Fire Island Part 43

"Right you are, mate. That's it."

"Might keep off a harrer," said Smith, thoughtfully, "but bullets would go through it like they would through a bar o' soap."

"Yah, that's where you allers haggravates me, Tommy. I knows you're cleverer than I am, but sometimes you do talk so soft."

"What d'yer mean?"

"I mean what's the good o' you hargying whether a bullet would go through a thick plank or whether it wouldn't, when it's on'y a split pole and so many wooden spells. Don't you see it ain't a board but on'y a ladder; and I'm sick on it, that I am."

"Then let me carry it."

"Sharn't!"

"Will you two men be quiet?" said Oliver in a sharp whisper. "Do you want to betray our whereabouts to the enemy?"

"It aren't me, sir, it's Tommy Smith keeps a-haggrywating like."

"I aren't, sir! it's Billy Wriggs a-going on about that ladder as he's got to carry."

"Well, it is a nuisance to be carrying a thing like that about all night. Lay it down, man. I daresay we can find it again in the morning. Now follow us on quietly."

Oliver joined his companions, and the two sailors were left a little way behind.

"Now, then! d'yer hear?" whispered Smith. "He telled yer to chuck that there ladder down."

"I don't care what he telled me, Tommy. He aren't my orficer. I was to carry that there ladder, and I'm a-goin' to carry that there ladder till my watch is up."

"Yah! yer orbsnit wooden-headed old chock."

"Dessay I am, Tommy, but dooty's dooty, and s.h.i.+p's stores is s.h.i.+p's stores. I've got to do my dooty, and I aren't going to chuck away the s.h.i.+p's stores. That sort o' thing may do for natralists, but it don't come nat'ral to a sailor."

"You won't be better till you've had a snooze, Billy. Your temper's downright nasty, my lad. I say, what's that?"

"Which? What? Wheer?"

"Yonder, something fuzzy-like coming along yonder."

"n.i.g.g.e.rs," whispered back Wriggs. "You can see their heads with the hair standing out like a mop. But say, Tommy, what's that up yonder again the sky?"

"Nothin' as I knows on."

"Not there, stoopid: yonder. If that there ain't the wane on the top of our mast sticking up out of a hindful o' fog, I'm a Dutchman."

"Talking again?" said Oliver, angrily.

"Yes, sir, look!" whispered Smith. "Yonder's the brig."

"Can't be that way, my man."

"But it is, sir, just under that bit o' fog. See the little weather-c.o.c.k thing on the mast?"

"Of course! Bravo! Found."

"Yes, sir, and something else, too," growled Wriggs. "Look yonder behind yer. n.i.g.g.e.rs--a whole s.h.i.+p's crew on 'em and they're coming arter us--there under the moon."

"Yes," said Oliver sharply. "Now, then, for the brig. Sharp's the word."

"Where is it?" asked Panton excitedly, as he too caught sight of the undefined hazy figures of the Papuans beneath the moon.

"There in that patch of fog: the top mast shows above it. Altogether: run."

They set off at full speed, nerved by a yell from the savages, when, all at once, the thin mist which had hidden the s.h.i.+p was cut in half a dozen places by flashes of light. The dull reports of as many rifles smote their ears, and as Oliver uttered a sharp cry, Wriggs went down with a rush, carrying with him the ladder, which fell crosswise and tripped up Panton and Smith, who both came with a crash to the ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE VALUE OF A LADDER.

A yell of triumph rose from the savages, and they stopped short to send a little flight of arrows at the knot of men struggling to their feet-- no easy task, for Panton's right leg had gone between two of the rounds, and as he strove to get up he jerked the implement, and upset Smith again.

"Don't--don't fire," cried Drew, who rushed forward, and none to soon; for the clicking of locks came out of the thin mist. "Friends!

friends!"

A cheer rose at this; but it was answered by another yell, and the savages came on now at a run.

"Hurt, Lane, old chap?"

"Don't talk: forward, all of you."

Somehow or another the little party, hurt and unhurt, rose to their feet, and ran hard for the brig, fortunately only a short distance away, but their speed did not equal that of the arrows winged after them, and one of the deadly missiles struck Panton in the shoulder, making him utter an angry e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, stop, turn, and discharge both barrels of his gun at the advancing enemy.

"Don't; don't stop to do that," groaned Oliver. "To the brig, man--to the brig."

He spoke in great pain, but the two shots had their effect, for they checked the advancing enemy for a few moments, and gave the flying party time to struggle to the side of the brig, but utterly worn out and exhausted. Then a terrible feeling of despair came over them as they looked up and saw that if the savages came on their case was hopeless, for the gangway was fastened up and sails had been rigged up along the bulwarks as a protection against an attacking foe, while to open out and let down steps would have taken many valuable minutes, and given the enemy time to seize or slay.

"Quick, my lads, throw them ropes. Hold on below, there; we'll soon haul you up."

Oliver saw that long before they could be dragged up it would be all over with them, and he placed his back to the vessel's side, meaning to sell his life as dearly as he could, while the others followed his example, feeling completely shut out from the help they had sought.

"Fire over our heads, sir," cried Drew, "we must not wait for ropes."

"Yes. Guns, all of you," cried Mr Rimmer, as the savages came on in the moonlight, winging arrow after arrow, which stuck in the s.h.i.+p's side again and again.

"Hooray for Billy Wriggs!" yelled Smith just then, as his comrade came panting up last.

"Here y'are gents," cried Wriggs, and with steady hands he planted the ladder he had been so long abusing right up against the side. "Now, then, up with yer, Mr Oliver Lane, sir."

"No, no; up, Drew."