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Mother Carey's Chicken: Her Voyage to the Unknown Isle, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 28. How Mark Found Something That Was Not Game |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. HOW MARK FOUND SOMETHING THAT WAS NOT GAME They had not far to go, but in a hot sun, and with the double guns, ammunition, and the heavy birds, they were panting and in a profuse perspiration. "Can't do impossibilities, Mark, my lad," cried the major. "We must either run for it without our game, or stop and fight for it." "Oh!" cried Mark; "we can't leave the birds." "But you can't fight," cried the major, who, as he spoke, began throwing the great birds behind a clump of rocks. "But they have taken so much trouble to get," panted Mark. "And I'm so hungry that I feel like a dog with a bone," snapped the major. "I won't give 'em up without a fight. Come in here, my boy, and I'll have a good try for it. We've plenty of ammunition, and perhaps a peppering with small-shot will scare the blackguards away." Mark obeyed, and the next moment, with their birds, they were snugly ensconced in a little natural fortification, open to attack only on one side, the others being protected by the rocks and the dense jungle. This movement took them out of sight of their pursuer, who was hidden now by the trees. "Now, my boy, lay out some cartridges, and keep down out of sight. You reload, and keep on exchanging guns. I'm a soldier, and will do the fighting. I meant to run and leave our dinner, undignified as it may be; but hang me if I do at the sight of a half-naked savage with a spear." "But there must be a whole tribe of them behind, sir," whispered Mark. "Yes; that's the worst of it. But never mind, I'll pepper their skins, and perhaps that will stop them. But look here, my boy, if matters begin to look very ugly you are not to hesitate for a moment." "Yah!" A pause. "Yoy-oy-oy-oy!" This last in a different tone, but both yells were of a most savage, highly-pitched nature. "Another of them," whispered the major; and then, as the sounds were repeated faintly a long way off, "There's the main body coming on. Mark, my lad, never mind me. I didn't know what I was saying before. Here, shake hands, and God bless you, boy! I don't suppose I shall hurt. Run for it at once, and I'll cover your retreat." Mark sprang up, placed one foot on the rocks, shook hands with the major, and in his excitement and dread, as another yell rang out much nearer, gathered himself up to spring clear of the rough scoria that lay about, and then turned sharply round and leaped back in his place. "What now?" cried the major sharply. "Who's to reload if I go?" said Mark hoarsely; and he looked very white. "I can, boy. Quick! there's no time to lose." Mark hesitated for a few moments. On the one side seemed to be safety; on the other, perhaps death from a set of spear-armed savages. Then he ground his teeth, and stood fast. "Well, why don't you go?" "I won't be such a coward," cried Mark in a hoarse whisper. "It is no cowardice to retreat," cried the major, "when your superior officer gives the word." "You're not my superior officer," said Mark between his teeth. "What would my father say?" "That you obeyed orders." "He wouldn't," growled Mark. "He'd call me a contemptible cur. So I should be if I went. How could I face Mrs O'Halloran and Miss Mary again?" The major seemed to choke a little, and he gave quite a gasp, whilst certainly his eyes were suffused with tears as he cocked his gun and turned upon Mark. "I order you to go, sir," he said. "Run for it while there's time." "I won't," cried Mark fiercely. "I'm going to stop and load the guns." The major gave a long expiration, as if he had been retaining his breath, but said nothing, only laid his gun-barrel ready on the natural breastwork of rock before him, waved Mark a little way back into shelter, and then stood ready as the beat of feet on the sand was plainly heard, accompanied by a hoarse panting as of some one who had been running till quite breathless. Then from just round behind some intervening branches which grew out broadly by the projecting rocks there came another hoarse yell. "Yah!" There was a pause, and from the distance an answering cry. Then a terrible silence. The steps had ceased, but the hoarse panting continued, and for the moment Mark was in hopes that their concealment might prove effectual, and the savages pass on, and to aid this he bent down softly to make a