The boatmen had received their promised pay as soon
as Frank had reached the yacht, and had taken their
places in their boat, but Dominique told Frank that
they would not go till the Osprey sailed, as they
were afraid of being pursued and attacked by the villagers’
boats if they did so.
As Frank stood gazing at the scene, George Lechmere
touched him. Frank, looking round, saw that he
wished to speak to him privately.
“What is it, George?” he asked, when he
had stepped a few paces from Bertha.
“Look there, Major,” George said, handing
him a field glass. “I thought I had settled
old scores with him, but the devil has looked after
his own.”
“You don’t mean to say, George, that it
is Carthew again.”
“It is he, sure enough, sir. I would have
sworn that I had done for him. If I had thought
there had been the slightest doubt about it, I would
have put a pistol ball through his head.”
Frank raised the glass to his eyes. Just where
the torches were thickest, he could make out a man’s
figure raised above the heads of the rest. He
was supported on a litter. His head was swathed
with bandages. He had raised himself into a sitting
position, supported by one arm, while he waved the
other passionately. He was evidently haranguing
the crowd.
As Frank looked, he saw the figure sink down.
Then there was a deep roll of the drum, and a fantastic-looking
figure, daubed as it seemed with paint and wearing
a huge mask, appeared in his place. The drum
and the horns were silent, and the shouting of the
negroes was at once hushed. This man, too, harangued
the crowd, and when he ceased there was a loud yell
and a general movement among the throng. At that
moment, Hawkins came up.
“The chain is up and down, sir. Shall I
make sail? The wind is very light, but I think
that it is enough to take her out.”
“Yes, make sail, Hawkins, as quickly as you
can. I am afraid that those fellows are coming
out to attack us, and I don’t want to kill any
of the poor devils. There is a small boat coming
out from the shore towards that craft. The white
sailors are on board, and we shall have them on us,
too.”
“Up with the anchor,” Hawkins shouted.
“Make sail at once. Look sharp, my hearties,
work with a will, or we shall have those niggers on
us again.”
Never was sail made on the Osprey more quickly, and
by the time that the anchor was apeak all the lower
sails were set.
“Shall I tell the blacks to tow their boat behind
us?” Hawkins asked Frank, as the yacht began
to steal through the water.
“No; let them tow alongside, Hawkins. I
don’t suppose the people ashore know that we
have a native boat with us. If they did, they
would be sure that it came from Nipes, and it might
set up a feud and cost them their lives, especially
as that Obi scoundrel is concerned in the affair.”
