The Island Treasure. John C. Hutcheson
and passed the rollers that she overtook in her course, as they raced before her, trying to outvie her speed, and tossing up a shower of spray occasionally over her weather bow, which the fading gleams of crimson and gold of the sunset touched up and turned into so many little rainbows, that hovered over the water in front for a moment and then disappeared, as the vessel crushed them out of life with her cutwater.
The wind still whistled through the rigging, but, now, it was more like the musical sound of an Aeolian harp, whose chords vibrated rhythmically with the breeze; while the big sails bellying out from the yards above emitted a gentle hum, as that of bees in the distance, from the rushing air that expanded their folds, which, coupled with the wash and ‘Break, break, break!’ of the sea, sounded like a sad lullaby.
All was quietness on deck: some of the late hands having their tea below, where one or two had already turned in to gain a few winks of sleep before being called on duty to keep the first watch. Others again, as I’ve already said, where chatting and yarning on the fo’c’s’le, as sailors love to chat and yarn of an evening, when the ship is sailing free with a fair wind, and there’s nothing much doing, save to mind the helm and take an occasional pull at the braces to keep her “full and by.”
All was quiet; but, not for long!
It was just beginning to grow dark, although still light enough to see everything that was going on fore and aft, when Captain Snaggs staggered out from the cuddy, coming through the doorway underneath the break of the poop, and not going up the companion hatch, as was his usual habit when he came out on deck.
He looked as if he had been drinking pretty heavily from the bottle of rum the steward had brought in as I left the cabin, an impression which his thick speech confirmed, when, after fetching up against the mainmast bitts, in a vain attempt to work to windward and reach the poop ladder, he began to roar out my name.
“B’y! I wants thet b’y, Chawley Hills! Hillo, Chaw-ley! Chawley Hills!—Hills!—Hills! On deck thaar! Where are ye? By thunder! I’ll spif-spif-splicate ye, b’y, when I catch ye! Come hyar!”
I was rather terrified at this summons, the more especially from his being drunk, but, I went all the same towards him.
He clutched hold of me the moment I came near.
“Ye d–d–durned young reptile!” he roared, more soberly than he had spoken before; and, from a sort of agonised look in his face, I could see that something more than mere drink affected him, for I had noticed him before under the influence of intoxicating liquors. “Tell me wha-at thet infarnal nigger put into the grub? Ye know ye knows all about it, fur ye looked guilty when the mate an’ I wer talkin’ about it at table; an’ he’s been pizened, an’ so am I; an’ he sez ye knows all about it, an’ so does I; an’ what is more, b’y, I’ll squeeze the life out of ye if yer don’t tell!”
“Oh, please, sir,” I cried out; as well as the pressure of his hands on my throat would permit, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“Cuss ye, b’y. Ye dew know; an’, if chokin’ won’t get it out of ye, we’ll try what larrupin’ will do!”
So saying, he ordered a couple of the hands standing by to seize me up to the weather rigging; and taking hold of a thick piece of rope, which he had brought with him out of the cabin, he proceeded to deliver blows about my back and shoulders that made me howl again, the strokes seeming to tear the flesh from my bones.
“Won’t ye tell, hey?” he exclaimed between each stroke of the improvised cat, which lashed as well, I can answer, as if it had nine tails; “won’t ye tell, hey?”
At the third stroke, however, he himself fell upon the deck, putting his hands to his stomach and rolling about doubled up almost in two in his agony; although, when the paroxysm of pain had ceased for the moment, he got up on his feet once more and began lashing away at me again.
But, my deliverer was at hand.
Just as he raised his arm to deliver a fourth stripe across my back, and I shrank back in expectation of it, I heard Sam Jedfoot’s voice—
“ ’Top dat, massa cap?” he called out. “What fur yer lick dat b’y fur?”
“Oh, it’s ye, is it?” roared the skipper, turning on him with a snarl. “I wer comin’ fur ye presently, ye durned cuss! But, ez ye air hyar, why, ye scoundrel, what did ye make thet b’y do to the dinner? Me an’ the mate is both pizened.”
“De b’y didn’t do nuffin, an’ yer ain’t pizened, nor Mass’ Flinders, neider,” said Sam calmly, interrupting the captain before he could scream out another word; “I’se dun it alone. I’se put jalap in the fowl a puppose!”
“Ye did, did ye!” yelled the captain fiercely; and there was a savage vindictiveness in his voice that I had not noticed previously, as he turned round to address the second-mate and a number of the men, who had gathered round at the noise made by the altercation, those that had turned in turning out, and even the look-out coming from off the fo’c’s’le away aft to see what was going on. “Men, ye’ve heard this tarnation villain confess thet he’s tried to pizen Mr. Flinders an’ myself. Now ye’ll see me punish him!”
With these words, which he spoke quite calmly, without a trace of passion, he drew out a revolver from the pocket of his jacket, cocking it with a click that struck a cold chill to my heart, and made me shudder more convulsively than even the brute’s lashes had done the moment before.
“Bress de Lor’! don’ shoot me, cap’n!” cried poor Sam, edging away from the fatal weapon, as Captain Snaggs raised it; “don’t shoot, fo’ de Lor’s sake!”
“I’m going to kill ye like a dog!” rejoined the other, taking aim; but Sam, quick as lightning darted into the weather rigging, making his way forward along the channels, the captain jumping after him and repeating—“It’s no use. Ye won’t escape me, I tell ye, darkey; ye won’t escape me! I’ll kill ye ez dead ez a dog! Like a dog, d’ye haar?”
As he uttered the last words a second time, as if the repetition of the phrase pleased his cruel ear, there was another ‘click,’ followed by a bright flash and a sharp report; and then, uttering a wild, despairing cry, which was echoed by the men standing around, poor Sam dropped into the sea alongside, his body splashing up the water right inboard into my face as it fell!
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