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Pirate Island: A Story of the South Pacific

<h3>Chapter Eighteen.</h3> <h4>Alarm and disaster.</h4> Lance’s long and fatiguing watch beside the death-bed of the unfortunate armourer of course delayed to some extent Captain Staunton’s reply to the suggestion which Dickinson had made on behalf of himself and certain of his comrades. But the skipper had, to save time, discussed the matter with the rest of the party, coming to the conclusion that they would be quite justified, under the circumstances, in accepting the services of these men; and on the morning following the armourer’s death—Lance having enjoyed a good night’s rest—his opinion was taken upon the question, with the view of giving the men an answer forthwith. Evelin listened attentively to everything that was said; and then remarked— “Well, gentlemen, I quite agree with you that the assistance which the men have it in their power to afford us would be most valuable; it would clear away a good many of our difficulties and would go a long way toward ensuring success in our endeavour to escape—an endeavour which I must confess I have always secretly regarded with a considerable amount of doubt and misgiving. It has always presented itself to me as an undertaking of a decidedly desperate character; and now it appears more so than ever, having regard to the very disagreeable change in Ralli’s treatment of us. The only question in my mind is one of duty—duty to our country and to the world at large. We must not forget that the men who now come to us with offers of assistance are men who have, in the past, outraged every law, human and divine; and justice demands that they shall be delivered up to punishment. Now, if we accept their services we certainly cannot afterwards denounce them; it would be rank treachery on our part. How do you propose to overcome this difficulty?” “We have thought of that,” replied Captain Staunton; “it is the only question which has bothered us; and, for my own part, I can only see one solution of it. No word has, it is true, been said by them as to our keeping their secret, but I think there can be no doubt that such a stipulation was intended to be understood; and in any case I fully agree with you that we cannot justly avail ourselves of their assistance and afterwards hand them over to the authorities. My view of the case is this. Here we are, in what is beyond all doubt a most desperate scrape. A chance—and a very slight chance it is—offers for our escape, and most opportunely these men come forward with an offer of assistance. If we let slip this slight chance it is extremely doubtful whether we shall ever have another; and that, I imagine—taking into account the future possibilities of evil in store for the helpless women dependent upon us—counts for something, and justifies us is accepting help from almost any source. Then, as regards the men themselves. It is undoubtedly true that they have committed crimes which place them quite outside the pale of human mercy, if justice alone is to be considered. But for my own part I believe that they have repented of their past misdeeds—at any rate they say so, and we have no reason to doubt the truth of their assertion. They ask for an opportunity to reform; they desire a chance of making amends, as far as possible, for the past evil of their lives; and I have an idea, gentlemen, that though, in giving them such a chance, we might not be acting in accordance with man’s idea of strict justice, we should be following pretty closely upon God’s idea of it. He breaks not the bruised reed nor quenches the smoking flax; and if He thus declares his readiness to give even the most doubtful and unpromising of His creatures another trial, I really do not see that we are called upon to be more strict than He is. My proposal, therefore, is that we should accept these men’s proffered assistance; that we should do what we may be able to do for them in the way of giving them the opportunity they desire; and if justice is to overtake them—if punishment is to follow their past misdeeds, let it be due to some other agencies than ours. If God intends them to suffer punishment at the hands of their fellow-creatures, He will provide the instruments, never fear. But I think it far more likely He will give them another chance.” “I, too, believe He will,” said Lance. “You take a view of the matter which I confess with shame had not presented itself to me, and I am convinced. These men have committed crimes of exceptional enormity, it is true; but it is not for us to draw the line—to say to whom mercy shall be granted and from whom it shall be withheld; therefore let us accept their offer, and leave the matter of their punishment in God’s hands.” Thus, then, it was decided; and Bob—as the least likely to excite suspicion if seen in conversation with any of the pirates—was deputed to inform Dickinson that his offer and that of his mates’ had been accepted, and to request