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Cormorant Crag; A Tale of the Smuggling Days, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 39. Daygo Meets His Match |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. DAYGO MEETS HIS MATCH It seemed to take a long time to hoist that sail, but at last it was well up, the yard creaking against the mast; and standing on their dignity now, and keeping the old man at a distance, the boys made no offer to take the sheet or steer, but let Daygo pass them as they sat amidships, one on each side, and he seated himself, hauled in the sheet, and thrust an oar over the stern to steer. There was a nice breeze now, they were only about a mile from the shore, and as the boat danced merrily through the little waves a feeling of joy and exultation, to which the boys had long been strangers, filled their breasts. They took long, hungry looks at the shore, and then at the cutter racing along towards the great gull rock, at the schooner careening over as she ran on under all the canvas she could bear; and then back at the lugger, which by comparison seemed to limp along, with a scrub of a spar hoisted as a jury mast, far astern, in place of the fallen mizen, so as to steady her steering. Then they looked at each other again, those two, as they sat face to face, neither speaking, and carefully avoiding even a glance at Daygo, feeling as they did the awkwardness of their position, and averse to meeting the old scoundrel's eye. Not that they would have met it, for Daygo was as full of discomfort as they, and with his eyes screwed up face one maze of wrinkles, he stared through between them as if looking at the prow, but really at the big patch of canvas in his sail. For, as Daygo put it to himself, he was on the awkwardest bit of lee shore that he had ever sailed by in his life. He had, as was surmised by the cook, caught sight of the Revenue cutter sailing by the north side of the Crag, and hurried down to his boat to warn Jacques or his companion; but, upon finding himself too late, he was making for home again, thinking that, as Jacques was taken and his lugger a prize to the cutter--which looked determined to follow up the schooner, probably to take her too--there would be no owner for the contraband goods still left in the cavern, unless that owner proved to be himself. There were two others, he mused--two who knew of the place and its treasure; but Captain Jacques was, according to the old fisherman's theory, not the kind of man to stick at trifles when such great interests were at stake; and he felt quite satisfied that the two boys would never be seen at Cormorant Crag again. Some accident would happen to them--what accident was no business of his, he argued. They had got themselves into a terrible mess through their poking and prying about, and they must put up with the consequences. They might have fallen off the cliff when getting sea-birds' eggs, or they might have been carried away by one of the currents when bathing, or they might have been capsized and drowned while they stole his boat--he called it "stole"--in any one of which cases, he said to himself, they'd never have come back to the Crag again, and it wouldn't have been any business of his, so he wasn't going to worry his brains. Old Jarks had grabbed 'em, and when he grabbed anything he didn't let it go again. Joe Daygo was a slow thinker, and all this took him a long time to hammer out; and he had just settled it comfortably, on his way home, when he caught sight of the pilot flag flying, and paid no heed. "Don't ketch me showing 'em the way through the Narrers to ketch the _Shark_!" he growled; and he kept on his way till the imperative mood present tense was tried, and then he made for the side of the cutter, to receive what was to him a regular knock-down blow, or, as he put it, a wind taking him on a very dangerous lee shore. So the old fisherman did not look at his passengers, but began thinking hard again. He couldn't take those two home, he said to himself, for, if he did, at their first words he'd be seized by some one or every one, for they all hated him for being so well off, and monopolising so much of the lobster catching, especially Jemmy Carnach. Then Sir Francis Ladelle and the Doctor would come; he'd be locked up, sent by the smack over to England, and be tried, and all his savings perhaps be seized. Just, too, when he had a chance of doubling them by taking the contents of the cave. He had arrived at this point with great difficulty when the strange silence on board the boat, which had so far only been broken by the lapping of the water and the creaking of the yard, was broken by Vince, who cried excitedly, as he stood up in the boat: "Look, look, Mike! Nearly everybody's yonder on the cliff. They've