University of Virginia Library

44. CHAPTER XLIV.
A BLOODY STRUGGLE.

When Sam Fowler left the house of Sproulls, his first notion
was, to find his way to the dwelling of Mrs. Perkins Anderson,
and endeavor to draw Molyneaux forth. The fellow had become
doubtful of his securities, suspicious of the precinct, and apprehensive
for his companion. But he had no guide; felt his legs
beginning to be more and more unsteady, as he inhaled the cool,
fresh air of the morning; and, upon second thought, he directed
his steps toward the lagune in which the boat had been hidden.
His selfishness overcame his good-fellowship.

“This chap Molyneaux,” he muttered to himself, “is no great
shakes. We can do without him. Why should n't I have the
ship to myself? He 's a fool too, not thoroughbred, and will be
always after some fol-de-rol or other, sp'ilin' a profitable v'yage!
We can do without him. Let him git out of the scrape as he can.
I 'll wait for him in the boat. Ef he comes, we 're no worse off
than before. He can be captain of the ship. I 'll be his captain;
and ef he kicks, we can send him over the side to feed the
sharks!”

Such was his policy and moral.

He took his way to the lagune, and found it.

He gave the signal. The boat shot from her sheltering myrtles,
and was run up to the shore. Two silent figures managed
her.

“Here away, fellows — up to that 'yster-bed! No need to
muddy one's feet!”

The boat obeyed him.

He stepped in with a yawing, unsteady motion, his brain feeling
more than ever the potations he had drunken.

“Put her out, and row for the mouth of the creek, fellows. We
shall be safer there, and can hear the lieutenant's signal when he
comes upon the p'int. I 'm thirsty as d—nation!”

He was obeyed in silence.

“What have you seen, boys? Any strange sail? — anybody
here?”

“None, sir.”

“None? Well, that 's good! They have n't found us out,
then! But they 've got bloody lights out. There 's rats abroad.
I 've had a narrow escape. Had me on the hip. Got ropes
stretched. The d—d punch! Them sweet liquors have snared
many a true man. Drink no more of 'em! The naked rum for
me!”

And he laid himself back in the stern.

“How 's tide, boys?”

“Have the ebb soon, sir.”

“Ay, I know'd it. 'Twixt twelve and one, they said. Two
now. Ebb at three. D—n the punch! Wish we were safe all,
stowed away in our bunks!”

A deep silence followed. The rowers continued to pull out.
They were nearly at the mouth of the creek. The Ashley was
rolling broad, clear, and fresh, in the growing moonlight. Fowler
seemed to sleep. One of the rowers muttered to the other —

“He sleeps!”

“Not yet,” was the answer.

“Well, away! avast, there! What do you pipe?” demanded
the supposed sleeper.

“Nothin', sir!”

“Nothin' be d—d! Talk out! Why do n't you talk? What
have you got to say?”

“Nothin', sir!”

“I say nothin' be d—d! Say somethin'! You, Byrd, have
talk enough when the humor suits you. Have you no liquor?”

“Not a drop, sir.”

“D—d bad lookout! Wish I had brought the black junk.
Famous Jamaica. Feel hot and thirsty as h-ll! Ought to have
cut one of them d—d throats! Been easier for it. The sneakin'

lubbers! Sich a trap for a strong man! But I 'll smoke 'em
yet! I 'll smoke the d—d town, soon as I git fairly on the
quarter-deck! smoke the rats out of their holes! Sich a trap!
Sproulls! Jim — Jim Atkinson! Got 'em all down in the ship's
articles. Hang 'em for traitors — hang 'em in their shoes — the
d—d fresh-water lubbers!”

Here his eloquence was interrupted by a fit of hiccoughing,
broken with muttered ejaculations of the same type with the preceding;
the sample is sufficient. He finally gave up the effort to
speak, and again subsided, with head upon the side of the boat.
He was silent. The oarsmen paused in the stroke, and the oars
were resting on the sides. Fowler seemed to sleep. He was
quiet; the hiccoughs were gone.

“He sleeps now,” whispered one rower to the other.

“Not yet.”

“But he 's so drunk, that it will be quite as easy.”

“Hardly! We need risk nothin'. There 's time enough yet
for an hour.”

