do that yet somehow, Barney,” I whispered, for I felt in my heart that Mr Frewen would not rest till some desperate effort had been made to save Mr and Miss Denning.

Barney said he hoped we should, if it was only to give him one chance at Jarette.

“One charnsh,” growled Dumlow, whose voice sounded as if he were very sore indeed. “I on’y want half a charnsh, my lad; that’ll be enough for me. I don’t brag, but on’y give me half a charnsh, I don’t care if he’s all pistols. I says on’y give me half a charnsh, and the side of the ship close by—”

“What’ll you do?—chuck him overboard, mate?”

“Ay, that I will, just as if he were a mad cat, and that’s about what he is. Just think of it, our getting that dose as the doctor meant for him. I can’t get over it, and that’s a fact.”

The night passed slowly by—so slowly that I felt we must have been roused up quite early, and directly after we had gone to sleep. But at last the golden clouds began to appear high up in the sky, then it was all flecked with orange and gold, and directly after the great sun rolled slowly up over the ruddy water, lighting the ship where she lay not a quarter of a mile off, till the whole of her rigging looked as if the ropes were of brass, and the sails so many sheets of ruddy gold. To us it seemed to give life as well as light, and instead of feeling despairing, and as if all was over, the brightness of that morning made me look eagerly at the ship, and ask myself whether the time had not come for us to make our dash and secure it. For I could not see a soul visible at first, not even a man at the wheel. Then my heart gave a throb, for I could see a white face framed in the little opening of one of the cabin-windows.

“It’s Miss Denning,” I said to myself, and I waved my hand, and then felt for a handkerchief to wave that.

But I had none, though it did not matter, for my signal had been seen, and a white handkerchief was waved in response.

I turned to Mr Frewen, who was bending down over Walters, and was about to point out the face at the window, but it disappeared.

“How is he?” I asked.

“Very bad,” was the laconic answer, and I could not help shuddering as I looked at the pinched, changed features of my messmate, as he lay there in the bottom of the boat, evidently quite insensible.

“I must not move him now,” said Mr Frewen gravely. And turning to Dumlow he was about to offer to dress the wound better now that he could see, but the great fellow only laughed.

“It’ll do, sir,” he said. “There’s nothing much the matter. I’m not going to make a fuss over that. It’s just a pill as old Frenchy give me. If it gets worse I’ll ask you for a fresh touch up.”

There appeared to be so little the matter with the man that Mr Frewen did not press for an examination, and he joined me in searching the ship with our eyes, but there was no one at the round window.

“Can you see any one on board, sir?” I said.

“Only one man. But he is evidently watching us.”

“Where? I can’t see any one.”

“In the main-top.”

I had not raised my eyes from the deck, but now as I looked aloft, there was a man plainly enough, and he was, as Mr Frewen said, watching us.

Directly after, I saw him descend, and we neither of us had any doubt about its being Jarette.

Our attention was now directed to Mr Brymer, who, being in command, had, directly the light made such action possible, begun to see how we poor wretches afloat in an open boat, eight hundred or a thousand miles from land, were situated for water and food, and he soon satisfied himself that our enemy, possibly for his own sake, had been extremely merciful and considerate.

For there were two breakers of water, a couple of kegs of biscuit, and a quantity of tins of provision, which had been pitched down anyhow.

There was a compass too, and the regular fit out of the boat, spars and two sails, so that if the water kept calm, and gentle breezes sprung up, there was no reason why we should not safely reach land.

But we did not wish to safely reach land in that way, and the exaltation in Mr Brymer’s face and tone was due to the power which Jarette had unwittingly placed in our leader’s hands.

“He never thought of it; he could not have thought of it,” said Mr Brymer. “Of course in a gale of wind we shall be nowhere, but if the weather is kindly, we can hang about the ship, or sail round her if we like, and so weary him out, that sooner or later our chance must come for surprising him.”

“Without any arms,” said Mr Preddle, shaking his head sadly.

