CHAPTER XVIII. THE BATTLE ON THE LAGOON
“How did that ship get so close without our seeing her?” cried Henninger, fiercely. “Who was on the lookout?”
It appeared that every one aboard the dhow had been too deeply interested in the salvage operations, and that nobody had been on the lookout at all. The chief snatched up a glass and stared long at the strange vessel, which lay absolutely motionless and perhaps a mile away.
“We’d better clear out. She’s a Britisher—as like as not a gunboat,” Hawke muttered, nervously.
“Clear out!” snorted Henninger. “She’d overtake us in an hour, with her engines. She’s got no guns, that I can see. Ten to one it’s our friends from Zanzibar.” He continued to gaze through the binoculars.
“By Jove, she’s getting ready to lower a boat!” he exclaimed, after a minute or two. “Sullivan, please bring up those rifles and open a case of ammunition. Bring up a case of revolver cartridges, too. Elliott, tell the skipper to get those anchors up, and bring her around.”
The strange steamer was indeed lowering a boat which was full of men, and as it left her side half a dozen dull flashes, as of blued steel, glimmered in the sun. Sullivan darted below and came up with his arms full of Mausers, which he stacked against the after-rail. The Arabs were set to work at the capstan, and the forward anchor was broken out, but the kedge attached to the reef was allowed to remain for the present. Without it, the dhow would have drifted upon the island, for the bright morning was turning cloudy, with a rising breeze from the southeast.
There was hurry and excitement upon her decks as she lay head to the freshening weather, straining at her single cable. The Arabs were clustered at the bow, talking violently among themselves, and gesticulating at the mysterious steamer. Henninger watched them with an air of suspicion, and proceeded to load his revolver, and put a handful of cartridges in his pocket. Every one followed his example, and Margaret produced her own pistol, which she had not shown since the night of her coming aboard.
“Oh, is there going to be a fight?” she breathed in a tremulous voice, which her bright eyes attributed to excitement rather than to fright.
“No. At least, I hope not,” said Henninger. “If there should be, you’ll go below and stay there, Miss Laurie. You understand?”
“Look,” she cried, in answer. “They’re waving a white flag.”
The boat, which had almost reached the barrier reef, had stopped, and a strip of white cloth was being flourished from her stern.
“That settles it,” Elliott remarked. “It must be Carlton and Sevier’s gang. They want to talk to us.”
“We’ll talk to them, but they mustn’t come alongside us,” responded Henninger. “We’ll go ashore to meet them. Elliott, will you come with me? The rest of you had better stand by with the rifles while the peace conference is going on.”
Elliott and Henninger accordingly descended into the dhow’s shore-boat, which swung by its painter, carrying no weapons but their revolvers. Elliott took the oars, and while he rowed Henninger stood up and flourished his handkerchief. The other boat resumed its course at this signal, but was obliged to sheer westward for a quarter of a mile to find an entrance through the ring of reefs. Elliott and Henninger had been ashore for ten minutes when the steamer’s party landed at a point a hundred yards eastward upon the beach.
The strangers disembarked, nine of them, and seemed to consult together for a few moments. Two were in Arab dress, but the rest appeared to be white men of the lowest order, the white riffraff that gathers in the East African ports, a genuinely piratical crew, and every man carried his rifle. Finally, two men came forward with the flag of truce.
“That’s Sevier all right,” said Elliott, “and Carlton with him.”
So it proved, and the Alabaman saluted them with a suave flourish, and without any symptom of surprise.
“Good mo’nin’, Elliott,” he said. “Ah, I always knew you knew where this place was. We never ought to have let you go, but we were all rattled that night, as you’ll remember. I hope you enjoyed your trip to San Francisco?”
“Very much, thanks,” said Elliott. “Have you been to Ibo Island?”
“Yes, we’ve been at Ibo Island. Your slippery old sky-pilot played us a neat trick on that deal. Only for that, we’d have been here two weeks ago. Have you all fished up the stuff?”
“Yes, we’ve got it all aboard,” said Elliott, forgetting the two cases in the stern on the wreck.
“But we’ve no time for chat,” Henninger broke in. “My name’s Henninger, and I’m in a way the leader of this party. What do you want with us, gentlemen?”
“I think I met you once at Panama, Henninger,” said Carlton, as gruffly as ever.
