The Ocean Cat's Paw Part 59

"Captain! Captain Chubb! Do you hear that? Are you there?"

"Oh yes, here I am, my lad," came from out of the darkness. "And I should be precious deaf if I hadn't heard it."

"Well, ought we to take the boat and try and save her?" cried the boy pa.s.sionately.

"How do you know it's a _her_, my lad? I should say it was a _him_.

It's the c.o.c.k birds and not the hens that shout like that."

"Bird!" cried Morny. "It was a human being."

"Ah, it do sound something like it, my lad, but that aren't a human.

It's one of them great long-legged storky chaps with the big bills, calling to his wife to say he's found frogs, or something of that kind.

You wait a minute, and if she don't come you will hear him call 'Quanko!'--There, what did I say?" said the skipper, with a chuckle, as in trumpet tones came the cry of the great long-legged creature in a sonorous _Quang, quang, quang, quang_!

"Why, the captain seems to know everything," said Morny admiringly. "I say, how did you know that, sir?"

"Oh," said the skipper modestly, "one just picks up these sort of things a little bit at a time. Now then, do you hear that?"

The two lads did hear it--a peculiar musical (?) wailing cry which was repeated again and again and then died out, half-smothered by a chorus of croaking from the swampy river banks.

"Oh yes, we can hear," cried Rodd. "We can do nothing else but listen.

But what was it made that cry?"

"Ah! That's one of the things I don't know," said the skipper, chuckling. "What should you think it was?"

"Oh, I don't want to be laughed at again," cried Rodd, "for making another mistake. Perhaps it's some other kind of stork."

"Nay, you don't think it is," said the skipper. "You think different to that. Come, have a guess."

"Well," said Rodd, "I should say it was some kind of great cat."

"Right, my lad; not much doubt about that. I don't know what sort it is, but it's one of them spotted gentlemen. I should say there'd be plenty of them here. Well, I have had about enough of it for to-day. I am just going to see about the watch, and to say a few words below to your father about having a good look-out kept, and then it won't be very long before I turn in to my cot, for I am tired. This has been a rather anxious day."

"You are going to speak to my father about having a good look-out kept?"

"Well, yes, my lad, and with our men well-armed. I don't say as it's likely, and we are too near the sea for any villages of blacks; but it wouldn't be very nice to have two or three big canoes come and make fast to us in the night, and find the decks swarming with n.i.g.g.e.rs who might think that we were made on purpose for them to kill."

"Why, you don't think that's likely, do you?" cried Rodd.

"Not at all, my lad. But safe bind, safe find. What I have always found is this--that when you keep a very strict look-out nothing happens, and when you don't something does. Are you lads coming down?"

"Not yet," said Rodd.

"I suppose you will be going soon, won't you, Mr Morny?" said the skipper, who somehow always forgot their visitor's t.i.tle.

"I am expecting my father will be coming up soon to say it is time."

"Yes; I shouldn't leave it much longer," said the skipper. "I'll tell him.--Joe Cross, there!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"You and four men stand by with the gig to take the Count aboard his vessel. You will just drop down head to stream ready to pull hard if the tide seems a bit too heavy; and you, my lad, be ready forward with the end of the line made fast to the thwart and the grapnel clear, ready to drop overboard to get hold of the mud if you find the current too strong."

"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the man; and the skipper went below.

"I am glad of that, Joe," said Rodd eagerly. "I was thinking whether there was any risk of the boat being swept away."

"So was I, sir; but it's always the same. Whenever I think of something that ought to be done I always find that our old man has thought of it before. Did you see that we have swung round to our anchor?"

"No," said Rodd.

"We have, sir, and the tide's running out like five hundred million mill-streams. You come for'ard here and feel how the cable's all of a jigger, just as if the river had made up its mind to pull it right out of the mud."

The two lads followed, and it was exactly as the man had said, for the great Manilla rope literally thrilled as if with life, while the river glided by the schooner's cut.w.a.ter with a loud hiss.

"Why, Joe," cried Rodd, as he gazed in the sailor's dimly-seen face, "how are you going to manage to row back?"

"Well, sir, that's one of the things I have been asking myself."

"Well, you had better speak to the skipper."

"Not me, sir. I'm not going to try to teach him. If I was to say a word he'd jump down my throat bang. Oh, he knows what he's about, or he wouldn't have told me to stand by with that there grapnel."

"Yes, of course he'd know," said Rodd quietly. "I should like to know how you'd got on."

The two lads stood listening to the weird sounds from the sh.o.r.e, every now and then being puzzled by something that was entirely fresh, while the swiftly running water gleamed dimly with the faintly seen reflection of the stars, showing that a mist was gathering overhead, while Joe Cross and the men lowered down the boat and hauled her up to the gangway, ready to convey the visitors to the brig.

They had hardly finished preparations before the voices that had come before in murmurs from the cabin were heard ascending to the deck, and the Count cried out of the darkness--

"Are you ready there, Morny, my son?"

"Yes, my father," replied the lad, and Rodd walked with him to the side.

The men were in their places, with their oars ready to hand to lower at once, Joe Cross holding on in front with his boat-hook through a ring-bolt. A few more words pa.s.sed between the Count and Uncle Paul, and then the former bade his son descend into his place, following slowly directly after.

"Good-night," he said.

"Good-night, Rodd!" cried Morny. "We shan't be long getting to the brig."

"No," cried Rodd. "Good-night! Here, one moment; I'll slip down and come back with the gig."

Before any one else could speak he had dropped into the boat, his feet touching the nearest thwart as the skipper cried "Let go!" and almost the next moment the men were pulling hard, while Joe Cross dropped upon his knees to feel for the grapnel so as to make sure it was at hand, while to Rodd it seemed that the boat was motionless in the rapid river and that the schooner had been suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

UP A TREE.