Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop

“Tom,” he exclaimed angrily, “what do you make of this?”

The man shook his head.

“But he can’t have come out of the study while we were looking out at the back.”

“That’s so, sir,” said the man, shaking his head the while. “It’s quite onpossible, sir, but he did.”

“Tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated Murray quickly. “We must visit all the posts and see if any one saw him pass.”

“They couldn’t, sir, ’cause if they had they’d have challenged and stopped him.”

“Of course they would,” cried the lad excitedly. “Here, let’s have another look round the study. He must be there.”

“That’s just what I’m a-thinking, sir,” cried the man solemnly.

“Then where is he? Don’t stand staring at me like a figure-head! Haven’t you anything to say?”

“No, sir; only you ’member how all-overish I come, sir.”

“Yes, when you declared it was as if there was a dead man in the place.”

“Yes, sir; I knowed there was something wrong.”

“Well, then, stupid,” cried the lad, in a passion, “there’s no live man here.”

“No, sir,” said Tom, shaking his head.

“Well, then,” cried Murray, passionately, striking his open palm with the blue and gold inlaid blade of his dirk, “where’s your dead man?”

“Can’t say, sir,” replied the man, speaking very slowly. “Seems to me it’s a mystery.”

“A mystery?” cried the middy, looking round at the pictures and other decorations of the place and addressing them as if they were sentient, listening creatures. “Here’s a big six-foot strongly-built British sailor talking to his officer like an old charwoman about mysteries! You, Tom May, if ever you dare to talk such nonsense to me again, I’ll punch your silly head.”

“Beg pardon, your honour,” said the man coolly, “but don’t the articles o’ war say something ’bout officers not being allowed to strike their men?”

“Bother the articles of war!” roared Murray, leaping at the man, seizing him by the shoulders, and shaking him to and fro with all his might. “Bother the articles of war!” he repeated, breathless from his exertions. “They don’t say anything about knocking an idiot’s head off!”

“No, sir,” said the man humbly and respectfully; “not as I knows on.”

“Then I feel disposed to do it,” cried the middy passionately. Then stooping to pick up the dirk, which had slipped from his hand, to fall with a loud jingle upon the polished floor, “No, I don’t,” cried the lad, in a vexed, appealing way. “I couldn’t help it, Tom! Look here, old lad; you’ve always been a good stout fellow, ready to stand by me in trouble.”

“Ay, ay, sir, I have,” said the man quietly, “and will again.”

“Then help me now, Tom. Can’t you see what a mess I’m in? Here has the captain entrusted me with the care of this prisoner – for prisoner he is, and you can’t make anything else of him.”

“Ay, ay, sir; prisoner he is, and you can’t make nowt else of him.”

“That’s right, Tom,” cried the lad, growing quite despairing in his tones. “Sooner or later Mr Anderson or Mr Munday will be coming to relieve me of my charge, and the first question whoever it is will ask me will be, Where’s your prisoner?”

“Ay, ay, sir! That’s right enough.”

“There, there! Look at it in a straightforward business-like way,” cried the lad, and to his disgust the man slowly turned his eyes all about the place.

“Bah!” cried Murray angrily. “What are you thinking of? Can’t you understand that I want you to help me?”

“Ay, ay, sir, and I’m a-trying as hard as nails, sir,” said the man, rousing himself up to speak more sharply; “but somehow my head don’t seem as if it would go.”

“Think, man – think!” cried the middy appealingly.

“That’s what I’m a-doing of, sir, but nothing comes.”

“He must be somewhere, Tom.”

“Yes, to be sure, sir; that’s it,” cried the man excitedly. “You’ve hit it now. I couldn’t have thought that myself.”

“Oh-h-h-h!” groaned Murray. “Was ever poor wretch so tormented! What shall I do?”

“Lookye here, sir, I want to help you.”

“Oh, I feel as if I could knock your silly old head off!” cried the middy, with a stamp upon the floor.

“Well, sir, do. You just do it if you think it will help you. I won’t mind.”

“Oh, Tom, Tom!” groaned Murray. “This is the worst day’s work I ever did.”

“Think it’s any good to sarch the place again, sir?”

“But there’s nothing to search, Tom.”

“Well, there arn’t much, sir, sartainly, but it’ll be more satisfactory to go over it once more.”

“Come along, then,” said the middy. “Anything’s better than standing still here.”

“Ay, sir, so it is,” said the big sailor; and together the pair went from room to room, Tom May insisting upon looking under the couch in the study, under the table, and then lifting up the square of Turkey carpet that half covered the well-made parqueterie floor, which glistened with the polishing given to it by busy slave labour.

