The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

by Mayne Reid

The poor quadroon girl was herself near to the point of swooning; but aroused herself when thus addressed, and hastened to bring the restoratives asked for. While she was searching for these among the vials and bottles of the medicine-case, Mr Durocher laid his daughter upon the bed. He then turned to Ada, and said—

“You need not trouble yourself with that man any more. Let him come into my state-room adjoining this, and lie upon my bed. I understand something of surgery myself; I also have the materials for making splinters, and will dress his wound.”

Meantime, in the saloon, the hands of the prisoners were bound, even those of Afton. Leaving one of his men to guard the prisoners, Coe and the rest hastened upon deck. Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since he had left the deck—so many incidents may occur in a brief period of time, when the struggle is one of life and death.

The man who had been placed at the helm by Captain Johnson still kept his post. Through all the excitement and confusion, through the uproar and perils of the storm and the battle, that sturdy and brave seaman had, with unflinching patience and fidelity, and by a skilful management of the helm, watched for and warded off the effect of every huge wave which had threatened the safety of this ship. When the two vessels had come together, he had, by good guidance, broken to a great extent the force of the collision. When he had seen his comrades pressed by vastly superior numbers, and knew that his own safety depended on their successful defence—when he had seen the pirates hurry into the cabin where were only the sickly old man and the two helpless females—he had firmly maintained his post, steadily and faithfully performing the duties which had been assigned to him. He knew that upon him depended the safety of all on board; that the slightest neglect on his part, the slightest failure of hand or eye, might allow the ship to broach to and be swamped in the tremendous seas which were now running.

Fidelity to duty, in instances of this kind, exhibits the purest type of heroism of character. And such instances are very common in ordinary life, among all classes, and especially among the humblest. There is seldom any genuine heroism in mere fighting; when man’s passions are stirred—whether by feelings right or wrong—and his animal nature thoroughly roused, fighting is an absolute enjoyment to him; and in battle there is the additional incentive of glory to urge him to acts of valour. But, too often, in the apparent stillness of quiet life, there are duties which are discharged amid ceaseless temptations to neglect them. These nobody notes as worthy of especial honour; because they occur every day, every hour. Many persons cross the Atlantic to see Niagara, and they talk of its grandeur and sublimity—and justly do they do so; yet who speaks of, or even notes the fact, which all must acknowledge, that the sky, which by day and by night bends over the head of every man, woman, and child in every part of the world, is a thousand times grander and more sublime than even the wonderful cataract? A blessed truth it is to the humble disciples of humble duty, that, though no earthly being observes them with praise, God sees them.

There was yet a faint glimmer of daylight when John Coe came upon the deck of the ship. In that dim light the fight was still going on. It had commenced with twelve men from the Falcon on the one side, and ten men belonging to the Duchess on the other. So nearly were the individuals of the contending parties balanced in personal strength and prowess, that the success of the pirates had been very nearly in exact proportion to their superiority of number. The loss was of two men upon each side, and the defenders of the ship had been driven back to a position very near to the quarter-deck; but of the pirates one was wounded and one was killed, while of the defenders two only were wounded. Both of the parties were fighting with cutlasses only; the pistols had all been fired in the beginning of the engagement, and there had since been no opportunity of reloading them.

Coe, with his small force, threw himself between the contending ranks, flashing his cutlass right and left, and striking upwards the clashing weapons.

“Hold your hands,” he cried, in a loud voice. “My party is a small one; but we are enough to settle this contest at once in favour of the side into whose support we may throw ourselves.”

The pirates at once dropped their points and fell back; they, of course, felt convinced that a reinforcement had come to their help. Captain Johnson and his men, however, naturally looking upon the new comers as enemies, and supposing that Coe’s mode of dealing with existing affairs was a ruse to take them at disadvantage, were not disposed to cease fighting so readily. Still, Captain Johnson reflected that it would be well to hear what proposition was to be made. He, therefore, dropped his point and retired a step or two, and ordered his men to cease fighting and to fall back. His command was immediately obeyed.

“Mr Brown,” said Coe, addressing Bowsprit, as soon as he saw that the fighting was suspended, “you and your men are supplied with two pistols apiece, I believe?”