Cord and Creese Part 12

"It must have been some other s.h.i.+p, then," said Brandon, musingly.

"But how did you get here, and how long have you been here?"

Brandon had long since decided on the part he was to play. His story was all ready.

"My name is Edward Wheeler. I came out supercargo in the brig _Argo_, with a cargo of hogshead staves and box shooks from London to Manilla.

On the 16th of September last we encountered a tremendous storm and struck on this sand-bank. It is not down on any of the charts. The vessel stuck hard and fast, and the sea made a clean breach over us.

The captain and crew put out the boat, and tried to get away, but were swamped and drowned. I staid by the wreck till morning. The vessel stood the storm well, for she had a solid cargo, was strongly built, and the sand formed rapidly all about her. The storm lasted for several days, and by the end of that time a shoal had formed. Several storms have occurred since, and have heaped the sand all over her. I have lived here ever since in great misery. Yesterday a vessel pa.s.sed, and I put up a signal on the rock over there, which she did not notice. In despair I set fire to the brig, which was loaded with wood and burned easily. I watched till morning, and then fell asleep. You found me so. That's all I have to say."

On hearing this story nothing could exceed the kindness and sympathy of these honest-hearted seamen. The Captain insisted on his taking another drink, apologized for having to carry him back to England, and finally hurried him off to the boat. Before two hours Brandon stood on the deck of the _Falcon_.

CHAPTER IX

THE MALAY PIRATE

Two days had pa.s.sed since Brandon's rescue. The light wind which had brought up the _Falcon_ soon died out, and before the island had been left far behind a calm succeeded, and there was nothing left but to drift.

A calm in other seas is stillness; here on the Indian Ocean it is stagnation. The calmness is like Egyptian darkness. It may be felt. The stagnation of the waters seems deep enough to destroy all life there.

The air is thick, oppressive, feverish; there is not a breath or a murmur of wind; even the swell of ocean, which is never-ending, here approaches as near as possible to an end. The ocean rolled but slightly, but the light undulations gave a lazy, listless motion to the s.h.i.+p, the span creaked monotonously, and the great sails napped idly in the air.

At such a time the calm itself is sufficiently dreary, but now there was something which made all things still more drear. For the calm was attended by a thick fog; not a moist, drizzling fog like those of the North Atlantic, but a sultry, dense, dry fog; a fog which gave greater emphasis to the heat, and, instead of alleviating it, made it more oppressive.

It was so thick that it was not possible while standing at the wheel to see the forecastle. Aloft, all the heavens were hidden in a canopy of sickly gray; beneath, the sea showed the same color. Its gla.s.sy surface exhibited not a ripple. A small s.p.a.ce only surrounded the vessel, and beyond all things were lost to view.

The sailors were scattered about the s.h.i.+p in groups. Some had ascended to the tops with a faint hope of finding more air; some were lying flat on their faces on the forecastle; others had sought those places which were under the sails where the occasional flap of the broad canvas sent down a slight current of air.

The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, while Brandon was seated on a stool near the wheel. He had been treated by the Captain with unbounded hospitality, and supplied with every thing that he could wish.

"The fact is," said the Captain, who had been conversing with Brandon, "I don't like calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and least of all, calms off these infernal islands."

"Why?"

"Because to the north'ard is the Strait of Sunda, and the Malay pirates are always cruising about, often as far as this. Did you ever happen to hear of Zangorri?"

"Yes."

"Well, all I can say is, if you hadn't been wrecked, you'd have probably had your throat cut by that devil."

"Can't any body catch him?"

"They don't catch him at any rate. Whether they can or not is another question."

"Have you arms?"

"Yes. I've got enough to give Zangorri a pleasanter reception than he usually gets from a merchant-s.h.i.+p; and my lads are the boys that can use them."

"I wonder what has become of that other s.h.i.+p that pa.s.sed me on the island," said Brandon, after a pause.

"She can't be very far away from us," replied the Captain, "and we may come up with her before we get to the Cape."

A silence followed. Suddenly the Captain's attention was arrested by something. He raised his hand to his ear and listened very attentively.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, quickly.

Brandon arose and walked to where the Captain was. Then both listened.

And over the sea there came unmistakable sounds. The regular movement of oars! Oars out on the Indian Ocean! Yet the sound was unmistakable.

"It must be some poor devils that have escaped from s.h.i.+pwreck," said the Captain, half to himself.

"Well, fire a gun."

"No," said the Captain, cautiously, after a pause. "It may be somebody else. Wait a bit."

So they waited a little while. Suddenly there came a cry of human voices--a volley of guns! Shrieks, yells of defiance, shouts of triumph, howls of rage or of pain, all softened by the distance, and all in their unison sounding appallingly as they were borne through the gloom of the fog.

Instantly every man in the s.h.i.+p bounded to his feet. They had not heard the first sounds, but these they heard, and in that superst.i.tion which is natural to the sailor, each man's first thought was that the noises came from the sky, and so each looked with a stupefied countenance at his neighbor.

But the Captain did not share the common feeling. "I knew it!" he cried.

"I expected it, and blow my old eyes out if I don't catch 'em this time!"

"What?" cried Brandon.

But the Captain did not hear. Instantly his whole demeanor was changed.

He sprang to the companion-way. He spoke but one word, not in a loud voice, but in tones so stern, so startling, that every man in the s.h.i.+p heard the word:

"Zangorri!"

All knew what it meant. It meant that the most blood-thirsty pirate of these Eastern seas was attacking some s.h.i.+p behind that veil of fog.

And what s.h.i.+p? This was the thought that came to Brandon. Could it by any possibility be the one which pa.s.sed by him when he strove so earnestly to gain her attention!

"Out with the long-boat! Load the carronade! Man the boat! Hurry up, lads, for G.o.d's sake!" And the Captain dashed down into the cabin. In an instant he was back again, buckling on a belt with a couple of pistols in it, and calling to his men, "Don't shout, don't cheer, but hurry, for G.o.d's sake!"

And the men rushed about, some collecting arms, others laboring at the boat. The _Falcon_ was well supplied with arms, as the Captain had said.

Three guns, any quant.i.ty of smaller arms, and a long Tom, formed her armament, while the long-boat had a carronade in her bows. Thanks to the snug and orderly arrangement of the s.h.i.+p, every thing was soon ready.

The long-boat was out and afloat. All the seamen except four were on board, and the Captain went down last.

"Now, pull away, lads!" he cried; "no talking," and he took the tiller ropes. As he seated himself he looked toward the bows, and his eyes encountered the calm face of Brandon.

"What! you here?" he cried, with unmistakable delight.

Brandon's reply consisted simply in drawing a revolver from his pocket.

"You're a brick!" said the Captain.

Not another word was spoken. The Captain steered the boat toward the direction from which the sounds came. These grew louder every moment--more menacing, and more terrible.