Wolves of the Sea - Randall Parrish
But they were of a breed trained to such fighting, and the lash of
Manuel's tongue drove them into mad recklessness. And there seemed no
end of them, sweeping up out of those black shadows, with bearded or
lean brown savage faces, charging over the dead bodies, hacking and
gouging in vain effort to break through. I struck until my arms ached,
until my head reeled, scarcely conscious of physical action, yet aware
of Manners shouts.
"Now you hell-hounds--now! once more, and you have them. Santa Maria!
you've got to go through, bullies---there is no other way to the deck.
Think of the yellow boys below; they are all yours if you strike hard
enough. Rush 'em! That's the way! Here you--go in outside the rail!
Broth of hell! Now you have him, Pedro!"
For an instant I believed it true; I saw Jim Carter seized and hurled
sideways, his cutlass clashing as it fell, while a dozen hands dragged
him headlong into the ruck beneath. But it was only an instant. Before
the charging devils could pass me, a huge figure filled the vacant
space, and the butt of a gun crashed into the mass. It was the
Dutchman, Schmitt, fighting like a demon, his strength that of an ox.
They gave way in terror before him, and we went down battering our
way, until the stairs were clear to the deck, except for the dead
under foot. When we stopped, not a fighting man was left within the
sweep of our arms. They had scurried back into the darkness like so
many rats, and we could only stare about blindly, cursing them, as we
endeavored to recover breath. Schmitt roared like a wild bull, and
would have rushed on, but for my grip on his shirt.
"Get back, men!" I ordered sharply. "There may be fifty of them
yonder. Our only chance is the stairs. Do as I say, Schmitt, or fight
me. Back now!"
We flung the bodies on one side, and formed again from rail to rail.
Below us there was noise enough, a babel of angry voices, but no
movement of assault. I could see nothing, although the uproar
evidenced a large number of men jammed together in that blackness
beneath. What they would do next was answered by a blaze of light,
revealing the silhouette of a man, engaged in touching flame to a
torch of hemp. It flung forth a dull yellow glare, and revealed a
scene of unimaginable horror. Our assailants were massed half way
back, so blended together I could not judge their number, many between
us and the light with faces darkened by shadow. Between us, even ten
feet from the stairs, the deck was littered with bodies, ghastly faces
staring up, with black stains of blood everywhere. It was Manuel's
hand which had kindled the light, and the first croak of his voice
told his purpose.
"Now you sculking cowards," he yelled pointing forward, "do you see
what you are fighting? There are only five men between you and the
deck. To hell with 'em! Come on! I'll show you the way!"
He leaped forward; but it was his last step. With one swing of my arm
I sent the cleaver hurtling through the air. I know not how it struck
him, but he went down, his last word a shriek, his arms flung out in
vain effort to ward off the blow. Schmitt roared out a Dutch oath, and
before I knew fully what had happened, his gun, sent whirling above
me, had crashed into the uplifted torch. Again it was black, hideous
night, through which the eye could perceive nothing. Even the noise
ceased, but a hand gripped my shoulder.
"Who are you?"
"Nigger Sam, sah. Mistah Watkins sez it's all done fixed."
"Where is he?"
"Here," answered Watkins himself in a hoarse whisper. "The boats are
ready."
"Afloat?"
"Yes, sir. The one forward has pushed off loaded. The after-boat is
alongside. There is such a hell of a fog, sir, yer can't see two
fathoms from the ship."
"All the better for us; is the girl in the boat?"
"Safe, sir; but LeVere ain't."
"What do you mean? That he has got away? I ordered you to have Harwood
watch him."
"Yes, sir; but the mate slipped out o' sight in the fog. He's somewhar
aboard, but we ain't been able ter put hands on him nowhar yet."
"Never mind him; the fellow can do no harm now. Move back slowly lads.
Schmitt and I will be the last ones out. Pick up that cutlass,
Schmitt. We must act before those devils down there wake up again."
We closed the companion door as silently as possible and for the
moment there was no sound from within to show that our cautious
withdrawal had been observed. I stared about, but was able to perceive
little beyond the small group awaiting my orders. The fog clung thick
and heavy on all sides, the lungs breathed it in, and the deck
underfoot was as wet as though from heavy rain. Moisture dripped from
yards and canvas, and it was impossible for the eye to penetrate to
either rail. Fortunately there was no weight of sea running, and the
bark swung gently, still retaining steerage-way, but with not wind
enough aloft to flap the sails. The silence and gloom was most
depressing.
"Is there a hand at the wheel, Watkins?"
"No sir; it's lashed."
