Hunting the Skipper Part 54

"Bit disappointing, though, sir."

"Yes, my lad, but we can wait. Now then, we must drop down a little farther, and then drop the grapnel or hook on to one of the trees of the farther bank."

"And not make a dash of it, sir?"

"No, my lad; not till it is quite dark."

Tom May stared.

"According to what your messmates said, the enemy was in pretty strong force. How many of them were there?"

"'Bout twenty, sir," said Lang.

"And all armed?"

"Yes, sir; they'd all got guns," said the other.

"Then they will be lying in wait for us," said Murray decisively. "I only said that we shall be trying to run by them as soon as it is dark."

"Well, sir, but we could do it," said May warmly.

"Yes, we could run by them if I risked everything, my lad," said the middy, "but I can't afford to lose a man. Besides, they will have been making arrangements to receive us. There is that lugger we saw lying in the mouth of the river; they have plenty of men, I am sure, and they may have brought her up to block our way, for they are bound to try and capture us if they can."

"Yes, sir; bound to take us if they can," a.s.sented the sailor.

"How long do you think it will be before it is dark?" asked Murray.

"Not half-an-hour, sir," was the reply.

"And how far are we above the landing-place?" said the middy, speaking in a low tone now and turning to the first boat-keeper.

"Can't say, sir, for sartain," replied the man. "What do you say, Harry Lang?"

The man shook his head.

"You see, sir, we put our backs into it when we started to row, and pulled and pulled, thinking of nothing else but getting as far up'ards as we could. Hour's hard rowing, I should say, in and out, and we got a long ways before we come upon Bill t.i.tely."

"Then we'll begin moving as soon as it is quite dark, my lads," said Murray. "Till then, a careful watch and silence, for there is no knowing whether the enemy may not have a way through the cane brake which will enable them to come upon us by surprise."

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A FIGHT IN THE DARK.

It was sooner than they expected that the darkness came on--thick, black, dense darkness, which in spite of its gradual approach seemed strange and full of suggestions of being peopled with enemies ready to draw trigger on the banks and send lightning-like flashes at the occupants of the boat--flashes each of which might be a messenger of death.

The boat was set in motion and glided down stream slowly, with Murray in the bows peering straight before him, trying to pierce the darkness; Tom May right astern with one oar dipped, with which he kept the boat level; while the others sat with oars balanced ready for use in case of attack, and so as to ensure retreat.

In this fashion they floated down, carried along by the gentle current, not a word being spoken, and the midshipman hardly daring to breathe as he listened to the strange nocturnal sounds which came from the banks on either side--weird croakings, pipings, and strange trumpeting notes which sounded like a challenge to the strangers who were daring to penetrate the thick darkness of the night.

More than once there was a sudden motion, a heaving and a rising wave as of some huge fish or reptile which had been disturbed from its slumbers, and from which attack was expected at any moment.

It was a strange ride, with the black water whispering by the boat's side, while the men as they listened hardly seemed to breathe.

Murray had laid down his plan of action to the men before starting, and that was to plunge oars and back-water with all their might to get out of the sphere of danger, for to press on in the darkness seemed too great a risk to run. But for quite two hours nothing occurred that could be attributed to the agency of man, and the midshipman, who had begun to grow used to the cries, croaks and movements of bird and reptile, felt his spirits begin to rise, his heart to swell with hope of reaching the mouth of the river unmolested, where he felt sure that another boat would be awaiting them, and then and there he would at last be able to perform his long-delayed mission.

"I've done wrong," he said to himself, "and alarmed myself without reason. There have been no enemies waiting for us. They have settled in their own minds that we should not venture to come down the river in the darkness, and we might very well have had the oars out and come quickly."

He had no sooner thought this than he mentally retracted his notion as being so much folly, feeling as he did that it would have been impossible to steer, and that in all probability they would have been aground--perhaps wedged in amongst the trees or shrubs of the bank.

"I don't know what to do for the best," said the lad to himself. "One moment I feel one way; the next something seems to tug at me the other.

I wish I could come to a decision that I knew was for the best."

He had his wish, for he had hardly had the desire when as the boat glided on through the profound darkness it came in contact with something hard with a heavy shock.

For the moment all was excitement. To the men it seemed as if the cutter was rising up to ride over some huge tree-trunk that was floating across the centre of the stream--some obstruction that had been washed out of the bank during a flood and whose roots still clung to the place of its growth.

"Boat-hook," said Murray, in a low business-like tone. "Steady, lads.

Try if you can shove her off."

Then like a flash the lad grasped the reality of their position, for voices rose from the right bank of the river, to be answered from the left, and as the occupants of the boat came to the same conclusion, that the great trunk against which the boat had struck must have been placed there by their enemies, so many flashes of light streaked the darkness, followed by loud reports, and then came a fierce yell of despair or pain and a loud adjuration full of rage.

"Shove all you know with that boat-hook," whispered Murray, "and strain all with those oars. Do you hear? Back-water!"

There was no question about the men hearing, for every one was striving his best in a fierce struggle to get free from a tangle of sharp water-washed boughs; but the boat, after running stem on to the floating trunk and making as if to climb over the impediment, had swung round almost parallel; the water pressed heavily all along its side, and then seemed to be engaged in heaving it over, so that when Murray thrust one hand down over to his left he found that the stream was rippling within an inch of the gunwale, and in another few moments would have been over the side.

It was a question of decisive action, and Murray shouted--

"Trim the boat starboard, all!"

That saved them for the moment, but at terrible risk, for it spoke loudly to the enemy of their position, and in rapid succession almost simultaneously three more streaks of light came from the right bank of the river with their reports.

Murray gave vent to a low hissing sound, and then remained silent, striving his utmost the while to thrust the boat away from the strong tree-trunk; but his efforts, like those of his companions, were in vain.

"It's no good, sir," whispered Tom May; "we're a-shoving against one another. Let me lead, sir, and I think I can do it. There's hard bottom here, sir, and we're almost aground.--Fire away, you lubbers," he added, in a whisper; "you can't hit us in the dark. Now then, Mr Murray, sir, you take an oar along with the lads and wait till I say 'Pull.' Then all on you do your best."

"But what about you?" whispered Murray.

"You leave that to me, sir. I'm big enough and old enough to take care o' mysen."

Murray was silent, for it was no time to dispute. Every now and then-- as fast as their enemies could reload--there was a shot from the bank, and the bullets whizzed just over the heads of the men. The young officer's disposition was to ask what the sailor intended to do, but he contained himself, and, feeling for an oar, thrust it over the side and into the rowlock, conscious the while that the others had done the same, but in his case and that of the man in front for the oar-blades to rest upon branches of the submerged tree. He realised, though, that his was the bow oar, and for a few moments that was all he could grasp. Beyond that everything was confusion, and he sat ready to pull, and in spite of himself starting violently at every shot from the sh.o.r.e when the bullet struck the boat or splashed in amongst the branches of the ingeniously contrived dam.

Then the lad felt something like a hysteric sob escape from his breast as the puzzle and confusion from which he suffered gave place to clear mental light, and he grasped the full force of the big sailor's plan.

The noise of panting and splashing which accompanied what felt like a sudden lightening of the boat was caused by Tom May lowering himself over the side, after laying down the boat-hook with which he had been sounding the depth; and then Murray felt that the brave fellow had begun to wade with the water close up to his arm-pits, forcing the bows of the boat away from the tree-trunk against which it was pressed by the water, and gaining a little.

"That'll do it," he said, with a deep grunt.