The supposed sleeper rose up:—

“Why the h-ll do n't you pull?”

“We 're at the mouth of the creek, sir!”

“What of that? Pull out, I say!”

“Into the river, sir?”

“Yes — h-ll! To be sure!”

“But the lieutenant, sir!—”

“D—n the lieutenant! I 'm myself lieutenant. Shall we
stay for him all night, locked up in a d—d cabin with five fellows
at one's throat? Pull out, and the lieutenant be d—d!
Ef he will burn daylight, shakin' his d—d ridiculous legs at a
fandango, when he ought to be breezin' it at ten knots straight
for the gulf, he may stay for ever! Pull out, fellows, and lay us
aboard the Happy-go-Lucky before the dawn!”

They obeyed him, and he again relapsed into silence. The
rowers rested on their oars. The boat lay rocking to and fro,
steadied in the one spot only by an occasional dip of the oar from
one of the parties. Fowler showed himself restless, and, starting
up, exclaimed:—

“Look you, fellows, why do n't you say somethin'? and —
hello! why do you stop the boat? Why do n't you pull? What

do you mean by not talkin'? What 's come over you? Where 's
your report?”

The rowers were silent and motionless.

Fowler sat up, and stared at them. His brain was foggy, but
not so much befogged but that something mysterious in their conduct
made itself felt.

“Look you, Byrd! — talk, I say!”

And the speech was rounded by a volley of oaths.

“Talk, I say! Let me hear somethin' I can understand. Talk,
though you talk to the fishes only! Ef you do n't, by — you
shall go to feed 'em!”

Both rowers answered him.

“Heh! Who 's that?”

There was something strange in the voice.

“I say, fellows, who 's that spoke? Was it Byrd, or — or —
Cromley?”

“Cromley, sir.”

“A d—d strange croak for Cromley! Got a frog in your
throat, fellow. I must look for it.”

And, staggering up, he strode forward and took the first oarsman
by the shoulder. The light of the moon, now one third of
her course in heaven, was sufficient for the inspection, which, as
the pirate made it, he roared out:—

“Ha! ha! h-ll and brimstone! More traps! — more sarcumventions!
The d—d punch! But I ain't on my beam-ends
yet. You bloody sarpents! You think you 've got me, do you!
But, thunder and blazes, I 'm not to be laid by the heels by sich
chaps as you!”

He had discovered Jack Belcher in the oarsman whom he had
taken for Byrd. This discovery revealed his danger. He knew
the fidelity of Belcher to Calvert; felt, from his presence, in the
place of the hands he had left in the boat, that his treachery was
known.

His prompt action kept pace with his words. With the hand
which grasped the collar of Belcher, he pressed him over upon
the thwarts, while with the other hand he fumbled at his pistols.

The crisis was come. Belcher felt that he had to deal with
one who was desperate, and almost as vigorous as desperate.
Danger and strife had the effect to restore him, in some degree,

to sobriety, and so to a corresponding increase of strength. It
was necessary for the assailed party to make powerful exertions.
It was not easy to do so in his situation. Not expecting assault
from the drunken man, he had kept his seat on his approach;
and, as the truth dawned on the mind of Fowler, the outlaw had
incontinently thrown himself upon the oarsman, bearing him down
backward to the bottom of the boat, from which he was only
saved by the lap of his companion. That companion was no less
a person than the old salt, Franks; Calvert having found it necessary,
in the present complication of his affairs, to put all his personnel
into requisition. We may here state that the orders of
our rover to his two subordinates were, to secure the person of
Fowler — not to hurt him — to fetter him effectually; and, for
this purpose, the iron handcuffs were provided, and in the bottom
of the boat.

Caught suddenly, grasped firmly, and by the still vigorous
frame of the old pirate, Belcher was overborne for the moment.
Dropping his oar, his only resource was to throw his arms about
the neck of the ruffian and drag him down with him. Thus they
rolled together — struggled and strove — with rapid movements,
which, from their confined and constrained position, were necessarily
awkward ones. Both felt that the struggle was for life.
Belcher's aim was, to hoist his assailant over the boat's side.
This he might have done, could he have obtained the upper position;
but Fowler was too heavy of build, still too strong, and had
all the advantage of the gripe. Franks, sitting at the forehandoar,
could take no hold; Belcher's position having been between
him and that of the pirate. But the old sea-dog watched his
chances, seeming altogether quiescent during the struggle.