“We must use brains instead, sir,” replied Mr Brymer. “Jarette mastered us by means of cunning, we must fight him with his own weapons. Dale, I shall have to depend on you to carry out a plan I have ready.”

“Yes, sir,” I said eagerly; “what is it?”

“That you shall see, my lad. Now then, gentlemen, and my men, we must have strict discipline, please; just as if we were on board ship. The first thing is to rig up a bit of an awning here astern, to shelter the captain and—faugh! it makes my gorge rise to see that young scoundrel here, but I suppose we must behave like Christians,—eh, Mr Frewen?”

“You have just proved that you intended to, sir, for you were thinking of sheltering the lad as well as Captain Berriman, when you talked of the awning.”

“Well, yes, I confess I was, but I thought of our lad here too. I suppose you will have to lie up, Dumlow?”

The big fellow gave quite a start, and then turned frowning and spat in the sea, in token of his disgust.

“Me, sir—me lie up!” he growled. “What for?”

“You are wounded.”

“Wounded? Tchah! I don’t call that a wound. Why, it arn’t bled much more than a cut finger. Me under a hawning! I should look pretty, shouldn’t I, mates?”

“Oh, I don’t want to make an invalid of you, my lad, if you can go on.”

“Then don’t you talk ’bout puttin’ of me under a hawning, sir; why I’d as soon have you shove me in a glass case.”

The bit of awning was soon rigged up, and the captain and Walters placed side by side. Then the little mast was shipped forward, and the tiny one for the mizzen right aft; the sails hoisted ready for use, and also so that they might add their shade; and while this was being done, and the rudder hooked on as well, I saw that some of the men had come on deck and were leaning over the bulwarks watching us, while at the same time I saw something glisten, and pointed it out to Mr Brymer.

“Yes,” he said, smiling, “but I’m afraid that he will be disappointed. Do you see, gentlemen?”

Both Mr Frewen and Mr Preddle, who were eagerly scanning the ship, turned to look at him inquiringly.

“Jarette has the captain’s spy-glass at work, and he is watching us, expecting to see us move off, rowing, I suppose, but I’m afraid he will be disappointed. He did not think he was arranging to have a tender to watch him till he loses the ship. But now all is ready, as they say on board a man-of-war, we will pipe to breakfast.”

A tin was opened, and with bread and water served round, but nobody had any appetite. I could hardly touch anything, but I had enjoyed bathing my face and hands in the clear, cool water, while the rough meal had hardly come to an end, and I had placed myself close to Walters, to see if I could be of any use in tending him, when a faint breeze sprang up, making the sails of the ship flap to and fro, and the yards swing and creak, though she hardly stirred. With us though it was different, for giving orders to Bob Hampton to trim the sails, Mr Brymer told me to take hold of the sheet of the mizzen, and he seized the rudder, so that the next minute we were gliding through the water.

Jarette came to the side, and seemed to be staring in astonishment at the boot, which he evidently expected to begin sailing right away, but instead was aiming right for the ship, Mr Brymer steering so that we should pass close under the stern.

“Keep farther out!” yelled Jarette, as we approached, but no notice was taken, and just then the mate said steadily to me—

“Now, Dale, hail Mr Denning. I want to speak to him as we pass.”

“Denning, ahoy!” I shouted through my hands. “Mis-ter Den-ning!”

“Keep off there, do you hear?” roared Jarette, and I saw the sun gleam on the barrel of a pistol.

“Den-ning, ahoy!” I cried again, but I must confess that the sight of that pistol levelled at the boat altered my voice, so that it trembled slightly and I gazed at it rather wildly, expecting to see a puff of smoke from the muzzle.

“Hail again, Dale,” cried Mr Brymer. “Never mind his pistol, my lad. It would take a better shot than he is to hit us as we sail.”

“Mr Denning, ahoy!” I shouted once more.

Bang! went the pistol.