threatening gesture at Jacko, and to hold Bruff's muzzle tightly closed as the pair lay on the birds, among whose feathers Jack's fingers were already busy. The major had evidently caught the idea, and he too drew back, when once more came the terrible yell, and the keen point and half a dozen feet of the lance dropped into sight, while through the leaves which partially concealed him they could make out a portion of the figure of the savage. The silence now was terrible, and Mark held his breath, hardly daring to breathe, in dread lest the major should fire, for he could have laid the man lifeless without raising the gun to his shoulder. Then all at once, in the midst of the hot stillness of that tropic land, with the blue sea lying calm beyond, the sparkling creamy foam where the ocean pulsated on the coral-reef, there came a hideous screech and the swift beat of wings. Startling enough, but only the cry of a passing parrot, and the sound had hardly died away when the point of the spear was slowly raised, and disappeared behind the trees. Then once more came the loud yell. "Yah!" and its repetition three times, now telling of the savages being scattered. And then-- "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Where can they be got to? I'm sure I saw 'em come by here." "How--how--how--how!" burst out Bruff, and shaking his head free he leaped out, followed by Mark and the major, to confront their spear-armed enemy, about whom the dog was leaping and fawning. "Why, Jimpny," cried Mark, "is this you?" as he caught the stowaway's hand. "You scoundrel!" roared the major. "You frightened us, and--no, you didn't quite frighten us," he said, correcting himself, "but we thought you were a savage!" "So I am, sir," whimpered the man. "Look at me." He did look one after a fashion as he stood there, Malay spear in hand, his only garment being a pair of canvas trousers whose legs had been torn-off half-way above his knees. For he was torn and bleeding from the effects of thorns, his skin was deeply sunburned, and a fillet tied about his head, stained red with blood, kept back his tangled hair, while his eyes had a wild and scared look. "Well, it was excusable to think you one," said the major. "But how came you here?" cried Mark excitedly. "I don't know, sir," whined the man, piteously. "I've been mad, I think. I believe I'm mad now; and I was just telling myself that it was another of the dreams I had while I was so bad from this chop on the head; and that I had only fancied I saw you two shooting, when old Bruff barked and came out." "You've been wounded then?" "Yes, sir, badly, and off my chump." "But how?" "One of those Malay chaps gave me a chop on the head with his sword, sir; and I fell down on the deck and crawled right forward down by the bowsprit and lay between some ropes and under an old sail, and then I got mixed." "Mixed?" said the major. "Yes, sir; I was so bad I didn't know which I dreamed and which was real, only it seemed that there was a lot of fighting and shooting and yelling." "You didn't dream that," said Mark sadly. "I'm glad of that, sir; but I suppose I dreamed that the Malay chaps made the sailors go over the side into one of the boats and row away." "That must be quite true," said the major gravely. "But I was very much off my head, sir, and so weak and thirsty. I know I didn't dream about the fire though, for the ship was afire." "Yes," said Mark; "the poor _Petrel_!" "It was very horrid, gentlemen; for as I lay there I couldn't speak nor move, only look up at the glare and blaze and sparks, and from where I lay, afraid to stir in case they should chuck me overboard, I saw those savage chaps go over the side and leave the ship; and then there was a blow-up, or else it was before--I don't know, for I was all in a muddle in my head and didn't know anything, only that it was getting hotter and hotter; and at last I was in a sort of dream, feeling as if I was going to be roasted." "How horrible!" cried Mark. "Yes, sir, it was horrid, for the masts ketched fire and burned right up, and the great pieces of wood kept falling on the deck, and ropes were all alight--and swinging about with the burning tar. I didn't dream all that, for I see the big mast blazing from top to bottom, and it fell over the side; and then the others went, and the spars was on fire, and the booms at the sides. And at last, as the fire came nearer and nearer, sir, I knew that if I lay there any longer I should be burned to death, and I thought I'd move." "And very