heard the firing and the explosion, and they're watching the cutter chase the schooner." Mike rose too, and with beating hearts the two boys stood trying to make out who was on the look-out; but the distance was too great to distinguish faces. Still they stood, steadying each other by clapping hands on shoulders, quite unconscious of the fact that the old man was now gazing at them with a very peculiar expression of countenance, that foreboded anything but good. All at once, they both lurched and nearly fell, for Daygo's mind was made up, and he thrust his oar deep down, changing the boat's course suddenly, and making the sail flap. "Here, what are you doing?" cried Vince, forced by this to speak to the old man at last. "Think I want to run my boat into that curran' an' get on the rocks? Sit down, will you, and keep outer the way of the sheet." For answer the boys went forward, quite out of his way, and the boat rushed on again for some ten minutes before they spoke again, though they had been looking about with gathering uneasiness, for they were growing suspicious, but ashamed to speak because the idea seemed to be absurd. At last Vince said-- "He's making a precious long tack, Mike, and I don't know of any big current here." Mike was silent, and they saw now that without doubt they were sailing right away from the island, and were in the full race of the tide. Still they felt that the old man must know best how to make for his tiny port, and they sat in silence for fully twenty minutes, waiting for him to make another tack and run back. But soon the suspicions both felt had grown into a certainty, and Mike said in a whisper, as calmly as he could,-- "Cinder, he has got the conger bat out of the locker. What does he mean?" "He means that he won't take us ashore," said Vince huskily: "he's going to sail right away with us for fear we should tell about him, and the conger bat's to frighten us and keep us quiet." There was a strange look of agony in Mike Ladelle's eyes, as he gazed in his companion's, to read there a horror quite as deep. Then neither of them spoke, but sat there listening to the lapping of the water, which spread to right and left in two lines of foam as the little boat sped on. It was Vince who broke the silence at last, after drawing a deep breath. "Ladle, old chap," he said, in a low voice, "they're at home yonder, and it means perhaps never seeing them again. What shall we do?" Mike tried to speak, but his voice was too husky to be heard for a few moments. "I'll do what you do," he said at last. "You'll stand by me, whatever comes?" "Yes." Vince glanced sidewise, to find that they were pretty well hidden by the sail; so he thrust out his hand, which was gripped fast, and the two boys sat there with throbbing hearts, trying to nerve themselves for anything that might happen now. Then, without a word, Vince rose, and, steadying himself by the mast, he stepped over the thwart in which it was stepped, and then on to the next, close to where the old man sat steering right astern, and holding the sheet of the well-filled sail as well. "This is not the way to the Crag," said Vince, with his voice trembling slightly; and the old man grunted. "Where are you making for?" said Vince, firmly now. "Didn't I tell yer I didn't want to get run on the rocks?" roared the old man, unnecessarily loudly, after a glance back at the shore, where all was growing distant and dim. "Yes, you told me so; but it isn't true," said Vince, in a voice he did not know for his own. "What?" roared Daygo fiercely. "You heard what I said. Run her up in the wind at once, and go back." "You go and sit down," growled the old man savagely. "You change her course," said Vince firmly. "You go and sit down while you're safe," growled the old man, with his face twitching. "You had orders from the commander of the cutter to take us ashore. Change the boat's course directly." "Will you go and sit down, both of you?" cried the old man again, more fiercely, but his voice was lower and deeper. "No," said Mike; "and if you won't steer for the Crag, I will." "This here's my boat, and I'll steer how I like, and nobody else shan't touch her." "Your orders from the King's officer were to take us home. Will you do it?" "No!" roared the old man. "Go and sit down, 'fore I do you a mischief." Vince did not even look behind to see if he was going to be supported, for he felt full of that desperate courage which comes to an Anglo-Saxon-descended lad in an emergency like that. He saw the savagely murderous look in the old man's eyes, and that he had quickly seized the conger bat with one hand, after passing the sheet into that which held the oar. With one spring Vince was upon him, seizing the heavy wooden club, which he strove to tear from his grasp, just as the old