The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean by R. M. Ballantyne (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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“Now, lads,” whispered the captain, as he walked along the line of men, who were all armed to the teeth, “don’t be in a hurry, aim low, and don’t waste your first shots.”
He then pointed to the boat, into which the men crowded in silence. There was no room to row, but oars were not needed, as a slight push against the side of the schooner sent the boat gliding to the shore.
“There’s no need of leaving two in the boat,” whispered the mate, as the men stepped out; “we shall want all our hands. Let Ralph stay.”
The captain assented, and ordered me to stand in readiness with the boat-hook, to shove ashore at a moment’s notice if they should return, or to shove off if any of the savages should happen to approach. He then threw his carbine into the hollow of his arm and glided through the bushes followed by his men. With a throbbing head I awaited the result of our plan. I knew the exact locality where the musket was placed, for Bill had described it to me, and I kept my straining eyes fixed upon the spot. But no sound came, and I began to fear that either they had gone in another direction or that Bill had not fixed the string properly. Suddenly I heard a faint click, and observed one or two bright sparks among the bushes. My heart immediately sank within me, for I knew at once that the trigger had indeed been pulled but that the priming had not caught. The plan, therefore, had utterly failed. A feeling of dread now began to creep over me as I stood in the boat, in that dark, silent spot, awaiting the issue of this murderous expedition. I shuddered as I glanced at the water that glided past like a dark reptile. I looked back at the schooner, but her hull was just barely visible, while her tapering masts were lost among the trees which overshadowed her. Her lower sails were set, but so thick was the gloom that they were quite invisible.
Suddenly I heard a shot. In a moment a thousand voices raised a yell in the village; again the cry rose on the night air, and was followed by broken shouts as of scattered parties of men bounding into the woods. Then I heard another shout loud and close at hand. It was the voice of the captain cursing the man who had fired the premature shot. Then came the order, “Forward,” followed by the wild hurrah of our men, as they charged the savages. Shots now rang in quick succession, and at last a loud volley startled the echoes of the woods. It was followed by a multitude of wild shrieks, which were immediately drowned in another “hurrah” from the men; the distance of the sound proving that they were driving their enemies before them towards the sea.
While I was listening intently to these sounds, which were now mingled in confusion, I was startled by the rustling of the leaves not far from me. At first I thought it was a party of savages who had observed the schooner, but I was speedily undeceived by observing a body of natives—apparently several hundreds, as far as I could guess in the uncertain light—bounding through the woods towards the scene of battle. I saw at once that this was a party who had out-flanked our men, and would speedily attack them in the rear. And so it turned out, for, in a short time, the shouts increased ten-fold, and among them I thought I heard a death-cry uttered by voices familiar to my ear.
At length the tumult of battle ceased, and, from the cries of exultation that now arose from the savages, I felt assured that our men had been conquered. I was immediately thrown into dreadful consternation. What was I now to do? To be taken by the savages was too horrible to be thought of; to flee to the mountains was hopeless, as I should soon be discovered; and to take the schooner out of the creek without assistance was impossible. I resolved, however, to make the attempt, as being my only hope, and was on the point of pushing off when my hand was stayed and my blood chilled by an appalling shriek in which I recognised the voice of one of the crew. It was succeeded by a shout from the savages. Then came another, and another shriek of agony, making my ears to tingle, as I felt convinced they were murdering the pirate crew in cold blood. With a bursting heart and my brain whirling as if on fire, I seized the boat-hook to push from shore when a man sprang from the bushes.
“Stop! Ralph, stop!—there now, push off,” he cried, and bounded into the boat so violently as nearly to upset her. It was Bill’s voice! In another moment we were on board,—the boat made fast, the line of the anchor cut, and the sweeps run out. At the first stroke of Bill’s giant arm the schooner was nearly pulled ashore, for in his haste he forgot that I could scarcely move the unwieldy oar. Springing to the stern he lashed the rudder in such a position as that, while it aided me, it acted against him, and so rendered the force of our strokes nearly equal. The schooner now began to glide quickly down the creek, but before we reached its mouth, a yell from a thousand voices on the bank told that we were discovered. Instantly a number of the savages plunged into the water and swam towards us; but we were making so much way that they could not overtake us. One, however, an immensely powerful man, succeeded in laying hold of the cut rope that hung from the stern, and clambered quickly upon deck. Bill caught sight of him the instant his head appeared above the taffrail. But he did not cease to row, and did not appear even to notice the savage until he was within a yard of him; then, dropping the sweep, he struck him a blow on the forehead with his clenched fist that felled him to the deck. Lifting him up he hurled him overboard and resumed the oar. But now a greater danger awaited us, for the savages had outrun us on the bank and were about to plunge into the water ahead of the schooner. If they succeeded in doing so our fate was sealed. For one moment Bill stood irresolute. Then, drawing a pistol from his belt, he sprang to the brass gun, held the pan of his pistol over the touch-hole and fired. The shot was succeeded by the hiss of the cannon’s priming, then the blaze and the crashing thunder of the monstrous gun burst upon the savages with such deafening roar that it seemed as if their very mountains had been rent asunder.