“Very likely,” returned Henninger. “There are all sorts at Panama. What do you want now?”
“We want am even divvy of the stuff.”
“We could take it all, you know,” put in Sevier, sweetly.
“I think not. We won’t divide it,” Henninger answered, without hesitation.
“What’ll you offer, then?”
This time Henninger reflected. “I suppose you know as well as we do how much there is,” he said, slowly, at last. “If my partners agree to it, I don’t mind offering you two cases, holding about seventy-five thousand dollars apiece. That will recoup you for your expenses in coming here.”
“It won’t do,” said Carlton, firmly. “Is that your best bid?”
“It’s our only one. Take it or leave it,” replied Henninger, with great unconcern.
“We’ve got twenty well-armed men—fellows hired to fight,” hinted Sevier, “but we don’t want to start trouble.”
“Your twenty men will certainly cut your throats on the way back, if you have an ounce of gold,” Henninger remarked.
“They might, if we hadn’t put the terror into them coming down. Carlton shot one last week.”
“You shouldn’t let them get so much out of hand as that. But if you accept our offer we’ll expect you to put to sea as soon as you have the stuff. In any case, we can’t allow you to land on the island. You must keep your distance.”
“Think it over,” urged Sevier. “We’ll take one-third, and let you go away with the rest.”
“No,” said Henninger.
“Then we’ll take it all,” Carlton abruptly declared, and walked away. Sevier remained for a moment, looking at Henninger with an expression of regret, and then turned after his companion.
“Quick! Into the boat!” hissed Henninger.
As they pushed off they saw Sevier and Carlton running toward the landing party, who had dropped out of sight behind the scattered rocks on the shore. A confused yell of warning came over the lagoon from the dhow, and, the next instant, half a dozen irregular rifle-shots banged. Elliott ducked low over the oar-handles. His pith helmet jumped from his head and fell into the boat with a round hole through the top; there was a rapid tingling like that of telegraph wires in the air.
Instantly the Mausers upon the dhow began to rattle. Henninger ripped out a curse, and opened an ineffectual fire with his revolver. But the rifle shots from the dhow were straighter. As he tugged at the oars, shaking with wrath and excitement, Elliott saw Sevier go down as he ran, rolling over and over. He was up instantly, but there was a red blotch on the shoulder of his white jacket, and in a few seconds more he was under cover with the rest of his party.
The boat tore through the water, against the wind and waves that were rising upon the lagoon. The enemy had turned their fire principally upon the dhow, but still the bullets seemed to Elliott to follow one another in unbroken succession. He had never been under fire before, and a wild confusion of thoughts rushed through his mind. The boat, he thought, was making scarcely any headway, though Henninger had sat down opposite him and was pushing with all his weight upon the oars. The missiles zipped past or cut hissing into the water. Twice the gunwale was perforated, and then, all at once, they were in the shelter of the dhow’s hull.
“What are you doing on deck, Miss Laurie? Go below at once,” cried Henninger, angrily, as he climbed on board.
The dhow’s company were lying flat on the deck and firing across the rail, which offered concealment rather than shelter. The crew had taken refuge in the forecastle, with the exception of the reis, who had squatted imperturbably on the deck. Margaret was sitting on the planking behind the mast, with her pistol in her lap.
“I did go below,” she answered. “But a bullet came right in through the side of the ship. It’s just as safe here. Wingate!” she exclaimed, as Elliott came over the rail, “you’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, of course not. Lie down on the deck,” said Elliott, irritably, “and put that gun away. You’re liable to hurt some one.” He felt unaccountably bad-tempered, nervous, excited, and scared.
“If those fellows get on the top of the hill,” Henninger snapped, “they’ll be able to keep us off the deck. We’d better—”
“Can’t we let the dhow drift to the island and capture the whole bunch?” suggested Bennett.
“We’d certainly lose a couple of men in doing it,” said Henninger, more collectedly. “I wouldn’t risk it. What are they doing on the steamer, Hawke? You’ve got the glasses.”
“They’re lowering another boat!” Hawke cried. “Four—six—seven men in her,” he continued, peering through the binoculars.
“By thunder, they’ll smother us out!” exclaimed Bennett, and the adventurers looked at one another for a moment in silence.