It was in vain that Belcher strove to throw off his assailant;
still more vain, with both hands needed to keep himself uppermost,
that Fowler fumbled, at moments, for his pistols or knife. And
the strife thus continued; few words being spoken by either party,
and Fowler only belching forth an occasional oath, as he felt himself
baffled in his effort.

But Belcher was beginning to suffer. His enemy had him by
the throat with one hand, his head being borne below the level
of his body. The weight of his heavy assailant was stretched
upon him. His breathing was difficult. As yet, Fowler showed

no signs of suffering. He was working one hand with some freedom.
Franks watched and listened. Suddenly the click of a
pistol was heard, and a moment afterward the fire. Belcher
made a violent effort and threw off his assailant. He was, happily,
uninjured. The bullet went into the bottom of the boat, just
grazing his side. Fowler, thrown off, lay beside his antagonist,
who contrived to cast a leg over him and pinion his lower limbs.
Then, as the hat of the outlaw fell off, and he lifted his head, old
Franks seized him by his hair, which was long, and plaited into
“pig-tails.”

“All right now!” quoth the old salt, as he dragged down the
uplifted head of the pirate. But the hands of the latter were
free. He struck right and left with the empty pistol, inflicting
some heavy blows; but he was evidently growing weaker. He
felt this; and, dropping the pistol, stuck his hand into his belt,
seeking another.

Belcher was too quick for him, and now buckled, with all his
weight, close to his body, even as Fowler had succeeded previously
in keeping him down. For a moment the ruffian lay quiet,
but it was only for a temporary respite from exertion, and the
regaining of his strength; and while his two assailants were taking
advantage of the pause to recover breath, he began a series of new
and most desperate exertions.

“We shall have to kill him,” said Franks. “There's no hitching
him!”

“Kill him! and why not,” muttered Belcher, “as soon kill him
as any wolf that runs?”

“Kill!” roared Fowler; and the conflict was renewed with increasing
vigor. Then Belcher, with clenched teeth, fell upon
him with all his might. Fowler half righted himself, sitting fairly
up in the grasp of the enemy. It was a final and exhausting
effort. Belcher, in another moment, succeeded in pressing his
head over the gunwale of the boat, which by this time had drifted
into the middle of the river.

“Help, Franks,” quoth he, “while I pitch him over!”

“Pitch him over,” said Franks, “while there 's so much life in
him? He 'll sink better after this!—”

And, with the iron handcuffs, which he had caught up from the
bottom of the boat, he smote the naked head of the pirate, as it

lay over the side — one, two, three, terrible blows — under which
you could hear the crunching of the skull; while a horrid shriek
went up from the victim. One violent, spasmodic convulsion of
the whole frame, and his death-agony was over; and even while
he was writhing in the muscular spasms, Belcher seized him bodily,
and flung him over into the river.

Then the two survivors drew a long breath, and sat gazing at
each other in deep silence. They both felt all the horrors of the
scene. They were both exhausted. Franks was the first to catch
up his oar, and motion to his companion to do likewise.

“Throw these handcuffs overboard,” said Belcher, “and wash
the side of the boat.”

“We had to do it!” responded Franks, apologetically.

“Yes, it was him or us! 'T was life or death between us.
Could n't be helped; the fellow was desperate! And better so,
for we could n't have kept him. What could the captain do with
him?”

“'T was a maroon shore he meant for him, I reckon. But he
might have got off from that, and somebody would have had, at
last, to cut his throat; for he was past cure. And, let to live, who
knows how many murders he would have done!”

“Yes, it 's best so!”

“Yet, I 'd rather it had n't been my old hands to do it. I was
prayin' that the time was gone by for me to meddle with fightin'
and bloodshed. But it could n't be helped.”

“And it 's over now, Franks! 'T was a hard struggle, and a
bloody end. But 't was not to be dodged. Let 's pull in now, for
I reckon the captain will want all the help he can git to-night.
We ain't out of the woods yet.”