“I told you so,” said Mr Brymer coolly, and at that moment I heard a sharp gasp behind me, and saw that a white face was at the little round cabin-window we were nearing.

“When we are passing,” said Mr Brymer, “that is, when I say ‘now,’ and begin to run off, tell Miss Denning to be of good cheer, for she and her brother shall not be forsaken. We are going to keep close to the ship till help comes.”

“Keep off, you dogs,” snarled Jarette; “you will have it then,” and he fired again.

I felt horribly nervous as I thought of the wounds received by Walters and Dumlow, but I drew my breath hard, as I stood up in the boat and tried not to look alarmed, though, as I waited for Mr Brymer’s orders to speak, I knew that I must offer the most prominent object for the mutineer’s aim.

And all the while nearer and nearer glided the boat, and I saw Jarette, after cocking the pistol, raise his arm to fire again.

“Yah! boo! coward!” yelled Dumlow, and as he shouted, he lifted one of the oars which he had thrust over the side, and let it fall with a heavy splash just as the Frenchman drew trigger, and the bullet went through the sail.

“Now,” cried Mr Brymer, ramming down the tiller, and as we glided round the stern I cried—

“We are going to stay close by, Miss Denning.”

“Keep off!” roared Jarette, and he fired again.

“The boat will be kept close at hand to help you and your brother.”

“Yes—yes—thank you,” she cried shrilly. “God bless you all! I knew you would not—”

“Go,” I dare say she said, but another shot prevented us from hearing the word, and as we sailed round the stern Jarette rushed to the other side, held his left hand to his mouth, and shouted—

“Now off with you. Come near this ship again and I’ll sink you—I’ll run you down.”

“Hi, Frenchy,” roared Barney, “look out for squalls; we’re coming aboard one night to hang you.”

“Silence forward!” cried Mr Brymer, and we were now leaving the ship fast. “Frewen, what does this mean? Where is Mr Den—”

The doctor shook his head.

Chapter Thirty Six.

“We want a long calm,” said the mate that evening, as we lay on the glassy sea.

“You will have it,” said Captain Berriman, and so it proved.

We saw the enemy, as he was called by all, pacing up and down the poop-deck hastily, and scanning the offing with a spy-glass, as if in search of approaching vessels or of clouds that promised wind, but neither came, dark night fell once more, and Mr Brymer ordered the oars out and we were rowed round to the other side of the ship, from which position we could see a light faintly shining from the little round cabin-window where we knew Miss Denning to be.

Mr Frewen had been carefully attending Walters; Dumlow had declared he was “quite well, thank ye,” and the captain was lying patiently waiting for better days, too weak to stir, but in no danger of losing his life; and now Mr Brymer and the two gentlemen sat together talking in a low voice, and at the same time treating me as one of themselves, by bringing me into the conversation.

It was a weird experience there in the darkness, with the only sounds heard the shouts and songs of the ship’s crew, for they were evidently feasting and drinking.

“And thinking nothing of to-morrow,” said Mr Preddle, sadly.

“No, sir, and that is our opportunity,” said Mr Brymer. “Let them drink; they have plenty of opportunity, with the cases of wine and the quantity of spirits on board. We could soon deal with them after one of their drinking bouts; but the mischief is that Jarette is a cool, calculating man, and sober to a degree. He lets the men drink to keep them in a good humour, and to make them more manageable. He touches very little himself.”

“What do you propose doing?” said Mr Frewen, suddenly. “We must act at once.”

“Yes; I feel that, sir,” replied Mr Brymer, “but can either of you suggest a plan?”

They both answered “No.”

Then Mr Frewen spoke out—

“There is only one plan. We must wait till toward morning, and then quietly row close to the ship, climb on board, and make a brave attack, and hope to succeed.”

“Yes,” said Mr Preddle, “and if we fail we shall have done our duty. Yes, we must fight.”

“But you’ve got nothing to fight with,” I said, for no one spoke now.