him to call—without exciting observation, if possible—at the cottage that evening. When the gentlemen returned home at the close of the day’s work, they found Blanche and Violet in a state of considerable nervous excitement, owing, they asserted, to their having been frightened that day while at their work of gold-collecting in the cavern. On being asked for a detailed account of the circumstance which had alarmed them, Violet said— “We had been at work about two hours, and had just reached the edge of the gulf with our second load, when we were startled by hearing somewhere near us a sound like a deep long-drawn sigh, followed almost immediately afterwards by a loud moan. I have no doubt you will think us dreadful cowards, but it is no use concealing the truth—we simply dropped the gold and flew back along the passage to the great cavern at our utmost speed. Arrived there, we sat down to recover ourselves, and at length succeeded so far that we were both inclined to believe we had been victimised by our own imaginations—you know what an eerie place it is, and how likely to excite weird fancies in the minds of nervous timid women like ourselves. So we summoned up all our courage and went to work once more. We naturally felt somewhat reluctant to visit the scene of our fright again; but we overcame the feeling and made our third journey to the chasm without experiencing any further shock to our nerves. On our fourth journey, however, we had reached the place, deposited our load, and had just set out to return when the same sounds were repeated, much more loudly than at first, and accompanied this time by a loud prolonged hiss such as I should imagine could proceed only from some gigantic serpent. We were thoroughly terrified this time, and fled once more, not only to the cavern but thence into the open air, and home. I do not know how we may regard the matter in the morning; but at present I really do not feel as though I could ever venture into the place again until the mystery has been solved and the cause of those terrifying sounds discovered.” “Of course not,” said Captain Staunton. “None of you must attempt to visit the cavern again until we have had an opportunity of investigating the matter. It is possible—though, mind you, I don’t think it at all probable—that a serpent or large reptile of some kind may have made its way into the gallery. And, at all events, it will never do for you ladies to run the slightest risk. What do you think, Evelin?” he added, turning to Lance. “Is it likely that there may be a snake or something of the sort there?” “Not likely, I should say,” responded Lance; “we have never encountered a reptile of any description, large or small, in the course of our rambles about the island. But of course there is just the bare possibility—I cannot put it any stronger than that—of a snake drifting here on an uprooted tree or large branch. I have heard of snakes being seen in the branches of trees drifting down rivers in flood-time, and there is no reason why, under such circumstances, they should not be carried clear out to sea. Whether, however, a serpent could exist long enough to make the voyage from the mainland to this island is, in my opinion, exceedingly doubtful. Still, I quite agree with you that the ladies ought not to make any further visits to the cavern until we have discovered the source of their alarm.” This singular circumstance gave rise to a considerable amount of speculation among the members of the party; and they were still discussing the matter when a knocking was heard at the door, and, in obedience to Captain Staunton’s stentorian “Come in,” Dickinson entered. “Sarvent, ladies,” exclaimed the new-comer with an elaborate sea-scrape. Then, seating himself in the chair which Captain Staunton indicated, he continued, “Well, cap’n, and gentlemen all, I’ve just comed up, you see, in obedience to your commands of the forenoon sent through the young gentleman there”—pointing to Bob—“and to talk matters over as it were.” “That’s all right, Dickinson,” answered Captain Staunton; “we are very glad to see you. Robert of course told you that we have decided to accept the assistance of yourself and such of your shipmates as are to be thoroughly relied upon?” “He did, sir; and right glad and thankful I was to hear it,” replied Dickinson. “Of course we knowed right well, sir, how much we was axing of you when we offered to chime in on your side. We was just axing that you’d take us upon trust as it were, and believe in the honesty and straight-for’ard-ness of men as had proved theirselves to be rogues and worse. But you’ve took us, sir, and you sha’n’t have no cause to repent it; we’re yours, heart and soul; hence-for’ard we takes our orders from you, and we’re ready to take any oath you like upon it.” “No oath is necessary, my good fellow,” said Captain Staunton; “your bare word is quite sufficient, for if you intend to be faithful to us you will be so without swearing fidelity; and if you