Hunting the Skipper Part 55

"Shall I get to the boat-hook, messmate?" whispered t.i.tely.

_Bang_! came from the bank.

"There's your answer," growled Tom May fiercely. "You 'bey orders and stick to your oar. That was precious nigh, though."

Murray heard every word, and it was to him as if he could see everything that the big sailor did, as with one arm over the cutter's bows he forced it a little more and a little more away, fighting against the pressure of the water and meaning to get the boat at right angles to the dam and her stem pointing straight up stream before he gave the order to pull.

But it was slow work, for the pressure of the water was so great and the man's foothold on the bottom so insecure that at last, and just as he was about to call upon the middy and the man who handled the third oar to try and pull, there was a slip and a splash, May's feet glided over the bottom, and he was swept back, fortunately still clinging to the bows, back to where he had started from--close against the trunk.

"Are you there, Tom?" whispered Murray excitedly, for he feared the worst.

"Here I be sir," growled the man. "I'm sticking tight enough."

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lad. "If it were only light!"

"Jolly for us it ain't, sir," said the man. "Bad if they could see.

Hear that?"

_That_ was another shot from the right bank of the river, followed by a couple more, and the bullets splashed up the water not far from their heads.

"Are you going to try again?" whispered Murray.

"Arn't I, sir! I'm a-going to try till to-morrow mornin' if I don't do it afore. Now then, all on yer, I'm going to begin shoving off her bows again, and this time don't wait, my lads, for any orders from me. Use your own gumption, and all on it at once. It'll take all my wind to keep me going. You, Mr Murray, you get hold of the water first charnsh and pull, and you t'others back-water; on'y just remember this: a broken oar means done for.--Now here goes."

Once more Murray felt right through his brain every movement of the big sailor as he began to wade, holding the cutter's bows nipped between his arm and his broad chest; and as the boat began to move the middy felt among the boughs and twigs with the blade of his oar to such good effect that at the risk of breakage he turned the oar into a lever which slightly helped to move the boat's head from its position.

"Good!" grunted Tom May softly, and he thrust away steadily a little and a little, while the two who held the stout ash blades on the other side began to back-water.

"Good!" grunted Tom again, and, as if in answer, _Bang! Bang_! came from the sh.o.r.e, and a couple of splas.h.i.+ng sounds rose from the woodwork where the bullets struck.

"All together," whispered Murray, as he bent forward and got a fresh hold of the boughs, while to his intense satisfaction he felt that the man behind him had got a good grip too, and the boat's head was thrust farther and farther away.

"Good!" grunted Tom May again, and Murray could not refrain from uttering a low Hurrah! for at his next bending forward his oar cut down into the water so that he got a good hold and pulled with all his might--steadily too.

"Back-water hard!" he panted, and the men whose oars dipped on the other side thrust with all their might.

"Hooray!" came now from the man behind Murray. "I've got water!"

"Then pull all you know," panted Tom May as he gave the boat's head what he intended to be one last tremendous thrust, "for you've got it all your own way now."

"No, no," whispered Murray excitedly. "Keep on, Tom!"

"Can't, sir," said the man, with a low hiss. "I'm off the bottom. Pull all!" he shouted now, and Murray felt the boat lose its trim, and sank over on his side bending down, knowing full well now that the brave fellow was heaving himself up so as to get over and seize an oar.

But it was dark, black darkness. Every one was pulling his best now in obedience to the cry "Pull all!" There was no regular swing, but plenty of confusion, while a thrill of excitement half intoxicated the men, as they felt that they had mastered the pressure of the stream, and consequently they pulled away madly, conscious as they were that they were moving up stream and leaving the enemies, who were still firing, though with no effect, behind.

"Starn all, you lubbers!" literally roared Tom May. "D'yer want to scrat me right out of the cutter's bows?"

"Stroke there!" cried Murray to the man who wielded that blade. "Get your oar over astarn and steer. We're running into the bank."

There was a quick movement, the boat rocked, and a sc.r.a.ping sound and a splash told that the order had been obeyed.

"I can't see, sir," cried the man, who had begun to steer.

"Do your best, my lad. Pull gently, my lads. We must feel our way.

What about you, Tom May? Are you all right?"

"Me, sir? I'm no use to steer," grumbled the man. "Let me come and take stroke oar; the lubbers pretty well scratted my eyes out."

_Bang! Bang! Bang_!

Three shots came quickly now in succession, but the flashes were from fully fifty yards back.

"Keep silence, my lads," whispered Murray. "They're firing at the splashes of our oars."

A minute later those scattered irregular splashes became almost as one, and though they were given slowly, the effect was steady and the steersman proved to be doing his part so carefully and well that the flashes from behind became more distant and sounded fainter, and the last seemed to come from round a bend of the river.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

LOST.

"Now, my lads," said Murray, at last; "speak out; let me know the worst.

Who is hurt?"

There was no reply, the men tugging slowly and regularly at the oars.

"Well, speak out," cried the middy. "Don't be too modest to let me know. You, Tom May, what about your eyes?"

"Don't want 'em now, sir," said the man, in his deep, low growl. "Won't be daylight yet awhile."

"I know that," said Murray testily; "but you said that you were getting them scratched out."

"Yes, sir, but I just spoke out in time, or else they'd ha' gone. I'm all right, sir; don't you worry about me."

"But I shall worry about you, Tom May," said the lad, "especially when I make my report. You saved us all when it seemed all over with our chance of escape."

"Did I, sir?"

"Ay, ay, that he did," chorussed the men.

"Well, don't make such a fuss about it, messmets," grumbled the man.

"Mere's two on 'em got a scrarp from that shooting, sir."

"Ah!" cried Murray. "Well, the wounds must be seen to as soon as it's daylight. Can you tie the places up for the present?"

"Ay, ay, sir," said one of the men. "A hankychy's been teared up, and there's nothing bad, sir."