“Except the oars,” said Mr Preddle.

“Why, you couldn’t climb up the ship’s side with an oar in your hand,” I cried. “Look here, wouldn’t it be best for one of us to get on board in the dark, and try to get some guns or pistols?”

“Will you go and try, Dale?” said Mr Brymer, eagerly. “That was what I meant.”

I was silent.

“You are right,” he said sadly; “it would be too risky.”

“I didn’t mean that,” I said hastily; “I was only thinking about how I could get on board. I don’t mind trying, because if he heard me and tried to catch me, I could jump over the side, and you’d be there waiting to pick me up.”

“Of course,” cried Mr Brymer. “I know it is a great deal to ask of you, my lad, and I would say, do not expose yourself to much risk. We should be, as you say, ready to pick you up.”

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t go,” drawled Mr Preddle. “One boy stole the arms and ammunition away, so it only seems right that another boy should go and steal—no, I don’t mean steal—get them back.”

“Will you go, Mr Preddle?” said the mate.

“If you like. I’ll do anything; but I’m afraid I couldn’t climb on board, I’m so fat and heavy, and, oh dear! I’m afraid that all my poor fish are dead.”

At any other time I should have laughed, but our position was too grave for even a smile to come upon my face. Instead of feeling that Mr Preddle was an object to excite my mirth, I felt a sensation of pity for the pleasant, amiable gentleman, and thought how helpless he must feel.

“You will have to go, Dale,” said Mr Brymer.

“Yes,” said Mr Frewen; “Dale will go for all our sakes.”

“When shall he go?” said the mate; “to-morrow night, after we have thrown Jarette off his guard by sailing right away?”

“It would not throw him off his guard,” cried Mr Frewen, excitedly. “The man is too cunning. He would know that it was only a ruse, and be on the watch. Dale must go to-night—at once. Who knows what twenty-four hours may produce?”

“Exactly,” said Mr Preddle.

“I quite agree with you,” replied the mate; “but I did not wish to urge the lad to attempt so forlorn a hope without giving him a little time for plan and preparation.”

“I’m ready,” I said, making an effort to feel brave as we sat there in the darkness. “I don’t think I could do better if I thought till to-morrow night.”

“How would you manage?” said the mate.

“I know,” I said. “I’m not very strong, but if you made the boat drift under the ship’s bows, I could catch hold of and swarm up the bob-stay easily enough. Nobody would see me, and if I got hold quickly, the boat could go on round to the stern, and if anybody was on the watch he would think you were trying to get to the Dennings’ window.”

“Some one would be on the watch,” said the mate; “and that some one would be Jarette.”

“And he would think as Dale says,” exclaimed Mr Frewen, “that is certain.”

“Oh yes, I must go to-night,” I said, with a bit of a shiver. “It would be so cruel to Miss Denning to keep her in suspense, and thinking we were not trying to help her.”

A hand touched my arm, glided down to my wrist, and then a warm palm pressed mine hard.

“Then you shall go, Dale,” said Mr Brymer, firmly. “Keep a good heart, my lad, for the darkness will protect you from Jarette’s pistol, and you can recollect this, we shall be close at hand lying across the stern ready to row along either side of the ship if we hear a splash. That splash would of course be you leaping overboard, and you must remember to swim astern to meet the boat.”

“And what is he to do when he gets on board, sir?” said Mr Frewen. “Make for the Dennings’ cabin at once?”

“No,” I said sharply. “That’s just where I shouldn’t go. Some one would be sure to be watching it. I should try and find out which was the cabin Jarette uses, for the arms would be there, and then I should tie some guns—”

“And cartridges,” whispered Mr Preddle, excitedly.

“Oh yes, I shouldn’t forget them. I’d tie ’em together and lower them down out of the window. He’s sure to have the captain’s cabin, and the window will be open, ready.”

“Bravo!” cried Mr Preddle. “Oh dear! I wish I was a boy again.”

