CONNELL MAKES GOOD HIS ESCAPE
From the very first Mike Connell had determined not to be captured, if he could possibly help it, wisely concluding that he would stand a better chance of serving his friend in freedom than as a prisoner. He realized that Ralph Darrell's enmity was especially directed towards Peveril, and believed that he, therefore, would be the principal object of attack. At the same time he knew that, no matter how desperately two might fight against six, there was little hope of success in face of such overwhelming odds. So, while he was prepared to throw himself heart and soul into the fray, he was also on the watch for a chance of escape.
The entrance of the Darrell's into the cavern had been so precipitate, and both of them had been so intent upon the object of their coming, that they had forgotten their usual precaution and neglected to close the door giving them admittance.
It was a slab of stone, carefully fitted to its place, swinging easily on iron pivots, and usually fastened by a stout spring. Being left open, it disclosed a patch of blackness a shade darker than the wall on either side, and this caught Connell's eye just as the rush was made.
Believing that here was offered a chance of escape that could be utilized better in darkness than in light, and knowing also that a battle against odds could be more successfully waged under the same conditions, he used his lantern as a weapon of offence, and thereby dashed out its flame at the very beginning of the fracas.
For a moment he entertained a vague hope that he would be able to draw Peveril with him into the place that he had discovered, and that thus they might effect an escape together. Quickly finding this impossible, he sprang to one side, after knocking down one of his enemies, groped along the wall until he found the desired opening, and entered it.
As he did so he came in contact with the slight figure of Mary Darrell, who had here taken refuge at the outbreak of the struggle, and was awaiting its termination in trembling anxiety. Now, thinking the new-comer to be her father, and desirous of saving him from harm, she gave the stone door a push that closed it. Then she said:
"I am so glad to have you safely away from those dreadful men, dear papa! Now you will go back with me to the house, won't you, for I am afraid to go alone?"
"Yes, only hurry!" whispered the Irishman, readily accepting the situation, but not daring to speak aloud for fear of betraying his identity. At the same time the thought, "What a coward the young fellow is, to be sneaking away from an elegant shindy like the one behind us! I've a mind to give him a taste of me fist for luck when we get out of this black hole! No, I will not, though. I'll lave him be, for wasn't it him saved Mr. Peril's life, after all?"
Resting one hand lightly on his guide's shoulder, he followed her closely, and had barely reached the foregoing conclusion when the girl flung open a door, and the two stepped into a lighted room. For a moment their eyes were completely dazzled by its brightness.
Mary was the first to become accustomed to the glare of light, and turned to speak to her supposed father. Upon seeing the face of a perfect stranger she uttered a cry of dismay, and started as though to fly, but the other clutched her arm.
"None of that, young feller!" he said, sternly. "Now that you've brought me so far you'll see me farther and show me the way out of here. You're a fine, bold chap, ain't you?" he added, in a tone of scorn. "Look like you was fitter to be a girl than a lad, any day, and, if it wasn't for the good turn you done me friend back yonder, I'd be tempted to give you a kindergarten lesson in the manly art of self-defence. As it is, I'll let you off this time, provided you'll show me the way out. But you want to get a move on."
Terribly frightened as she was, the girl still found strength to open a door on the opposite side of the room and motion for the man to pass through. As he did so she slammed it behind him and locked it. Then her overwrought feelings gave way, and she sank into a chair, sobbing hysterically.
Furious at finding himself thus tricked, the Irishman's first impulse was to turn and batter down the door, but a couple of heavy kicks delivered against it for this purpose brought forth a loud cry from some lower region.
"Hi! up dar. What you all a-doin'?"
At the same time it flashed into Connell's mind that his recent enemies of the cavern might appear at any moment and open the door in such a way as to cause him to regret that it had not remained closed. Besides, was he not capable of finding his own way out of a house?
"Of course I am," he muttered, "and I'd best be doing it in a hurry, too. So good-bye, young feller, and here's hoping we'll meet again."
Then he made his way down-stairs, opened a door, and found himself in a kitchen, confronted by a resolute old colored woman, who, after one glance at his strange face, let fly at it a ladle of hot water. This assault was immediately followed by such a well-directed shower of plates, pans, and culinary utensils as caused the intruder to utter howls of pain and make a blind dash for an outer door.
Even outside the house his troubles were far from ended, for shouting men were running towards him through the darkness, while at the same time a dog leaped at him.