"And the quarter-boat?"
"There, sir, below the mizzen-chains."
"Then there is nothing more to keep us aboard lads. Stow yourselves
away and hang on; I'll wait here until you are all over."
They faded away into the mist, dim spectral figures, and I remained
alone, listening anxiously for some hostile sound from below. Had I
chosen the right course? I was not altogether sure, yet we had gone
too far now to decide on any other. Perhaps if I had called on those
men up on deck, who had loaded guns, we might have forced the escaped
prisoners back into their place of confinement, and thus kept control
of the vessel. Yet at that it would only mean a few hours more on
board amid constant danger of revolt. It might have enabled us to
salvage the gold hidden below, but I was not greatly concerned for
this, as my one and only purpose was the preservation of Dorothy. The
men might prove ugly when they awoke to the loss, but I had little
fear of them, once we were at sea in the small boats, and their lives
depended on my seamanship. Unless a storm arose our lives were in no
great peril, although I would have preferred being closer to the coast
before casting adrift. I wondered what could be the meaning of that
silence below. True the fellows were leaderless and defeated, yet they
were desperate spirits, and fully aware that they must attain the open
deck in order to recapture the vessel. They would not remain quiet
long, and once discovering our retirement, would swarm up the stairs
animated with fresh courage. Satisfied that the lads were safely over
the rail and the decks clear, I turned toward the ship's side. As I
did so a yell reached my ears from the blackness below--the hounds had
found voice.
I ran through the fog in the direction the others had disappeared, and
had taken scarcely three steps when I collided against the form of a
man, whose presence was not even noticed until we came together. Yet
he must have been there expectant and ready, for a quick knife thrust
slashed the front of my jacket, bringing a spurt of blood as the blade
was jerked back. It was a well-aimed blow at the heart, missing its
mark only because of my outstretched arms, and the rapidity of my
advance. Even as my fingers gripped the uplifted wrist, 'ere he could
strike the second time, I knew my antagonist. I knew also this was a
fight to the death, a sharp remorseless struggle to be terminated
before that unguarded crew below could attain the deck. It was
LeVere's life or mine, and in the balance the fate of those others in
the waiting boat alongside. The knowledge gave me the strength and
ferocity of a tiger; all the hate and distrust I felt for the man came
uppermost. In that moment of rage I did not so much care what happened
to me, if I was only privileged to kill him. I ripped the knife from
his fingers, and we closed with bare hands; our muscles cracking to
the strain, his voice uttering one croaking cry for help as I bore in
on his windpipe. He was a snake, a cat, slipping out of my grip as by
some magic, turning and twisting like an eel, yet unable to wholly
escape, or overcome, my strength and skill. At last I had him prone
against the rail, the weight of us both so hard upon it, the stout
wood cracked, and we both went over, grappling together until we
splashed into the water below. The shock, the frantic effort to save
myself, must have loosened my hold, for, as I fought a way back to the
surface, I was alone, lost in the veil of mist.
Blinded by fog, the water dripping from my hair, weakened by struggle
and loss of blood, my mad rage against LeVere for the moment obscured
all else in my mind. What had become of the fellow? Had he gone down
like a stone? Or was he somewhere behind this curtain of fog? A splash
to the right led me to take a dozen strokes hastily, but to no
purpose. The sound was not repeated and I no longer retained any sense
of direction to guide me. The sea was a steady swell, lifting my body
on the crest of a wave, to submerge it an instant later in the deep
hollow. I could feel the motion, but scarcely perceived it otherwise,
as the thick gray mist obscured everything three feet away. It
deadened and confused sound also. Again and again I felt I located
the near presence of the _Namur_, the sound of feet on deck, the shout
of a voice, the flapping of canvas against the yards; but as I
desperately turned that way, the noise ceased, or else apparently
changed into another point of compass. Once a cry reached me,
thrilling with despair, although I could not catch the words, and
again came to me plainly enough the clank of an oar in its rowlock. I
struck out madly for the point from whence it came, only to find the
same rolling water, and obscuring fog. My strength began to fail, hope
left me as I sank deeper and deeper into the remorseless grip of the
sea. There was nothing left to fight for, to struggle after; the fog
about me became red and purple before my straining eyes, and then
slowly grew black; my muscles refused to respond to my will; I no
longer swam, but floated so low in water the crest of the waves swept
over my face. I no longer cared, gripped by a strange, almost
delicious languor. I was not afraid; my lips uttered no cry, no
prayer--I drifted out into total unconsciousness and went down.