“And the best of the fun will be,” I continued excitedly, “old Jarette will never think anyone would go straight to his cabin, and be watching everywhere else.”

“Then you think you can do this?” said Mr Frewen, eagerly.

“Oh yes, I think so, sir.”

“I’d better come with you, my lad,” he continued.

“No; that would spoil all. A boy could do it, but I don’t believe a man could.”

“He is right, Frewen,” said the mate. “Then understand this, Dale, you will have to act according to circumstances. Your object is to get weapons, which you will hang out so that we can get hold of them; perhaps you will be able to lower them into the boat and then slide down the rope you use. But mind this, you are not to try and communicate with the Dennings.”

“What?” said Mr Frewen, angrily.

“It would be fatal to our success,” said the mate, firmly. “Now, Dale, you understand, guns or revolvers, whichever you can get.”

“Yes, sir, I know.”

“Then how soon will you be ready?”

“I’m ready now.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Mr Frewen, and my heart began to go pat pat, pat pat, so heavily that it seemed to jar against my ribs, while a curious series of thoughts ran through my brain, all of which were leavened by the same idea, that I had been playing the braggart, and offering to do things which I did not dare.

Chapter Thirty Seven.

“Now,” whispered Mr Brymer, “utter silence, please. Not a word must be spoken. Shake hands with us all, Dale, and God bless and speed you in your gallant attempt.”

I shook hands all round, Mr Brymer whispering—

“Don’t talk to him, gentlemen. Let him make his attempt on his own basis. He will act according to circumstances, and will know what is best to do. There, Dale. Now off! Go right forward into the bows, and send Hampton aft. He shall put an oar over the stern and scull you right in under the bowsprit. Then we shall go on round to the stern and wait. If you do not hear or see us, act all the same. It is intensely dark, and we shall be there. Off!”

It was like being started on a school race, and my breath came short as if I were running. I crept forward as silently as possible to where Bob Hampton was seated, and it was so dark that I had to feel for him.

“Go aft and take an oar with you,” I whispered. “Don’t speak, and don’t make a sound.”

Then I crept right into the bows, and stood there gazing at the faint lights on board the ship, and trying to think of nothing but the task I had in hand.

“I’ve got it to do,” I said to myself, “and I will do it for Miss Denning’s and her brother’s sake.”

Then I shivered, but I made a fresh effort to be firm, and said half laughingly—but oh! what a sham it was!—“It’s only like going in for a game of hide-and-seek. There’ll be no one on deck but Jarette.”

I stopped short there, for I thought of his pistol and Walters’ wound.

“Hang his pistol!” I exclaimed mentally, “perhaps it isn’t loaded again, and he couldn’t hit me in the dark.—But he hit Walters and poor old Neb Dumlow,” something within me argued.

“Well,” I replied to the imaginary arguer, “if my wound when it comes is no worse than poor old Neb’s, I shan’t much mind.”

And all the while I could feel that we were moving toward the ship, for though I could not hear a splash aft nor a ripple of the sea against the bows, the boat rolled slightly, so that I had to spread my legs apart to keep my balance.

Oh, how dark it was that night! And how thankful I felt! For saving that the lights in the cabin shone out, there was no trace of the ship; nothing ahead but intense blackness, and not a star to be seen.

“I can’t see it,” I thought. “I hope Bob won’t run us bump up against the hull, and give the alarm.”

Then I hugged myself and felt encouraged, for if I could not see the great ship with her towering masts, and rigging, and sails hanging, waiting for the breeze which must succeed the long calm, it was not likely that the keenest-eyed watcher would see our small boat.

“But he may hear it coming,” I argued. And then. “Not likely, for I can’t hear a sound myself.”

On we went with the round dim light in the ship’s side showing a little plainer; but I noticed, as I stood there buttoning up my jacket tightly, that the light appeared a little more to my right, which of course meant that Bob Hampton was steering for the left to where lay the ship’s bows.

