CHAPTER XII
"THE PLUCK OF WOMAN"
Swiftly the sail was gathered in and the mast lowered, amidst a rattle of eager words. Only Loyola remained silent and downcast, for this blindness which attacked Jack so curiously with every sunrise hit her harder than any peril caused by the marooner's actions.
But Jack's keen ears noted her silence and realised its cause. Still seated as he was beside her, he felt clumsily for her hand; then, finding it, pressed it firmly, whispering,
"Cheer up, Lolie; my eyesight'll be all right directly I can get the correct treatment. Meanwhile, we'll just go on our way to Papeete and leave Mr. Dago Charlie standing."
"I'm trying to be brave, I'm trying to be brave," murmured the woman brokenly. "Only, only——"
"I know, dearie, I know," he broke in gently. "I know how it hurts you—yes, more than it does me, far more; but it'll all come right presently, don't you fear."
"But it does seem so hard, so very, very hard; and I was hoping so much——"
"Put not your trust in the moon," he laughed cheerfully; then went on, "You must steer, Lolie, as we want Tari to row."
The fact of being of some use seemed to hearten her considerably, and with a brighter face she took the steering-oar from the Kanaka.
"You stroke us, Jack," proposed Benson.
"'Xcuse me, boys, if my play with an oar is some wantin' in skill," observed the cowpuncher. "My eddication's been some neglected in rowin', an' I'm shore a tenderfoot at the game a whole lot."
Then away they went, Jack setting a steady stroke and Broncho at the bow oar pulling all he knew, but splashing freely with the clumsiness of a novice.
"I shore wishes this here were a paddle," he grunted. "I savvys paddles, but rowin' this-away comes plumb strange to me."
"Shoo, man, you're doin' fine! Reg'lar Varsity h'oar, I calls yer; fit for a captain's gig," declared Bill.
Jim, much against his wish, had been placed in reserve.
The whaleboat pulled easily over the long swell, and though worn to a degree, the castaways dipped their oars with the energy of desperation.
The blind stroke, drawing upon his wonderful reserve of strength, made the stout ash bend with his efforts, the man-of-war's man ably backing him up; whilst Tari, the indefatigable, pulled with the easy, untiring swing of the South Sea whale-hunter.
The moisture glistened on their stern-set, resolute faces as the sun beat down upon them with an eye-wearying glare.
The water rippled cheerily from the bends of the keen-lined boat, and swirled astern hissing and bubbling, whilst the ploughing oars churned up the calm depths of blue into a creamy yeast, leaving behind them at each stroke a miniature whirlpool, which seemed to move hastily away from the cruel blades, slicing their way so steadily through the transparency of the Pacific, and blurring its face as they drove the whaleboat onward.
An enthusiasm in this desperate race raised the watching boy's spirits to a gay fearlessness, and he burst forth into a well-known snatch:
"An' it's drill, ye tarriers, drill!
For it's work all day, without sugar in ye tay,
An' it's drill, ye tarriers, drill!"
"That's the style, Jim!" jerked the blind stroke approvingly. "Let it rip! That's the medicine!"
"Shore!" gasped Broncho.
"An' here comes the dago diggin' out after us," cried Bill. "They're pipin' fust an' second cutters away aboard the pirateer."
The Black Adder had lowered two boats full of men, which now came dancing over the swell in chase of the whaleboat, for all the world like two bustling centipedes.
"Jim serve out a cocoanut per man. Easy all, boys. Let's get our wind and a little refreshment, then we'll soon show 'em what we can do," said Jack, lying on his oar.
"That's the ticket! We'll stoke up an' revive ourselves before the final 'eat," declared Bill. "For it's a case of brace up an' get a wiggle on if we're goin' to stop that dago swab from bussneckin' round us."
"I'd shore like to put the hobbles on the rancorous hold-up," growled Broncho, as he sucked his cocoanut. "I feels kind o' gore-thirsty an' bulgin' with animosity this maunin'. I hungers for a show-down with them two boats. A long range duel makes me peevish a whole lot. My mood ain't in the saddle that-away, I wants to get clos't to my work. I jest itches to get my claws on to that 'ere maroonin' desperado and jolt him up some. I reckon he'd be some scarce o' tail-feathers when I'm through with him."
