We thought we might venture to kick up a bobbery now, particularly as we were a fairly strong body of armed men, and could give a pretty good account of any enemy that ventured to interfere with us. You see we just had a faint hope that Mr. Triggs and his companions might be somewhere within earshot, and that our giving ’em a hail might back ’em up a bit if they was prisoners. However, we heard not a sound of any kind, friendly or otherwise. “Sarch the rocks, mates,” says I, trying to speak stern, though, Lord love yer, I felt for all the world as if I was agoin’ to choke.
We left two men to do sentry-go, and set to work to overhaul them rocks and all the ground and underwood which was near ’em; but not a blessed sign of anything could we find except the marks of feet, and in places these were plentiful enough, but ’tis a most tremenjous difficult thing to track any one in a forest where there’s always a lot of dead leaves and such like muck about.
Well, I’d be afraid, and that’s the truth, to say how many hours we spent over that there hopeless job of searching for our lost shipmates. We scoured the forest in all directions, made our way into the valley to look for the enemy’s camp, but found nothing but a burned-out fire; and overhauled the surrounding cliffs—and there was a pretty few of ’em, mind you—in hopes of lighting upon some of the blooming caves we’d heard so much talk about. It just was talk, and nothing else—that I’ll take my affidavy to. Where were those swabs o’ mutineers and the confounded Creole niggers that we’d been sent after? and where was their hidden cargo? Shiver my timbers, if I wouldn’t have slugged the lot of ’em if I could have got the chance. I don’t like fallin’ out with people as a rule, specially strangers; but when it comes to their kidnappin’ your own shipmates, and p’raps cutting their throats, or giving ’em foul play of some sort or another, why then my monkey gits up, I can tell you, and I’d think it child’s play to corpse the lot of ’em if they came within reach of my cutlass.
When the sun began to go down, I knew well enough that we must knock off and make tracks for the camping-ground that Mr. Thompson had spoken of. The alarm must be given as quickly as possible, so that the whole force might turn-to and join in the search; but then a fresh difficulty came to the fore, for we’d lost our guide, and hadn’t the remotest idea of the bearings of this here bivouac. However, I don’t want to make a long yarn out of this part of the business, so I’ll only tell you that we made a sternboard, so to speak, and found our way back with uncommon difficulty to the rough cart-track we had quitted early in the afternoon. Here, of course, we got on the spoor of the brigade, and had no difficulty in tracking ’em to their camping-ground. ’Twas a weary march, and we were footsore and a bit done up when we got there, which was after dark; and we ran a narrow shave of being shot down by our own sentries.
Well, naterally there was a tremenjous sensation amongst all hands when they heard our terrible story. The gunnery lootenant was almost beside himself, and vowed vengeance on them dastardly rebels when he caught them. He wanted to set off at once, but on coming to think it over calmly, he saw that ’twas wellnigh impossible till the morning. In the first place, every mother’s son was tired out by the long stretch they’d had in full marching order; and, secondly, it was that dark—there being no moon—that it would have been wellnigh impossible to find our way through the forest, to say nothing of the chances it would give them thundering swabs of mutineers and niggers to go for us under cover of the darkness. They couldn’t have drubbed us, of course, but through their sarpentine cunning they might have harassed us like old winky.
The orders was passed round therefore to start in the morning, at the first break of dawn.
Through the adventures what follered it seemed to me as I ought to make some alterations in this here gimcrack of a log; but when I consults the gunnery orficer—“You just leave it as it is, Jim Beddoes,” says he; “’tis more interestin’,” he says. Well, ’tis a new thing to me that anything I should have written, being no scholard, should be interestin’; but, there, I’ve had my say. The yarn is spun, such as it is, and I can only say in conclusion, and with many apologies for takin’ of the liberty, “My dooty to you, and wishing you all good-luck.”
CHAPTER XII.
TAKEN PRISONER.
When I found myself blindfolded, gagged, and securely bound by the ruffians who had sprung upon me, my heart sank within me, for I fully thought that my fate was sealed. And what an awful fate it might be I hardly dared to contemplate. I had heard, of course—and the remembrance recurred to me now with additional force—that the mutineers of the Flying-fish, had cruelly and in cold blood murdered their captain and chief mate, and thrown their bodies to the sharks. Men who had committed such a deed of infamy were capable of anything—even of torturing us.
Till I was completely exhausted, I fought desperately with these fiends, and so, as I mentioned before, did the gunner and Ned Burton. I must say this much for our captors, that they carried out the affair with amazing cleverness, coolness, and audacity; for our seizure was accomplished in such a manner as to ensure secrecy and obviate any necessity for using weapons.