Story 1--Chapter XXXIV.
Rasp’s Plans.
Dutch Pugh’s doom was not sealed, for, as he was struggling on, holding his breath, and trying to reach the ladder and climb up before he should become senseless, there came help.
It was Lauré’s act he knew, and even in those excited moments he could tell that here was the meaning of the forebodings he had felt, and the thought of Hester left in the villain’s power half maddened him as his temples throbbed, his senses began to reel, and he staggered, and felt that something was holding him back from the haven of safety he sought to reach.
Pleasant old memories began to float before his vision—days when he had wandered with Hester through the sunny country lanes, and she confessed her love for him; and all seemed bright and beautiful. He was in no pain, and he only knew that he had just reached the ladder, and was trying to ascend, when a dark cloud floated before his eyes—a cloud of dark-red blood, and then there was a shock and a concussion, and he knew no more.
The shock was the jerking of the life-rope, and the concussion was his helmet striking against the side of the ladder, for as the struggle went on, Rasp gave the word to Oakum and ’Pollo, they hauled together, and, in spite of the weight, ran Dutch up to the side in a few moments, dragged him through the gangway, and as he lay on the deck Rasp rapidly stooped down and, turning a screw, threw open one of the plate-glass eyes of the helmet.
“Further this way,” whispered Rasp again, and, Oakum stooping down with him, they dragged the senseless man along the deck, away from the struggle that was going on.
At the end of two or three minutes, Oakum and Rasp, who felt that the time was not ripe, and that any attempt at resistance on their part would have resulted, as they were unarmed, in failure, saw the captain, Mr Meldon, and Wilson driven below, Mr Parkley, in his cumbersome diving suit, being thrust down directly after; and then the conquerors turned towards John Studwick, who was lying panting where he had been dashed, with his sister holding his head in her lap, while Hester had run to the side of her husband.
Old Rasp ground his teeth as, at the Cuban’s orders, the invalid was roughly raised by the men, in spite of Bessy’s shrieks, dragged from her, and thrown down the hatchway, while Bessy was dragged to the fore cabin and thrust down there.
“I’m a saving of all this up, Sam Oakum,” whispered Rasp. “I shall pay it all off on Mr Blackguard here some day.”
“Some night,” whispered Sam Oakum back in a choking voice, “and that’s to-night.”
“What did you drag that dog here for?” cried the Cuban, now coming up, sword in hand, and making a thrust at the prostrate figure, as Hester tried to relievo Dutch of his helmet.
“Here, mind what you’re after,” said Rasp, snappishly, warding off the blow with an iron bar. “Don’t be a fool. ’Spose you spyle that ingy-rubber soot, how are we going to get another?”
The Cuban turned upon him furiously, but as the quaint old fellow seemed not in the least afraid, he turned it off with a laugh.
“What did I pull him up for, eh?” said Rasp. “Why, becos I haven’t done with him. I haven’t forgot my percentage on the silver, captain, and this one’s worth half-a-dozen of that t’other old chap.”
“You’re a strange fellow, Rasp,” said the Cuban.
“Strange, am I? I’ve been a diver this forty year a’most, and I’ve never had such diving as this afore. It’s too good to be spyled because you get wild, so now then.”
“You’re right, Rasp,” said the Cuban, laughing, as Hester darted an indignant look at the gruff and apparently heartless old fellow. “Here, a couple of you, throw this dog down in the cabin.”
As a couple of the men approached, the Cuban took a turn up and down the deck, and Hester started as Rasp, while apparently leaning over the helmet, whispered:
“Don’t you resist, my pretty one, but go as he tells you; there’s help a coming.”
Lauré turned sharply back, stooped down, and caught the trembling woman by the wrist.
“Enough of this,” he exclaimed sharply, for one peculiarity of the man was that every time he was about to proceed to some act of violence he worked himself into a rage. “You come to me now.”
Hester hung back from him and tried to cling to her prostrate husband, but, remembering the words of old Rasp, she suffered Lauré to lead her forward.
“That’s more sensible,” he said, with a look that made her shrink. “To-morrow we will change cabins with those aft.”
He led her to the hatch, down which Bessy had been thrust, and ordered her to descend, which she did after a trembling glance at her husband, who still lay insensible, but with Rasp and Oakum bending over him, and the next moment, finding that she was evidently in the part that the Cuban had had furnished for his own use, and beyond which was his little sleeping cabin, she was clasped in Bessy Studwick’s arms.
