George Browne - Where Duty Called - or, In Honor Bound

Then, as the mob rushed forward, he sprang in front of Ronie, who had suddenly found himself flung back from the ship's rail, to be sent headlong to the deck, and swinging his primitive weapon over his head he mowed down a semi-circle of the seamen as if he was cutting a swath of grain. By that time Ronie, whose determined nature was aroused by this rough treatment, was upon his feet, holding in his right hand a serviceable small arm that he had been able to pick up.

Shots were fired upon them by the crew of the Libertador , but, fortunately, the assailants proved but poor marksmen. One burly ruffian attempting to fell Ronie, the latter pointed at his body and discharged his firearm. At least he cocked the weapon and pulled the trigger, but it failed to respond. Realizing that it was empty, he used it as a club, and a moment later had cleared his path of the big seaman. At that moment Jack cried out:

"Quick – into the sea!"

An instant later their forms disappeared over the rail, and they shot headforemost into the water. Almost simultaneously with their escape the deck where they had just stood swarmed with the armed rabble.

Ronie for a brief while lost consciousness, and then the voice of Jack came faintly to his ears:

"Where are you, lad?"

"Here, Jack."

"Good! I will be with you in a minute. Drop astern as fast as you can."

Ronie was a good swimmer, and as soon as he had recovered from the shock of his headlong leap from the vessel he gathered himself together, and when Jack came alongside he felt equal to the task which seemed to lie ahead.

"Are you hurt, my lad?" asked Jack.

"No, Jack."

"Then keep beside me, and mind that you do not waste any of your strength, for if we do not find Harrie and the boat it is likely to be a long swim."

"Where can he be? I believe they are lowering a boat from the ship."

"Let them lower away, lad. It'll be a long chase before they overhaul us. Let's keep a little more to the right, for the boat has in all probability gone that way, if they got away. I am not sure they did, but it looked like it."

Then, the cries of the excited officers and crew of the Libertador growing fainter, as they swam on and on, Ronie and Jack steadily forged ahead, peering with anxious gaze into the gloom about them for a sight of their friends.

At the end of an hour the dark hulk of the Libertador had faded from view, and no more did the shouts of the exasperated men on board reach their ears, while they, feeling the fearful strain upon them, moved slowly through the water, hope slowly dying out in their breasts.

"We shall not find them!" declared Ronie.

"We must!" said Jack. "Let's shout to them again, now, together:

"Boat a-h-o-y!"

As they had done a dozen times before without receiving any welcoming reply, they sent their united voices far out over the sea, shimmering now in the starlight. Still no response – no sound to break the dreadful silence of their watery surroundings.

"My old arms are not quite tired out yet, lad; hold upon me."

"No – no, Jack. I am young and strong. I can bear up a while longer. If I only knew Harrie had escaped I should feel better."

"We can only hope that they have, and fight for our lives a little longer."

Nothing more was said for some time, while they continued their battle with the sea, each stroke of the arm leaving them a little weaker, until it seemed to the castaways that they could not hold up much longer.

"The race is almost over, lad," said Jack, at last. "I feel worse for you than for myself. You have been a true boy. It does not matter so much with an old wornout veteran like me, but you are – "

"Look, Jack!" exclaimed Ronie, in the midst of his speech. "I believe that is the boat!"

His companion glanced in the direction pointed out by Ronie, and a glad cry escaped his lips.

"Boat, ahoy!" he cried. "Help! H-e-l-p!"

Then they listened for a reply, fearing lest the other should fail to catch their faint appeal, for both were so hoarse and exhausted that their united voices could not reach far.

"It is a sloop," declared Jack. "It is coming straight down upon us. They cannot miss us – ay, they are veering away! They have not heard us – they have not seen us – they are going to pass us. Once again, lad, shout for your life. It is our only hope."

Never did two poor mortals appeal with greater desperation for succor, and a moment later a low cry of rejoicing left their sea-wet lips as the reply rang over the water in a piercing tone:

"Ahoy – there! Where away?"

"Here – to your lee!" replied the castaways, and then, quite overcome, they suddenly lost consciousness.

Neither Jack or Ronie had a full realization of what followed. The sound of a voice that seemed to be muffled rang dimly in their ears, and soon after strong arms lifted them bodily from the water, to place them in the bottom of a boat. Some one spoke in a language they could not understand, when the boat started back to the larger craft awaiting its return. By the time they had been taken upon the deck of this strange sloop both had recovered sufficiently to understand their situation.

A motley-looking crew stood around them, but they did not give these particular attention at the time, as one who was in command immediately caught their notice. He was a stout-framed, bewhiskered man of middle age, and in spite of his foreign dress, plainly an American. But he seemed to be the only American on board the sloop. Prefacing his question with an oath, he demanded:

"Who are you, and where did you come from?"

Understanding the suspicious character of the Libertador , Jack was wise enough not to acknowledge that they had come from that vessel until he should deem it good policy to do so. Accordingly he answered:

"We are two castaways who fell overboard from a ship just out from Maracaibo."

"Pretty seamen!" declared the other, showing that he scouted the idea. "Is it a trick of yours to fall overboard every time you step on deck?"

"We were only passengers," replied Jack. "As you will see, like yourself, we are Americans, who have come to this country with peaceful intentions."

"As if anybody was peaceful at such a time as this. What are your names?"

"Mine is Jack Greenland, and my friend's is Roland Rand," replied Jack, respectfully.

"Names are nothing," grunted the other. "You look like drowned rats. If you will go below with one of the men he will see that you have a change of clothing."

"We do not care for that, sir, Captain – "

"Captain Hawkins, sirrah. If you prefer wet duds to dry ones it is not my fault. Shift for yourselves while I look after my men, who are as lazy a lot of devils as ever swore in Spanish."

Jack and Ronie were in a dilemma. While they hesitated about arousing further the other regarding their identity, it seemed cowardly not to say or do something for Harrie and Francisco, whom they believed afloat in the boat, though not certain of this. Exchanging a few hurried words, Jack then ventured to address the captain again, though he felt he was treading upon dangerous ground. There was that air of mystery about the sloop and those who manned her, which already created a feeling in the breasts of our twain of doubt as to the honesty of the craft. What was this single American doing in these waters with a Venezuelan crew, not one of whom did they believe could speak a word of English, and certainly not one of whom appeared as if he would shrink from cutting a man's throat in case that person stood between him and any purpose he may have had in view.

"Captain Hawkins," said Jack, frankly and fearlessly, "we wish to ask whither you are bound. We realize we are under great favor to you, but we are very anxious to learn the fate of a couple of friends whom we have reason to believe were adrift at the time we found ourselves in the sea."