Mother Carey's Chicken Part 25

"Heaven forbid, sir!" said the first-mate solemnly.

"What are you talking about, sir? and you all the time with a double gun in your fist. Why, it warms the very blood in my veins."

"You see I'm not a fighting man, sir," said Gregory sternly. "Yes," he continued, as he saw the major give him a peculiar look, and reading his meaning, "you're quite right, sir, I am white, and I feel afraid-- horribly afraid, as I think of what may be happening to those poor women left on board, and my poor captain and our men."

"And I forgot all about my wife and child," cried the major, increasing his pace, as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. "Come on, gentlemen, for heaven's sake!"

They were already going along at a double, where the rough river-bed would allow, but the progress was very slow, while, though they had come along leisurely, it was astounding how great a distance they had placed between them and the boat.

"For heaven's sake, come on, gentlemen!" said the major again, and at another time his remark would have seemed very Irish and droll, for he was last but one in the little party, and hard pressed to keep up in the intense heat of the inclosed and stifling place.

"Ahoy!" came from ahead just then.

"Ahoy!" answered the mate, who was leading, with Mark next; and the next minute they were face to face with the four men who had been left with the boat. "What is it, my lads?" he panted.

"Pirates, sir, praus!"

"Nonsense!" cried the mate fiercely.

"'Strue as true, sir. We was all half dozing in the boat when we heared a shot, and saw a prau alongside of the old Chicken, and another running up fast, and then there were more firing went on."

"And we ash.o.r.e!" muttered the mate. "Keep on, my men. What next?"

"Don't know, sir," panted the spokesman; "we come on after you, sir."

"And left the boat?"

"She's got the grapnel out, sir, on the sands."

"But the men in the prau--they could see her."

"Oh, yes, sir; they could see her, sir."

"Man, man! what have you done? They will fetch her off and we shall be unable to follow."

"Don't blame the man, Gregory, but keep on. We may be in time to save her. Let me go first, I can run."

Mr Morgan sprang to the front, and with his gun at the trail ran on ahead at a pace that seemed marvellous; but Mark followed as rapidly as he could, Mr Gregory next, then the major, and the men in single file.

Mark ran on with a horrible feeling of despair growing upon him as he thought of those on board; his heart beat; there was the hot suffocating sensation growing more painful at his throat, and to his misery, in spite of his efforts, the ground was so rough and stone-strewn that he was being left behind, while Mr Morgan had disappeared from his view round one of the sharp turns of the river-bed.

All at once he remembered what he had before forgotten, namely, that he was wearing a belt and pouch, and that in the soft leather holster attached there was the revolver his father had lent him.

He had never fired such a weapon in his life, but he had seen this one handled and loaded, and taking it out, he hardly knew why in his excitement, he c.o.c.ked it, and ran on with the piece in his hand.

Directly after he found himself close to the low growth through which the little river trickled to lose itself in the sand, and through the opening now broken larger by the pa.s.sage of so many of his companions he forced his way out and stood upon the sands.

The sight which met his eye took from him the power of action for the moment, and he stood there panting, gazing straight away.

Out at sea lay the great _Petrel_ with a couple of praus alongside, and as far as he could see, in his quick glance, the deck was covered with swarthy figures. But there was a scene being enacted close at hand which made him turn giddy, and the blood seemed to run to his eyes.

Mr Morgan had always been a pleasant friend to him from the time of his joining the ship; and now as Mark gazed it was to see him in a peril that promised instant death.

Out there in the bright sunshine on the glancing sea lay the gig in which they had come ash.o.r.e, and every detail in those brief moments seemed to be photographed on the lad's active brain. The gig was anch.o.r.ed as the men had said, but it was at some distance from the sh.o.r.e to which the men must have waded; and he recollected now how wet they had been. There before him was a small boat of Malay build coming from one of the praus, full of men, some rowing, some standing up with spears in their hands. They were swarthy-looking savages, in plaid sarongs of bright colours, these being twisted tightly about their waists, and in the band thus formed each had a kris stuck, above which the man's dark naked body glistened in the sun.