CHAPTER XXV
THE OPEN BOAT
I came back to a consciousness of pain and illness, unable at once to
realize where I was, or feel any true sense of personality. I seemed
to be floating through the air, aware dimly of suffering, but
helplessly in the grasp of some power beyond all struggling against.
Then slowly I comprehended that I rested in a boat, tossed about by a
fairly heavy sea; that it was night and there were stars visible in
the sky overhead. I stared at these, vacant of thought, wondering at
their gleam, when a figure seemed to lean over me, and I caught the
outline of a face, gazing eagerly down into my own. Instantly memory
came back in a flash--this was not death, but life; I was in a boat
with her, I could not move my hands, and my voice was but a hoarse
whisper.
"Mistress Fairfax--Dorothy!"
"Yes--yes," swiftly. "It is all right, but you must lie still.
Watkins, Captain Carlyle is conscious. What shall I do?"
He must have been behind us at the steering oar, for his gruff, kindly
voice sounded very close.
"Yer might lift him up, miss," he said soberly. "He'll breathe better.
How's that, Captain?"
"Much easier," I managed to breathe. "I guess I am all right now. You
fished me out?"
"Sam did. He got a boat hook in your collar. We cast off when yer
went overboard, and cruised about in the fog hunting fer yer. Who was
it yer was fightin' with, sir?"
"LeVere."
"That's what I told the lads. He's a goner, I reckon?"
"I never saw him after we sank. Are all the men here?"
"All but those in the forward boat, sir. They got away furst, an' we
ain't had no sight ov 'em since. Maybe we will when it gets daylight."
"Who had charge?"
"Harwood, sir; he's the best man o' ther lot, an' a good sailor, I
give him a compass, an' told him ter steer west. Wus thet right?"
"All I could have told him," I admitted, lifting myself on one elbow
to look about. "I haven't had an observation, and it is all guesswork.
I know the American coast lies in that direction, but that is about
all. I couldn't tell if it be a hundred, or a hundred and fifty miles
away. So the fog has lifted without a storm?"
"Yes, sir, but left an ugly sea. There has been plenty o' wind
somewhere, but we seem to be out of it. Must a bin midnight when the
mist lifted."
"Is it as late as that? I must have been in bad shape when you pulled
me in?"
"We thought you was gone, sir. You was bleedin' some too, but only
from flesh wounds. The young lady she just wouldn't let yer die. She
worked over yer for two or three hours, sir, afore I hed any hope."
Her eyes were downcast and her face turned away, but I reached out my
hand and clasped her fingers. They remained quietly in my grasp, but
neither of us spoke. The boat lay before me a black shadow under the
stars, flung up on the crests of the waves and darting down into the
hollows. It required all of Watkins' skill to keep it upright, the
flying spray constantly dashing against our faces. The men were but
dimly revealed, sitting with heads lowered beneath the slight
protection afforded by the lug sail, although one was upon his knees,
throwing out the water which dashed in over the front rail. He was
succeeding so poorly I called to another to help him, and the two fell
to the job with new vigor. I could not distinguish the faces of the
fellows, but counted nine altogether in the boat, and felt assured the
huge bulk at the foot of the mast was the Dutchman Schmitt. Beyond
these dim outlines there was nothing for the eye to rest upon, only a
few yards of black sea in every direction, rendered visible by the
reflected star-shine and the dull glow of crested waves. It was
dismal, awe inspiring, and I felt that I must speak to break the
dreadful silence. My eyes sought the averted face beside me, and for a
moment in peculiar hesitancy, observed the silhouette of cheek and
form. She rested against the gunwale, her eyes on the dark vista of
sea, her chin cupped in her hand. The mystery of the night and ocean
was in her motionless posture. Only as her hand gently pressed mine
did I gain courage, with a knowledge that she recognized and welcomed
my presence.
"Watkins says I owe my life to you," I said, so low the words were
scarcely audible above the dash of water alongside. "It will make that
life more valuable than ever before."
She turned her head, and I felt her eyes searching the dim outline of
my face questioningly.
"Of course I did everything I knew," she replied. "Why should I not?
You are here, Captain Carlyle, for my sake; I owe you service."
"And must I be content merely with that thought?" I urged, far from
pleased. "This would mean that your only interest in me arises from
gratitude."
"And friendship," her voice as confidential as my own. "There is no
reason why you should doubt that surely."
"It would be easier for me to understand, but for the memory of what I
am--a bond slave."
"You mean the fact that you were sold to my uncle remains a barrier
between us?"
