The Black Bar Part 49

Flushing up with anger, the midshipman took his heavy gla.s.s from under his arm to tap both blacks on the head: but second thoughts stayed his hand, and he glanced forward to see Tom Fillot's figure dimly as he leaned over the bulwark staring away ahead.

"They ought to be punished," he thought; "but, poor fellows, they're tired out. I will not be hard on them."

Stepping to the back of the cask, he reached over to scoop up some of the water with his right hand to splash over them, and wake them up unseen, and then he felt quite a shock, for his hand did not touch water.

He thought the cask was filled right up. Then he was sure of it. Yes, filled quite full. Softly reaching over a little more, he tried again, but still could not reach.

"It's more than half empty," he said to himself; and, listening intently, he could hear a trickling sound, and then a faint splash somewhere below.

The lad's heart began to throb heavily, and stepping away from the hatch, he walked on tiptoe to where Tom Fillot stood close to the bowsprit, and laid his hand upon the man's shoulder.

Tom Fillot started round fiercely.

"Oh! you, sir," he said in a tone of relief. "I thought--"

"Hist! Fetch up the other fellows quietly-armed."

"What's up, sir?"

"The Yanks have bored a hole through into the bottom of the cask, and the water's nearly out."

Tom ran aft, barefooted, and without a sound, while Mark stepped back to the hatch, and reached over to feel for the water once more.

As he did so, and was straining over, with the edge of the cask against his armpit, he distinctly felt it heave up, as if men were busy raising it from below.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

METHODICAL MADNESS.

Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on.

Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him.

The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men's bare feet over the deck.

Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around.

"Yah!" growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; "it's court-martial for you."

At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which pa.s.sed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole.

"Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?"

"No," said Mark; "two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain."

"Again, sir?" whispered Tom.

"Yes, man, quick!"

Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward.

"Ready, sir," cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place.

"Now then, in with it!" cried Mark.

"In with it, sir?"

"Yes; into the cask."

"Oh!" cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water.

"I think that'll puzzle 'em now, sir," cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again.

But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces.

Only a short time before the big black had been an utter savage, but now in this very brief s.p.a.ce, though unable fully to comprehend the words and ways of the English officers, he had grown to realise what discipline and authority meant; and as he stood there before Mark, who looked frowning and stern, he literally shivered, his eyes dropped, and he stooped before the midshipman, as if expecting a blow. For he knew that he had betrayed his trust, and that some punishment was about to be inflicted upon him for his lapse from duty.

The men looked on eagerly, and thoughts of flogging, putting in irons, even of hanging, flashed across their minds, as they gazed in their young officer's face.

Mark did not speak for a few moments, and then drawing a long breath, and forgetting his youthfulness, everything in the fact that he was in supreme authority as a British officer there, he spoke out firmly.

"It is of no use to waste words with you, my man," he said. "I was ready to trust you and treat you as a British sailor, but you have broken faith. You cannot understand my words, but your own heart tells you that you have done wrong. There--I cannot punish you for being neglectful and ignorant, but in future you will be only one of the blacks."

He turned his back upon the great fellow, who shivered at the lad's words, and then, with a cry of despair, ran after his officer, flung himself down on the deck at his feet, and held up the cutla.s.s he had drawn when he went on duty and had held ever since. He held it up by the blade, and made signs for Mark to take it and use it upon him.

"There is no need to punish you," said Mark, quietly; "you feel your position quite bitterly enough. There, get up, man, and go to your duty. I ought to have known better than to trust you. Get up."

As the black still grovelled at his feet, Mark stooped down and caught hold of his collar, giving it a drag, and the man rose to his knees.

"No," said Mark, making signs; "sheathe your cutla.s.s. I am not a West-coast tyrant, ready to take off your head. Get them away, Bannock, I want to think of what is to be done next."

The sailor stepped forward, and clapped the big black on the shoulder.

"Come along, my hearty. You've got off wonderfully easy. No cat for you to-day. It's all right."

"All righ'?" cried the black, eagerly.

"Yes."

"No all righ'," he continued, mournfully, as he shook his head and rose to follow the sailor; but he turned directly and ran to Mark's side, sank on one knee, and kissed his hand. Then he rose, and hurried off with his fellow sleeper.

"You're a rum 'un, Soup," growled the sailor. "Who'd have thought it of a savage? Why, it was reg'lar polite and genteel. I couldn't ha' done that. Who'd ha' expected it of a chap who dresses in an orstridge feather and a wisp o' gra.s.s when he's at home?"

The black gazed at him inquiringly, striving hard to make out his meaning, the poor fellow's face growing more puckered every moment.

"Dessay you were a prince when you was over yonder; now you're a foremast man. Well, ups and downs in life we see, Soup old chap. Mebbe I shall be a prince some day. Ah, well, you're not a bad sort, and I'm glad you haven't got flogged."