[to be continued.]
[TIGER TOM.]
AN ADVENTURE ON THE WEST COAST OF AFRICA.
BY DAVID KER.
"Any sign of a breeze yet, Mr. Brown?"
"No, sir."
"Humph!"
The Captain's discontented grunt, as he ran his eyes over the lifeless sea and the hot, cloudless sky, was certainly not without reason. To be suddenly becalmed when one is in special haste to get home is at no time the most agreeable thing in the world; but to be becalmed off the pestilential coast of Western Africa, with food and water beginning to run short, and good cause to expect an attack at any moment by an overwhelming force of savages, might overtask the patience of Job himself.
"I guess we've just got to grin and bear it," muttered the Captain. "If the niggers'll only keep as still as the air does! But I'll bet my last dollar they won't. They must have seen us by this time, and a ship in distress to them is like an open door to a tramp."
As he spoke, his keen eye wandered with a troubled look along the endless line of the African coast, one impenetrable mass of dark thicket as far as the eye could reach, except at one single point. Just opposite, the becalmed vessel, a long, low reef of brown rock, masking the mouth of a small river, broke the interminable perspective of clustering leaves; and it was to this point that the Captain's watchful look was most often and most anxiously directed.
His uneasiness seemed to have infected the officers and the crew likewise. Just abaft the foremast a tall, wiry Portlander was turning a grindstone, upon which another sailor was sharpening in turn five or six rusty cutlasses; while a gaunt, keen-looking fellow from Maine was hard at work cleaning the Captain's double-barrelled shot-gun—unluckily the only fire-arm on board.
But there was one on board who seemed to trouble himself very little about the matter. This was the cabin-boy—a brown-faced, curly-haired, bright-eyed little fellow, active as a leopard and fearless as a lion. The way in which he was employed, amid all this bustle and anxiety, would have rather astonished a stranger. With a piece of raw meat in his hand, he dived down the fore-hatchway, ran along the low narrow passage that led between-decks, and opening the door of a small dark recess just abaft the store-room, called out, "Tom!"
A very strange sound answered him, partly like the squall of a cat, and partly like the growl of a wild beast.
"He's hungry, poor old boy," said the lad, stepping forward and holding the meat to the bars of a cage in the farther corner, through which was dimly visible the gaunt outline of a young tiger, bought cheap in Southern India by the Captain, who expected to make a profit by selling it to some menagerie when he got home. For a tiger, it was tame enough; but the only one of the crew for whom it showed any liking was the little cabin-boy, who had named it Tom, after his favorite brother, and never lost a chance of talking to it, always insisting that it understood him perfectly.
"You see, Tom," said he, as the tiger seized the meat, "there ain't much for you, 'cause we're gittin' short ourselves; but you'll have plenty by-and-by, never fear."
The beast rubbed its huge yellow head caressingly against the hand which Jack thrust into the cage as unconcernedly as if he were only petting a kitten, and lifted, in obedience to the familiar call of "Shake hands, Tom," the mighty fore-paw, one stroke of which would have crushed the boy like an egg-shell.
But just as the two strangely assorted playmates were in the height of their sport, a sudden clamor of voices from above startled them both.
"Can't stop now, Tom," said the boy, as gravely as if he were excusing himself to one of his messmates. "There's something up, and the Captain'll want me to help him manage the ship, you know. By-by."
And up he went like a rocket.
When he reached the deck, the cause of the tumult at once became apparent. From behind the low reef five rudely built native boats, each with ten or twelve men on board, were creeping out toward the doomed vessel.
"They're coming now, sure enough," muttered the Captain through his set teeth; "but I guess they won't be here for another twenty minutes yet, for them boats o' their'n are too heavy and lubberly built to go fast. Say, boys, we must fight for it now, for them black sarpints won't leave a man of us livin' if they git the best of it. You that hain't got cutlasses, take boat-hooks or capstan bars, and jist break a few bottles, and scatter the glass around the deck: it'll astonish their bare feet some, I reckon. Hickman, lay that grindstone on the gunnel, and be ready to tip it over on to the first boat that comes alongside. If these black-muzzled monkeys want our scalps, they've got to pay for 'em."
The men obeyed his orders; but they did so with a subdued air which showed how little hope they had of anything beyond selling their lives as dearly as possible.
In truth, the bravest man might have been pardoned for despairing in such a situation. Even including the officers, the ship's company (already thinned by storm and sickness) could muster only sixteen men, while the savages numbered nearly sixty, all big and powerful fellows, whose huge muscles stood out like coils of rope on their bare black limbs. In weapons, again, the advantage, if there was any, was on the side of the assailants; for although the latter appeared at first sight to be unarmed, the Captain's spy-glass soon showed him clubs and spears and bows, with one or two muskets as well.
On came the human tigers over the smooth bright water, with the cloudless blue of the tropical sky overhead, and the dark green mass of clustering leaves, surmounted here and there by the tall slender column of a palm-tree in the background. They had evidently chosen the heat of noon for their hour of attack in the expectation of finding the white men asleep; and there was a visible start among them as the Captain's tall figure appeared from behind the main-mast, gun in hand.
"Keep off!" roared he, as they made signs of wishing to trade. "Keep off! you ain't wanted here."
But seeing that they swept on unheeding, he let fly both barrels into them, the double report being followed by a sharp howl from the foremost boat as the buckshot rattled among its crew. Four out of the twelve oarsmen were struck down, overthrowing several others in their fall, and the clumsy craft, turning half round, lay completely helpless for several minutes. But on came the other four boats, and ran alongside, two to port and two to starboard. The carpenter launched his grindstone, but the ponderous missile splashed harmlessly into the water within a foot of the nearest boat, and in another moment the whole deck was flooded with yelling savages, thirsting for blood.
All that followed was like the confusion of a hideous dream—blows raining, blood flowing, men falling, and death coming blindly, no one knew whence or how. Despite the fearful odds against them, the American sailors, fighting like men who fight for their lives, were still holding their ground, when an exulting yell from behind made them turn just in time to see the eight surviving rowers of the fifth boat (which had crept up unperceived in the heat of the fray) clambering over the stern.
Another moment and all would have been over, but just then a tremendous roar shook the air, and a huge gaunt, yellow body shot up through the after-hatchway, right among the startled assailants. Little Jack had crept aft and let loose the tiger, which fell like a thunder-bolt upon the blacks, four or five of whom lay mangled on the deck almost before they could look round.
This unexpected re-enforcement ended the battle at one blow. The superstitious savages, taking the beast for an evil spirit raised against them by the white men's magic, leaped panic-stricken into their boats (some even tumbling into the sea in their hurry), and made off with all possible speed. A light breeze, springing up from the eastward, soon bore the vessel far beyond their reach.
"Well done, Jack, my hearty!" cried the Captain, grasping the little hero's slim brown hand with a force that made every joint crackle. "That was a mighty cute trick of yours, and no mistake. I guess you'll make a smarter sailor than any of us before you've done; and it sha'n't be my fault if you don't git something good for this when we see New York again."
And the Captain kept his word.
CURLING-MATCH AT CENTRAL PARK, JANUARY 30.