But there was no sign of him whom they sought, and a careful examination of the garden and plantation was only followed by the discovery which they had made before, that the place was thoroughly closed in by a dense natural growth of hedge, ablaze with flowers in spite of the fact that it had been closely clipped and had grown dense in an impassable way.

“Let’s get the boat here,” said Murray, at last; and going to the platform, Tom May hailed the cutter where it swung from its grapnel.

“Now then, you two,” cried the middy angrily, “you have been asleep!”

“Nay, sir,” cried the men, in a breath.

“What, you deny it?”

“Yes, sir,” said one. “It was so hot that I did get precious drowsy once.”

“There, I knew I was right!”

“Beg pardon, sir; just as I was going off my mate here shoves a pin into me and rouses me up with a yell. I was never asleep.”

“And you are ready to say the same?” cried the middy.

“Jes’ the same sir,” said the other man, “only not quite. It was the same pin, sir, but he jobbed it into me further. We was both awake all the time, sir.”

“Then you must have seen that Mr Allen come out of the cottage and be rowed away.”

“What, to-day, sir?” said the first boat-keeper.

“Do you think I meant to-morrow, sir?” cried Murray, who was boiling over with rage and despair.

“No, sir, of course not,” replied the man, in an injured tone; “but you might ha’ meant yesterday, sir.”

“Of course,” cried Murray – “when you were not on duty here?”

“We done our best, sir, both on us.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my lads. Here, paddle May and me along the edge of the lagoon.”

The man paddled the boat slowly along, and it was not until several blind lead places, where the boat could be thrust in amongst the bamboos, had been explored, that a more satisfactory portion of the surrounding watery maze was found, in the shape of a narrow way opening into another lagoon which looked wonderfully attractive and proved to be more interesting from the fact that no less than six ways out were discovered.

“Try that one,” said Murray, and the boat’s nose was thrust in, when Tom May held up his hand.

“Well, what have you to say against it?” cried the middy.

“I only thought, sir, as we might be trying this here one twice if we didn’t mark it somehow.”

“To be sure,” cried Murray. “Don’t you pretend to be stupid again, Tom. Now, then, how are you going to mark it?”

“Only so how, sir,” said the man, with a grin; and as he stood up in the boat he bent down some of the over-arching graceful grasses and tied them together in a knot. “These here places are so all alike, sir, and it may save time.”

This waterway wound in and out and doubled upon itself for what must have been several hundred yards, but the middy felt encouraged, for more and more it struck him as being a way that was used. Every now and then too it excited the lad’s interest, for there was a rush or splash, and the water in front was stirred up and discoloured, evidently by a reptile or large fish; but whether those who used it had any connection with the missing man it was impossible to say.

“Shouldn’t be a bit surprised, sir, if we come upon that Mr Planter’s boat, sir, and his niggers. Looks the sort o’ spot where they might have built a boathouse to hide their craft in when they didn’t want it.”

“At all events, my lad, it is one of their places, and – ”

“Well, I’m blest, sir!”

“Eh? What do you mean? Why don’t you go on?”

“Why, can’t you see, sir?” said the big sailor sharply.

“No, Tom. Why, you don’t mean to say that – ”

“Yes, I do, sir,” grunted the man; and he took off his straw hat to have a good puzzling scratch at his closely-cropped hair, while the middy stood up to examine two lissome tufts of leafy cane which had been bent over and tied together.

“Oh,” cried Murray, “anybody might have done that who wanted to mark the place, my lad.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sailor, grunting, “but anybody wouldn’t ha’ thought to make a clove hitch, same as I did a bit ago. That’s my mark, sir – T.M.’s own. I’m T.M., sir.”

“Don’t laugh, man,” said the lad passionately. “I suppose you’re right; but it’s horrible, for we’ve been wasting so much time, and come out again in the same spot that we went in.”

“Can’t see as it’s wasted time, sir,” growled the man. “I say it’s time saved, for if it hadn’t been for my knot we might have gone on round again.”

“Don’t talk so much, sir. Give way, my lads. Get back into the lagoon, and we’ll try another of these wretched cuts.”

Another was soon found and duly marked by breaking down a few of the bamboos level with the water, and plaiting them this time in an unmistakable way, the result at the end of close upon an hour proving to be just the same.

“Never mind,” said the middy, speaking through his set teeth. “It’s horribly disappointing, Tom, but these blind water alleys haven’t been made for nothing. They prove to me that there must be a special one which we have to hit, and when we do we shall find that it leads to some hiding-place – perhaps to where the planter has gone, and we must trace him.”

