Mother Carey's Chicken Part 29

It was not a long journey, but had to be taken with the greatest of caution, for the slightest sound would have betrayed their whereabouts, and, in view of this, Mr Gregory had whispered to Mark:

"I don't want to oppose your dog coming again, Mark, but can you depend upon his being quiet?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Gregory."

"I mean when we near the praus. Will he bark?"

"No," said Mark confidently.

"Good. Pull easy, my lads; we've plenty of time. If the wind holds off,"--he added to himself, for he knew that with ever so light a breeze the _Petrel_ would be soon taken far beyond their reach.

As the boat left the sh.o.r.e Mark strained his eyes to make out the ship and its attendants; but all was dark, save the spangling of the stars, till they were about a hundred yards from the sh.o.r.e, when a beautiful phenomenon caught the lad's eye, for wherever the oars disturbed the water it seemed as if fiery snakes darted away in an undulating line which seemed to run through the transparent black water in every direction.

Mark only checked himself in time, for his lips began to form e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns of delight as he found that he was about to call upon those about him to share his pleasure.

At times the sea appeared to be literally on fire with the undulating ribbons of light, and as Mr Gregory realised this he had to reduce their speed and caution the rowers to dip their oars with greater care.

They glided on through the darkness, looking vainly for the ship, and from Mr Gregory's manner it soon became evident that he was doubtful as to whether they were going in a straight line towards it, for after a few minutes he made the men cease rowing, and bent down to take counsel with Morgan, who sat in the bottom of the boat resting his back against one of the thwarts.

"You ought to be able to see her now," whispered Morgan, "but I fear that the current has carried her more east."

"That's what I was afraid of," said Gregory softly, "and I'm afraid of missing her. If she would only show a light!"

Just then there was a low, ominous-sounding growl which made Mark hug the dog's head to his breast and hold it tightly, while he ordered it to be silent.

There was occasion for the growl; and it was their temporary saving that the men had ceased rowing, for the fiery look of the water would have betrayed their whereabouts as it did that of a vessel coming toward them, and they were not long in realising that it was one of the praus being rowed cautiously toward the sh.o.r.e.

The prau came on with the golden snakes undulating away at every dip of the sweeps, and right and left of the keel as she softly divided the water. All was silent on board, and nothing visible but what seemed like a darkening of the horizon; but, as he held Bruff tightly to keep him silent and stared excitedly at the pa.s.sing vessel, Mark pictured in his mind the deck crowded with fierce-looking opal-eyed savage men, spear and kris armed, and ready to slay if they had the chance.

Those were perilous moments; for as the prau drew near it seemed impossible for its occupants to pa.s.s without seeing the gig lying little more than a few yards away. And as the English party sat there hardly daring to breathe, and knowing that a growl from the dog would result in a shower of spears, it seemed as if the vessel would never pa.s.s.

But pa.s.s it did, with the wonderful display of golden coruscations undulating from the spots where the long oars softly dipped still going on, but gradually growing more faint, and at last invisible.

"Bless that dog!" said Mr Gregory, drawing a long breath. "Now, my lads, pull softly. We're in the right track. Give way."

The men rowed, and a whispered conversation went on between the three heads of the little party.

"Couldn't be better, gentlemen," said the major. "Here we have half the enemy's forces gone ash.o.r.e, and the other half not expecting us; that's clear, or else they wouldn't have sent that expedition to surprise us.

What do you mane to do?"

"Get close up under the cabin-window," said Mr Gregory, "if we can find the ship. If we can lay the boat right under the stern we shall be safer from those on deck, for they could not see us."

"Yes," said the major gazing over the sea; "but, my dear sir, we must find the ship first before we can get to her stern."

"Is there no light?" said Morgan at last, after they had been rowing softly about for quite a quarter of an hour.

"No, not a spark," whispered Mr Gregory. "I've tried to keep in the course by which the prau came when it pa.s.sed us, but the darkness is so deceptive that we might as well be blind."

Another ten minutes or so were pa.s.sed and still they could not make out the tall spars and huge hull of the ship, while a feeling of despair began to come over Mark as he asked himself whether he should ever look upon those he loved again. He had never before realised the vastness of the ocean and how easy it was to go astray and be lost, for as minute by minute glided away, the search for the great ship became more hopeless, and the darkness that was over the sea began to settle down upon the young adventurer's heart.

"I'm about done, major," whispered Mr Gregory. "We're just as likely to be going right away from her as to her."

"A current must be setting strongly now at the change of tide," said Morgan. "We shall have to wait for day."

"And throw away our chance of doing some good!" said Mr Gregory pettishly. "Here you, Mark Strong, this dog of yours seems as if he could do anything. Do you think if we put him in the water he'd swim toward the ship?"

"If I let him go into the water he would begin to bark loudly,"

whispered Mark.

"Ah! and do more harm than good," said the major. "Now, look here, gentlemen: my wife and daughter are on board that ship, and we've got to find her, so let's have no talk of giving up, if you please."

"Give up, major!" said the first-mate with an angry growl; "don't you run away with that idea. I'm not going to give up."

There was so much decision in Mr Gregory's tone and words that Mark's heart grew light again, and the horrible picture his fancy painted of his father and mother being left at the mercy of the Malays once more grew dim.

"What shall we do, then, next?--go west?"

"No, sir, I think north," replied Gregory. "There isn't a breath of air, so we cannot have gone far. What say, Morgan?"

"The tide may have taken her many miles," said the second-mate, speaking painfully; "but try north."

The first-mate was about to whisper to the men to easy on the port side when all at once there was a flash at a distance, followed by a sharp report.

"From the ship," said Gregory. "A signal."

"No, no," said Morgan peevishly. "That is from the sh.o.r.e."

"Oh, impossible!" said the major. "That shot was fired from the ship."

Another flash, evidently from half-a-mile away in quite a different direction.

"That is from the ship," whispered Morgan as the report of the gun went vibrating through the dark night air.

"No, no, man; from the sh.o.r.e," said the major pettishly.

"I stake my life, sir, it is from the ship," said Morgan, straining his eyes in the direction from which the last signal had been made.

"Morgan's right, major," said Gregory firmly.

"Yes; that there last shot was from seaward," whispered the boatswain.

"I haven't not no doubt about that."

"Steady, my lads, and give way now," whispered Gregory; and the boat was turned and rowed steadily for quite a quarter of an hour as nearly as they could tell in the direction from which the last shot had come.

At the end of that time, though, they were as badly off, it seemed, as ever, for they ceased rowing, to find that the darkness was more dense, for a soft mist was gathering overhead and blotting out the stars.

"If we only dared hail," muttered Gregory. "Major, this is horrible.

Pst!"