They were so near that the sun gleamed on their rolling eyes as well as flashed from their spears, two of which were now poised and held by their owners as if about to be hurled.

Mark shuddered as he saw all this, and the rest of the picture before him has yet to be described.

The boat was evidently coming to secure the gig, and to save this, and to prevent their being left alone and helpless upon this island without the means of communicating with the ship, Mr Morgan was straining every nerve. As Mark came out through the bushes, it was to see the second-mate reach the edge of the water, the sea having gone down some distance, and then he had a hundred yards to wade.

How it all happened Mark only knew afterwards from what he was told, but as he grasped the position he stood, as has been said, paralysed, and then in his agony of mind his power of action returned. Running down over the hard sand as quickly as he could, he watched the progress of events, and saw that the second-mate was still some distance from the gig, while the Malays were nearing fast. He was evidently so exhausted that he would not be able to reach the gig first, and as he realised this he paused for a moment, raised his gun and fired at the men.

This drew from them a savage yell, which seemed to be echoed from the praus; when as if to intimidate enemies and encourage the men a small gun was fired on board one of the vessels, and a little ball came skipping over the sea, to go crashing into the jungle.

Morgan went on a few steps farther and fired again; but though his shots evidently told, the men wincing and one falling, but only to spring up again, the fire did not check their progress, and they were fast nearing the gig.

Morgan made another desperate effort to reach it, when first one and then another of the Malays hurled his spear, which went through the air in a low curve.

Mark was now at the edge of the shallow water, with a blind feeling of despairing rage urging him on, boy as he was. What he was about to do he did not know himself. All he realised was that he must try and help Mr Morgan, who, as the spears were hurled, fell headlong into the deeper water, which splashed up around him glistening in the sun.

At this Mark uttered a groan and once more stopped short, as if paralysed, while, with a yell of triumph at the apparent success of their aim, the Malay boat came on and had nearly reached the gig.

But at that moment, as if moved by some other power, Mark raised the revolver and fired point-blank at the advancing boat.

Again and then again he fired--three shots--each, as the little weapon uttered its sharp ringing crack, sending a rifled bullet whizzing at the Malays. One ball struck the water before them, and went over their heads; the second pa.s.sed before them, and the third struck one of the rowers, who leaped up with a yell and fell overboard.

This checked the progress of the on-coming boat. But as they dragged their wounded companion back into the boat they uttered another defiant yell, and, in spite of the two remaining shots sent pinging at them without effect, they reached the gig, and one man sprang in to cut the grapnel line.

At that moment there was quite a little volley fired from the edge of the jungle, the major and Gregory discharging four barrels at the Malays, and then with a shout they and the six sailors came running down the sands.

The man in the gig leaped back into the boat, and as the shots from the fowling-pieces were supplemented by bullets from the men's pistols the Malays rapidly paddled away, while Mark thrust back his revolver, and waded out to where Mr Morgan was trying to raise himself in the water and kept falling back.

"No, no, not much hurt, my lad," he gasped. "Got the gig ash.o.r.e? Hah!

That's saved."

He had just caught sight of Gregory's excited face as he came splashing towards him to pant hoa.r.s.ely:

"That's right! Hold him a moment and I'll be back."

He was back directly with the gig, and by that time the men were about him, and the injured man was carried ash.o.r.e, two of the sailors dragging the gig right up to the sands, upon which Mr Morgan was laid.

"Let me look," said the major, taking out his knife and ripping up the mate's shirt. "Ah! I see. I've had some experience of these things.

A nasty cut, my dear boy, but it isn't wide enough to let out your spirit. You let me put a bandage on it, and I warrant it will soon heal."

"Poisoned, major?" whispered the injured man.

"Poisoned, bedad! Nonsense, man. It's a clean cut in your shoulder, and thank your stars it was there, and not in your chest."