"Our game will be to draw the boats as far away from the schooner as we can," put in Jack; "and then, if the worst comes to the worst, we must fight 'em off. No, Broncho, no hand-to-hand rough-and-tumble if we can avoid it. Remember Loyola's a woman, though she's got a man's name and a man's nerve."
"It shore gets clean stampeded out o' my mind," muttered the cowpuncher.
"Then I'm blind and useless," went on Jack. "That leaves three men and a boy to tackle two boat-loads of cutthroats. No, no, our rifles are our only chance."
"Aye, Jack's right," agreed the bosun's mate. "We must revolute clear o' them jossers some'ow. We don't want it to come to fixin' bayonets to 'old 'em off."
Their small refreshment finished, the castaways took to their oars again with renewed vigour; but despite their desperate efforts, the schooner's boats began slowly to close upon them.
The cowboy, unaccustomed to rowing, with all his grit, was fast tiring out, and his oar began to cleave the water in uncertain jerks; he wasted his strength at the wrong moment, and began to find a difficulty in keeping time.
Jack still pulled an easy, mechanical stroke, putting a steady, unchanging power into his work, whilst Tari seemed almost as fresh as at the start; but Bill Benson, with the moisture pouring off his face, though pulling with strength and determination, was beginning to breathe heavily, and the strain upon him showed in the haggard look of his eyes.
Matters were looking very serious for the whaleboat's crew, and in that raging calm there was no hope of a helping sail appearing in sight.
Jim was sent to Broncho's thwart to help him, and everything not absolutely necessary thrown overboard to lighten the whaleboat; but still the dago gained upon them, until, as the sun neared the meridian, the schooner was almost hull down, whilst the boats were within a cable's length and a half of their quarry.
Loyola, with the rifles by her side, stood swaying gracefully to the swell as she held the boat's head on its course.
She made a lovely picture, standing there so straight and fearless, her little sun-browned hands grasping the steering-oar and the big slouch hat shading her dauntless eyes from the glare of the tropical sun.
From time to time she spoke to the toiling men with bright words of encouragement, which always brought a renewed strength to their aching muscles and produced a look of fierce determination in their tired eyes.
Then for a spell she would fall silent, and lose herself in her thoughts as she looked at the blind stroke, until her soul crept out of her sad eyes in a soft glow of infinite tenderness.
The tired, hard-lined features of the men softened as they watched her, then hardened again at the sight of the on-coming boats. The bosun's mate hissed a sea-blessing through his sternly compressed lips as he glared at the persevering dago; then, bringing his eyes back to the toiling shoulders of the blind man before him, he bent to his work with a queer expression of pity twisting up his face.
As for Jack, since their short meal he had rowed in inscrutable silence, his eyes closed, and only the fierce, unnatural strength which he put into the sweep of his oar-blade gave any indication of how deeply this blindness was cutting into his very soul. And, indeed, it was a bitter position to be in for one of such a self-reliant and masterful nature as Jack. The weak man whimpers when taxed by fate beyond his strength, but there was little weakness in Jack. Whimpering was not the method his wilful spirit thought of taking to ease its agony; no, he preferred action, and as a sharp report broke in upon his ears and the soft "Theeu!" of a bullet hummed over his head, he braced up with a queer laugh which had little mirth in it. No better tonic could have been dealt out to the man; the light of battle leaped into his sightless eyes, and washed away the misery—all gone, forgotten.
"Now for it," he muttered to himself grimly.
A man was standing up in the sternsheets of the leading boat, a smoking rifle in his hand.
"It's Dago Charlie," cried Loyola, looking over her shoulder, and she gave an irrepressible shudder.
"Loyola, you used to be a nailing shot with a rifle," declared Jack. "See if you can't stop that devil's game."
"Oh, Jack, I can't shoot at live men," declared the girl, in great distress.
"Why not, if they're shooting at you? and it's our only hope. Will you let that scoundrel win after all this long struggle without an effort to stop him? No, Lolie, I know you won't; you're too clean-strain to turn soft like that."