"To my mind, yes. I hope you forget, but I cannot. If I return to
Virginia, it is to servitude for a term of years. I am exiled from my
own country by law, and thus prevented from following a career on the
sea. I belong to Roger Fairfax, or, if he be dead, to his heirs, and
even this privilege of being the property of a gentleman is mine
through your intercession. I know your sympathy, your eagerness to
help--but that is not all of friendship."
"Your meaning is that true friendship has as a basis equality?"
"Does it not? Can real friendship exist otherwise?"
"No," she acknowledged gravely. "And the fact that such friendship
does exist between us evidences my faith in you. I have never felt
this social distinction, Captain Carlyle, have given it no thought.
This may seem strange to you, yet is most natural. You bear an
honorable name, and belong to a family of gentlemen. You held a
position of command, won by your own efforts. You bore the part of a
man in a revolution; if guilty of any crime, it was a political one,
in no way sullying your honor. I have every reason to believe you were
falsely accused and convicted. Consequently that conviction does not
exist between us; you are not my uncle's servant, but my friend--you
understand me now?"
"I have trained myself so long to another viewpoint, Mistress
Dorothy," I admitted, still speaking doubtfully, although impressed by
her earnestness, "I know not how to accept this statement. I have not
once ventured to address you, except as a servant."
"I know that, and have regretted it," she interrupted. "But not until
now have I been able to correct your impression."
"And you would actually have me speak with you as of your own class--a
free man, worthy to claim your friendship in life?"
"Yes," frankly, her face uplifted. "Why should it be otherwise? It has
been our fortune to meet under strange conditions, Captain
Carlyle--conditions testing us, and revealing the very depths of our
natures. Concealment and disguise is no longer necessary between us.
You have served me unselfishly, plunging headlong into danger for my
sake. I shudder at the thought of where I would be now, but for your
effort to save me. No man could have done more, or proved himself more
staunch and true. We are in danger yet, adrift here in the heart of
this desolate sea, but such peril is nothing compared with what I
have escaped. I am glad, sincerely glad; I have prayed God in
thankfulness, I feel that your skill and courage will bring us safely
to land. I am no longer afraid, for I have learned to trust you."
"In all ways?"
"Yes; as gentleman as truly as sailor. You possess my entire
confidence."
Cordial and earnest as these words were, they failed to yield me
sufficient courage to voice the eager impulse of my heart. There was a
restraint, some memory of the past, perhaps, which fettered the
tongue. Yet I struggled to give my desire utterance.
"But do you understand fully?" I questioned anxiously. "All I have
done for you would have been done for any other woman under the same
conditions of danger. I claim no reward for that--a plain duty."
"I am sure that is true."
"It is true, and yet different. Such service to another would have
been a duty, and no more. But to be with you, aiding and protecting,
has been a delight, a joy. I have served Dorothy Fairfax for her own
sake--not as I would any other."
"Did you not suppose I knew?"
Her glance flashed into mine through the star-gleam, with a sudden
message of revealment.
"You knew--that--that it was you personally I served?"
"Of course I knew. A woman is never unaware of such things. Nor is
there reason now--here in this boat, with you as my only
protector--why I should pretend otherwise. Neither of us know what the
end may be; we may sink in these waters, or be cast ashore on a
desolate coast to perish miserably, and it is no moment for
concealment. Now, if ever, I must tell you the truth. I know you care
for me, and have cared since first we met. An interest no less fateful
has led me to seek your acquaintance, and give you my aid. Surely it
is not unmaidenly for me to confess this when we face the chance of
death together?"
"But," I stammered, "I can scarcely believe you realize your words.
I--I love you Dorothy."
"And is it not also possible for me to love?"
"Possible--yes! But why should you? Forgive me, but I cannot drive
away memory of the gulf between us. I would not dare speak such words
of my own volition, they seem almost insult. You are rich, with
position and friends of influence, while I at best am but a merchant
skipper, in truth a bond servant, penniless and disgraced. In the eyes
of the world I am not fit to touch the hem of your garment."
"Is it the eyes of the world, or my eyes into which you look?"
"Yours! I am selfish enough, I fear, to find my happiness there--but
it is not right, not just."
"Can you not permit me to be the judge as to that?" she asked
seriously. "I know your story, and have seen you in stress and storm.
Am I one, think you, to love any man for wealth or position. If I
possess these things they are to share, not to hoard. It is because I
have given you my full trust and confidence I can say these words."
"You--you mean, you love me?"
Her eyes fell from my face and her head was turned away, but there
was no falter in her voice.
"I love you--are you sorry?"
"Sorry! I am mad with the joy of it; yet stricken dumb. Dorothy!
Dorothy Fairfax, I have never even dared dream of such a message from
your lips. Dear, dear girl, do you forget who I am? What my future
must be?"