mean to betray us an oath would hardly stop you, I am afraid. But we do not doubt your fidelity in the least; the only thing we have any fear about is your prudence.” “Ah, yes; there sir, we may fail,” said Dickinson with a mournful shake of the head. “But you give your orders, sir, and we’ll do our best to obey ’em. But afore you lays your plans I think you ought to know how things is standing among us just now. I’m greatly afeared you’re like so many young bears—with all your troubles afore you. That Greek rascal, Ralli, has been doin’ his best to stir up all hands of us against you—and particler against you, Mr Evelin—by saying as it was all along of you as the poor armourer lost his life. He holds as how you killed him by taking off his legs, and that you desarves to be severely punished for doing of it; and there’s some of the chaps as is fools enough to listen to what he says and to believe it too. But there’s me and Tom Poole and two or three more—we’re going to hold out to it that you did the best you could for the poor chap; and that if it hadn’t ha’ been for Ralli’s own obstinacy the man wouldn’t never have been hurt at all. And, however the thing goes, you may depend upon me to give you timely warning.” “Thank you, Dickinson,” said Captain Staunton. “This information which you have just given us is most valuable, and renders it all the more necessary that we should promptly mature our plans. Now, to show you how thoroughly we trust you, I will explain those plans as far as we have yet arranged them; you can then tell us what you think of them; and you will also be better able to understand in what way you and your shipmates can prove of most use to us.” “Well, if that don’t beat all!” exclaimed Dickinson, after Captain Staunton had stated their plans. “To think as you should go for to arrange to run away with the schooner herself! Why, I thought the most you’d do would be to provision and seize the launch, and go off to sea in her, taking your chance of being picked up some time or another. Well, there ain’t a soul amongst us, I knows, as has so much as the ghost of a hidee about your taking the schooner. Some of the hands seems to have a kind of notion—I’ve found out since I spoke to you t’other day—that you may try to slip off some day if you gets the chance; but they just laughs at it you know, and asks how you’re to manage, and how far you’d get in a boat afore the schooner’d be alongside of you, and that-like. But your plan’s the right one, cap’n—no mistake about that. And now, just say what you want us chaps to do, and we’ll do it if it’s any way possible.” “How many of you are there?” asked the skipper. “How many, I mean, upon whom we can absolutely depend. Bear in mind that no one who is not thoroughly trustworthy is to be let into the secret.” “All right, sir; you trust me for that,” answered Dickinson. “For my own sake—letting alone yours and the ladies’—you may depend on’t I won’t let out the secret to the wrong people. Well; let me just reckon up how many of us there’ll be in all. Firstly there’s eight of you, counting in Mr Bowles and Kit, and leaving out the ladies. Then there’s the three other lads and the four men as was brought in with you, that’s seven—seven and eight’s—” “Fifteen,” interjected the skipper. “Thank’ee, sir, I ain’t much of a hand at figgers myself, but in course you’re right—fifteen it is,” said Dickinson. “Then there’s me and Tom Poole—that’s my pertickler mate—promoted he is to the armourer’s berth—and Dick Sullivan and Ned Masters—that’s four more, making fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—nineteen, ain’t it, sir?” “Quite right,” answered Captain Staunton. “Then there’s the prisoners, as we calls ’em—men, you know, sir, as has been took out of ships and wouldn’t jine the ‘Brotherhood’—I won’t say much about them just yet, but there’s about half a dozen very likely hands among ’em that I think’ll just jump at the chance of getting out of this. Tom and me’ll sound ’em cautious like, and hear what they’ve got to say for theirselves.” “Very well,” said Captain Staunton. “And in the meantime it seems that there are nineteen of us, all told, who are to be absolutely relied upon—quite enough to handle the schooner if we can only manage to get away with her. Now, what we have to do is this. The ballast and the water-tanks are already fixed in their places, so that need not trouble us; but we must contrive to get the tanks filled as early as possible. Then, as soon as the decks are laid we must get conveyed on board all the provisions we can possibly manage. Then we shall want arms and ammunition; the guns too must be hoisted in, under the pretence of fitting the slides properly. The spars are already commenced. They, or at least the lower-masts and bowsprit, must be stepped before the craft is launched; that can easily be managed, I think; the other spars also should be finished and got on board as early as possible, and likewise the sails. There are the stores of