His words had the desired effect. In silence the woman let go of the steering-oar, and picked up one of the rifles at her feet; then, putting it to her shoulder in a workmanlike manner, glanced along the sights and fired.
A hoarse, shrill cheer from Jim announced a hit. The bow of the leading boat had toppled forward over his oar, and for a moment or so it ceased pulling, whilst the man was replaced.
Loyola paled to the lips as she watched the result of her shooting, but a bullet from the dago, which drilled a neat double hole through the brim of her sombrero, stirred her up afresh.
"Sit down directly you see the smoke of his rifle," counselled the blind man.
"Hell!" muttered Bill, below his breath. "There's more sand in that gal than the whole o' Southsea beach."
As for Broncho, his eyes sparkled in keen appreciation, and her nerve inspired a fresh life in his stroke. Gripping his oar, he lay back to it with such force as to near upset Jim off the thwart by his side.
And now a strange duel began between Dago Charlie and Loyola, marooner and marooned; and as the bullets came sizzling over the whaleboat, a fire of comment and encouragement broke out amongst the castaways, their fatigue all forgotten in the excitement of the moment.
If my reader has ever been under fire he will understand the feeling which fills one in such a position.
It is a difficult one to describe. Indeed, the hum of a bullet overhead affects most men differently; but unto all who are not cowards is given a strange uplifting of the spirit, unexplainable in words, but one which sends the blood coursing through the veins with a speed and vigour which no other form of excitement is able to rival.
The sensation of the gambler at the roulette table is mild compared to it; the fighter in the prize-ring has an inkling of it; the keen mountain climber thinks he has, but is mistaken: no, no one but he who has been face-to-face with flying bullets has experienced the mightiest thrill that one's senses can receive.
I have seen men whose nerves were of such steadiness that they could walk up and down, smoking, under heavy fire; but even they, when watched closely, exhibited unmistakable signs that this thrill within gripped them.
They were not smoking like a man does in his armchair by his home fireside. No; no slow meditative puffs here, but a quick indrawing and expelling of the smoke in rapid, ceaseless breaths, and there was a light in their eyes only to be seen in the firing-line.
Such a light could now be seen in each pair of eyes owned by the occupants of the whaleboat; even the blind ones gleamed with it.
Again the leading pursuer stopped to replace a wounded oarsman.
"Good for you, mum," cried Bill delightedly. "You deserves a marksman's badge."
"An' I puts down a bet on that," agreed Broncho. "That mutineer can't buck against you, missy. He finds you has an ace buried every time. I reckon the baleful effec's o' your cannonadin' puts a diff'rent tint on his views o' life."
"He thought he was goin' to get us so easy, too," grinned Jim.
"He notes now as how shore things don't exist. Providence, if in the mood, can beat four aces an' the joker," declared the cowboy.
"Aye, an' a gal out-luck two boat-loads o' hell-scrapin's, easy as fallin' off a log," added Bill.
But Loyola was not going to have it all her own way: a shot from the pursuer made a long tear in her white dress, and the next one drew blood from her left shoulder.
"I can't stand this," declared Jack, his voice shaking. "You must stop firing, Lolie, and lie down in the bottom of the boat."
"Not I," cried the woman exultantly. "Do you think I'll hide on the flooring-boards now—now that I am being of some use; no, Jack, never!" and she shut her mouth with a snap of determination.
Jack fairly groaned in his distress, and with a tragic face bent to his work in silence.
But Loyola was all remorse in a moment when she saw how her words had hurt him.
"Oh, Jack," she cried out miserably, her passionate nature jumping from the heights of exultation to the very depths of self-reproach. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it! I'll do whatever you like, I swear I will. I'll lie flat in the bottom of the boat and never stir if you wish it."
The sensitive woman was greatly upset when she perceived how her quick, thoughtless words and refusal to obey Jack's request had made him feel his helplessness with a heavier weight than ever, and eagerly she tried to make amends.
But, at her words, Jack regained more of his old self. He knew well what it would cost her to lie down and take no part in the affray now that her blood was up, and though the thought of her being hit made him tremble, he gave in, saying:
"No, Lolie, you're quite right. Go on firing; you're our chief hope now, and I was a fool to think we could do without you."