“That boat mustn’t land,” said Henninger. “Set your sights for five hundred yards, and don’t fire until I give the word; then pump it in as fast as you can. Be sure to hit the boat, if nothing else.”
The second boat had left the steamer and was being rowed toward the island at a racing pace, veering to the west, to make the same landing-place as the other. Henninger, struck by a sudden thought, turned to the skipper.
“Abdullah, can any of your men shoot? Bring up three of the best of them and give them rifles. Take one yourself. We must put that boat out of business before she touches the shore.”
The reis went below and brought up three Arabs, who grinned as they received the rifles, evidently delighted at the honour. The boat was drawing nearer, still pulling to the west, and the party ashore began to fire more rapidly to cover the landing.
“Never mind them,” said Henninger. “Aim at the boat. Now!”
The six Mausers went off like a single shot, and the Arabs poured in their fire a second later. There was instant confusion in the boat, which was just passing through the reef; an oar went up in the air, and a white streak showed on her bow. As fast as the rifles could be discharged the dhow’s company fired, thrusting fresh clips into the magazines when they were empty. The cartridge-cases rattled out upon the deck, and the rank smelling gas from the smokeless powder drifted back chokingly.
“Allah! Allah!” screamed the excited Arabs, as they manipulated their weapons, shooting wildly in the direction of the enemy. But the bullets were coming fast from the shore. Elliott again heard strange sharp sounds whispering past his face. A great splinter flew up from the rail, and suddenly Sullivan stood up jerkily on the deck.
“Lie down!” Henninger howled at him, and the adventurer collapsed. The front of his shirt was covered with bright red blood. Elliott sprang to his side, dropping his rifle.
“Sullivan’s hit!” he shouted.
“Never mind him!” roared Henninger. “Let him alone, you fool. Keep up the fire.”
The boat was floating crazily about, with oars dipping in contradictory directions. Her crew were standing up or lying down, and firing a few wild shots.
“I’ll look after him. Go back to your place,” said Margaret, creeping up beside the fallen man.
“Get under cover yourself!” cried Elliott, furiously. “You can’t do anything. Why aren’t you below?”
But the concentrated, rapid fire had already done its work. The boat had drifted upon a reef, perforated undoubtedly in a dozen places. She capsized with a sudden lunge upon the rocks, and her crew went into the water, where a few swimming heads presently reappeared.
“Don’t fire at them,” said Henninger, grimly contemplating the swimmers. “They can’t hurt us; they’ve lost their rifles. How’s Sullivan?”
Margaret turned up a pale, frightened face, with eyes that were full of tears. “I—don’t know,” she faltered.
Sullivan’s eyes were open, but his face was already pale, and he lay perfectly motionless on the deck. Henninger ripped open his shirt, wiped the blood from the wound in the chest, and felt his wrist.
“Shot through the heart,” he said, laying the arm down very gently. No one spoke; they all gazed silently at the whitening face. A bullet, fired from the island, ripped through the sail and plunged viciously into the bulwark.
“Elliott, you and Bennett carry him below,” commanded Henninger, harshly. “No time for mourning now. Miss Laurie, you go below and stay there. Don’t bunch together like that, the rest of you. We can’t afford to lose any more men.”
But for a few minutes the men ashore ceased their fire. When Elliott came on deck again the smoke had blown clear. The steamer lay immobile in the offing, heaving upon the roughening sea, and the wrecked boat was bobbing up and down in the surf, bottom upward. There were no signs of the fight but the scattered cartridge-cases on the deck, a few splintered holes in the woodwork and a red smear on the planking.
Henninger took the glass and carefully scrutinized the steamer, and then turned his gaze upon the island.
“I don’t know what they’re up to,” he said, with dissatisfaction. “I can’t see a hair of them. Either they’re lying mighty close, or else they’ve slipped around the hill and are climbing to the top. I can see another boat on the steamer, but I don’t think it’ll try to come ashore—not till dark, anyway.”
“But they’ve got nothing but some kind of sporting rifles, burning black powder,” said Hawke. “Good rifles, but they haven’t near the range of our Mausers. We could lie off and pepper them, if we could get to sea.”
“Yes, we must get out of this lagoon. It’s a regular trap,” said Henninger.
“And they’ve got no water on the island,” Bennett remarked.
