When it was over I turned round and fell upon the grass with a deep groan; but Bill seized me by the arm, and lifting me up as if I had been a child, cried:
“Come along, lad; let’s away!” And so, staggering and stumbling over the tangled underwood, we fled from the fatal spot.
During the remainder of that day I felt as if I were in a horrible dream. I scarce knew what was said to me, and was more than once blamed by the men for idling my time. At last the hour to return aboard came. We marched down to the beach, and I felt relief for the first time when my feet rested on the schooner’s deck.
In the course of the evening I overheard part of a conversation between the captain and the first mate, which startled me not a little. They were down in the cabin, and conversed in an undertone; but the skylight being off; I overhead every word that was said.
“I don’t half-like it,” said the mate. “It seems to me that we’ll only have hard fightin’ and no pay.”
“No pay!” repeated the captain in a voice of suppressed anger. “Do you call a good cargo all for nothing no pay?”
“Very true,” returned the mate; “but we’ve got the cargo aboard. Why not cut your cable and take French leave o’ them? What’s the use o’ tryin’ to kill the blackguards when it’ll do us no manner o’ good?”
“Mate,” said the captain in a low voice, “you talk like a fresh-water sailor. I can only attribute this shyness to some strange delusion, for surely,”—his voice assumed a slightly sneering tone as he said this—“surely I am not to suppose that you have become soft-hearted! Besides, you are wrong in regard to the cargo being aboard; there’s a good quarter of it lying in the woods, and that blackguard chief knows it, and won’t let me take it off. He defied us to do our worst yesterday.”
“Defied us! did he?” cried the mate with a bitter laugh. “Poor, contemptible thing!”
“And yet he seems not so contemptible but that you are afraid to attack him.”
“Who said I was afraid?” growled the mate sulkily. “I’m as ready as any man in the ship. But, captain, what is it that you intend to do?”
“I intend to muffle the sweeps and row the schooner up to the head of the creek there, from which point we can command the pile of sandal-wood with our gun. Then I shall land with all the men except two, who shall take care of the schooner and be ready with the boat to take us off. We can creep through the woods to the head of the village, where these cannibals are always dancing round their suppers of human flesh; and if the carbines of the men are loaded with a heavy charge of buck-shot, we can drop forty or fifty at the first volley. After that the thing will be easy enough. The savages will take to the mountains in a body, and we shall take what we require, up anchor, and away.”
To this plan the mate at length agreed. As he left the cabin, I heard the captain say:
“Give the men an extra glass of grog, and don’t forget the buck-shot.”
The reader may conceive the horror with which I heard this murderous conversation. I immediately repeated it to Bill, who seemed much perplexed about it. At length he said:
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Ralph. I’ll swim ashore after dark and fix a musket to a tree not far from the place where we’ll have to land, and I’ll tie a long string to the trigger, so that when our fellows cross it they’ll let it off, and so alarm the village in time to prevent an attack, but not in time to prevent us gettin’ back to the boat.—So, Master Captain,” added Bill with a smile that, for the first time, seemed to me to be mingled with good-natured cheerfulness, “you’ll be balked at least for once in your life by Bloody Bill.”
After it grew dark, Bill put this resolve in practice. He slipped over the side with a musket in his left hand, while with his right he swam ashore and entered the woods. He soon returned, having accomplished his purpose, and got on board without being seen, I being the only one on deck.
When the hour of midnight approached, the men were mustered on deck, the cable was cut, and the muffled sweeps got out. These sweeps were immensely large oars, each requiring a couple of men to work it. In a few minutes we entered the mouth of the creek, which was indeed the mouth of a small river, and took about half-an-hour to ascend it, although the spot where we intended to land was not more than six hundred yards from the mouth, because there was a slight current against us, and the mangroves which narrowed the creek impeded the rowers in some places. Having reached the spot, which was so darkened by overhanging trees that we could see with difficulty, a small kedge-anchor attached to a thin line was let softly down over the stern.
“Now, lads,” whispered the captain as he walked along the line of men, who were all armed to the teeth, “don’t be in a hurry, aim low, and don’t waste your first shots.”
He then pointed to the boat, into which the men crowded in silence. There was no room to row; but oars were not needed, as a slight push against the side of the schooner sent the boat gliding to the shore.
“There’s no need of leaving two in the boat,” whispered the mate as the men stepped out; “we shall want all our hands. Let Ralph stay.”
The captain assented, and ordered me to stand in readiness with the boat-hook, to shove ashore at a moment’s notice if they should return, or to shove off if any of the savages should happen to approach. He then threw his carbine into the hollow of his arm, and glided through the bushes, followed by his men. With a throbbing heart I awaited the result of our plan. I knew the exact locality where the musket was placed, for Bill had described it to me, and I kept my straining eyes fixed upon the spot. But no sound came, and I began to fear that either they had gone in another direction or that Bill had not fixed the string properly. Suddenly I heard a faint click, and observed one or two bright sparks among the bushes. My heart immediately sank within me, for I knew at once that the trigger had indeed been pulled, but that the priming had not caught. The plan, therefore, had utterly failed. A feeling of dread now began to creep over me as I stood in the boat, in that dark, silent spot, awaiting the issue of this murderous expedition. I shuddered as I glanced at the water that glided past like a dark reptile. I looked back at the schooner; but her hull was just barely visible, while her tapering masts were lost among the trees which overshadowed her. Her lower sails were set, but so thick was the gloom that they were quite invisible.
Suddenly I heard a shot. In a moment a thousand voices raised a yell in the village; again the cry rose on the night air, and was followed by broken shouts as of scattered parties of men bounding into the woods. Then I heard another shout, loud and close at hand; it was the voice of the captain cursing the man who had fired the premature shot. Then came the order, “Forward!” followed by a wild hurrah of our men as they charged the savages. Shots now rang in quick succession, and at last a loud volley startled the echoes of the woods. It was followed by a multitude of wild shrieks, which were immediately drowned in another hurrah from the men, the distance of the sound proving that they were driving their enemies before them towards the sea.
While I was listening intently to these sounds, which were now mingled in confusion, I was startled by the rustling of the leaves not far from me. At first I thought it was a party of savages who had observed the schooner, but I was speedily undeceived by observing a body of natives—apparently several hundreds, as far as I could guess in the uncertain light—bounding through the woods towards the scene of battle. I saw at once that this was a party who had outflanked our men, and would speedily attack them in the rear. And so it turned out; for in a short time the shouts increased tenfold, and among them I thought I heard a death-cry uttered by voices familiar to my ear.
At length the tumult of battle ceased, and from the cries of exultation that now arose from the savages, I felt assured that our men had been conquered. I was immediately thrown into dreadful consternation. What was I now to do? To be taken by the savages was too horrible to be thought of; to flee to the mountains was hopeless, as I should soon be discovered; and to take the schooner out of the creek without