every kind also to be got on board—in short, I should like to have the craft in a state of readiness to go to sea directly she leaves the stocks. But I really don’t see how it is to be managed; we shall never be able to do a quarter of what we want without arousing Ralli’s suspicions.” “Oh, bless you, sir! yes, you will,” said Dickinson confidently. “Ralli’s taken a mortal dislike to you all, and ’specially to Mr Evelin,—sorry I am to say so,—and he just hates to be dictated to. Now, whatever you want, just let Mr Evelin tell him he ought to do the opposite of it, and, take my word for it, he’ll just go and do exactly what he thinks you don’t want him to; he’ll do it out of sheer contrariness. But, whether or no, now that we knows what’s wanted, we—that’s me and my mates—we’ll do as much of it as we can, and you’ll have to manage Ralli so’s to get the rest.” “Very well, Dickinson,” said the skipper, “we understand each other fully now, so I will not detain you any longer. Do what you can to forward the plan, and let us know from time to time what success you are meeting with.” “All right, sir, I will; thank’ee, sir. Good-night, ladies and gentlemen all.” And Dickinson, taking the hint, retired. The gentlemen sat for an hour or two after that, talking over matters as they smoked their pipes, and then Captain Staunton, Lance, and Bowles rose and left the cottage to pay a visit to the cavern. In due time they reached the place, proceeding at once to the chasm, where they forthwith commenced a vigorous but unsuccessful search for the origin of the mysterious sounds which had disturbed the ladies. Finding nothing, they began their task of conveying the gold collected that day across to the heap on the other side of the gulf. This heap was now assuming goodly proportions. There was more of it than an ordinary ship’s boat could take at a single trip, even in the calmest of weather; and Lance was in the act of remarking to Captain Staunton that he thought enough had now been collected to satisfy their every want, when a weird, unearthly moan smote upon their ears from the depths of the abyss. The sound, though not particularly loud, was so startling, echoing and reverberating, as it did, among the cavernous recesses far below, that the work was brought to a sudden standstill, and the three bewildered men felt their hair bristling as they listened. “What, in Heaven’s name, can it be?” ejaculated the skipper as he turned his startled gaze upon Lance. “Impossible to say,” answered the latter. “One thing, however, is certain; no human lungs could possibly give utterance to such a sound. And yet I don’t know; the echoes of the place may have the property of magnifying and prolonging it. Hillo, there! is there anyone below?” he continued, raising his torch aloft and peering with craned neck down into the black depths of the chasm. There was no response. And the light of the torch was quite inadequate to the illumination of more than a few feet from the surface. “It is possible that, if there is anyone down there, he may be unable to hear me. Sound rises, you know. Here, Bowles, come across to this side. We will unite our voices and see if that will evoke any response,” said Lance. Bowles scrambled nimbly along the narrow and dangerous pathway, which, having traversed it so often, now had no terrors for any of them, and speedily joined the others. “Now,” said Lance, “I will count three, and then we will all shout together, ‘Hillo!’ One, two, three—Hillo!” The cry went pealing away right and left of them along the dark gallery, the echoes taking it up and tossing it wildly from side to side, up and down, until it seemed as though every rock in the vast cavern had found a voice with which to mock them; but no answering cry came from below. “There is no one there,” said Lance. “Indeed there can be no one there; nobody has been missed, and—” “Hark! what was that?” A long-drawn sobbing sigh, such as a child will utter after it has cried itself to sleep, but very much louder; and immediately afterwards a gust of hot air, which brought with it a distinct odour of sulphur, swept past them down the gallery. “God of mercy! can it be possible?” ejaculated Lance. “Yes, it must be. Fly for your lives; we may not have a moment to lose.” “What is it?” gasped Captain Staunton, as the three started at a run up the gallery in the direction of the great cavern. “A volcano,” answered Lance. “There are subterranean fires in activity at no great depth beneath our feet, and they may break into open eruption at any moment.” This was enough; his companions wanted to hear no more. The few words they had already heard lent wings to their feet, and in an incredibly short time they found themselves, panting and exhausted with their unwonted exertions, once more in the open air. “Now we are comparatively safe,” said Lance as they walked rapidly down the ravine. “What I chiefly feared was one of those earthquake shocks such as sometimes precede a volcanic eruption. A