wisely," said the major. "Yes, sir; but I couldn't," said the stowaway. "I wanted badly, and tried and tried, but I was much too weak. And that's what made it seem like a dream; for the more I tried to creep out from under the sail, the more I lay still, as if something held me back. And all the time there was a puddle of melted pitch bubbling and running slowly toward me. My face burned and my hands were scorched, the wood was crackling, and the pitch rising up in blisters. And if the smoke had come my way I couldn't have breathed; but it all went up with the flames and sparks. But the heat--oh, the heat!" "And you couldn't crawl out?" "No, sir; couldn't move--couldn't raise a hand; and I lay there till I couldn't bear it no longer, and tried to shriek out to the Malay chaps to come and put me out of my misery, for I wanted to die then; and I'd waited too long, for I couldn't even make a sound." "And what happened next?" asked Mark, for the man had ceased speaking. "Dunno, sir. One moment it was all fiery and scorching, the next I seemed to go to sleep like, and didn't feel any more pain till I woke." "Till you woke?" said the major. "Well, yes, sir. It was like waking up, to find it was all dark, and the wind blowing, and the rain coming down. Then the sea was roaring horribly; and after lying perished with cold there and helpless for a long time, I suppose I went to sleep again. Oh, dear me!" The major and Mark exchanged glances, for the poor fellow put his hand to his head and stared about him for a few moments as if unconscious of their presence. "But you got safe to land?" said Mark at last. "Eh?" "I say you escaped," said Mark. "Did I, sir?" "Yes, of course. You are here." "Oh, yes--I'm here, sir! but I don't know hardly how it was." "Can't you recollect?" "Yes, I think I can, sir, only my head's so tight just now. I think this handkerchief I tied round when it bled does it, but I'm afraid to take it off." "Wait a bit and we'll do that," said the major kindly. "Will you, sir? Thank ye, sir." "But how did you get ashore?" said Mark. "In the ship, sir. I suppose the rain and the waves must have put out the fire, and what's left of her went bumping over rocks and knocking about, making my head ache horribly till I went to sleep again; and when I woke it was all bright and fine, and the half-burned ship close to the sands in shallow water, so as when the tide's down you can walk ashore." "The ship here?" "Yes; round there, sir," said the poor fellow wearily. "There's some half-burned biscuit in her, and I've been living on that and some kind of fruit I found in the woods when I could get ashore. I brought this thing for a walking-stick." "Then the ship is ashore here?" cried the major joyfully. "Yes, sir; but she's not good for anything but firewood," said the stowaway sadly. "Ah! we shall see about that," said the major. "I'm glad you've escaped, my lad." "And has everybody else, sir?" said the man. "No, not everybody," said Mark; "but my father and the ladies and the officers are safe." "Don't say as Billy Widgeon isn't saved, sir," cried the man piteously. "No, because he is," replied Mark. "That's a comfort," said the stowaway. "Look here, my man," said the major, "how far is it to the ship?" "I don't know, sir. I'd come a long way when I heard guns, and walked on till I saw you; and I thought I should have dropped when I lost sight of you again." "Ah, you're very weak," said the major. "'Taint only that, sir; for it's enough to frighten a man to death or send him mad to be all alone here in a place like this." "Why, it's a very beautiful place, Jimpny." "Yes, sir, to look at; but as soon as you go into the woods to find fruit there's things flies at you, and every now and then in the night there's a great bull roaring thing that makes a horrid noise." "Indeed!" said the major, exchanging glances with Mark. "Yes; something dreadful, sir." "Ah, well! we needn't talk about that now," said the major. "We will not go on to the ship, but get back to camp--eh, Mark?" "Yes, sir: the news will be glorious," cried Mark. "And what are you going to do?" said the major drily. "Go back to the ship?" "Go back to the ship, sir!" cried the stowaway wildly. "No, no, sir! Pray don't leave me alone! I can't bear it, sir--I can't indeed--it's too awful! Mr Mark, sir, don't let him leave me! Say a kind word for me! I'd sooner lie down and die at once!" He flung himself upon his knees, the spear falling beside him on the sand, as he joined his hands together and the weak