George Fenn - Hunting the Skipper - The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop

“Hah!” ejaculated Murray, as he pressed his hand to his painfully throbbing breast. “I thought you meant – ”

“Our lads, sir? Oh no; we’re all right: the enemy, sir. That volley started ’em. I heard ’em rush off quite plain. Like us to give ’em another?”

Murray was silent as he stood straining his eyes and ears, to pierce the smoke and hear the whish of another spear.

“No,” he said, at last, in a low tone full of relief, “waste of powder;” and then he started, and gave vent to a cry of joy. “Hear that, my lads?” For from some distance away to their left came a shout which meant in this peril-fraught position, help and the companionship of friends.

“Ay, ay, sir,” cried Tom May.

“Shout, lads – shout!” cried Murray excitedly; and as a hearty Ahoy ! rang out the lad winced, for he felt that he had given an order which would show the enemy once more where they were, and he once more strained his senses in the full expectation of the coming of another spear.

But he gave vent to his pent-up breath with a feeling of intense relief, as instead of the whish of a spear came another hearty “ahoy!” from certainly nearer at hand, followed by the tramp of feet and the crackling sound of charred wood.

“Where are you?” came directly after, in a well-known voice.

“Here, sir!” cried Murray. “Forward, my lads!” And the men followed him at the double.

“This way,” cried the same voice. “That you, Mr Murray?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the midshipman, halting his men in the smoke, feeling more than seeing that they were close up to their friends.

“All your men there?”

“Yes, sir. None hurt,” replied the lad.

“That’s good! Spears have begun to fly, for the enemy are creeping up through the smoke. You started the huts burning, of course?” he continued, after a pause.

“Yes, sir; burning everywhere.”

“Exactly, Mr Murray. I think the work has been thoroughly done, and I am glad you found us, for I am getting to be at fault as to how to reach the shore. There, I can hear nothing of our friends, so you had better lead on. I suppose they have made for the boats.”

“Lead on, sir?” faltered Murray.

“Yes, sir,” cried the chief officer petulantly; “and don’t repeat my words in that absurd way. Haven’t we had enough of this stifling smoke?”

“But I thought you had come to help us, sir.”

“To help you, sir? Why, weren’t you firing to let us know the way out of this horrible furnace?”

“No, sir – at the blacks who were hemming us in and throwing their spears. Don’t you know the way down to the boats?”

“No, my lad,” cried the lieutenant angrily. “Tut, tut, tut! What a mess, to be sure! – Silence there! Listen. – Well,” he continued, after some minutes, during which nothing but an occasional crack from some half-burned bamboo reached their ears. “There, we must give a shout or two. I don’t know, though, Mr Murray; you said that the blacks had begun throwing their spears?”

“Yes, sir; so did you.”

“Yes, Mr Murray, and if we begin shouting all together we shall be bringing them again.”

“That’s what I thought, sir.”

“Well, what of that, sir?” cried the officer petulantly; and for the moment it seemed to the lad that his superior had caught the captain’s irritating manner. “So would any sensible person. Here, I have it! Pass the word for Mr Dempsey. The boatswain’s whistle will bring the stragglers all together.”

“But Mr Dempsey is not with us,” suggested Murray.

“Then where in the name of common sense is he, sir? He had his instructions – strict instructions to keep well in touch with the rest; and now in the emergency, just when he is wanted he is not to be found. Listen, all of you. Can you hear anything?”

There was plenty to hear, for the half-burned posts of the savage town or the fragments of the forest still kept up a petillation, and flames flashed up here and there and emitted more smoke; but no one ventured to speak.

“Bah!” ejaculated the chief officer angrily. “We shall never get out of the smoky maze like this. Now then, all together, my lads, when I give the word; a good hearty shout; but every man make ready, and at the first spear thrown fire in the direction – fire low, mind – Who’s that – Mr Murray?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered the lad, who had suddenly laid a hand upon his officer’s arm. “I fancy I can hear the rustling of steps away to the left, as if the enemy is creeping nearer.”

“Fancy, of course, sir!” snapped out the officer. “Bare-footed savages are not likely to be stealing amongst these red-hot ashes.”

Bang ! and directly after bang! bang ! The reports of three muskets rang out in a dull half-smothered way, followed by a piercing yell and a distinctly heard rush of feet. Then once more silence, which was broken by a low hail close at hand.

“Who’s that?” cried the lieutenant.

“May it is, sir,” responded that individual. “Here’s one on ’em, sir, as has got it.”

“Who is it?” whispered the lieutenant, accompanying his question with an ejaculation full of vexation.

“Oh, I dunno, your honour – Sambo or Nigger Dick, or Pompey, sir. But he’ll never answer to his name again. Here he is, spear and all.”

“One of the enemy whom you shot down?” said the lieutenant, in a tone full of relief.

“Not me shot him, sir, but one of my messmates.”

“Speak softly, my man,” said the lieutenant, “and be all ready to fire again. I’m afraid they’ve been creeping up all round.”

“Not all round, sir,” said the sailor, “but a whole lot on this side, and them three shots drifted them. There was a regular rush as soon as the lads opened fire.”

“Good,” said the lieutenant. “But they may be coming on again. Stand fast, my lads, ready to fire at the slightest sound. I don’t know how they can stand it, Mr Murray,” he added, “for I feel as if my boot soles are being burned through. – Yes: what were you going to say – that yours are as bad?”

“No, sir,” replied the lad excitedly; “I was going to suggest that the men who fired should stand fast.”

“Why, of course, my lad; but why?”

“Because, sir, they can tell the direction in which they fired, and know the way in which the enemy retreated.”

“Of course, sir; but what good will that do?”

“It ought to be the way in which their friends are gathered, and the opposite direction to that in which we ought to retreat.”

“Good, my lad,” said the lieutenant, clapping the lad on the shoulder. “You’ll make a smart officer some day. I should not have thought of that. It may prove to be the way towards the shore. We’ll draw off at once. Oh!” he added. “If a good sharp breeze would spring up, to drive off this smoke!”

“But wouldn’t it set the remains of the fire blazing up again, sir?”

“Here, Murray,” whispered the officer pettishly, “you’d better take command of the expedition. You are sharper than I am.”

“I beg your pardon, sir.”

“Not at all. I’m not so weak as to resent hearing a good suggestion. You are quite right, my lad. I only wonder that your brain keeps so clear in the horrible confusion this smoke brings on. Here, let’s put your suggestion into use. Where’s Tom May?”

“Here, sir.”

“Can you tell which way the enemy retreated?”

“For sartin. This here nigger’s lying on his back with his head pynted the way his party came from – shot right through his chesty; and there’s a spear, sir, sticking slahntindickler in the ashes as shows the way which it was throwed from. Both being from the same bearings seems to say, sir, as that’s the way the niggers would run.”