“There’s something taking place, although I cannot make out just what it is to a certainty; but I’ve a notion that there is some craft in sight which the ‘Vulture’ wants to escape; and if so, I hope she won’t.”
“So do I, indeed,” murmured Harry. “I shall die if we remain here much longer.”
Another hour of suffering and anxiety passed, when Tubbs roused Harry and me—for we had dropped off in a kind of stupor—by exclaiming—
“Holloa! What was that? A shot, or I’m a Dutchman.”
As he spoke I distinctly heard the sound of a gun, though it seemed to be at a great distance. We listened with bated breath. Again there came a faint boom, and at the same instant a crash, which told us that the shot had struck the ship.
“Hurrah! I thought so,” cried Tom; “there’s a man-of-war in chase of us, and it is pretty evident that the ‘Vulture’ has no wish to engage her, or she would not have been trying to get away, as she has been for some hours past.”
We waited now with intense anxiety. We knew that the “Vulture” was a fast craft, and that it was too likely she had just passed within range of her pursuer’s guns, but might escape notwithstanding. Except by the motion of the vessel, we could not possibly judge how we were steering. In spite of the stifling atmosphere, our senses were wide awake. Again there came the sound of a gun. Although the shot did not strike the ship, yet it seemed to us that our pursuer must be nearer. Another and another shot followed. The “Vulture’s” guns were now fired, although I was surprised to find how little noise they appeared to make, and could scarcely believe that they were fired from our deck, had not Tubbs assured us of the fact. Then there came a lull, and we heard a whole broadside fired, the crashing and rending sound showing that the shot had torn through the bulwarks and sides of the ship. The fearful shrieks which rose from the hold made us fear that the miserable slaves had suffered, though perhaps their cries rose from terror as much as from the injuries they had received. A fearful uproar ensued, the roar of the great guns, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of the slaver’s crew, the shrieks and cries of the slaves, the groans of the wounded, the rending and crashing of planks mingled, were well-nigh deafening even to us. Presently there came a crash. The ship seemed to reel, a shudder passed through her whole frame.
“They’ve run us aboard,” cried Tubbs, “and maybe the ship with all hands will be sent to the bottom. We must get out of this somehow to try and save our lives. There will be no one on the look-out to stop us.”
The boatswain’s exclamations made us fear that probably our last moments were at hand.
“We must try and find something to help us to force our way out,” cried Tubbs. “If we cannot get the hatch off, we must make our way through this bulkhead. Hurrah! here’s an iron bar.”