"This beats the nation!" was Ralph's next e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n. "This is what one might call pure luck. Now if I only had a pair of oars."

Not having any, he tried his sail, but found the attempt useless, and he was compelled to sit there thrilling with impatience to be aboard once more. Finally, as he was about to rise and shout, he noticed something white being waved from one of the stern windows.

While he was puzzling his brain over the meaning of this, a line of black heads appeared above the bulwarks, and sundry black, naked forms ran up the rigging. At the same time a chorus of barbaric yells rang out, that chilled the boy's blood, even at that distance.

"I wonder if the blacks have got possession of the ship at last," and with the thought his heart sank as he realized the certain death to all in case such a thing had taken place. "If this be so, they have undoubtedly killed every white aboard."

Ralph's situation now became doubly trying. To venture to board the schooner might prove his destruction. To remain in the yawl was to court a lingering and terrible death.

Already the pangs of hunger were almost unendurable. He drank from the keg, then measured the contents with a splinter. It was half empty.

Twenty-four more hours of this and then----

"Come what will," he resolved, "I shall try to board the vessel. One may as well die one way as another."

After some reflection he took apart his mast and used the six foot strips as oars, finding that he made a little progress, though the task was fatiguing and the movement exasperatingly slow.

Meanwhile the noise on the Wanderer grew hideous. The idle, untrimmed manner in which the sails swung, was a fearful indication that the untrained negroes were masters. When within two hundred yards he took a careful survey. The whole deck and the lower rigging were alive with blacks shouting, gesticulating, acting more like lunatics than sane beings.

Something at the stern window again attracted his notice. It was a handkerchief being waved. He answered the signal by waving his hat.

Then to Ralph's surprise and delight a white face was cautiously protruded.

"I'll help that man off or die for it," was his next thought as he bent once more to the task of rowing.

Had not the ocean been calm he would have made no headway. As it was, when he drew up some thirty yards from the schooner's stern, he was for the moment completely exhausted.

Turning round, he recognized with joy the pale blood-stained face at the window.

"In heaven's name!" cried the boy. "What has happened? Are any more of you alive?"

CHAPTER XXV.

The Second Mate's Story.

The face at the window was that of Jacob Duff, the second mate. He shook his head in a melancholy way and beckoned with his hand.

"Come a little closer. The blacks are drunk and have exhausted their ammunition. The magazine is in the lower hold, double locked and they haven't found it yet."

Ralph slowly pulled under the stern where he would be protected from missiles. Over his head was a screaming crowd of savages who, however, confined themselves to unintelligible threats.

The other boat was gone. Duff, leaning out, motioned with his hand.

"There is no time for explanations now," said he. "Let us get away from here while those demons are too drunk to know how to hinder us.

Heavens, but what a time we've had!"

While speaking he handed out a pair of oars, a bag of ship's biscuit, and a breaker of water.

Meantime the negroes evidently discovered that the boy was communicating with some one on board. The cries and uproar redoubled.

The noise of a crowd surging down the companionway and into the main cabin could be heard. Then came a tremendous crash against the door of the stateroom.

"Hurry up!" exclaimed Duff coolly, handing out the things all in a heap and scrambling to get through the small aperture himself. "I braced the door, but they are battering it down. Quick, Ralph, pull me through by the arms."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Quick, Ralph, pull me through by the arms."]

The boy was none too swift. Tugging with might and main, he dragged the mate through and both fell heavily to the bottom of the yawl, nearly capsizing the craft, just as the stateroom door gave way.

A stream of frantic blacks swarmed into the little apartment, one of whom, thrusting his hideous face out at the window, was unceremoniously pushed through by his comrades. He fell across the gunwale of the boat and was shoved overboard by Duff, while Ralph, seizing an oar, placed an end against the schooner's stern-post and threw all his waning strength upon it, sending the yawl out from under the shelter of the ship.

When the negroes saw two whites instead of one they appeared beside themselves with rage. A few missiles were thrown; among other articles a Winchester, which the boy strove in vain to reach as it rebounded from the boat's bow into the sea. Duff was struck with a marlin-spike, but he still clung to the oar he was trying to use. Another black plunged through the window into the water, while several threw themselves from the deck and began swimming towards the boat.

Ralph noticed that Duff could not stand. He took both oars, and, notwithstanding his weak condition, soon placed the boat beyond the reach of pursuit.

The blacks, realizing this, turned and were swimming back to the schooner, when one of them rose half his length from the water, sending forth a piercing cry of agony. Then he was suddenly jerked beneath the waves, as if by some powerful though unseen agency.

"What did that?" exclaimed Ralph, horror stricken.

"Sharks," returned Duff sententiously, pointing to several dark pointed fins that now appeared, all making for the schooner. "The rascals are never far away from a ship in these lat.i.tudes."

"This is horrible!" exclaimed the lad, pulling on one oar to turn the boat round.

"What are you doing?" demanded Duff.

"I am going to try and save some of those n.i.g.g.e.rs. I know they are bad; but we made them so. I can't stand it, I tell you, to see them eaten up in that way. Look!"

There came another shriek, and a second trail of blood rose to the surface of the sea as another victim was dragged beneath.

"I know," replied Duff. "But--self preservation first. Lock there, will you!"

Regardless of their screaming comrades who were trying to reach the ship, the blacks on board were striving to turn the big Long Tom amidships so as to bring it to bear upon the yawl.

"That cannon is loaded--with slugs and sc.r.a.p iron. Captain had it done in order to sweep the decks, if necessary. But they gave us no chance and the load is in it yet. Give me an oar. Pull now--for your life!

Lucky it is they don't know much about sighting a gun."

Suiting his action to his words the mate literally forced the lad to obey. Other cries sounded, and Ralph caught a glimpse of two or three scrambling on board again by the aid of a rope that happened to hang over the side.

His strength was nearly gone, and only an intense resolution kept him to his task at the oar. Duff, behind Ralph, also pulled away, though the strain caused him to groan now and then.

"Are you hurt?" asked the boy as they drew rapidly away from the now dreaded ship.

"Leg broke. Shot below the knee. Hist! They are going to try it now."

A large negro was hastening from the cook's galley with a flaming brand. The instant of suspense that followed was awful. A bright flash followed, and as the accompanying roar met their ears a harsh spattering and hissing beyond relieved their anxiety immensely.

Not a thing touched the boat or its occupants.

"Overshot--by thunder!" cried Duff with an exulting whoop, that ended in a groan of pain. "We are all right now; the beggars can never reload. They don't know how, and be hanged to 'em!"