comparatively insignificant one might have proved sufficient to cause the walls of the cavern to collapse and bury us. Of course the ladies must be cautioned not to venture near the place again; but I think perhaps it will be better not to tell them why. It will only alarm them—perhaps unnecessarily—and keep them on the tiptoe of nervous anxious expectancy. The better plan will be to say that we consider we have now as much gold as we think it probable we shall be able to take away. Don’t you think so, Staunton?” “Assuredly I do,” answered the skipper emphatically. “Why, I would not allow my wife to enter that cavern again for all the gold it contains.” They reached the cottage without further adventure; and on the following morning the ladies were told by Captain Staunton that, sufficient gold having now been collected, there would be no further necessity for them to continue their visits to the cavern, which, moreover, Mr Evelin considered unsafe, the peculiar noises which had startled them all being in his opinion an indication of its liability to collapse at any moment. After this a month passed away unmarked by anything worthy of record, except the ever-increasing insolence and tyranny of Ralli toward our unfortunate friends. The battery was by this time complete, the guns mounted, and the ammunition stored in its magazine; whilst the schooner was also in a very forward state. She was fully planked, decks laid, the ballast stowed, bulwarks and hatchways completed, her bottom coppered up to the load water-line, her hull outside painted with a coat of priming, and the carpenters, assisted by the handiest men they could pick out, were busy finishing off the fittings of the cabin and forecastle. Lance had been anxiously watching for a favourable opportunity to put into operation Dickinson’s suggestion as to the mode in which Ralli should be approached in order to secure the completion of the work in the manner most favourable to their own plans, but hitherto no such opportunity had presented itself. This was peculiarly unfortunate, as the work was now in so forward a state that, whenever Ralli opened his mouth, he expected to hear the dreaded order given for the preparation of the ways and the construction of the cradle for launching. But at length the coveted opportunity came. It was about nine o’clock in the morning when Lance saw Ralli step out of his gig on to the rocky platform at the lower end of the shipyard and walk straight toward the schooner. The Greek paused at a little distance from where Lance was at work, taking up a position from which he could obtain a favourable view of the vessel’s beautifully modelled hull and gracefully sweeping lines; and then, with one eye shut, he began a critical scrutiny of her, shifting his position a few inches occasionally in order to test the perfection of the various curves. “Now,” Lance thought, “is my time. I must tackle him at once, whatever comes of it; it will never do to defer the matter any further. Another hour’s delay may upset all our plans.” So, throwing down his tools, he stepped up to Ralli and said— “I want to speak to you about the launch. We have now done nearly all that we can do to the schooner whilst she remains on the stocks, and our next job will be to lay down the ways and—” Ralli turned suddenly upon him with an evil gleam and glitter in his eyes which spoke volumes as to the envy and hatred he bore to this man, who, though a prisoner and practically a slave, still revealed in every word and gesture his vast and unmistakable superiority to every other man on the island, its ruler included. “Aha! mister soldier,” he said—using the mode of address which, for some reason known only to himself, he deemed most offensive to Lance—his lips curling into a sneering smile as he spoke, “what are you doing away from your work? Go back to it at once, unless you wish me to start you with a rope’s-end as I would an unruly boy.” “I have no work to go back to,” said Lance; “I am simply wasting my time at present, and I wanted to learn your wishes as to what is to be done next I presume you will have the craft launched forthwith, as she is now ready to take to the water; and I should be glad to know what timber we are to use for the ways.” “You presume I will have the craft launched at once,” repeated Ralli, the spirit of opposition rising strong within him, and the sneer upon his lips growing more bitter with every word he uttered. “Why should you presume any such thing, eh, you sare?” “Because it is the right and proper thing to do,” answered Lance. “Every lubber knows that a ship is launched before she is rigged. Besides, if you were to decide upon having the spars stepped and rigged, the stores stowed, and the guns hoisted in before she leaves the stocks, I should have a lot of extra trouble in calculating the proper distribution of the weights so as to ensure her being in proper trim when she takes to the water, and I want to avoid all that if possible.” The Greek grinned with vindictive delight as he listened to this apparently inadvertent admission on Lance’s part. It revealed to him, as he thought, a new and unexpected method of inflicting annoyance upon this man whom he hated so thoroughly, and his eyes fairly sparkled with malice as he answered— “What do you suppose I care about your extra trouble, you lazy skulking hound? I tell you this: I will have every spar stepped, rigged, and put in its place; the running rigging all rove; every sail bent; every gun mounted; the magazine stowed; the stores and water all put on board; and everything ready for the schooner to go straight out to sea from the stocks, before she leaves them. Poole! Dickinson!”