"Dear old boy!" muttered the woman softly, below her breath. "I know what you thought and what you feared."
Then she rose to her feet and fired again, just as Dago Charlie was lifting his gun to shoot.
The castaways, watching the result of her shot, saw the buccaneer's gun drop from his hand, and, as he fell back into his seat, they cheered huskily.
"Copped it, the devil! Copped it this time," cried Bill. "Great shootin', mum. I'll sure cut the badge off my arm an' give it to you," referring to his marksman's badge.
"I reckon that maroonin' buckaroo's feelin' partic'lar pensif, not to say some perturbed," drawled Broncho, with a low note of satisfaction in his voice.
"Broncho, you and Bill cease rowing. Get your breath and come into the firing-line," broke in Jack sharply. "Tari and I can keep the boat going, and Jim can take the steering-oar. A little more shooting like that and the dago will get sick of it," he explained.
The two men unshipped their oars with alacrity, and, with Jim, clambered aft.
"What are you sightin' at, mum?" asked Bill deferentially. "You sure 'as the range proper."
"Two-fifty. They're not getting any nearer, either; do you think so, Bill?"
"No, mum, they ain't. They're just doin' a dockyard dip now. They ain't none eager to shorten your range, I'm reckoning."
Benson's first shot keeled over another man, and the leading boat stopped pulling again. Anxiously the castaways watched her. Evidently a heated discussion was going on.
Up got Dago Charlie in the sternsheets, and they noticed that his left arm was in a sling. A gigantic black faced him, gesticulating furiously with a windmill motion of his arms.
Then out came the dago's revolver, and the black sat sullenly down again.
"That ere mutineer gang seems near weakenin'," commented Broncho. "The lead we-alls deals out to 'em is kinder hard to chew on. They has four men in the diskyard, countin' the old he-coon, bein' three notches on Missy Lolie's stock and the hold-up Bill lays out."
The Black Adder's boats now drew together, and the whaleboat's crew watched them transferring wounded men from the first boat to the second without firing.
The operation was rushed through without much time lost, and then on came the first boat again with three new men in her; but a short cheer burst from the castaways as they noticed the second boat pull round and head away for the distant schooner.
But now a new man stood up in the sternsheets of the dago's boat and opened fire, and at his very first shot, over toppled Bill Benson.
Down went Loyola on her knees beside the wounded man, whilst Broncho snapped hurriedly at the marksman before he resumed his seat.
"Where's he hit?" asked Jack anxiously.
"He's only stunned, I think," replied Loyola, with a long sigh of relief. "The bullet has ploughed a groove through his hair, hardly cutting through the skin."
"Let him lie in the bottom of the boat, Lolie; you can do nothing for him. He'll come to after a bit, and soon be all right," declared Jack.
Dago Charlie was now only pulling leisurely, keeping up with the whaleboat, but taking care not to get any nearer.
Noting this, the castaways ceased firing except for an occasional shot, for their ammunition was beginning to get scarce.
Bill soon recovered his senses, and though at first feeling a bit queer and shaken, presently quite regained his old self.
All through that long, sweltering afternoon Jack and Tari pulled stubbornly, with tireless muscles, obstinately refusing to be relieved. Loyola had been compelled to lie down and rest in the bottom of the boat at Jack's feet, alongside Benson, and notwithstanding an occasional shot whistling overhead, so worn out was the woman from the trying time she had gone through, and lack of sleep, that she was soon dreaming peacefully in the land of nod.
Broncho, in the sternsheets with Jim, kept a keen watch on their pursuer, and was ready for him whenever the other man rose to fire. But the latter seemed to bear a charmed life; once Broncho knocked his hat off; then a bullet from the cowboy hit his rifle, and he had to take another; and a third time he was seen to put his hand up to his cheek, and feel where the lead had grazed his cheek-bone and cut a red line across his face, passing between his hat and his ear.
This last shot seemed to damp the man's ardour, and he evidently refused to stand up as a target for Broncho again, not knowing that he had shot the cowpuncher's belt-buckle away, and twice put lead into the whaleboat's stern-post.
