Part 2 (2/2)
I looked for blood, but saw none.
The most awful time that ever pa.s.sed in my life now went along. The tiger roamed the deck silently, smelling at everything, once shoving its huge head into the companion-way, and I prayed with all my heart it would go below, that I might skim to the hatch and secure it. It drew its head out, and going to the boy stopped and smelt him. The very blood in me was curdled, for I made sure the beast was about to eat the lad. Sometimes I broke out into the noisiest roarings and screaming my pipes could set up in the hope of driving the brute overboard.
Between five and six o'clock in the evening the tide had made so as to cover the mud, and I saw the brig's boat approaching. Those who pulled flourished their oars drunkenly. The boat came to a stand when within easy hailing distance, as though old Bunk was taking a view of me as I sat in the top, and was wondering what I did there.
I roared out: ”For G.o.d's sake mind how you come aboard! There's been a blooming tiger in this brig since noon!”
”A what?” yelled Bunk, and the seamen pulled a little closer in.
It was still broad flaming daylight, and the sun hung like a huge blood-red target over the crimson sea.
”A what?” shrieked Bunk.
”A tiger! A blooming tiger!” I bellowed, pointing to the brute that lay crouched on the forecastle hidden from the boat's crew.
”Drunk again, Tom? or is it sun-stroke this time?” sung out old Bunk, standing up in the boat and lurching to the rocking of her.
”It's killed William!” I yelled.
When I said this the beast, attracted by the noise of voices over the side, got up and looked over the bulwark rail at the men, and old Bunk instantly saw it. He stared for a minute or two as though he had been blasted by a stroke of lightning. The other three fellows then saw the beast, and if there was any drink in their heads the fumes of it flew out at that sight, and left them sober men. Their postures were full of wild surprise and terror whilst they gazed. Old Bunk roared:
”Has he killed the boy, d'yer say?”
”He lies there dead,” cried I, pointing. ”He hasn't moved since I first saw him.”
”Has he been eating of him?”
”No!”
”We must go ash.o.r.e for help,” sung out Jack Stevens.
”For G.o.d's sake don't leave me up here!” I cried.
”Tom,” shouted Bunk, ”there's only wan thing to dew; there's an old gun in my cabin, and yer'll find a powder-flask and ball in the locker. We must keep that tiger a-watching of us over the bow, whilst you run below and shut the hatch. By lifting the lid you'll be able to shoot him through the skylight. Come you down now as far as you durst whilst we fixes the attention of the brute upon ourselves.”
I at once dropped into the rigging, where I stretched and played my legs a bit. They were as stiff as hand-spikes after that long spell in the maintop. I descended as low down as the sheer-pole, breathlessly watching. They pulled the boat under the bow, and Bill Martin with lifted oar made as though spearing at the brute's head. It opened its huge mouth and showed its immense claws upon the rail; old Bunk hissed and snapped at it, then roared out to me:
”Now's your time, Tom,” whilst I heard Jack Stevens sing out:
”Back astarn! The fired cat's going to jump.”
With the nimbleness of terror I dropped to the deck and pa.s.sed like a shadow to the hatch, unnoticed by the beast. In a moment I closed the companion doors, then entering Bunk's cabin found the gun and ammunition. I loaded the piece, and, getting on to the cabin table, put my head into the skylight, and bawled out to let the others know that I was going to shoot. My voice attracted the tiger; it turned, and with swaying tail came with velvet tread, crouching in a springing posture. I levelled the gun, steadying the barrel, and, taking a cool, deliberate aim--for I was safe!--fired, and the instant I had fired, without pausing to see what had happened, I loaded again; but before I could present the piece for a second shot the beast, who was now on this side the boy, lurched and fell.
I fired a second ball into it, and then a third and a fourth, and now shouting to let the men know the brute was wounded and dying, I ran on deck, and putting the muzzle of the gun to the creature's glazing eye, fired, and this did its business, for just one spasm ran through it, and then the terrible, muscular bulk lay motionless.
The men came scrambling aboard. We turned the boy over, and took him below. Shortly afterwards the tug hove in sight, and we let the beast lie whilst we got our anchor and manoeuvred with the tow-rope. I am sorry to say the boy was dead. On our arrival a doctor came and looked at him, and a crowd tumbled aboard to view the beast. There was not a scratch on the lad; the tiger had never touched him; the doctor said he had died of syncope caused by fright.
The owner of the tiger threatened old Bunk with the law, and asked for a hundred guineas. Bunk started William's mother upon him for compensation for the loss of her boy, and shortly afterwards the showman went broke.
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