Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell - Страница 34
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several cry out that it served the fellow right, and so the wretched man
was left to bleed away his life upon the deck.
After his incident, Syn resolved to keep such favour as he had gained
by quick action, and to terminate the fight spectacularly upon the plank
itself. So, feigning to be weary of such a clumsy swordsman as the
Negro captain, he redoubled the speed of his lunges, and everytime he
let the blade prick the flesh, driving his man before him to the plank.
Each time the tongue of his sword bit flesh the Negro slashed at it in
rage, and with such force that one blow might well have broken the more
fragile weapon. But Syn avoided every stroke with ease, and still drove
the maddened captain back. At last the gangway was behind him.
“A little to your left, now,” said Syn calmly. “Feel backwards with
your heel. Excellent fellow! Do you feel the plank? That’s right. Well,
you go along it backwards, for I have a mind to fight you upon it. You
will at least afford a novel entertainment to your jolly dogs.”
And so, inch by inch, he pressed him out, till both were on the
plank, cautiously balancing as they fought.
“Steady,” warned Syn. “If you wobble like that you will be
overboard, and we shall have to finish our fight in the water. And, my
faith, that is a good idea. A sword-fight in the sea is something new.
Hold your cutlass tightly. Back, back, back.”
Doctor Syn, to show the pirates the light regard he held for danger,
then began to sing, and the words he used were those which had come into
his brain so long ago in Romney Marsh.
“Oh, here’s to the feet what have walked the plank!”
The Negro, still driven back, could no longer swing his cutlass for
fear of falling from the plank. Instead he tried to take a lesson in
fencing from his opponent, and use the point. Bu t through he had a long
reach, it was of no avail, by reason of the dancing, darting blade of
Syn.
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And then the Negro felt the point pressing his breast-bones. His heels
were already on the edge of the plank. Quickly he turned, and jumped.
Prepared in time, Syn kept his balance wonderfully, till the board
ceased to vibrate. Then, quite calmly, he stopped, still balancing
cautiously, took off his buckled shoes, and threw them on deck. He then
peeled off his coat, rolled it into a bundle and shot it after the
shoes. His scabbard and pistols followed, which he saw the pirates
scramble for as he loosened his cravat. As he did so, he noted that the
dying man upon the deck was drinking from a rum bottle, but at that
moment his eyes glazed and his teeth bit through the neck. This
incident, and the fact that he had seen numerous corpses floating
between the two vessels, gave him the inspiration for the rest of his
chanty, and rolling up his sleeves he sang:
“Oh, here’s to the feet what have walked the plank,
Yo-ho for the dead man’s throttle.
And here’s to the corpses afloat in the tank,
And the dead man’s teeth in the bottle!”
Then, without waiting to see what effect it had upon the pirates, he
used the plank as a diving-board , running along it, and with a crashing
spring upon the end dived head foremost into the sea, his sword straight
before him. He came up almost as soon as his head was under water, and
with blade extended like a swordfish, he glided rapidly through the
water with a strong one-arm stroke.
The Negro, well used to water, was yet a slow, clumsy swimmer, so
that Syn was able to gain upon him rapidly, and it was but halfway
between the two vessels when the Negro felt the prick of Syn’s blade
upon his shoulder, challenging him to turn and fight. In desperation he
turned, trod water, and slashed with his heavy weapon, hoping to beat
the long blade from Syn’s
grasp. Then followed the strangest duel that could be fought. Borne on
the gentle swell, one higher now, one lower, up and down in turn, they
thrust and splashed—the Negro desperately slashing, sinking,
spluttering, but always rising to a fresh attack; Syn, calm, but quickly
pricking when the Negro came too near.
Suddenly Syn was aware that a pirate from the Sulphur Pit was jumping
from the bulwarks to the rescue of his captain. With a long knife in his
teeth, he swam rapidly towards them. Syn knew that the two would be too
much for him, and that he must kill the Negro first. Aware of help at
hand, Black Satan turned, swimming in a half -circle, to put his
adversary between them. It was then that a cry of horror was raised from
pirates on both ships, for a great fin of a man-eating shark, attracted
by the unusual feast of corpses already awaiting him between the
vessels, came skimming towards the two combatants. Syn, knowing that
the other pirate was striking out rapidly behind him, seized the crest
of the swell and with a tremendous effort drove his sword out and head
down-wave, straight at the Negro below him. There was a spurt of blood
discolouring the water, and then the swell rose again, with the Negro
this time on its crest, but pierced through the heart by Syn’s long
blade. Syn wrenched to free it, in order to turn and do fresh battle
with the other pirate. But as the body of the Negro sand, the blade was
wedged, and just as Syn was about to leave in order not to be dragged
down, the legitimate pirate of the seas swept towards and at him, in a
streak of white foam. He saw the black back turn as the crea ture dived,
and the flesh of the white belly beneath him. The great jaws opened and
snapped. He felt a mighty pull upon his sword, and then he was free,
with the weapon still in his hand, while a track
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of reddened water shot away some thirty yards to end in a churning
maelstrom as the shark sand with his prize.
One of his enemies disposed of, Syn now turned to face the other, the
pirate with the knife between his teeth. He vowed that he would at least
get him before it was his turn to fall v ictim to the shark. He rose on
the swell and looked around. There seemed to be no other fin in sight.
The huge wolf of the sea that had so obligingly freed his sword for him
was no doubt a lone-hunting shark. But the human shark with the knife
between his teeth was near at hand, swimming at him and unafraid of
sharks. Syn trod water and awaited him.
“Come on,” he cried. “This is a new sport: spitting pirates and
feeding sharks by hand and skewer.”
His new opponent came nearer with a grin. He then trod water like
Syn, and taking his long knife from his teeth said pleasantly, “Good
morning.”
Syn laughed aloud. The situation was incongruous, and the remark so
out of place despite the lovely day about them. He liked the rascal’s
sense of humour.
“Aye, it’s a grand morning for a fight,” he laughed, wondering
whether the fellow would dive beneath him and stab up, or risk all with
a fling.
But the pirate seemed in no hurry to do anything but smile, till Syn
demanded:
“Are we waiting for the shark to return with an appetite, or are we
fighting?”
“I have a score to settle with you,” replied the pirate.
“For killing that damned nigger?” asked Syn. “How could you as a
white man have brought yourself so low as to serve under such a man?”
“Black Satan had his qualities, as you might say,” returned the
pirate. “Useful enough at terrifying peaceful folk and getting at their
treasure. But he wouldn’t have lasted very long. I had already planned a
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