Black Bar

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

  HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF.

  "How do you like that?" cried the man, leaning over the poop.

  "I'll tell you bime by," said Tom Fillot beneath his breath. Thenaloud, "All right, my lad. I've got you, you know that."

  Mark did know it as he hung there with his teeth set fast, for TomFillot's fingers pressed into his flesh, and seemed to be crushing itagainst the bones of his ankle.

  "Hi, some on you, get more grip o' me," shouted Tom. "Get well hold,Dick. You, too, Bob. Now, then, haul away, and have us both intogether."

  This was as he hung out of the window from the waist, holding MarkVandean; and exerting their great strength, the two sailors--for Tom washelpless--drew him right back and inward till Bannock could seize Mark'sother leg.

  As they drew him in the man overhead made a savage blow at the boy withthe bar he held, but it fell short.

  "All right, sir, we'll pay all that back," said Tom, as Mark stood onthe cabin floor once more, looking rather white, and listening to thesmothered cries and yells still coming from the deck, while the bigblack's face was a study to see in his wild excitement.

  He had hardly noted Mark's adventure, being all the time close up by thecabin door, listening to the brave fight made by his compatriots; andnow, as a fresh pistol-shot was heard, he came from the door.

  "All righ'!" he cried. "No, no. Come. Fight."

  There was an ominous silence on deck succeeding his words, then a murmurof voices and the banging down of a hatch. Next came a loud splash, andMark dashed to the cabin window to look-out for that which he felt surehe would see. And there it was--the body of a man floating slowly by,and then on backward in the schooner's wake, the body of one of theblacks, with wild upturned eyes set in death, and, as it seemed to Mark,a look of horror and appeal in the stern, staring face, gazingheavenward, as if asking why such things should be.

  A low, deep sigh made the young officer start and look round from thedead figure which fascinated him, to see the big black, whose face wasworking, and he looked hard now at the young officer, and pointed backat the cabin door, as if asking to be led on deck to avenge hisfellow-countryman who had passed before them, another victim to thehated slaving--a black bar across a grand nation's fair fame.

  "Yes," said Mark, slowly, as he looked at the negro, and met hisappealing eyes, and spoke as if the man could comprehend every word, "wewill punish them for this. The wretches deserve no mercy at our hands."

  The great black could hardly grasp a word, but he smiled, as if a greatsatisfaction had filled his breast. For the tones in which the boyofficer spoke and his manner were sufficient to make him stand backagainst the bulkhead with his arms folded, as if waiting for hissuperior's orders, and patiently watching as Mark called what may bedubbed a council of war.

  The difficulty was to propose a plan of action, but Tom Fillot saidcheerily:

  "Don't know that there's much difficulty about it, sir. Them Yankeeshave shown us the way. All we've got to do is to follow their lead.Why not?"

  "'Cause they'll take jolly good care we don't, messmate," said DickBannock, wagging his head. "We've guv 'em a lesson in taking care ofprisoners, and take my word on it, Tom Fillot, they've larnt it byheart."

  "Hark!" cried Tom Fillot; "they're a-lowering down the boat."

  For the chirruping of the little wheels of the falls sounded familiarlyon their ears.

  "It's to go to the other schooner," cried Mark, excitedly. "They'lltake Dance and Grote prisoners too. Do you think you could reach thetow-rope, Tom?"

  The sailor looked out from the little window and upward.

  "No, sir," he said, despondently. "Too high up, and that chap's waitingto give me one on the head."

  "Yes; that will not do," cried Mark, as the splash of the schooner'sboat in the water was heard, and the voice of the skipper shouting somedirections.

  Mark stood hesitating for a few moments, and then, acting upon a suddenthought, he placed his hands to his mouth, reached out of the cabinwindow, and shouted with all his might:

  "Schooner ahoy! Coxswain!"

  "Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance from the bows of the towed vessel, just asthe boat with five men in glided into sight close to her right.

  "Danger! Prisoners!"

  "Hi! yew stop that!" cried a voice from the boat, and a man stood up andpointed a pistol at the midshipman.

  "Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance.

  "Keep the schooner off, and follow at a distance," roared Mark.

  _Bang_!

  There was a puff of smoke, the dull thud of a bullet striking the sideof the cabin window, and, directly following, the sharp report.

  "Loose the schooner," yelled Mark, between his hands.

  "Go in, yew," roared the man in the boat, presenting his pistol again;but at that moment Tom Fillot took aim with an empty bottle he hadkicked from out of a locker, and hurled it over Mark's head with all hismight.

  So true was Tom's aim, and so swiftly was the bottle sent, that theAmerican had not time to avoid it, and received a heavy blow in thechest, sufficient to disorder his aim as he fired again.

  "Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance, who seemed quite clear again in his head.

  "Quick, then," cried Mark, excitedly. "Cut the tow-rope and stand off."

  "Yah!" came in a roar from the boat, as the man suddenly sat down, "giveway--pull, boys--pull like steam!"

  The men began to send the boat through the water, making it foam, andthey had but a cable's length to go, but the moments were lengthened outby excitement, and it seemed to Mark as if Joe Dance would never get thecable cut in time.

