With Drake on the Spanish Main Part 29

Dennis crawled in, and holding the torch over his head, was still more amazed to find that he had come to the entrance of a second cave, apparently larger than the first. The floor of it was many feet below him: he hesitated to risk a dislocation of his ankle if he sprang down; so he retreated, and called to Turnpenny, informing him of his discovery.

"Sling up a rope," he said; "you and Copstone keep a firm hold upon it on your side, while I let myself down on the other side and see what is beyond."

Lowering himself through the aperture, he found the monkey sitting on the floor.

"Come, Mirandola," he said, "you taught me the merits of some of the fruits of this island; hast more to teach me, old friend? Let us go on together."

He found that the floor of this cave also inclined downwards, and he went very cautiously, lest he should come unawares upon a chasm and fall headlong to his doom. The atmosphere was damp and close, but not foul, and as he proceeded he saw by the flickering of the torch that there was a slight current of air. No wall blocked his way, but by and by the cave narrowed and the roof came lower, and he had to stoop, and at last to crawl, to avoid knocking his head. He had still not reached the end of what was now a tunnel, when the torch went out. For a moment he hesitated whether to go on in the darkness; then, deciding that it was not worth while to run any risks when he could procure another light within a few minutes, he hurried back, got another and a larger torch, and asked Turnpenny to accompany him.

The two together came to the spot where the first torch had been left, and went on. The rough irregular fissure grew no narrower, but its slope became steeper at every yard.

"G.o.d-a-mercy, it likes me not!" murmured Turnpenny, who was filled with superst.i.tious fears in face of the unknown. "Meseems we be going down into the very bowels of the earth, or mayhap lower. Dost fear no goblins? Dost not think we may come upon the Old Smoker?"

"Never a whit, Amos. Why, man, the floor here is wet. Touch it with your hand. And as I live, here are seaweeds and sh.e.l.ls! And look; surely that is a glint of light yonder that comes not from our torch.

Here is a very pool; duck your head, man; I gave mine a rare crack just then, the roof comes so low. Crawl after me. I smell the sea, Amos; and ah! look! here we are on the sh.o.r.e. Have a care; we must not be spied."

Crawling actually through the water, they found themselves on the sh.o.r.e at a point not far north of the spot where Dennis had first opened his eyes on the island. The hole in the cliff was almost hidden by the overhanging plants. Mirandola had halted; to go through water was not to his taste. Cautiously raising themselves, Dennis and Turnpenny parted the screening leaves and looked out to sea. There, a little distance out, was the vessel that had fired on them. The tide was low; she had had to s.h.i.+ft her position further into the main channel. In the little bay which here indented the sh.o.r.e a boat lay on the sand, two Spaniards leaning against its side, keeping guard over it, no doubt, while their comrades were engaged in investing the cave.

"One thing is plain," whispered Dennis; "here at least is a way of retreat should we no longer be able to remain in our cave. And when water fails, we can creep out by the hole in the night time, and fill our buckets at one of the rills that trickle from the cliff."

"Ah! that is something, sir," said Turnpenny, "but I would fain knock those knaves yonder on the head and take their boat. We might then make a s.h.i.+ft to row away from this isle."

"A good wish, Amos, but hard to come by. We could not do it in daylight, and methinks the Spaniards would not do us the grace to leave their boat here on the sh.o.r.e for us to make free with at night. But a.s.suredly we can keep a better watch on them here than from the cave above, where we cannot show a head but with great peril; let us therefore return and send one of the maroons. .h.i.ther as a sentinel."

There was great excitement among the men when they were told of this discovery. Though it seemed impossible that the pa.s.sage to the sea could avail them much, the knowledge that it was open to them gave just that dash of comfort which is all the world to men in extremity. And when, as the day wore on, the enemy's guns began to play regularly on the mouth of the cave, and brought down in front of it great ma.s.ses of the cliff above, they did not get into a state of panic, but almost gaily made air-holes through the loosely piled earth with their weapons, chuckling at the thought that the besiegers were no doubt flattering themselves with the supposition that the hapless garrison was being gradually entombed.

But it seemed to Dennis that an attempt should be made to turn this strange discovery to account. Clearly it was possible to leave the cave, but supposing they all made their way to the sh.o.r.e, what then?

They might take to the woods in the centre of the island, and for a time, perhaps, elude the enemy; but it would only be a matter of days before they must be hunted down. They could not, a mere handful, risk a stand-up fight against a force six or seven times their number. And it was in the highest degree unlikely that the enemy would leave any of their boats on sh.o.r.e during the night. Still, there was just a chance that a boat might be so left, and Dennis arranged that Juan the maroon should go before dark to the exit on the sh.o.r.e, to see what he could discover of the Spaniards' arrangements, and then to steal up the cliff and learn how they encamped during the night.

The night was still young when the maroon returned. He had seen the boat put off, conveying officers to the vessel. Then, waiting until it was dark, he had climbed the cliff, and found that the enemy had formed a camp on the summit immediately above the ledge, at some little distance from the brink. No pickets were posted; the Spaniards had evidently recognized the hopelessness of any attempt to escape either up or down the gully.