—to the two chums who were working at no great distance—“come here and listen to what I say. This stupid fellow—this soldier who thinks himself a sailor—says that the schooner ought to be launched at once. I say that she shall be finished ready for sea before she leaves the stocks; and I place you, Dickinson, in charge of the work to see that my orders are obeyed. This fellow will no longer give any orders; he will be only a common workman; he will obey you in future, or you will freshen his way with a rope’s-end. You understand?” “Ay, ay,” answered Dickinson, “I understands yer, Ralli, and I’ll do it too, never fear,”—with a scowl at Lance for Ralli’s benefit. “Why, the man must be a fool—a perfect fool—not to see as it’d be ever so much easier to get things aboard now than when she’s afloat. Now, you”—turning to Lance—“you just top your boom and git away back to your work at once, and don’t let me see no more skulking or you’d better look out.” Lance simply shrugged his shoulders, as was his habit whenever he received any insolence from the members of the “Brotherhood,” and, turning on his heel, walked back to his work, secretly exulting in the complete success of his manoeuvre. Dickinson looked after him contemptuously for a moment or two, and then, his face clouding, he remarked— “Arter all, I wish I hadn’t spoke quite so rough to him; the chap’s got his head screwed on the right way; he knows a mortal sight of things as I don’t understand, and I’d ha’ been glad to ha’ had his help and adwice like in many a little job, as I’m afeared we’ll make a bit of a bungle of without him.” “That is all right,” said Ralli. “You shall be able to talk him over, Dickinson. Be a bit civil to him and he will tell you all that you will want to know. Leave the—what you call?—the bullying to me; I shall take the care that he enough has of that.” And now—on that same morning, and only an hour or two after the conversation just recorded—there occurred an unfortunate incident which completely dissipated Lance’s exultation, filling him with the direst and most anxious forebodings, and threatening to utterly upset the success of all their carefully arranged plans. It happened thus. Some timber was required by the carpenters on board the schooner; and Dickinson, eager to properly play his part in the presence of the Greek—who was standing close by—ordered Lance and Captain Staunton to bring up a large and heavy plank which he pointed out. They accordingly shouldered it, and, staggering under the load, proceeded upon their way, which led them close past the spot where Ralli stood. As they were passing him it unfortunately happened that Lance stepped upon a small spar, which, rolling under his feet, caused him to stagger in such a way that the plank struck Ralli full in the mouth, knocking away three or four teeth and cutting open both lips. The fellow reeled backwards with the severity of the blow, but, recovering himself, whipped out his long knife, and, pale as death with passion, rushed upon Lance. Captain Staunton saw what was about to happen, and shouted in warning, “Look out, Evelin!” flinging the plank to the ground at the same instant in such a way as to momentarily check the rush of the Greek. Lance at the call turned round, and was just in time to save himself from an ugly blow by catching Ralli’s uplifted arm in his left hand. The pirate, lithe and supple as a serpent, writhed and twisted in Lance’s grasp in his efforts to get free, but it was all in vain; he was helpless as a child in the iron grasp of the stalwart soldier, and he was at length compelled to fling his knife to the ground and own himself vanquished. But no sooner was he once more free than, calling to his aid a dozen of the most ruffianly of his band, he ordered them to seize Lance and the skipper, and to lash them hand and foot until the irons could be brought and riveted on. This was done; and an hour afterwards, to the grief and consternation of all concerned in the plan of escape, the two to whom they chiefly looked for its success were marched off to the “Black Hole,” each man’s ankles being connected together by a couple of close-fitting iron bands and two long fetter-links. <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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