Chapter 54 - Ran Away to Sea by Mayne Reid
During all this time what was the behaviour of the unfortunate blacks? Where were they? what were they doing? What was being done for them? Were any steps being taken for their safety?
The two last of these questions may be answered by saying, that up to that moment, with the exception of myself, perhaps, not one on board had given a thought either to them or their fate! With regard to their whereabouts, they were still between decks, and under grated hatches; and as to what they were doing, it would have been hard to tell that—hard even to guess it. One thing they were doing; they were crying frantically, and screaming as if they had all gone mad—but this was no new thing, it had been their behaviour throughout that whole day.
In their hurrying to and fro, while launching the long-boat, and afterwards while gathering materials for the raft, the men passed frequently near them; and then the cries of the blacks would, for the moment, be uttered in a louder voice, and in more earnest tones,—sometimes of entreaty, but oftener of rage and menace.
As no notice was taken of them, and those to whom they appealed passed carelessly on, their voices would sink again into the deep continuous murmur of despair.
It is probable that up to this period—the moment when the raft was ready—the only agony which they had experienced was thirst; for I noticed, on last passing them, that their cries had not changed. It was still agoa! agoa!—water! water! This, with the want of air and room, the desire to get upon deck, were the impulses that had been urging them to such furious and frantic demonstrations.
It is most probable, then, that up to the period I have mentioned they had no particular dread—at least, no dread of the awful doom that now threatened them so nearly.
The smoke of the burning cabin rather inclined aft than forward, and had not reached them, and the flames were not yet sufficiently bright to illumine the whole vessel with any unnatural light. Of course, from their position under the hatches, neither cabin nor deck was visible to them; and until either smoke or flame, or a brilliant light shining through the grating, should reveal the awful truth, they could not possibly be aware of their peril. No one had volunteered to announce it to them, because no one thought it worth while!
They may have observed that all was not right—they may have had suspicions that there was something amiss. The unusual movements of the crew—the noises heard upon deck—the hurried trampling of feet, and the gestures of the sailors, as these passed within sight, with the terrified expression of their countenances—which could scarce have been unnoticed—for it was still clear enough for that—all these matters must have excited the suspicions of the close kept crowd, that there was something amiss on board the barque. The crashing sound of axes, and then the shock and heavy lurching of the vessel, as the mast came down, may have excited other apprehensions besides that of perishing by thirst; and, though they continued their cries for water, I observed that they conversed among themselves in hurried mutterings that bespoke alarm from some other cause.
But as none of them knew anything about a ship or her ways—the Pandora was the first they had ever looked upon—of course they could not arrive at any conclusion as to why the unusual movements were going forward. Guided only by what they heard, they could hardly guess what was being done. They could not imagine there was a danger of being wrecked—since there was neither wind nor storm—and after all it might be some manoeuvre in navigation which they did not comprehend. This probably would have been their belief had they not observed the odd look and gestures of such of the sailors as at intervals came near the grating. These were so wild as to convince them that something was wrong—that there was danger aboard.
The commotion had produced fears among them, but not proportioned to the peril. They knew not the nature of their danger, and their alarm had not yet reached its crisis: but they were not destined to remain much longer in doubt.
Just at this moment a jet of red flame shot upward through the smoke—it was followed by another, redder and more voluminous—then another, and another, until the blaze rose continuous, and stood several feet in the air.
The moon became eclipsed by the brighter light—the whole vessel was yellowed over, as if the sun had returned above the ocean.
The crackling of the burning timber now sounded in their ears—the fire, having escaped from the embrace of its own smoke, seethed fiercer, and rose higher into the air, until the top of the ascending flames could be seen through the grating of the hatches.
But it needed not that the flames should be seen—their light, and the hissing, crackling noise that proceeded from them, proclaimed the dread nature of the catastrophe.
Then arose a cry—a wild, agonising cry—out of the bosom of that dark hold—out of the hearts of that ill-fated crowd—a cry that for some moments drowned the fierce seething of the flames, and the crashing, crackling sounds of the fire. I shall never forget that cry—none who heard it could fail to remember it till their last hour.
It was just at this crisis that I had turned to look back. Awful was the sight that met my eyes—awful the sounds that fell upon my ears. Under the bright gleam of the blazing ship, I saw the black faces and round woolly heads pressing against the bars of the grating. I saw glaring eyes, foaming lips, and teeth set in terror, glittering white under the corruscation of the flames. I saw smoke oozing up the grated hatch—the fire was fast creeping forward—its foul harbinger was already among them—oh! what an awful sight!
I could not bear it—I could not have borne it in a dream—it was too much for human eyes—too much for the heart of man. My first impulse was to turn away, and glide down beside my companion—who was waiting patiently upon the raft below.
This was my first impulse, which suddenly gave way to another. My eye had fallen upon the axe—still lying across the bowsprit-shrouds, where Brace had thrown it.
The weapon suggested a purpose; and, eagerly seizing it, I faced once more towards the burning vessel. My purpose was to return on deck—strike off the batten—and set the grating free. I knew the risk—I had forgotten the presence of the powder—but if it were to be my death I could not restrain myself from acting as I did. I could not live to behold such a terrible holocaust—such a wholesale burning of human beings!
“At least,” thought I, “they shall not perish thus. Though their fate be sealed, they shall have a choice of death—they shall choose between burning and drowning—the latter will at least be easier to endure.”
It was this last reflection that had prompted me to my purpose.
Bending downward, I hurriedly communicated my design to my companion. I was gratified with his reply.
“All right, Willim! good work—do it!—do it—set ’em free, poor creetirs. I was thinking o’t myself—tho’ ’twas too late—haste ’ee, lad—look sharp!”
I waited not for the end of his speech; but springing back to the deck, rushed towards the hatch. I thought not of looking below—indeed, the smoke was now coming up so thickly that I could scarce see the terrified faces. The glimpse I had of them was sufficient to satisfy me, that, in a few minutes more, those glaring eyes would have been blind, and those hoarse voices hushed in death.
I remembered where one batten had been removed, and where the other had been attacked by the axe. I renewed the attack—striking with all the strength and dexterity I could demand.
My efforts proved successful; and, after half-a-dozen blows, the spikes yielded, and the cleet of timber flew off.
I did not stay to raise the grating; I knew that would be done by the pressure from below; and, gliding back, I once more climbed over the bows.
One glance back, as I passed over the head, told me that my purpose had been fully accomplished. Instantly as I parted from it the grating was flung off, and I saw the stream of black forms pouring upwards and spreading itself over the deck!
I stayed to observe no more; but, sliding down a rope, was received in the arms of my companion.