“Why have you not thrown that dog overboard or below?” cried the Cuban, returning to where Dutch lay.
“Don’t you be in such a ’nation hurry,” growled Rasp. “I’m not going to have my helmets and diving tackle misused by nobody. These things may be worth fifty thousands pounds yet, and if they’re bruised or have holes broke in ’em, how are we to get ’em mended?”
As he spoke, Rasp, with Oakum’s help, dragged off the india-rubber suit and removed the helmet very carefully.
“There,” he said, “now you can have him; and none of your pitching him down like you did the others. He’s valuable, he is.”
The Cuban kicked the senseless man brutally as he lay, and, two of the sailors taking him by the legs and arms, he was dragged to the hatch, and then drawn heavily down the stairs.
“If I don’t warm the wax o’ that fellow’s ears for all this, Sam Oakum, my name ain’t Rasp,” said the old fellow, laughing to himself. “I want one of these here diving suits very pertickler, my friend, very pertickler indeed. Ho, ho, ho!”
“Right,” said Oakum, in a low voice. “To-night, mind.”
“Oakum,” said the Cuban sharply; and the old sailor faced round, wondering whether he had been heard, while Rasp went on mending and arranging his diving tackle as if nothing was the matter.
“Sir to you,” said Sam.
“I shall sail to-night or to-morrow morning. Have all ready.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” said Sam cheerfully; and then to himself, “Perhaps you will, and for a longish voyage.”
“We’ve got all the silver here, and I think I shall try one more spot.”
“All right, capen,” said Sam; “nothing like having a good cargo while you’re about it.”
“Have all ready,” said the Cuban gloomily.
“Right, capen,” said Sam, “but—”
“Well, what?” said the Cuban, looking sharply round as if in search of danger; but the shore was on every side verdant and beautiful, the sea calm and bright, and nothing to show the horrors of the ship but a few spots of blood upon the white deck.
“I was on’y going to say as if I was skipper I should put off the start till the morning.”
“Why?” said the Cuban, looking at him searchingly.
“The sun’ll be down afore we could work out of this snug place so as to ketch the breeze, and there’s a rock there, and a rock there, and a couple more to starboard, and three off yonder to port. I shouldn’t like to take off a bit of the schooner’s keel, or poke a hole in her bottom, with all that silver aboard. A man likes to obey orders, capen: but when he’s got a stake in the safe running of the cargo, it makes him partickler like.”
“You’re right,” said the Cuban. “At daybreak, then.”
“Daybreak it is,” said Sam, giving his trousers a hitch; and taking out a little silver pipe, he blew a shrill note. “All hands ahoy!” he roared, and as the men collected, he set to work clearing away the lumber, coiling ropes ship-shape, hoisted a boat that had been down over the side, and then altered his mind and had it lowered again. “We shall want it for towing her head round in the morning,” he said, and so busied himself so as to have everything well forward, while the Cuban looked on with an approving eye.
“You shan’t be forgotten for all this, Sam Oakum,” he said.
“Thankye, capen, thankye,” said Sam, as the Cuban walked forward, and the old sailor filled a pipe for an extra luxury, just as it was getting dark.
“Here, you black-faced son of a coal-hole, give’s a light,” cried Sam, loudly, as he went to the galley where ’Pollo was busy preparing tea for all on board.
“Yes, Mass’ Oakum,” said the black, flinching from a blow aimed at him as he spoke, when, to the poor fellow’s horror, Sam seized him by the scruff of the neck, pushed his head into an open barrel, and whispered:
“Don’t you make a sound, ’Pollo, old man. It’s all my larks. Don’t laugh, you lubber, but get your biggest carving knife, and hide here in the middle watch: there’s a game on, my lad, and I want you to help to retake the ship.”
“Oh, golly, Mass’ Oakum, sah, dat I will; I bress de lor’, sah, you not big rufiyun affer all. I bress de lor’.”
“Hush! hold your tongue, lad. Mum’s the word. Now then, you black nigger, look alive with that grub,” he said aloud. “I’m ’most starving.”
He came out puffing away at his pipe as the Cuban came slowly along the deck, looking suspiciously at Sam, who, however, did not seem to heed his look, but fixing himself on the bulwark, with his legs under him, and his arm round one of the shrouds, he half-shut his eyes, and smoked away as if with real enjoyment, blinking at the shore, and all the while ripening his plans for the fierce work to be undertaken that night.