Juan had then crept round to the northern cliff, and discovered that the two guns which had played on the cave during the day were left in charge of two men. Dennis was somewhat surprised that the main camp of the enemy had not been made there instead of on the southern cliff, until he remembered that only on the latter were there springs of fresh water.

"'Tis as I feared, you see," he said to Turnpenny. "The boat returns to the s.h.i.+p at night--just as the boat was wont to return to your lumber-s.h.i.+p. It was but a poor hope, and that is dashed."

"And so 'tis. The only thing that we poor souls could do would be to crawl out by the hole, and fetch a long compa.s.s to the cliff yonder where the guns be, and blow them up for the knaves. If there be but two men guarding them, 't'ud be no hard feat."

Dennis did not reply. He seemed to have fallen into a brown study.

"I'se warrant I could do it, with Tom Copstone and Juan, and maybe another of the maroons. 'T'ud not save us, to be sure, but 't'ud at least give the knaves a turn, od rabbit en!"

"Amos," said Dennis with apparent inconsequence, "if you were a Spanish officer----"

"G.o.d forbid, sir!" interrupted the seaman, fervently.

"It is impossible, I own. Still, if you were a Spanish officer aboard that vessel yonder, and in the blackest hour of night you heard a great uproar on this island, and saw the flas.h.i.+ng of guns, what would you do?"

"I'f.e.c.ks, I would think there was a rare randy afoot, and straightway lower a boat and come with all speed ash.o.r.e to lend a hand."

"And you, Copstone,--what would you do?"

"Come with Haymoss, to be sure, sir. You and me, Haymoss----"

"The words of my dream again, sir!" cried Amos in excitement. "There be summat in your mind, sir; tell it out, and, souls all, lend an ear."

And then Dennis unfolded a scheme which Juan's report and Turnpenny's suggestion had set working in his mind. For some minutes the little group around him hung breathlessly upon his quiet words; then Turnpenny exclaimed--

"We'll do it, we will so, and be jowned if the knaves will not wish themselves anywhere but on Maiden Isle. Come, my hearts, the sky is black and lowering: 'tis the very time o' night for our intent, and with G.o.d's help we will prosper in our doings."

And then the rough seaman fell on his knees, and with clasped hands recited the prayer for help in time of need, and every man of the little company responded with a low fervent "Amen!"

Half an hour later, Turnpenny, with Copstone, Juan, and a second maroon, bade farewell to his comrades and clambered down into the second cave. When they were on the farther side of the dividing rock, their weapons, with four belts packed full of grape shot from the stores of the _Maid Marian_, were handed down to them, and after a final "G.o.d speed!" from Dennis they started on the way to the sea.

An hour pa.s.sed--an hour during which the rest of the company sat in hushed expectancy, scarcely speaking a word. One of the maroons had pushed his way through the heap of loose earth piled at the mouth of the cave, and crawled stealthily to the ledge, where he crouched amid the ruins of the sheds. Presently, from the opposite cliff, came a slight booming sound like the cry of a night beetle. The maroon, invisible in the black shade of the cliff, crept back to the cave.

Immediately afterwards the whole company, man by man, crossed into the inner cave, the two men most seriously wounded being lifted up one side of the pillar, and lowered gently down the other. Dennis leading, with Mirandola close behind, they made their way by torch-light down the sloping floor, then, extinguis.h.i.+ng the torch, crawled out at the narrow aperture, and, after Dennis had taken a careful look round, stood up, a silent band of twenty-one, on the sea-sh.o.r.e. The two men whose wounds forbade exertion were left in a sheltered spot below the bank; then the rest followed Dennis up through the vegetation, in single file. It was so dark that no man could see the man before him, but each one grasped the caliver of the man ahead, thus guiding themselves through the jungle.

Up they went, quietly, almost as surely as if it were broad daylight, for Dennis knew every foot of the way, which he had trodden many times since that day long before when he had begun his exploration of the island. Winding in and out, he came at length by a long circuit to the high ground approaching the southern bank of the gully. And there he halted. Through the trees before him he saw the watch-fires, dying low, of the enemy encamped on the clearing beyond. All was silent. If any sentinels were awake, they were not conversing. The camp was as quiet as though it were an abode of the dead.

Suddenly the deep silence was broken by the boom of a beetle. It died away. So natural a sound was it that the Spanish sentinels, if any were on guard, would never have suspected that it came from the throat of a maroon. Even Dennis's company might have been deceived had they not known that the sound had been made by one of themselves, the maroon at their leader's side.

Scarcely had it died away when two sharp cracks rent the air from some point beyond the camp. Then came an instant change over the scene--a change which Amos and Tom Copstone had fired to bring about. A loud cry rang out in the camp, followed by a din of many voices and the clash of arms. Some one cast fuel on one of the fires, and the flame, leaping up, shone on a camp in commotion; men were hurrying this way and that, calling to their fellows excitedly. What was this that had disturbed their slumbers? Was some one signalling to them from the vessel out at sea? Could it be that El Draque had sailed up out of the night?