Throttling the animal and flinging him off after a vigorous struggle, Connell had next to knock down a man who was attacking him on the opposite side, receive a blow from a broom-handle wielded by Aunty Nimmo, dodge several other assailants, and finally to run for his life.
When the poor fellow at length found himself alone and safe from present pursuit, he sat breathlessly on a log, over which he had just pitched headlong, and began to consider his situation.
"You may talk about your dynamite and gunpowder," he said, "but being blown up with aither of them isn't a patch to what I've gone through this night. What with being wracked on a rock in the sea, fighting smugglers, nagurs, and Polanders—to say nothing of dogs and other wild animals—beat and battered, torn and scalded, tripped up and lost in the wilderness, and all in the middle of a cruel blackness, is an experience that any man might be grateful to be done with. If I have a whole bone left inside of me skin, or a rag to me back, it's more than I'm hoping. Now what'll I do next?
"Will I go back to the house? Indade I will not. Will I make another try for the cave? Not so long as I have me right mind. Will I go back to Red Jacket?—and meet them as would ax me what had I done with Mister Peril? Not on your life. Where is Mister Peril at this blessed minute, anyhow? At sea on board the smuggler, or I miss me guess. How will I get to him? By taking a boat, of course. Where will I find one? At Laughing Fish Cove, to be sure. That's the very place, bedad! and the sooner I'm getting there the better."
The tug Broncho had reached Laughing Fish about an hour before Mike Connell arrived at this decision. She had come in search of the party of log-wreckers that she had brought to that place more than a week earlier, and now those on board were greatly troubled at not finding a trace of the missing men save their deserted camp. Nor could they obtain any information concerning them from the fisher folk of the cove.
On board the tug was Major Arkell, who had been led by curiosity to take the trip. He was curious to know what had become of the young man whom he had sent into that region to pick up wrecked logs, and he was also curious to ascertain what had become of a large number of those same logs that still remained unaccounted for. At the same time he would like to investigate certain reports that had reached him of the reopening of some old mine-workings in that neighborhood. He had hoped that his researches might not take him beyond Laughing Fish, where he anticipated finding Richard Peveril prepared to answer all his questions. Failing to discover the young man, or any trace of him, the problems that he had set out to solve became more interesting than before, and he ordered Captain Spillins to start at daybreak on a cruise still farther up the coast.
Early on the following morning, therefore, everything was in readiness on board the tug, and its crew were getting up the anchor when their attention was arrested by the shouts and gesticulations of a man on the beach.
"Send a boat in and see what he wants," said the manager; and ten minutes later Mike Connell was on board, telling his story to a highly interested group of listeners.
Within an hour after receiving her new passenger, the Broncho, under full head of steam, was several miles to the northward of Laughing Fish, and well out to sea, in hot pursuit of a small schooner. The latter was slipping easily along before the fresh morning breeze that had recently set in after a night of calm. The water rippled merrily past her flashing sides, and she was making some six miles an hour. At the same time the Broncho, pouring forth great clouds of soft-coal smoke and heaping the smooth water into double white-crested billows as she rushed through it, was doing two miles to her one, and would soon overtake her.
"Whatever can that bloomin' teakettle want of us?" growled the captain of the schooner as he blinked with half-closed eyes at his pursuer. "She ain't no revenue boat, as I can see. Tom, h'ist our ensign as a hint for 'em to keep away."
The sailor obeyed, and a minute later ran the crimson flag of Great Britain to the main peak, where it streamed out bravely in the freshening breeze.
"Got a flag aboard this boat, Captain Spillins?" asked Major Arkell as he watched the schooner from the Broncho's pilot-house.
"Yes, sir, two of 'em."
"Good. We'll see that fellow and go him one better. Set 'em both."
In consequence of this order the Stars and Stripes were quickly snapping defiantly from both the forward and after jack-staffs of the on-rushing tug.
"Sheer off, blast you, or you'll run us down!" bellowed the captain of the schooner as the tug ranged close abreast.
"Is that your man?" asked the manager, of Mike Connell.
"He is. Sure I'd know him from a thousand by me own frescos on his purty face."
"Have you a man named Richard Peveril aboard your craft?" demanded Captain Spillins.
"None of your d——d business."
"Run him down!" ordered Major Arkell, sternly, and the words had hardly left his mouth before the two vessels came together with a crash.