I tried to make out her outlines, but I could see nothing. I could hear, though, for from where I guessed the forecastle to be came a song sung in a very tipsy voice as a man struck up. It sounded dull and half-smothered, but I heard “Moon on the ocean,” and “standing toast,” and “Lass that loves a sailor.” Then there was a chorus badly sung, and I started, for away to the right where the cabin-light was, I heard a sound like an angry ejaculation or an oath muttered in the stillness of the dark night.

“Jarette,” I said softly. “Hurrah! He won’t hear me climb the stay, and I can get on deck safely.”

Another minute of the slowest possible movement, and I was thinking whether I ought not after all to take off my jacket; but I felt I was right in keeping it on, for my shirt-sleeves would have shown light perhaps if I had been anywhere near a lantern. Then I had something else to think of, for looming up before me, blacker than the night, was the hull of the ship, and directly after, as I looked up, there, just dimly-seen like the faintest of shadows against the sky, was the big anchor beneath which we were gliding so slowly that we hardly seemed to stir.

“How well Bob is sculling us!” I thought; and then I looked up, strained over, made a snatch and touched a great wire rope reaching from the ship’s prow below the water to the bowsprit, to hold it down, flung up my other hand, gave the boat a good thrust with my feet as I got both hands well round the rope, and swung my legs up and round the stay, from which I hung like a monkey on a stick, my head screwed round as I tried to see my companions, and just dimly seeing a shadow apparently glide by, leaving me hanging there alone, with the water beneath me, and a shuddering feeling coming over me for a few moments as I thought of the consequences that would ensue if I let go.

As I hung there from that taut rope, I felt that if I let go I should be plunged in the sea, go down ever so far into the terrible black water, and rise again half-suffocated, my nerve gone, and I should be drowned, for the occupants of the boat would be out of hearing, and I should never be able to swim and overtake them, since they would make a long détour before reaching the stern-windows.

But then I had no occasion to let go. Why should I? And as I climbed I was ready to laugh at my fears. For I was strong for my age, and active enough to climb that stay, and I did; halting at last by the spritsail-yard to listen before mounting to the bowsprit, getting my feet upon the ropes beneath, and then travelling slowly sideways, till I was able to rest by the figure-head and look over on to the forepart of the dark deck.

I was as silent as I possibly could be for fear of encountering a man on the look-out, but there was no one, and hesitating no longer, I climbed over and stood upon the deck, thinking how easily the rest might have reached it too; when there would have been a chance for us to close the forecastle-hatch once more. For there it was open, a dim light rising from it to form a very faint halo around; and the men seemed to be all there, for I could hear the talking, and then an uproarious burst of laughter, caused by one of them beginning to sing in a drunken tone, and breaking down at the end of a couple of lines.

There was nothing to fear there, I thought, and after listening I began to creep along, step by step, close to the starboard bulwark, keeping my hands thereon for a few paces, till becoming bolder I stepped out more, but stumbled directly over something big and soft, and went sprawling on the deck.

I felt that all was over, as I went down noisily, and springing up, hesitated as to what I should do, but not for long. The fore-shrouds were close at hand, and feeling for them I drew myself up, ascending higher and higher as I heard some one coming rapidly from aft till he was close beneath me, and catching his foot in the same obstacle as had thrown me, he too went down heavily, and scrambled up, cursing.

My heart throbbed more heavily than before as the voice told me it was Jarette, though for the moment I did not grasp the fact that his fall had been my safety. For naturally attributing the noise he had heard to the object over which he had fallen, he began to kick and abuse and call the obstacle, in a low tone, all the drunken idiots and dogs he could lay his tongue to.

“And I run all these risks for such a brute as you,” he snarled; “but wait a little, my dear friend, and you shall see.”

