The Black Bar Part 33

"Think so, sir?" cried the man, excitedly.

"I'm sure of it. I know his voice again. That's the man who had me thrown into the boat."

"That's right, then, sir. I couldn't tell, because my head was all dumb with the crack I got; but you weren't hit, and of course you'd know."

Just then there came a low, piteous, half-stifled wail from the vessel, which went so home to Mark's feelings, that his voice sounded changed and suffocated, as he whispered,--

"I've often said that I was sorry I came to sea, Tom Fillot, so as to be sent on this horrible slavery business, but I'm glad now."

"That's right, sir."

"And we'll have that schooner back, and set those poor creatures free if I die for it."

"That you shall, sir," cried Tom Fillot. "No, no, that you shan't, I mean."

"Not take her?" said Mark, half aloud in his surprise.

"Hist! No, no, sir. I didn't mean that; I mean not die for it."

"Oh, I see."

"You shall take her, sir, as soon as you give the word; but, begging your pardon, sir, if I might ask a favour for me and the men--"

"Yes; what is it?"

"Don't be too hard on us, sir, in the way of orders."

"What do you mean? I won't ask you to do anything I shall not try to do myself."

"Oh, it ain't that, Mr Vandean, sir. We know you for a fine, plucky young gent, as we'd follow anywhere. What I meant was, don't be too stiff with the men in the way o' stopping 'em. We don't want to kill any of the beggars, but we should like to give it 'em as hard as we can."

"Do, Tom," whispered Mark, excitedly. "The beasts! the wretches! the unmanly brutes! Oh, how can those poor blacks be such pitiful, miserable cowards, and not rise up and kill the villains who seize them and treat them in such a way!"

"I'll tell you, sir. It's because they've been beaten. I don't mean larruped with a stick, but beaten in some fight, and made prisoners up the country. Since then they've been chained and driven and starved and knocked about till all the man's gone out of 'em, and made 'em so that they haven't got a spark o' pluck left. You take 'em and treat 'em well, and it all comes back, like it did to poor old Soup and poor old Taters. They was fast growing into good, stiff, manly sort o'

messmates, with nothing wrong in 'em but their black skins, and I don't see as that's anything agin a man. All a matter o' taste, sir. Dessay the black ladies thinks they're reg'lar han'some, and us and our white skins ugly as sin."

"We must have that schooner, Tom Fillot," said Mark, after a short pause.

"You've got it, sir, and we'll sail her up to the port with flying colours. You'll see."

"I hope you'll turn out a true prophet, Tom."

"So do I, sir, and I'm just going to whisper to the boys what you say, and then I'm thinking it'll soon be time to go on board and kick those chaps over the side."

"No killing, Tom."

"No, sir. You trust us. We won't go quite so far as that," said the sailor grimly; and he crept away to begin whispering to his messmates, while Mark sat straining his eyes in the direction of the schooner, hot, excited, but without the slightest sensation of shrinking. This had given place to an intense longing for action, which made his heart beat with a heavy throb, while, from time to time, there was a strange swelling in his throat, as he thought of the agony of the poor creatures pent-up in the stifling heat of the schooner's hold, some of them, perhaps, dying, others dead, and waiting to join their fellows in the silent waters, happily released from their pain.

He was so deeply plunged in thought that he did not notice Tom Fillot's return, and he gave quite a start as the man laid a hand upon his knee.

"Look there, sir," he whispered.

"Eh? where?"

"Over the trees, behind me."

"Fire?" whispered Mark, excitedly, as he gazed at a warm glow away beyond the forest.

"No, sir; the moon. She'll soon be up, and we must have that schooner in the dark."

"Then we'll begin at once," said Mark, decisively.

"Right, sir. The lads have some of 'em got their cutlashes, and them as ain't have each got two good hard fists; and it strikes me as they'll use 'em too. So when you're ready, sir, give the word."

Mark felt for his dirk, which was safe in his belt, and then thought of the quiet little parsonage at home, and of the horror that would a.s.sail his mother if she could know of the perilous enterprise upon which he was bound. Then came the recollection of his grave, stern-looking father, and of what would be his feelings.

"Would he say don't go?" thought Mark.

The answer seemed to come at once.

"No; he'd say, 'It's your duty, boy. In G.o.d's name go and do your best.'"

"I'm ready, Tom Fillot," he said half aloud, as he felt for and seized the rudder-lines. "Now, my lads."

There was a low buzz of excitement, and then, in obedience to an order, a couple of oars were softly thrust into the water. Dance stood ready, but there was no boathook, and he fretfully asked what he was to do.

"Hold on by the chains, mate," whispered Tom Fillot, "and I'll help you.

Dessay we can make the painter fast afore we get aboard."

As he spoke, he was busily loosening the rope which held them to the tree, and then stood holding the end just round the bough.

"Ready, sir, when you like to say 'Let go!'"

Mark paused a moment or two, breathing hard, and tried to think of anything that had been left undone, knowing as he did that the slightest hitch in the proceedings might mean failure; but he could think of nothing, and leaning forward, he whispered,--

"You understand, my lads? Drop down, make fast, all in silence. Then follow me aboard, make for the cabin, and knock down every man who tries to get on deck."

"Ay, ay, sir," came in a whisper that was terribly impressive in its earnestness.

Nothing then remained but for him to say "Let go!" But he hesitated yet, and looked about him, to see that in a very few minutes the moon's edge would be rising above the forest, flooding the river with its silvery light. If a watch was kept, which seemed to be certain, they would be seen, the captain and crew alarmed before they could get aboard, and, with so weak an attacking party, they would be at a terrible disadvantage. So hesitating no longer than to give himself time to loosen his dirk in its sheath, he leaned forward once more, and in a low, earnest whisper gave the order,--

"Go!"

There was a faint rustle as the rope pa.s.sed over the bough, a little splash as it struck the water, the two oars dipped without a sound, as the boat swung round, and they glided rapidly up the river with the tide.

The distance, at the rate of speed at which they were going, was extremely short, and Mark had to whisper to the men to pull harder, so as to make the boat answer to the rudder: while the moon rose higher, and though still invisible above the horizon, sent upward so warm a glow that the topmasts of the schooner became visible, and Mark was able to steer right for her bows.

"Now!" he whispered, "in with your oars."