Part 20 (1/2)
Then he made his way down-stairs, opened a door, and found himself in a kitchen, confronted by a resolute old colored woman, who, after one glance at his strange face, let fly at it a ladle of hot water. This a.s.sault was immediately followed by such a well-directed shower of plates, pans, and culinary utensils as caused the intruder to utter howls of pain and make a blind dash for an outer door.
Even outside the house his troubles were far from ended, for shouting men were running towards him through the darkness, while at the same time a dog leaped at him.
Throttling the animal and flinging him off after a vigorous struggle, Connell had next to knock down a man who was attacking him on the opposite side, receive a blow from a broom-handle wielded by Aunty Nimmo, dodge several other a.s.sailants, and finally to run for his life.
When the poor fellow at length found himself alone and safe from present pursuit, he sat breathlessly on a log, over which he had just pitched headlong, and began to consider his situation.
”You may talk about your dynamite and gunpowder,” he said, ”but being blown up with aither of them isn't a patch to what I've gone through this night. What with being wracked on a rock in the sea, fighting smugglers, nagurs, and Polanders--to say nothing of dogs and other wild animals--beat and battered, torn and scalded, tripped up and lost in the wilderness, and all in the middle of a cruel blackness, is an experience that any man might be grateful to be done with. If I have a whole bone left inside of me skin, or a rag to me back, it's more than I'm hoping. Now what'll I do next?
”Will I go back to the house? Indade I will not. Will I make another try for the cave? Not so long as I have me right mind. Will I go back to Red Jacket?--and meet them as would ax me what had I done with Mister Peril? Not on your life. Where is Mister Peril at this blessed minute, anyhow? At sea on board the smuggler, or I miss me guess. How will I get to him? By taking a boat, of course. Where will I find one?
At Laughing Fish Cove, to be sure. That's the very place, bedad! and the sooner I'm getting there the better.”
The tug _Broncho_ had reached Laughing Fish about an hour before Mike Connell arrived at this decision. She had come in search of the party of log-wreckers that she had brought to that place more than a week earlier, and now those on board were greatly troubled at not finding a trace of the missing men save their deserted camp. Nor could they obtain any information concerning them from the fisher folk of the cove.
On board the tug was Major Arkell, who had been led by curiosity to take the trip. He was curious to know what had become of the young man whom he had sent into that region to pick up wrecked logs, and he was also curious to ascertain what had become of a large number of those same logs that still remained unaccounted for. At the same time he would like to investigate certain reports that had reached him of the reopening of some old mine-workings in that neighborhood. He had hoped that his researches might not take him beyond Laughing Fish, where he antic.i.p.ated finding Richard Peveril prepared to answer all his questions. Failing to discover the young man, or any trace of him, the problems that he had set out to solve became more interesting than before, and he ordered Captain Spillins to start at daybreak on a cruise still farther up the coast.
Early on the following morning, therefore, everything was in readiness on board the tug, and its crew were getting up the anchor when their attention was arrested by the shouts and gesticulations of a man on the beach.
”Send a boat in and see what he wants,” said the manager; and ten minutes later Mike Connell was on board, telling his story to a highly interested group of listeners.
Within an hour after receiving her new pa.s.senger, the _Broncho_, under full head of steam, was several miles to the northward of Laughing Fish, and well out to sea, in hot pursuit of a small schooner. The latter was slipping easily along before the fresh morning breeze that had recently set in after a night of calm. The water rippled merrily past her flas.h.i.+ng sides, and she was making some six miles an hour. At the same time the _Broncho_, pouring forth great clouds of soft-coal smoke and heaping the smooth water into double white-crested billows as she rushed through it, was doing two miles to her one, and would soon overtake her.
”Whatever can that bloomin' teakettle want of us?” growled the captain of the schooner as he blinked with half-closed eyes at his pursuer.
”She ain't no revenue boat, as I can see. Tom, h'ist our ensign as a hint for 'em to keep away.”
The sailor obeyed, and a minute later ran the crimson flag of Great Britain to the main peak, where it streamed out bravely in the freshening breeze.
”Got a flag aboard this boat, Captain Spillins?” asked Major Arkell as he watched the schooner from the _Broncho's_ pilot-house.
”Yes, sir, two of 'em.”
”Good. We'll see that fellow and go him one better. Set 'em both.”
In consequence of this order the Stars and Stripes were quickly snapping defiantly from both the forward and after jack-staffs of the on-rus.h.i.+ng tug.
”Sheer off, blast you, or you'll run us down!” bellowed the captain of the schooner as the tug ranged close abreast.
”Is that your man?” asked the manager, of Mike Connell.
”He is. Sure I'd know him from a thousand by me own frescos on his purty face.”
”Have you a man named Richard Peveril aboard your craft?” demanded Captain Spillins.
”None of your d----d business.”
”Run him down!” ordered Major Arkell, sternly, and the words had hardly left his mouth before the two vessels came together with a crash.
CHAPTER XXV