The Gentleman. Alfred Ollivant
boy among them sniggered, to vindicate his courage.
How brave they were! and what beasts! They made him sick, and filled him with admiration. He should like to be like that—to feel nothing; to see nothing; to loll up against the side and spit about, and make bad jokes, a minute before he took the life of a brother man. That was fine: that was manhood. One day, please God, he would be the same.
He peeped at the lugger. She was holding on, hard-driven, a long-boat with high-cocked nose tearing astern.
The big ship was bearing down on her like a hawk on a sparrow. It was bullying but O! was it not glorious? The old thrill, the thrill of thrills, incomparable, made him tremble. He was manhunting once more.
"He'll carry the sticks out of her," muttered one of the men. "Crackin along all sail—capsize or no."
"He may crack along," said another. "He's done. Black Diamond's done."
The sea flopped in the moon. Here and there a gathering swell hissed into foam. The Tremendous scarcely felt it; but the lugger lay over on her side, seams dripping, and thrashed furiously along.
Her crew, squatting along the weather gunwale, turned bowed and shining backs to the sloop.
Only the man at the tiller had seen her; and he made no sign.
The moon was on his face, black and white and bearded; and his eyes on the sloop.
"Calm chap!" whispered one.
"Plucky meat," replied another. "Guts like a lion on him."
"Which is Black Diamond?" asked the boy.
"Him at the tiller, sir—moon on his face. He's seen us. 'Tothers ain't—not yet."
The Tremendous crashed into a sea. The aftmost man on the lugger's gunwale turned.
He saw the Avenger towering over him, dark wings spread, snow-drifts spurting before her.
An awful horror convulsed his face.
"King's ship!" came a ghastly-screaming treble. "Put back, Diamond!"
The man at the tiller never stirred. One lightning arm flashed forward.
"Down, George!" came a voice of thunder. "I'm going through."
There was a flash in the moon; the smothered crack of a pistol; and a furious tumble of men aft.
"Gor! they're knifin him!"
"Their own skipper!"
"That's the Gap Gang!" rose in a groaning chorus from the bows of the sloop.
IV
Splash followed splash.
The crew of the lugger were jumping for the long-boat.
The moon shone down mildly on savage waters, and a tumult of men.
All about the boat was a fury of fighting. Some were in it, some in the water. Those within were slashing at the hands of those scrambling in.
Every man was for himself, and every man against his neighbour. They fought like beasts, beasts who could blaspheme.
Sin seen naked! Sin and its consequences!
Death-screams; bellowed blasphemies; howls for mercy rose as from the pit.
"No room!—It's me, Joe!—Too many aboard!—Knife the——!—I'm done!—Elp us up!—Don't, George!"
Out of the torment of howls, oaths, prayers, came again the ghastly-screaming treble.
"Cut the painter!"
A boy, the last on the lugger, afraid before to trust the water, jumped now.
"Don't leave Jacky!" spluttered the thin boy's voice, tearful and terrified; as the little shaven head bobbed up by the boat.
"Ands off!" screamed the treble. "We're sinkin a'ready. What, you little——! then ave it! ave it! ave it!"
A shrill squeal and then again that ghastly-screaming treble—
"Row, ye——, row!"
Silence; tumbling waters; and the moon, sick with horror, darkened suddenly.
CHAPTER VII
THE MAN IN THE LUGGER
I
The lugger came bowling on, one man in her stern.
"Diamond's bested em!" rose in a roar from the Tremendous.
And so it seemed.
The Kite was making straight for the sloop, plunging giddily, as though wounded.
"All hands aloft!" roared old Ding-dong. "Back tops'ls!"
There was a scamper of feet along the deck; and up the shrouds a scurry of dark figures. Above was ordered bustle; from the deck a sounding voice ruled all, as God rules the world.
"Canst use a pistol, lad?"
The words, swift as hail, smote Kit's ear.
"I don't know, sir," babbled the boy, sick with excitement.
A minute back Hell had yawned, and he had peeped in. He was still aghast.
"Then find oot!" fierce as a sword. "Joomp into t'mizzen-chains, and pick off yon chap at the helm, as he cooms under ma counter."
He thrust a pistol into the boy's hands.
How limp the lad felt beside this masterful old man!
In another moment he was standing in the chains, the dark and giddy waters swirling beneath him. The blood thumped in his temples.
Was it to be his St. Vincent? his chance?
The lugger came tearing up. He could hear the swish of the waters, white at her foot; he could see the wet sail, the bucketing bows, the fore-deck awash. She would pass bang beneath his feet. He could see no man at the helm—only the jumping bowsprit, the thrashing foot, and that huge lug-sail, bellying over the water.
Suddenly his mind flamed. In the white glare of it he saw the thing to do, and had done it, before cold reason could check him.
He jumped.
The boat and giddy waters rose up to meet him. He fell as on to a mattress, full of wind. It was the lug-sail he had struck. Down it he sprawled to the deck, there to find himself upon his hands and knees, something soft beneath him.
One man was in the boat; and that man was staring him in the face.
There was no mistaking him. He was black, with diamond eyes. The moon was on his face; and about his lips a queer snarling smile.
Kit expected him to pounce; yet he did not, lolling back in the stern-sheets, very much at his ease. The tiller under his arm wobbled, and he wobbled with it. In spite of those staring eyes of his, there was a dreadful unsteadiness about the man. Was he wounded?—was he drunk?
Somehow the boy was not very much afraid. It was all too dream-like.
He heard his heart thundering far-away on the remotest shores of being.
He heard his own voice speaking, and was surprised at it—how steady
it was, and how small!
It was saying,
"I'm a King's officer. That's a King's ship. There are about a thousand men on board. It's all no go. D'you give in?"
The man grinned sardonically. Then his head fell forward.