“I don’t see what good it will do, sir, if we do,” said the big sailor, puckering up his brows.

“We must find him, Tom, and take him aboard as a regular prisoner this time, for he has been deceiving the captain, and all that he has said can’t be true. Give way, my lads.”

After further search which led to their passing another opening twice over, a spot was found where the growth seemed to be very thick; but it proved to be yielding enough at last, for the boat’s prow glided through with a rush, and they passed into another tiny lagoon, where as the large reeds closed in behind them, Tom May slapped his knee loudly.

“I do call it artful, sir,” he cried. “Why, who’s going to show me which is the way out again? I’ve got my eye fixed on it, but if I shut it up I shouldn’t be able to find it again. It’s just this,” he continued. “You holds the bamboos down or on one side, and as soon as you’re gone by up they springs again; and that’s why they’re called bamboos, I s’pose – because they bamboozle you. Now for another way of marking this here one.”

“Yes, let’s have no more mistakes, Tom.”

“No, sir,” said the man, tightening up his lips as he pulled out his jack knife, before picking out of the biggest giant reeds, one of a tuft which towered up some five-and-twenty feet. Through this he drove his blade, the thick, rich, succulent grass yielding easily, and after keeping the wound open by the help of a messmate’s knife he cut a slip, and thrusting it through the reed, he drew out the two knives so that the wound closed up tightly upon the green wedge.

“You are taking a great deal of trouble, Tom,” said Murray impatiently.

“It’s wuth it, sir – trust me if it arn’t,” said the man. “Saves time in the end; and I’m beginning to think as we’re in the right cut at last.”

“Give way, then, my men, and let’s prove it,” cried the middy impatiently, for the time was passing swiftly, and the horrible feeling grew upon him that before long some one would appear from the Seafowl to demand where the prisoner was.

The men thrust the boat swiftly across the pondlike place, for on the other side the reeds seemed to have been lately disturbed; but here there was another disappointment, for though the bamboos which rose up had certainly been broken away recently, they grew together so densely that all efforts to pass through were vain, and Tom May declared at last that it was only another blind meant to deceive.

“Let’s try t’other side, sir,” he said, screwing up his face.

“No, no; that looks so easy,” said Murray.

“That’s some one’s artfulness, sir. Let’s try; it won’t take long.”

Murray was ready enough to try any advice now so long as it seemed good, and the word being given, the two boat-keepers placed their oars in the rowlocks and rowed straight at the indicated place, with the result that they had to unship their oars, for the boat glided right through the light reeds, which gave way readily here, and almost directly after the rowing was resumed again, and they found themselves in comparatively open water for a couple of hundred yards.

“This won’t want no marking, sir,” whispered Tom.

“Mark it all the same, my lad, when we pass out.”

“I will, sir, but we’ve hit the right way at last. Look how it rounds to starboard at the end, sir. I believe we’re going into big water directly. – There you are, sir,” added the man in a whisper, as, after rowing swiftly onward for nearly a quarter of a mile, the boat glided round a bend, where, to the midshipman’s great delight, they came in sight of what was pretty evidently the long narrow barge in which the planter had paid his visit to the Seafowl.

The well-made, nattily painted craft was lying well away from the reeds which shut in the open water, moored by a rope whose grapnel was sunk not far distant, and Murray held up his hand to impress the need for silence.

“See the crew ashore anywhere, sir?” asked Tom May.

“No; I believe they’re all on board asleep. Run her up quietly.”

The men obeyed, and so cautiously that the next minute the cutter was close alongside, and there lay the black crew, sleeping profoundly in the hot sunshine, eyes tightly closed, mouths widely open, and quite a crowd of busy flies flitting and buzzing overhead, settling upon the sleepers in a way that would have proved maddening to ordinary people, but which seemed to have not the slightest effect upon the negroes.

“Hook on, Tom,” whispered Murray excitedly. “Take care they don’t slip away.”

The big sailor picked up the boat-hook, and was in the act of reaching out to take hold of the boat’s bow, when one of the sleepers closed his mouth, slowly opened it again in a wide yawn, and at the same time unclosed his eyes, saw the big sailor reaching towards him, and then, showing the whites of his eyes in a stare of horror and dismay, he uttered a yell which awoke the rest of the crew, who sprang up as one man, to follow their companion’s example, for the first awakened as he uttered his yell bounded out of the boat and disappeared.