At this remark Elliott realized that his throat was parching. He brought a bucket of water aft, and they all drank enormously. It was very hot, though the sun was veiled in gray clouds and the sea was rising under the rising southeast wind, the prevailing wind on the east coast at that season.
“There was a rainwater pool on the island when I was there,” Bennett went on. “I found it very useful. But it may be dry now, and anyhow it’s at the other end of the island, and they can’t get to it.”
“Hang it all, why can’t we put to sea and let the rest of the treasure go?” ejaculated Elliott, sickening at the thought of what the gold had already cost.
“Because with that steamer they’d follow us, wear us out, and maybe run us down,” said Henninger. “But we must get out of the lagoon and have sea-room as soon as possible.”
Thud! Something cut through the upper portion of the mizzen-sail and plunged into the deck. Whiz-z-ip! Another missile hit the barrel of Bennett’s rifle and glanced away, screaming harshly. Bennett dropped the gun from his tingling fingers. A third bullet lodged in the mast, and another ploughed a deep furrow in the rail, and glanced again.
“Where did that come from?” yelled Hawke; and “Look!” shouted Elliott at the same moment, pointing shoreward.
The top of the hill upon the island was crowned with white smoke, and as they looked three or four fresh puffs of vapour bloomed out and blew down the wind, with a distant popping report. Zip! Thud! the bullets sang down and plunged into the planking.
“They’ve got to the hill. Scatter! Scatter! Lie down!” cried Henninger, flinging himself flat on the deck. But on the hill not a man was to be seen. The invaders had stowed themselves so snugly behind the irregular boulders that not so much as a rifle muzzle showed, and a plunging fire beat down upon the dhow’s exposed after-deck.
“Gee! this is hot!” exclaimed Hawke, as a bullet ploughed the deck not six inches from his shoulder.
“Too hot!” said Henninger. “We can’t stay up here.” He jumped up and dived for the hatch, and the others followed him, crouching low. They tumbled down the ladder almost in a heap, and found Margaret sitting on a locker in the cabin beside the door of the strong-room. Six feet away Sullivan’s body lay, a rigid outline, under a blanket.
“We’re trapped sure enough!” exclaimed Hawke, breathing heavily. He went to the stern port-light and looked out cautiously. The window gave a view of the island, where the concealed marksmen had ceased to fire, but the steamer could not be seen.
“The tables are turned. They can starve us out now,” Hawke went on nervously.
“Surely not. We can get to sea, can’t we, Henninger?” said Elliott.
“I don’t know,” replied Henninger, abstractedly. He was looking through the port, and he finally thrust his head out to look at the steamer. “Look out!” he cried, dodging inside again with agility.
He had drawn another volley from the watchful rifles on the hill, but the stern timbers of the dhow were thick enough to keep out the lead, and no bullet entered the port. Two or three shots came crashing down through the deck, splintering the under side of the planking, but doing no further damage.
“They’re determined to keep us smothered,” said Hawke.
For perhaps fifteen minutes there was a lull, and then a man stood up on the hill waving a white streamer, and began to descend. He reached the shore, boarded the boat, and began to row out with some difficulty, but apparent fearlessness. He was easily recognizable through the glass, and when he was within a hundred yards Henninger hailed him.
“Don’t come any nearer, Carlton. What do you want?”
“We’ll give you one-third and let you go,” shouted Carlton, standing up in the plunging boat.
“You’ll get all of it, or none,” answered Henninger, and without another word Carlton rowed himself back to shore.
“Serve him right to take a shot at him,” muttered Hawke, handling his rifle.
“No, don’t do that,” said Elliott. “Let’s fight fair, if we are in a close corner.”
But the fighting was delayed. For hours deep peace brooded over the island, while the whitecaps grew, crashing upon the reef, and the dhow strained at her single cable. The steamer was invisible, owing to her position, but she blew her whistle several times in a curious fashion, to which answer was made by the wigwagging of a white cloth just visible above the crest of the hill.
“They’re plotting something. I wish I knew what it was,” Henninger said, anxiously, searching the hill with the glass.
“The reis thinks the cable won’t hold if the weather freshens much more,” said Bennett, who had been conversing with the skipper. “If it breaks we’ll drift on the island, and they’ll sure have us.”
“Don’t borrow trouble,” said Elliott.