The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 54

Directly this was started a happy thought seemed to strike the captain, who had a third boat lowered, with instructions to row right ash.o.r.e, land the men, and divide them in two parties, which would strike off to right and left, stationing a man at every fifty yards; and these were to patrol the beach to and fro, keeping watch and a sharp look out for the fugitives.

"That will checkmate them, Mr Jones," he said. "I wish I had thought of this before. Now go."

Mr Bosun Jones was in command of this boat, and he gave orders to his men, the oars splashed, and away they went into the darkness, their lights growing fainter and fainter, till they seemed to be mere specks in the distance; but they did not die out, and as those left on deck watched the progress, they saw the lanthorns of the last boat become stationary, and knew that the men had reached the sh.o.r.e, while the lanthorns of the second cutter were faintly visible, moving slowly far away to the south.

The captain rubbed his hands with satisfaction, and kept walking to the gangway and using his night-gla.s.s without any greater result than that of seeing a couple of faint specks of light, when he got the boats'

lanthorns into the field. Then he listened in the hope of hearing shouts, which would suggest the capture of the fugitives; but half an hour--an hour--glided by, and all was still. The buzz and cries which had arisen from the collection of huts had ceased, and the lights shown there had been extinguished, while the darkness which hung over the sea appeared to grow more dense.

At last there was a hail about a hundred yards away, and the officer in the first boat answered the captain's eager inquiry.

"No, sir; no luck. Not a sign of any one. I'm afraid--"

"They have got ash.o.r.e and escaped?"

"No, sir," said the lieutenant, gravely; "I don't think a man could swim ash.o.r.e in this darkness and escape."

"Why, the distance is very short!"

"Yes, sir; but there are obstacles in the way."

"Obstacles?"

"Well, sir, I've seen some tremendous sharks about in the clear water; and I don't think any one could get any distance without having some of the brutes after him."

A terrible silence followed this declaration, and the captain drew his breath hard.

"Come aboard," he said. "It is too dark for further search to be made."

The boat was rowed alongside, the falls lowered, the hooks adjusted, and she was hoisted up and swung inboard.

"I'd give anything to capture the scoundrels," said the captain, after walking up and down for a few minutes with the lieutenant; "but I don't want the poor fellows to meet with such a fate as that. Do you think it likely?"

"More than likely, sir," said the lieutenant, coldly.

The captain turned aft, made his way to the quarter-deck, and remained there attentively watching sh.o.r.eward to where he could faintly see the lights of the last boat.

"We must leave further search till morning," muttered the captain; and giving his order, signal lamps were run up to recall the boats; and before very long they were answered, and the lanthorns of Bosun Jones'

boat could soon after be seen heading slowly for the ship, the second boat following her example a few minutes later.

"No signs of them, Mr Jones?" said the captain, as his warrant officer reached the deck to report himself.

"No, sir," said the boatswain, sadly; "but I heard a sound, and one of my men heard it too."

"A sound? What sound?"

"Like a faint cry of distress, sir."

"Yes; and what did you make of that?"

The boatswain was silent a moment.

"The harbour here swarms with sharks, sir, and the cry sounded to me like that of a man being drawn under water."

"No, no; no, no; not so bad as that," said the captain, rather excitedly. "They've got to sh.o.r.e, and we will have them back to-morrow.

The people will give them up either by threats or bribes."

"I hope so, sir," said the boatswain, coldly. And, then, as he went below, "Poor lad! I'd have given a year of my life rather than it should have happened. This pressing is like a curse to the service."

By this time the officer in the last boat had reported himself, the crews were dismissed, the watch set, and all was silence and darkness again.

About dawn the captain, after an uneasy night, came on deck, gla.s.s in hand, to search the sh.o.r.e, and try to make out some sign of the fugitives; but just as he had focussed his gla.s.s, he caught sight of some one doing the very same thing, and going softly to the bows he found that the officer busy with the gla.s.s was Bosun Jones, who rose and saluted his superior.

"See anything, Mr Jones?" the captain said.

"No, sir; only the regular number of canoes drawn up on the beach."

"Have you thought any more about what you said you heard last night?"

"Yes, sir, a great deal."

"But you don't think the poor lad met such a fate as you hinted at?"

"Yes, sir, I do," said the boatswain sternly; "and I feel as if I had helped to bring him to such a death."

"Mr Jones," said the captain, haughtily, "you merely did your duty as a warrant officer in the king's service. If that unfortunate boy met such a disastrous fate, it was in an attempt to desert."

The captain closed his gla.s.s with a loud snap, and walked away, while Bosun Jones stood with his brow knit and his lips compressed, gazing straight before him as the sun rose and shed a flood of light over the glorious prospect.

But to the bluff petty officer everything seemed sad and gloomy, and he went below seeing nothing but the frank, manly features of young Don Lavington, as he muttered to himself,--

"Not a chance of escape. Poor boy! Poor boy!"

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE FUGITIVES.

Don and Jem plunged almost simultaneously into the black, cold water, and felt the sea thundering in their ears.

Then Jem, being broader and stouter than his companion, rose to the surface and looked round for Don; but a few seconds of agony ensued before the water parted and the lad's head shot up into the faint light shed by the lanthorns.

"Now for it, Mas' Don," whispered Jem; "think as it's a race, and we're going to win a cup at a 'gatta. Slow and sure, sir; slow and sure, long, steady strokes, and keep together."

"They're calling to us to stop, Jem," whispered Don.

"Let 'em call, Mas' Don. Somebody else seems a-calling of me, and that's my Sally. Oh, don't I wish I hadn't got any clothes."

"Can they see us?" whispered Don, as they swam steadily on.