tears began to stream down his cheeks. "Get up!" said the major roughly, "and act like a man. Don't be such a whimpering cur!" "No, sir, please, sir, I won't, sir; but I'm very weak and ill, sir. Take me with you, please, sir, and I'll do anything you like, sir." "Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," said the major sharply, "for thinking that two English gentlemen would be such brutes as to leave a sick and wounded man alone in a place like this. Eh, Mark?" "Yes, sir," said the lad, flushing at being called an English gentleman. "But he is very weak and ill." "That's it, sir--that's it," cried the man piteously. "You will take me, then?" "Of course. Come along," said the major. "Confound that monkey!" For, while they had been intent upon the man's account of his escape, Jack had been busy covering himself with feathers, as he plucked away at first one and then another of the birds. "Ah! would you?" cried the major as Jack chattered fiercely upon the bird being taken from him, and then retreated behind Bruff. "I'll carry those, sir," said Jimpny. "I'll take that too. Would you lend me a handkychy or a bit o' string, Mr Mark, sir, to tie their legs together, and then I can carry the lot over my shoulder, some before and some behind." "Fore and aft," said Mark, taking a piece of fishing-line from his pocket. "Yes, sir, that's it," said the man; "but I can't never recollect those sailors' words. "That's your sort," he continued cheerfully, as the birds' legs were securely tied, and as he knelt on the sand he got them well over his shoulder, got up slowly by a great effort and essayed to start, then reeled, and recovered himself, reeled again, and fell headlong with his load. He raised himself slowly to his knees, and looked pitifully from one to the other, and then at his load. "I'm no good," he said in a whimpering tone. "I never was no good to nobody, and I never shall be." "Bah! stuff!" cried the major. "Here, untie them, and tie two, two, and four together, Mark. I'll take four, and you a pair each." "Let's make Bruff carry two," said Mark, as soon as the birds were freshly disposed, and hanging a pair pannier fashion over the dog's back, leaving thus a pair apiece, they started, after a vain attempt on the part of the stowaway to obtain permission to carry four. Bruff protested at first, and seemed to consider it to be his duty to lie down and get rid of his load; then when it was replaced, with stern commands to him to carry it, he took upon himself to consider that it must be carried in his jaws, when Jack bounded to his side and began to pick out the feathers. But after a little perseverance the teachable dog bore his load well enough, and the little party trudged back over the firm sand. They made a pause by the clear water for refreshment and then went on again, but only slowly, for the stowaway was very weak and the heat great, while it was piteous to see the brave effort he made to keep up with his load. This at last was plainly too much for him, and he was relieved, Mark and the major taking it in turns. But even then it was all the poor fellow could do to keep on walking, and the journey back proving longer than they had imagined, it was night and quite a couple of miles away when Jimpny broke down. "I don't mind, gentlemen," he said; "I shall be so near the camp that I sha'n't mind." "Near the camp!" cried the major; "why, we are nearly an hour's walk away." "Yes, sir; but that can't matter now. I know that there's someone in the place and that my trouble's over, so I can lie down here in the soft sand and go to sleep till morning, and then I shall be able to come on." "Here, Mark," said the major decisively, "pick out a comfortable spot somewhere. Here, this will do--by this point. We'll settle down here. Leave the birds, my lad, and go on with the dog. Ask the captain to send three men to help us back into camp. I'll stay with Jimpny till they come." "No, no, sir. I shouldn't like that," said the stowaway. "Let me stay with him, sir," cried Mark; and after a great deal of arguing it was finally decided that Mark should stay, and selecting a hollow beneath some jutting masses of rock where the sand lay thick, the stowaway was helped to his natural couch, the birds were thrown down, and after another brief argument, in which Mark declared he should feel far more nervous in going alone along the shore than in stopping, the major started off on his journey in search of help. _ |
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