“No, you don’t, my black friend,” cried Tom, making a thrust with the boat-hook, and getting hold of the startled man by his waist-cloth, he brought him up again, kicking, splashing and plunging to the surface, and drew him hand over hand along the pole of the boat-hook till he had him alongside the now rocking cutter, when a tremendous lurch freed him. He would have got away but for the help rendered by the boat-keepers, one of whom took hold of a leg, the other of a wrist, when he was hauled in over the side, praying for mercy in very fair English, for the fact that the big sailor planted a bare foot upon his chest and pressed him down into the bottom of the cutter quite convinced him that his time had come.

“Hold your row, you black pig!” growled Tom. “Think it’s killing time and you’re going to be scalded and scraped?”

“Oh, massa! Oh, massa! Poor black niggah, sah!” wailed the shivering captive.

“Be quiet, or – ”

Tom May turned the boat-hook pole downwards as if he were going to plunge it at the poor fellow, and his shouting came to an end.

“No use to go ashore after the rest, sir, eh?” said Tom enquiringly.

“Not the slightest,” replied Murray, as the last of the crew reached the fringing bamboos and plunged in, to disappear. “But don’t let that one go.”

“No, sir; he’s right enough. Better let him know that we’re not going to kill him, though.”

“Be quiet, sir!” cried Murray, stepping alongside to where May had his foot upon the shivering slave’s chest. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“Oh, massa! Oh, massa! Poor niggah, sah!” sobbed the poor fellow, and he placed his hands together as if in prayer.

“Hold your tongue! Be quiet!” cried Murray. “Now then, speak out. Where’s your master?”

“Oh, massa! You massa now!” sobbed the poor wretch, shivering violently.

“Be quiet, sir!” cried Murray. “Don’t be afraid to speak. Now then, tell me. Where is your master?” It was some minutes before the poor fellow could grasp the fact that he was not going to be killed outright, and in the meantime his companions had begun to show themselves, a face here and a face there, around the edge of the long winding lake, horribly frightened to a man, but fascinated and held to the spot by their strong desire to see what became of their companion.

“See ’em, sir?” whispered Tom May.

“Oh yes, I see them; but I want to try and get some information out of this poor shivering wretch.”

“We might ketch the rest on ’em, sir,” said the big sailor, “by using this one as a bait. Shall we try, sir?”

“No, no; this one will know all they could tell, if we can make him speak.”

“Shall I try, sir?”

“No, no, Tom; you’re too big and – ”

“Ugly, sir?” said the man, with a grim smile, for Murray had stopped speaking.

“Too ugly to him,” said the middy, laughing.

“Here, you sir,” he added gently, as he bent down and tapped his prisoner upon the shoulder.

“Oh, massa! Poor niggah, sah!”

“Yes, yes; you said that before,” cried Murray.

“Poor beggars, sir, they’ve been so ill-used that they think every white man is going to murder ’em.”

“Well, let’s show the poor fellow that we are not all savages; but we’ve begun pretty roughly, Tom, to win this one’s confidence. You did give it him pretty hard.”

“Well, yes, sir, I was a bit rough to him; but if I hadn’t been he’d have got away.”

“Now then, let me try. Here, my lad, I want your master.”

“Massa, sah?” cried the shivering prisoner. “Yes, sah. Massa, sah!” And as he spoke eagerly he made a snatch at the midshipman’s ankle, caught it between both hands, and raising the lad’s foot placed it quickly upon his forehead.

“Hullo! What do you mean by that?”

“Massa! Massa now, sah. Poor niggah massa.”

“Oh, bother! Nonsense!” cried Murray. “No, no. Where’s your master, Mr Allen?”

“Massa Allen, sah. Good massa, sah. Sick man; go die soon.”

“Good master?”

“Yes, sah! Good massa, sick bad, sah. Die, sah.”

“Well, where is he – Massa Allen?”

“House, sah. Go sleep, sah,” said the man, growing eager and excited, and making an effort to replace Murray’s foot upon his head.

“No, no; don’t do that,” cried the lad impatiently. “Now tell me, where is your master?”

“Massa Allen, sah. House, sah. Go sleep, sah.”

“It’s very evident he does not know, Tom,” said Murray. “What’s to be done? Do you think we could get anything out of the others?”

“No, sir. If he don’t know they don’t.”

“Well, what is best to be done?”

“Try t’others, sir. I don’t think it’s any good, but we might try.”

“But we must catch them first.”

“Oh, that’s soon done, sir.”

“But how?”

The big sailor laughed.

