Chapter Fourteen.
In the Schooner’s Hold.
It was undoubtedly a terrible cry of despair from a human being in deadly peril, and with all the force of Englishmen sent to answer such a call for aid, the boat was rushed through the water, the coxswain hooked on, and setting at defiance that which had horrified and disgusted them, the two officers, followed by all their men but the boat-keeper, sprang on board the beautifully clean, trim-looking schooner, where the remains of the broken spar, axes that had been hastily thrown down, and a tangle of cordage and canvas cumbered the deck.
“What is it?” cried Mark, excitedly. “Is someone being killed?”
“Some dozens,” cried Russell, fiercely, as the cry was repeated from beneath their feet, followed by a horrible scuffling sound mingled with groans. “The wretches have battened down the hatches, and the poor creatures below are suffocating.”
As he spoke, he caught up one of the axes from where it lay, an example followed by Mark, and they struck off the fastenings which held down the hatches close by where they stood.
The horrible sounds ceased at the first blow of the axe, and a deathly silence succeeded, followed by a low, deep, murmuring roar.
“Stop!” cried Mr Russell. “Stand by, lads, and be prepared. The poor wretches may not know friends from foes.”