Into the midst of this noise and confusion broke a shattering sound, the roar of a piece of ordnance. Then the din was redoubled, and with the astonished cries of some were mingled the shrieks and groans of wounded men. Still Dennis and his little band stood motionless amid the trees, but every man now held a lighted match. Another deep reverberating roar thundered forth, with more cries and yells in the camp. Amos and his comrades had disposed of the men guarding the guns, and had turned these upon the enemy.

"Now!" cried Dennis.

Then a mighty shout broke from the throats of the little company, and with the roar of l.u.s.ty British seamen mingled the weird "Yo peho! yo peho!" of the maroons. A volley flashed from the muzzles of nineteen calivers, and nineteen men dashed forward towards the camp, shouting like a hundred. On they rushed through the trees into the clearing.

"Yo peho! yo peho!" And with yells of panic fear the Spaniards, like a flock of sheep, ran and ran and ran, helter-skelter, flinging their arms away, tumbling over one another, falling, rising again, pelting headlong through the woodland towards the marsh.

Again the guns on the opposite cliff thundered, but the shots did not now come plunging into the camp. How were the Spaniards, scared out of their wits, to know that Turnpenny and Copstone were now firing into the gully, lest they should hit their comrades? But in a few moments there was no risk of this, for Dennis wheeled about and led his men at a mad scamper down by the way they had come, never stopping until, bathed in sweat, panting for breath, they stood on the sea-sh.o.r.e, at the place from which they had started.

And now Dennis looked again towards the sea, and strained his ears to catch a sound he expected. Would his expectation be fulfilled? Would Fortune favour him? Would the Spanish officers aboard the s.h.i.+p do as Copstone and Turnpenny in their place would have done--lower boats in all haste and come to the aid of their comrades in peril? None knew the anxiety that troubled Dennis in those minutes of waiting. If the Spaniards were poltroons, if they were scared by the sudden outbreak and feared to venture sh.o.r.ewards in the dark, his bold scheme would fail, and then what the end would be he hardly dared to think. It was with real agony of soul he listened, listened for the sweep of oars.

Hark! On the silence of the sea comes a thud, a measured beat, growing in loudness, drawing near. As yet he can see nothing, but his comrades hear the sound; their hearts leap at it; they can scarcely check a shout of joy. On comes the boat; they hear the splash of oars, and voices, and by and by the grating of a keel. They wait in panting silence. Men are wading through the water; arms clash; a loud voice gives an order; and now a score of dark forms can be seen running up the beach, making for the very path lately traversed by the nineteen.

The men, lurking beneath the bank, hold their breath; Dennis feels as though his very heart-beats must be heard; but the Spaniards pa.s.s, and disappear, and are now hasting up towards the camp. The sound of their footsteps dies away; Dennis can scarcely bear to wait, so eager is he to pursue his scheme to the end. At last he gives the word, and eighteen men rush after him, noiselessly on the sand, towards the boat, a hundred yards away.

The two Spaniards left on guard catch sight of the running men when they are half way across the beach. Why should they suspect that these are not their comrades who lately parted from them? What has happened?

They are nervous, unstrung. "What is it?" they cry; but the words are choked in their throats, for two men have sprung upon them, and next moment they lie stunned on the sand. Four men return and bring their wounded comrades with what haste they may. Then l.u.s.ty arms shove the boat from the shoal; nineteen men leap in after the two; the oars are out, and the boat's head points towards the vessel lying at anchor.

But it pauses as it comes level with the shoulder of the cliff. The four bold fellows who have so manfully played their part beyond the gully are not forgotten. And but a few moments after the boat has stopped, four figures come swimming out with mighty strokes, and are hauled aboard, dripping wet, but exultant. Again the oars strike the water and the boat moves out to sea. A dark hull looms up in front.

Dennis whispers an order; all the oars are s.h.i.+pped but two; and the boat goes slowly, with no sign of haste. A voice hails it from the deck. "All's well!" calls Juan. The boat is now under the vessel's quarter: a lamp is slung over the bulwark to guide the returning crew; a rope is thrown out to steady her; and Turnpenny begins to clamber up by the battens. Before Dennis reaches the deck he hears a cry, then a heavy thud, and as he springs aboard he sees Amos with a prostrate Spaniard between his legs. Up they go, all twenty-five; only a dozen of the vessel's crew are left on board; and the long pent-up excitement of maroons and British mariners bursts forth in a shout of triumph; the s.h.i.+p is theirs.

"Heave up the anchor, my hearts!" cried Turnpenny. "Loose the mainsail, Tom; the wind serves."

"Stay, Amos," said Dennis, "we must not forget the pinnace. We cannot return to Master Drake without her."

"Nor shall not," replied the seaman; "but we'll first give the knavish vessels yonder a taste of our lead, an ye will but give us leave."

"A right good notion, Amos, if we can win to them at this low tide."