“When I was a youngster, sir, we boys used to get out in one of the Newlyn boats, sir – in Mount’s Bay, sir, and trail a line behind to get a few mack’rel, sir, for our mothers. Well, sir, it was easy enough to trail the line and hook, but it warn’t so easy always to get the bait; for we used to think the best bait was a lask.”

“A what, Tom?”

“Lask, sir, and that’s a strip out of the narrowest part of a mackerel, cut with a sharp knife down to the bone, so that when the hook was put through one end one side was raw fish and the other was bright and silvery.”

“I see, Tom,” said Murray.

“Nay, sir, you only fancy you can see it. If you could see it twirling and wiggling in the water when it was dragged after the boat and we pulled fast, you’d see it looked just like a little live fish, and the mack’rel shoot theirselves after it through the water and hook theirselves. That’s the best bait for a mack’rel, and after the same fashion one nigger’s the best bait to catch more niggers.”

“Then you think we can get hold of more of the boat’s crew by – ”

“Yes, sir,” said Tom, interrupting and grinning the while, “but without cutting a piece out of him with either a knife or a whip. Poor chaps, they get that often enough, I’ll be bound. You only want to let this one see that he won’t be hurt, and he’ll soon bring the others up.”

“But we’ve been so rough with him already. I’m afraid it will be a hard task.”

“Not it, sir. They get so knocked about that a good word or two soon puts matters right again. You try, sir.”

“Why not you, Tom? You seem to know their ways better than I do.”

“Nay, sir, you try. See how he’s watching of us, sir; he’s trying to make out what we want him for, and he knows a lot of plain English. You try him, sir.”

“What shall I say, Tom?”

“Oh, anything you like, sir. You’re cleverer than I am, sir. Here, I know – tell him you want the other chaps to man the boat. They’ll come fast enough if he calls ’em.”

“Here goes, then, Tom; but I don’t believe I shall do any good. – Here, Sambo!” he cried.

The man showed his glistening white teeth in a very broad grin and shook his head.

“Not Sambo?” said Murray. “Well, then, what is your name?”

“Caesar, sah – July Caesar.”

“Well, Caesar, then. I want your master, Mr Allen.”

“In de house, sah. De lilly house;” and the black pointed in the direction of the cottage. “Sick, bad, sah.”

“Not there now, Caesar,” said Murray.

“Big house, Plantashum,” said the black sharply, and he pointed in quite another direction.

“Oh, at the plantation house?” said Murray.

“Yes, sah.”

“Call your fellows, then, to row the boat to where he is,” said the middy.

The black looked at him doubtfully.

“Boys run away, sah. ’Fraid massa take ’em sell to bad massa.”

“Oh no,” said Murray, reaching forward to pat the man upon the shoulder; but the poor fellow’s action told its own tale. He started violently, shrinking right away with a look of dread in his eyes. “There, don’t do that,” Murray continued, “I’m not going to hurt you;” and following the man he patted his shoulder softly, when the look of horror faded away, to give place to a faint smile, one which broadened into a grin.

“Massa no take and sell boys away?”

“No; tell them we come to set them free,” said Murray.

“Set niggah free?” cried the black excitedly.

“Yes; that’s why my ship has come.”

“Massa Huggin say come catch all de boy an’ flog ’em heart out.”

“Did your overseer tell you that, boy?” growled Tom May; and the man winced at the deep fierce voice of the sailor.

“Yes, sah; flog ’em all, sah.”

“Then you tell your Massa Huggin he’s a liar,” growled the big sailor.

The black showed his teeth in a wider grin than ever as he shook his head.

“No tell um,” he said. “Massa Huggin kill um dead.”

“Where is he now?” said Murray sharply.

“Massa Allen sick, sah.”

“No, no; Mr Huggins!”

“Massa sailor captain tell Massa Huggin – ”

“No, no; I’m not going to tell your overseer anything.”

The black looked at the speaker searchingly for a few moments, glanced round as if to see whether they were likely to be overheard; and then, as if gaining confidence, he leaned towards the midshipman and whispered —

“Massa overseer go to get men from schooner – fighting men come and kill sailor and burn up ship. Big fire. Burn ship. Burn, kill sailor. Massa no tell what Caesar say?”

“Oh no; I shall not tell Master Huggins, Caesar,” said Murray, smiling. “Now tell your men to come back and row your boat. I want to find Mr Allen.”

The black looked searchingly in the midshipman’s face once more, and then apparently gaining confidence, he turned sharply upon the big sailor, when that which he had gained seemed to be dying out again and he glanced at the shore of the lagoon, and Tom read so plainly that the black was thinking again of flight that he gave him a sharp slap on the shoulder, making him wince violently and utter a low sob.