I was in hopes he was going away, but he only went to the forecastle-hatch, where to my horror he called down to the men carousing below to bring a lantern; and feeling that my only chance was to climb higher, I crept up step by step, ratline by ratline, till the light appeared and four men stumbled out on to the deck. Then I stood still, hugging the ropes and looking down, certain, as everything below was so plain, that in a few moments I must be seen, perhaps to become a target for Jarette’s bullets.

There on the deck lay the tipsy sailor over whom I had fallen, and about ten feet away there was another.

“Haul these brutes down below!” said Jarette, fiercely; and in a slow surly way first one and then the other was dragged to the hatchway and lowered down, with scant attention to any injuries which might accrue.

So intent was every one upon the task in hand that not an eye was cast upwards, and it was with a devout feeling of thankfulness that I saw the man who carried the lantern follow his comrades, the last rays of the light falling upon Jarette’s features as he stood by the hatchway.

“Now then,” he said savagely, “no more drinking to-night. There’ll be wind before morning, and you’ll have to make sail.”

“All right, skipper,” said the man with a half-laugh, and he and his lantern disappeared, while I clung there listening and wondering why Jarette did not go aft. Could he see me?

Just when I felt as if I could bear the suspense no longer, I heard him move off, whistling softly, and as soon as I dared I descended and followed, creeping along step by step, and listening with all my ears for the faint whistling sound to which he gave vent from time to time.

There it was plainly enough, just abaft the main-mast, and he seemed to have stopped there and to be looking over the bulwark—I merely guessed as much, for the sound had stopped, and of course I stopped too.

To my intense satisfaction I found that I was right, for the faint sibillation began again, and was continued along the deck, till, as I followed, it paused again, grew louder, and I knew that the scoundrel was coming back.

But he altered his mind again, turned and went aft—into the saloon, I thought for a few moments, for the faint whistling ceased, and then began again high up.

There was no mistaking that. He had mounted to the poop-deck, and was walking towards the wheel. Young as I was then, I grasped the fact that the man was restless and worried lest some attempt should be made to recover the ship, and unable to trust one of his men, he was traversing the deck uneasily, keeping strict watch himself.

This was bad for my purpose, for it was too dark to see him, and at any moment I felt he might come upon me, and my attempt be defeated.

But here was an opportunity I had hardly dared to reckon upon, and the minute his steps died out I hurried to the companion-way, entered, and saw that there was a dim light in the captain’s cabin at the end of the saloon.

This seemed to prove that my ideas were right, and that Jarette had taken possession of this cabin now for his own use, and at all hazards I was about to hurry there, when I caught sight of another faint light on my right—a mere line of light which came from beneath the cabin-door, and told me plainly enough that this was the one in which Miss Denning was kept a prisoner. Whether her brother was there too I could not tell, for there was not a sound.

I hesitated and stopped, for the inclination was terribly strong upon me to tap and whisper a word or two about help being at hand. It was not a minute, but long enough to deprive me of the chance of finding out whether there were arms in the cabin, for as I hesitated I heard a light step overhead, and knew that Jarette was returning from his uneasy round.

The probability was that he would now come into the saloon.

Where should I go! There was not a moment to lose, and my first impulse was to dart forward into the captain’s cabin—a mad idea, for the chances were that Jarette would come right through the saloon and enter it. So darting to the side, I felt along it in the dark for the first cabin-door that would yield, found one directly, and had hardly entered and drawn to the door when I heard Jarette’s step at the companion-way; and as it happened he came in and along my side of the table, so that at one moment, as I listened by the drawn-to door, he passed within a few inches of where I was hiding.

The next minute there was a creaking sound, and the saloon was dimly lit-up, telling me that our enemy had opened the cabin-door and gone in. But he did not stay. I heard the clink of a glass, and then a repetition of the creaking sound, the saloon darkened again, and as I listened I heard his step returning. This time, though, he did not come back on my side, but on the other, stopping for a few moments evidently to listen at the door where his prisoners were confined.

For a moment I thought he meant to go in, but I heard his footsteps commence again, pass on to the companion, and there they ceased.