Towards sunset, cocoanuts were served out again, and, whilst they refreshed themselves, the pursued discussed the situation.
"Seems to me he don' intend no more attackin'," observed the bosun's mate. "He's just keepin' station, relyin' on a breeze bringin' the schooner up presently."
"That's about it," agreed Jack. "Anyhow, bar a graze or two, we are better off than we were, whilst he's decidedly worse."
"I'm hopin' this sizzlin' sun is chawin' up that wounded arm o' his some," declared Broncho. "It comforts me a whole lot to think missy here has done put her mark on him, and I shore corrals in toomultuous delight if it goes to throbbin' an' achin'——"
Broncho was interrupted by a sort of gasp from Jim, and the next moment the boy toppled up against him in a dead faint.
Tenderly the cowpuncher took the poor boy in his arms, whilst Loyola, with big tears in her eyes, sprinkled water over the pale, drawn little face, saying over and over again to herself,
"Poor Jim! poor little Jim!"
"What's up?" asked the blind man.
"Jim's strength has quit him, an' he's vamoosed into a faint," replied the cowboy.
"Why, what's this?" cried the girl, in consternation. "Look at his shirt; it's all soaked with blood."
"Blast me if the youngster ain't been wounded all this time," exclaimed Bill.
"An' never tole no one! He's clean-strain, is Jim," muttered Broncho hoarsely, as Loyola tenderly bathed the place and pulled away the blood-stained shirt from the wound.
"Where's he hit?" came the strained, husky voice of the blind man again.
"Bullet's glanced off 'is ribs an' made a nawsty gash," said Bill.
"The son of a gun! the son of a gun! An' he never tole no one!" repeated Broncho softly.
With quick, gentle fingers Loyola skilfully bound up the wound, using a strip of flannel torn from Bill's shirt, and Broncho's gay, silk kerchief, which the cowboy always wore, prairie fashion, round his neck.
Hardly had she finished her bandaging before the boy opened his eyes and looked round wonderingly.
"Wha's th' matter?" he asked faintly.
"W'y, you tried to outhold that wound o' yours, sonny, an' it overplayed you; but Missy Lolie has done bound it up an' blocked its little game," explained Broncho, smiling on him with a great affection in his eyes.
"Dear little Jim!" cried Loyola impulsively, flinging her arms round the boy and kissing him. "You'll feel better soon."
"Lay him down on the blankets," said Jack, in a low voice.
He and Tari still pulled steadily—they did not dare stop—and Tari kept the boat's head straight, no one being at the steering-oar.
With tender hands the boy was placed full length in the bottom of the boat, and Loyola insisted on his having a whole extra cocoanut served out to him.
This the boy drank off with feverish haste, betraying to the others the torments of thirst he must have been suffering the whole afternoon.
The milky juice put new strength into him, and declaring vehemently that he felt all right, he wanted to get up and take the steering-oar again; but this the others would not allow, and he had to remain lying where he was.
As the sun dropped below the horizon, a ripple was perceived upon the water right ahead.
"Wind at last!" cried Loyola, "and we'll get it first."
Jack and Tari put all their strength into a last spurt, whilst Bill and Broncho hastily stepped the mast and hoisted the lugsail, Loyola taking the helm.
Then darkness, the breeze, and Jack's weird eyesight sprang upon them together.
Gaily the tired rover pulled in his oar and looked eagerly about him; then he bent down, and by the light of the bright stars examined Jim's wound.
"I see you've been in good hands, Jim," he remarked, referring to Loyola's skilful bandaging.
"It's the touch of her fingers makes me feel better," whispered the boy, with a quick blush.
"Same here," declared Jack, with a curious smile. Then a sudden impulse took him, and, stepping aft, he looked deep into the woman's wavering eyes; and there must have been some magic in that one look of Jack's, for a flood of dark crimson crept slowly over Loyola's face.
For one brief second she felt his strong arm round her shoulders and his lips against her lips; then, with the low, whispered words, "Bravest and dearest!" he turned and joined Bill and Broncho, who were sweeping the horizon with the Ocmulgee's glass, searching for the Black Adder.