This was enough. The moment of surprise and hesitation caused by the unwonted sound, gave us time to pass the point; a gentle breeze, which the dense foliage had hitherto prevented us from feeling, bulged out our sails; the schooner bent before it, and the shouts of the disappointed savages grew fainter and fainter in the distance as we were slowly wafted out to sea.
Reflections—The wounded man—The squall—True consolation—Death.
There is a power of endurance in human beings, both in their bodies and in their minds, which, I have often thought, seems to be wonderfully adapted and exactly proportioned to the circumstances in which individuals may happen to be placed,—a power which, in most cases, is sufficient to carry a man through and over every obstacle that may happen to be thrown in his path through life, no matter how high or how steep the mountain may be, but which often forsakes him the moment the summit is gained, the point of difficulty passed; and leaves him prostrated, with energies gone, nerves unstrung, and a feeling of incapacity pervading the entire frame that renders the most trifling effort almost impossible.
During the greater part of that day I had been subjected to severe mental and much physical excitement, which had almost crushed me down by the time I was relieved from duty in the course of the evening. But when the expedition, whose failure has just been narrated, was planned, my anxieties and energies had been so powerfully aroused that I went through the protracted scenes of that terrible night without a feeling of the slightest fatigue. My mind and body were alike active and full of energy. No sooner was the last thrilling fear of danger past, however, than my faculties were utterly relaxed; and, when I felt the cool breezes of the Pacific playing around my fevered brow, and heard the free waves rippling at the schooner’s prow, as we left the hated island behind us, my senses forsook me and I fell in a swoon upon the deck.
From this state I was quickly aroused by Bill, who shook me by the arm, saying,—
“Hallo! Ralph, boy, rouse up, lad, we’re safe now. Poor thing, I believe he’s fainted.” And raising me in his arms he laid me on the folds of the gaff-top-sail, which lay upon the deck near the tiller. “Here, take a drop o’ this, it’ll do you good, my boy,” he added, in a voice of tenderness which I had never heard him use before, while he held a brandy-flask to my lips.
I raised my eyes gratefully, as I swallowed a mouthful; next moment my head sank heavily upon my arm and I fell fast asleep. I slept long, for when I awoke the sun was a good way above the horizon. I did not move on first opening my eyes, as I felt a delightful sensation of rest pervading me, and my eyes were riveted on and charmed with the gorgeous splendour of the mighty ocean, that burst upon my sight. It was a dead calm; the sea seemed a sheet of undulating crystal, tipped and streaked with the saffron hues of sunrise, which had not yet merged into the glowing heat of noon; and there was a deep calm in the blue dome above, that was not broken even by the usual flutter of the sea-fowl. How long I would have lain in contemplation of this peaceful scene I know not, but my mind was recalled suddenly and painfully to the past and the present by the sight of Bill, who was seated on the deck at my feet with his head reclining, as if in sleep, on his right arm, which rested on the tiller. As he seemed to rest peacefully I did not mean to disturb him, but the slight noise I made in raising myself on my elbow caused him to start and look round.
“Well, Ralph, awake at last, my boy; you have slept long and soundly,” he said, turning towards me.
On beholding his countenance I sprang up in anxiety. He was deadly pale, and his hair, which hung in dishevelled locks over his face, was clotted with blood. Blood also stained his hollow cheeks and covered the front of his shirt, which, with the greater part of dress, was torn and soiled with mud.
“Oh, Bill!” said I, with deep anxiety, “what is the matter with you? You are ill. You must have been wounded.”
“Even so, lad,” said Bill in a deep soft voice, while he extended his huge frame on the couch from which I had just risen. “I’ve got an ugly wound, I fear, and I’ve been waiting for you to waken, to ask you to get me a drop o’ brandy and a mouthful o’ bread from the cabin lockers. You seemed to sleep so sweetly, Ralph, that I didn’t like to disturb you. But I don’t feel up to much just now.”
I did not wait till he had done talking, but ran below immediately, and returned in a few seconds with a bottle of brandy and some broken biscuit. He seemed much refreshed after eating a few morsels and drinking a long draught of water mingled with a little of the spirits. Immediately afterwards he fell asleep, and I watched him anxiously until he awoke, being desirous of knowing the nature and extent of his wound.
“Ha!” he exclaimed, on awaking suddenly, after a slumber of an hour, “I’m the better of that nap, Ralph; I feel twice the man
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