The Sea Wolves/Chapter 12
As the men followed the woodland path through a torturous maze of abundant trees and heavy undergrowth, they came presently to a clearing on the summit of a low cliff; and when they had climbed a sharp bank, set about with thorny bushes, they found themselves upon a small plateau whence could be seen the whole sweep of the bight. Below them were the golden sand and the lapping wavelets. The turrets and spire of a castellated building shone in the sun at the far side of the bay; the murmur of the mountain stream was in their ears as it fell from ravine to ravine and bubbled at last in the blue water of the Atlantic. But vastly more engrossing than all these was the scene upon the foreshore not a quarter of a mile away from the spot on which they stood.
Here they observed at the first glance the form of the yacht's longboat drawn up in some part out of the sea, but yet the centre of a very pretty adventure. In the stern of the boat was the man called One-legged Joe, who lay back at his ease, his whole leg dangling over the side of his ship, and his leg of wood stuck up in the air with a yellow signal-flag flying at the foot of it. But this display of subtle humour was not the best of his occupation; for as he reclined in the boat he discharged his Winchester at intervals, and he had for targets two ragged Spaniards, who were armed only with sticks, and a third, who was no other than "Goat-and-boots" of the morning. The latter held his musket, and was, when Burke first saw him, loading with great haste for a renewal of the attack upon the nigger; but his fellows lay prone upon the sand in the endeavour to avoid the skim of the bullets, and were crawling slowly toward the life-boat when the campers first came out upon the cliff.
Now when Burke and his three got a sight of this, in one way, droll business, their surprise was as great as though they had seen a dead man walk up suddenly out of the sea. They had never looked to hope that any man but themselves was saved from the ship; and the amazing appearance of the sailor, Joe, was quite beyond their explanation. And for a breathing-space they stood, not knowing whether to laugh or to shout, while the bullets from the half-caste's rifle kicked up trails in the wet sand, and the shots from the Spaniard's musket ricochetted in the little lakes of water and appeared to cover the Englishman with spray.
"You may lay me out," said Burke, when he had surveyed the scene for some minutes, marvelling, "if that black-and-white nigger ain't got the life of a cat."
"I'd like to bet he's lined through with cork," muttered Kenner, as he watched him. "I never knew his like yet—and ashore in the longboat, too!"
"I saw the boat go," said Messenger, shading his eyes to be more sure with them; "it was carried away with the gear of the mast. He must have swum to it."
"Perhaps his leg floated him up to the beach," chimed in Fisher; "he's got a signal-flag on it now, any way. Did ever a man see such shooting, though? Why, he doesn't get within fifty yards of them!"
"But they'll be within fifty yards of him in a minute, I'm thinking," cried Messenger; "and I'll tell you what—this is about the worst business that could have happened to us. Don't you see that, once these shore folk know we're lying by, they'll be on top of us with a cargo of redcoats? What then, Burke?"
"Ay, what then?—ez you ask," said Burke, with a repetition of the query. "That nigger's due for a clout on the top in five minutes if we don't step down. But, ye see, there's the boat placed right under our noses. You're not going to pass that by, for sure?"
"I guess not," said Kenner; "not if my word counts one."
"I've thought of that," said Messenger quickly; "we can't leave the boat; that doesn't want discussing. The question is: Can we do with another hand, or is the nigger to be left to them?"
"You wouldn't leave the man?" gasped Fisher, who had frozen at the bold idea. "Why, he's one of us!"
"Maybe," remarked Burke laconically, "but white skins count here afore black; leastwise, where Roger Burke is reckoned with. I'm thinking, though, that if there's to be pistol practice ashore here, the sooner we add to the company the better."
"That's sense!" cried Messenger; "we haven't got a dry cartridge among us, and he's picked up a rifle; it's worth some risk to get that Winchester. The point is, how are we to get it? If we show up, we shall have shot in us, especially when they see our number; if we lie low, they'll rap him on the head. But I tell you what, if we drop behind the bushes down there, and halloa, we may do all we want without showing as much as an arm."
The proposition was agreed to, and they ran along the cliff sharply, descending with the path until they were down upon the beach, but hid by the shelter of the thorn-bushes which bordered the sand. Even while they ran the situation of the seaman in the boat had become desperate; for although he had hit the Spaniard who carried the musket, and the fellow was crawling along the sand in agony, the other two had now come up to the boat, and were laying about them with their cudgels, while the nigger roared like a bull and dealt slashing blows with the butt of his rifle. At this moment the four behind the bushes shouted with all their strength, and at the volley of sound the Spaniards stayed their hands and stood back; but the one-legged man sprang up at the opportunity, and, carrying his rifle in his hand, he hobbled with amazing rapidity of gait toward the cliff, and was in a moment under cover of the shrubbery.
"Come aboard, gemmelen!" said he, as he sat down and gasped. "Very warm outside, gemmelen; warm as my country, and a sight warmer, sahs—be gor, I've heap plenty shot in me—heap plenty, you take my word, sahs!"
He went on thus in his mongrel jargon, but the others did not listen to him, for the Spaniards were standing in consultation by the life-boat, apparently undismayed at the volley of the voices, and contemplating, as it seemed, a fresh attack upon the place of sounds. But Messenger, who saw that it was vital to end the delay, took the Winchester rifle which the nigger had carried, and, with fine marksmanship, sent a couple of bullets at them, and hit the taller of the two in the hand at the very moment he was opening the locker in the boat. The fellow uttered a loud cry as the shot struck him, and, a third shot hitting his companion in the arm, the pair made off, reeling like drunken men, and were soon lost to sight behind the projection of the cliff. The third man of their party, who had been wounded at the first bout with the nigger, had already vanished; and, the shore being thus void of men, Burke led the way to the life-boat, and, caring nothing for Joe's tale of the wondrous method of his escape, they ran the ship into the water, and rowed out rapidly into the bay.