The Black Bar Part 44

_Bang_ again--a pistol-shot fired up through the hatchway lid, and Tom gave a sharp start.

"Ah! Hurt?" cried Mark, excitedly, as the sailor rolled over, while as quickly as possible more of the cable was piled up where he had lain.

"Dunno yet, sir," said Tom, rising up and feeling his side. "Something give me an awful whack on the ribs. Don't look like a dead 'un, do I?"

"Don't say you're wounded, Tom," said Mark, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Wasn't going to, sir," replied the man, whose hands were still busy feeling his side. "No, I don't think I'm wounded; don't feel like it-- only savage, and as if I should like to drop on to the chap as fired that shot. I know: I have it. The bullet must have hit the chain, and drove it against my ribs. I'm all right, sir. Deal o' fight in me yet."

"Thank Heaven!" said Mark to himself, as he thought of how helpless he would have been without the frank young sailor who was completely his strong right hand.

By this time the hatch was loaded with coil upon coil of the strong chain, and, though a couple more shots were fired, the bullets were only flattened against the iron links.

"Hah, that gives us breathing time, my lads," cried Mark. "Now then, what next?"

"Daylight'd be the best thing, sir," said Dance; "and then I should be able to see about--"

He stopped short, put his hand to his head, and looked around vacantly.

"What was it I wanted to see about?"

"It's all right, messmate; don't you worry about that," cried Tom, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Eh? No, I won't, Tom," said Dance, thoughtfully. "It's my head goes all foggy sometimes, and then I can't think; but I'm all right again, ain't I, mate? Not going to be like the lufftenant, eh?"

"Not you," said Tom Fillot.

The c.o.xswain laughed.

"Yes, I'm coming round," he said. "Head's a bit soft, that's all; but I'm coming round."

While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.

As Mark busied himself, he could not help thinking of how much demand there was made upon an officer in command, with the result that his respect for those over him was wonderfully increased.

All further thought of rest for the men was given up, and the remainder of the night was devoted to keeping a careful watch, Mark pacing the deck and stopping to have a quiet consultation now and then with his mate.

"I can't think where they obtained their arms, Tom," he said on one occasion.

"Oh, you needn't wonder at that, sir," replied the man, with a laugh.

"'Mericans ain't like Englishmen, and pretty well every man jack of 'em's got a pistol hid somewhere about him. It ain't to be wondered at, sir," continued the man, stretching out and clenching his big hand. "I never see a 'Merican yet with a good fist like that, and a man must have something to fight with when he goes knocking about in the world. Well, sir, as you say I'm to be mate while we're on this expedition, p'r'aps you won't mind me asking what you're going to do next 'bout the prisoners. Is it to be irons?"

"No," said Mark, firmly. "I can't do that."

"Then if I were you, sir, I'd risk them trying to take the schooner again, and send 'em adrift first thing in one of the boats."

"On an uninhabited sh.o.r.e? Why, it would be like murdering them, man."

"Well, hardly, sir, because you give 'em all a chansh for their lives, though it ain't lively for a look-out to be cast ash.o.r.e where there's only palm trees and nothing else 'cept the n.i.g.g.e.rs, who might want to serve you out for captering their brothers and sisters for slaves."

"No, Tom, it will not do. We must keep the men prisoners, and make the best of our way north, to where we can hand them over to the officers of the law."

"Very good, sir," said Tom Fillot, "only either o' my ways would be easier."

"Do you think Mr Russell would act as you propose?" said Mark, sharply.

Tom Fillot screwed up his face, and shook his head.

"No, sir. He'd do as you're going to. But we must keep a sharp eye on 'em, or they'll be too many for us, I'm afraid. They're the sort as it don't do to be easy with, sir, because if you are, they only think you're feared on 'em."

"There shan't be much easiness with them, Tom," said Mark, firmly.

"They're prisoners, and prisoners they shall stay."

"If they don't circ.u.mwent us, sir, and get out," said Tom; and the discussion closed.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

DIFFICULT PRISONERS.

Never was morning greeted with greater joy than by the crew of the _Nautilus'_ first cutter. For with the darkness half the troubles to which they were exposed faded away; and though tired out from long watching, excitement, and loss of sleep, the bright sunshine made things look quite hopeful. So when the midshipman had partaken of a good breakfast and attended to Mr Russell's wants, he felt ready to believe that his brother officer was a little better, and had understood him when he spoke, for there was a look of intensity in his countenance widely different from the vacant, drowsy aspect which had been so marked ever since the hour when he was struck down.

On deck there was so much to see to that weariness was soon forgotten.

There were the unfortunate blacks to feed on both vessels, though this had already grown into a much simpler task, Soup and Taters giving orders to the men they had selected to help them; and these latter, now that they had thoroughly grasped the fact that nothing but good was intended by their fresh captors, eagerly devoting themselves to the task of distributing the rations amongst their unfortunate fellow-country folk, and watching Mark and his men with the greatest intentness as they strove to comprehend their wishes.

That morning, as soon as the party on board the first schooner was provisioned, the boat was manned, and Fillot, accompanied by Soup, went aboard the second schooner, where all proved to be satisfactory, Taters greeting them smilingly, while the emanc.i.p.ated slaves were ready to lie down on the deck.

"To make it soft for us to walk upon," Tom said on his return.

This was eagerly looked for by Mark, who had spent his time watching the schooner astern, and the sh.o.r.e a couple of miles away, in the hope of their coming upon a town where he could land his prisoners, their presence on board being risky in the extreme.

Tom Fillot's return was looked for so eagerly on account of the action of the prisoners, who had begun to clamour for the hatch to be opened, and after several orders to be silent had been disregarded, now beat heavily on the hatchway cover, and shouted to be let out.

Mark had deferred taking any action while his right-hand man was absent; but the uproar became at last so obstreperous that he walked to the cable-covered hatchway and struck heavily upon the deck.

"Now," he said, sharply, "what is it?"

"Look here, squaire," came in the skipper's m.u.f.fled tones, "guess yew don't want to kill us?"

"Then have off that there hatch. We're being smothered: that's so."

"It's not true," said Mark, firmly. "The ventilator's open."

"Wal, that say gives 'bout air enough for one man to drink in. We want more."

"You're getting more now than you considered enough for those unfortunate blacks, sir. So be silent, or I'll have you all in irons."