  For while the oars splashed and the men pulled, the coxswain tried toget out his knife, and as Mark and the others watched him, he wasevidently nervous, and fumbled. Then he tried to open it with histeeth, but the spring was strong, and he had to alter his tactics andbegin to open it with his forefinger and thumb nail, and still it seemedas if he could not get it open; and all the time the boat was rapidlysetting nearer. In another few seconds it would be alongside, and theAmericans would be on board, five against two, unless Taters made abrave defence. There were a couple of dozen blacks on deck, but theywere only staring stupidly at the approaching boat, and Joe Dance wasstill fumbling with his knife, while Grote had disappeared.

  "Oh, if I was only there!" cried Tom Fillot.

  "They might have saved that schooner," groaned Mark. "Oh, Tom, Tom, isthere nothing we can do?"

  "No, sir; only look on. Hah! at last."

  "Yes, he's sawing at the cable with his knife."

  "And it's blunt as hoop iron," groaned Tom.

  "They're alongside. It's all over. Was there ever such luck?"

  "Cut, you beggar, cut!" yelled Tom Fillot.

  "Too late--too late!" said Mark bitterly, as he saw Dance still hackingat the cable, and the boat pulled alongside, while the bow man threw inhis oar, and seized a boathook as he rose in his place.

  In another minute the Americans would have been on deck, and theschooner taken; but, just as Mark Vandean's heart sank heavy as lead,Grote suddenly appeared with an axe in his hand, while his words ofwarning came clearly to where they stood looking on.

  "Stand aside!"

  Then--_Chop_!

  One dull, heavy blow, and the hawser, cut closely through where itpassed over the bows, dropped with a splash into the water anddisappeared.

  The little party at the cabin window sent out a cheer and then a groan,for the bow man had hooked on, and the Americans began to climb up,their leader having his hands on the bulwarks, and sprang aboard, whensomething black, which proved to be Taters' fist, struck him in theface, and he fell back.

  Another's head appeared above the side, and there was another blow and asplash.

  Almost simultaneously Grote struck at another man with a capstan bar,and to avoid the blow, the man ducked his head, lost his hold, and, lessfortunate than Mark had been, was hurled with a tremendous splash intothe water, in
company with the second man, while another got his head upin time to receive a crack which sent him also backward into the sea.

  The man holding on loosed his hold to save his companions, who wereswimming; and as the Nautiluses at the cabin window breathlessly watchedand saw them picked up, they became as much interested in the fate ofone of the party as if he had been a friend.

  "Get an oar over," cried Mark. "Scull your boat to that man; he's goingdown."

  "The muddle-head!" cried Tom Fillot. "Can't he scull?"

  No doubt they were hard upon the man, who was doing his best. He hadhelped two men into the boat--no easy task when they are half-stunned,and by consequence comparatively helpless--and he had been doing hisbest to get to the others, who had paddled feebly and then thrown uptheir hands to grasp wildly at vacancy, so that the case began to lookhopeless indeed.

  For, failing in his efforts to scull the boat along with one oar, andevidently getting confused in his excitement, the uninjured man now satdown on a thwart and got two oars over the side to begin to row to wherea drowning man lay, fully a dozen yards from him.

  "Gone!" cried Tom Fillot, excitedly, as the boat was pulled to the placewhere the man had made a last feeble struggle and then sunk.

  Mark drew a deep breath, and uttered a faint groan, as the sailor stoodup in the boat, hitcher in hand, looking wildly about.

  A volley of cries now came from the poop, just over where the prisonerswere watching. Words of advice, orders, abuse, were hurled at the man'shead, and Mark, as he watched, thought of his efforts in the cutter tosave the blacks' lives, and it seemed to him like a natural form ofretaliation coming upon the slavers' heads, as history almost repeateditself, with a difference.

  He was, he felt, spectator of a tragedy, and a cold sensation of horroralmost paralysed him, but passed away instantly as he saw the manstanding in the boat suddenly make a dash with the hook and drawsomething toward him.

  There was a cheer from the cabin window, as the boat careened over, andthe nearly drowned man was dragged in.

  "Say, messmates," said Tom Fillot, rubbing one ear, "that can't beright."

  "What, Tom?" cried Mark, excitedly.

  "Why, sir, our cheering at an enemy being saved. We ought to be glad tosee him drown, oughtn't we?"

  "It was the man, not the enemy, Tom," said Mark.

  "Course, sir. I see now; I couldn't make out why we cheered."

  And now the little party noted for the first time that the vessel theywere in had been gliding steadily on, trailing the divided tow-rope, andbeing lightened of her burden, was now far-away from the boat, while thesecond schooner, having one sail set, had also glided away. Then asecond sail was hoisted a little, and the helm being seized, her coursewas altered so as to send her to the west.

  "Hurrah!" cried Mark, forgetting the officer in the elation of the boy."Joe Dance will not let the Yankees overhaul him now. Look, he'sgetting the blacks to help haul up the mainsail. Then that prize is allright," he added, with a sigh of satisfaction.

  "Hope so, sir," said Tom. "I should feel better satisfied, though, ifwe were aboard too. My, how we could stick to the ribs of this boathere, and lay her aboard some day, and take her again. Ah, here comesthe boat."

  In effect the boat was slowly pulled alongside, and amidst a great dealof shouting and noise, the prisoners could hear the men helped on board,and the boat hoisted into its place.