"I forget nothing," she said, almost proudly. "It is because I know
what you are that my heart responds. Nor is your future so clouded.
You are today a free man if we escape these perils, for whether Roger
Fairfax be alive, or dead, he will never seek you again to hold in
servitude. If alive he will join his efforts with mine to obtain a
pardon because of these services, and we have influence in England.
Yet, should such effort fail, you are a sailor, and the seas of the
world are free. It is not necessary that your vessel fly the English
flag."
"You give me hope--a wonderful hope."
"And courage," her hands firmly clasping mine. "Courage to fight on in
faith. I would have that my gift to you, Geoffry. We are in peril
still, great peril, but you will face it beside me, knowing that
whether we live or die we are together. I am not afraid anymore."
She was like a child; I could feel her body relax in my arms as though
relieved of its tension. I know I answered her, whispering into her
ear words of love, and confidence, scarcely knowing myself what I said
in that moment of unrestraint. I felt her eyes on my face and knew her
lips were parted in a smile of content, yet doubt if they answered me.
She seemed to yield unconsciously, her head upon my shoulder, her face
upturned to the stars, while slowly all the intense fatigue of the
day and night stupified mind and body. Almost before I realized her
weariness, the eyes were closed and she was sleeping in my arms.
I held her closely, so awakened by what had passed between us, as to
feel no desire to sleep myself. Dorothy Fairfax loved me. I could
scarcely grasp the thought. I had dreamed of love, but only to repress
the imagination as impossible. Yet now, voluntarily from her own lips,
it had proven true. With eyes uplifted to the stars I swore fidelity,
pledging solemnly all my years to her service; nor could I drive my
thought away from the dear girl, sleeping so confidently upon my
shoulder. Then slowly there came back memory of where we were, of what
grave peril surrounded us, of my own responsibility. My eyes sought to
pierce the gloom of the night, only to gain glimpses of black water
heaving and tumbling on every side, the boat flung high on a whitened
crest, and then hurled into the hollow beneath, as though it was a
mere chip in the grasp of the sea. The skill of Watkins alone kept us
afloat, and even his iron muscles must be strained to the limit.
Forward the boat was a mere smudge, the men curled up asleep and no
longer visible. All that stood out with any distinctness of outline
was the lug sail, stiff as a board. I endeavored to turn my head,
without disturbing the slumbering girl, to gain view of the steersman.
"How is she making it, Watkins?"
"A little stiff, sir, but she's a staunch boat. The sea's likely to go
down after sunup."
"Well, you've had long enough trick--call one of the men aft. I'm not
strong enough yet for that job."
"No, sir," and I caught the echo of a chuckle, "and yer have yer arms
full. I kin hold on yere till daylight; 'twon't be long now."
"Make one of them help; who is the best man?"
"Schmitt for this sorter job."
I called him, and growling to himself at being awakened, the Dutchman
crept past cautiously and wedged himself in beside Watkins. There was
a few words of controversy between the two men, but in the end Schmitt
held the steering oar and a few minutes later Watkins had slipped down
into the boat's bottom and was sound asleep. And so the gray dawn
found us.
CHAPTER XXVI
A FLOATING COFFIN
The laboring boat rested so low in the water it was only as we were
thrown upward on the crest of a wave that I could gain any view about
through the pallid light of the dawn. At such brief instants my eyes
swept the far horizon, to discern nothing except the desolate, endless
expanse of sea. A more dismal, gloomy view surely never unrolled
itself before the eye of man. Everywhere the gray monotony of rolling
waves, slowly stretching out into greater distance as the light
strengthened, yet bringing into view no other object. It was all a
desolate, restless waste in the midst of which we tossed, while above
hung masses of dark clouds obscuring the sky. We were but a hurtling
speck between the gray above and the gray below. How tiny the boat
looked as my glance ranged forward with this memory of our
surroundings still fresh in mind. The crest of the surges swept to the
edge of the gunwale, sending the spray flying inboard. Occasionally
drops stung my cheek and all the thwarts forward were wet with
drizzle. The negro, Sam, alone was awake, baling steadily, his face
turned aft, although scarcely glancing up from his labor. He looked
tired and worn, a strange green tinge to his black face, as the dim
light struck it. The others were curled up in the bottom of the craft,
soaked with spray, yet sleeping soundly. The wind had lost its
steadiness, coming now in gusts that flapped the sail loudly against
the mast, but failed to awaken the slumberers. Depressed by the sight,
my eyes sought the face of the girl whose head yet rested against my
shoulder.