man too sprang up, and Mike snatched the sheet from his hand with a jerk which sent the oar, loose now in the old man's grasp, gliding overboard. Mike made a dash to save it, but was flung down into the bottom of the boat as the old man thrust a foot forward and seized Vince in his tremendous grip. The boy struggled bravely, but his fresh young muscles were as nothing to the gnarled, time-hardened flesh and sinew of the old savage, who lifted him by main force, after a short struggle which made the boat rock as if it would go over, and Vince realised what was to follow. "Mike! do something," he cried in his agony to the boy, who was struggling up, half stunned, from where he lay between the thwarts; and in his desperation Mike did do something, for, as Daygo put out all his strength, tore Vince's clinging hands from his jersey, and hurled him right out from the boat, Mike seized the old man fiercely by one leg. It was not much to do, but it did much, for it threw Daygo off his balance in the rocking boat; and Vince had hardly plunged down into the clear water before his enemy followed, with a tremendous splash, thrusting the boat away, and going head first deeply down. Vince was the first to rise, shake his head, and begin to swim for the boat. But Daygo rose too directly and looked round, and then he, too, swam for the boat, whose uncurbed sail flapped wildly about; while Mike picked up the other oar to try and steer back to help his companion. He changed the position of the boat, and that was all. It did this, though,--it gave Vince the chance of making for the side opposite to that for which Daygo aimed, and he swam with all his might to be there first. But Vince had the greater distance to go, and Mike saw that, unless he helped, Daygo would be too much for them yet. Quick as thought, he drew in the oar which he had thrust over the stern, turned it in his grasp as he stood up in the rocking boat, and, as the old man came up and stretched out his hands to grasp the gunwale, Mike drove the hand-hold of the oar, lance-fashion, down into his chest. "I've killed him," groaned the boy, as his enemy fell back and went under again. Then he nearly followed him, for the boat was jerked from the other side, and he turned to find Vince had seized the gunwale and was climbing in. A sharp drag helped him, and Vince's first act was to seize the conger bat, which lay beneath the after-thwart. He was only just in time, for, as he turned, Daygo had risen, and swam up again to seize the gunwale with one great gnarled hand. Crash came down the heavy club, the hand relaxed, and Daygo went down again. "Vince! Vince! you've killed him," cried Mike, in horror. "No, no-- don't: don't do that!" he shrieked, as Vince thrust his right-hand into his dripping pocket and tore out his big sharp long-bladed knife. "You take the bat," cried Vince; and, as the boy obeyed trembling, he shouted, so that the old man could hear as he swam after them, "hit him over the hands again if he touches the boat." It did not seem likely that he would overtake them by swimming, for the wind acted upon the flapping sail and drove them slowly along. Taking advantage of this, Vince went forward and cut off the long rope from the ring-bolt in the stem, and returned with it to where, wild-eyed and scared, Mike knelt with the conger bat upraised, ready to strike if the old man came near. "Now," said Vince firmly, "you hold that conger club with both hands, Mike, and if he does anything, or tries to do anything, bring it down on his head with all your might. Do you hear?" "Yes," said Mike faintly. "Now, then, you come and take hold of the gunwale with both hands, and let me tie your wrists," cried Vince. "Look out, Mike!" The old man swam up and put his hands together. "You arn't going to murder me?" he groaned. "You wait and see--Ah!" yelled Vince, for the treacherous old ruffian had seized him by the chest and was dragging him out of the boat. But Mike was ready: the bat came down with tremendous force, and the old man loosened his grasp and sank, remaining beneath the surface so long that the boys gazed at each other aghast. "Quick! there he is," cried Mike; and Vince seized the oar and sculled to where the old man had come slowly up, feebly moving his hands, and apparently insensible. "We must haul him in, Mike," said Vince. "He's not likely to hurt us now." "If he is," said Mike, "we must do it all the same;" and, leaning over, they each got a good grip, and, heaving together, somehow rolled Daygo into the bottom of the boat, where they dragged his head beneath the centre thwart, and then firmly bound him hand and foot, using some strong fishing line as well as the painter and the rope belonging to the little grapnel. _ |
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