Story 2--Chapter XI.
I don’t think I’d any plans made; my only idea was, that when they sent the three or four others off, me and my mates might seize another boat, and row after them, the same night, for they wouldn’t get very far, as I knew, unless a fresh breeze sprung up, and took us away. Certainly the two boats that had gone were loaded deep, but they were not making a mile an hour; and it seemed plain enough to me that unless they could answer for its being calm till the poor wretches were picked up, if they ever were, the brutes on board had murdered ’em one and all, men, women, and children, by a slow kind of torture.
“Not very smart crews, matey,” I says, pointing with my knife over my shoulder to where the boats were slowly rising and falling, and then I fished out a piece of chicken from a tin case of the skipper’s, and went on eating away as if I hadn’t a care on my mind. “Peg away, my lads,” I says to Bill and Sam; but Bill couldn’t touch a snap. Sam made up for it, though; and after plenty of hard work and fighting, and two days on biscuit and water, and that rank yellow grease sailors get for butter, one’s teeth do get rather sharp. “Now, if you’ll just sarve another tot o’ grog round, cap’n,” I says to Van, as I wiped my knife on the leg of my trousers, “I shall be about done and ready for work.”
Some of the fellows laughed, and Van said something about my not being such a bad sort after all; but I could see as he did not trust me, which, I must say, was quite right, and the only right thing as I ever saw in the blackguard’s character.
I soon found that though they’d all doubled the Cape a good many times, there wasn’t a man with navigation enough in him to tell where we were, or how to carry the ship on her course; while, though I don’t believe I could have worked a reckoning right, yet, somehow or other, I fancy I could have shoved that old ship’s nose into the harbour for which we were bound. Their plan seemed to be to crack on due south till we’d got high enough, and then to steer west, and get into the Pacific best way we could. I give them my bit of advice when it was asked, for I thought that the more we were in the track of ships, the more likely we were to be overhauled; but they would not have it my way; and Van giving his orders, a lot of us sprung up to make sail. When lying out on the main-royal yard, I run my eye round and quite jumped again, for, bearing down towards where the boats were crawling along, there was a bark with every stitch of canvas set.
Sam saw it too, for he grunted; but I give him a kick, and down we came, our vessel feeling the breeze now, and careening over as the water began to rattle under her bows.
I felt more comfortable after that, for though I did not for a moment think that the ship I had seen would overhaul us, still I felt pretty sure that she’d pick up those poor creatures in the boats, and save them from a horrible death. There was no doubt about having seen the bark, but from the deck never a glimpse was got of it; and we went bowling along in capital style, just, in fact, as if we had been a honest ship on a good cruise.
Having nothing particular to do, I went below, and the first place I came to was the cabin that had been fitted up for Mr Butterwell’s birds; and on getting to ’em, there they were, poor little things, fluttering and chirping about with their feathers all rough, for they’d got no water and seed. Quite a score of ’em were lying dead in the bottom amongst the sand; and after giving the pretty little things water, and seed, and paste, I fished out the dead ones in a quiet, methodical sort of way, turning over something in my mind that I couldn’t get to fit, when I feels a hand on my shoulder.
“Going to wring their necks?” says Van, for it was him come down to watch me.
“Not I,” I says. “They’ll do first-rate to turn out on the island we stops at. Sing like fun.”
“Look ye here, Roberts,” he says, “we’re playing a dangerous game, and you’ve joined us in it. Don’t play any tricks, or—” He didn’t say any more, but looked hard at me.
“Tricks!” I grumbled out; “I’m not for playing anything. I’m for real earnest, and no favour to nobody.”
“I only said don’t,” says Van; and he went up again.
“A suspicious hound,” I says to myself; and then I began to turn over in my own mind what I had been thinking of before; and then having, as I thought, hit upon a bright idea, I hugged it up, and began to rub it a little more shiny.
You see what I wanted to do was to get a word with Mr Ward, and how to do it was the question. I knew well enough that I should be watched pretty closely, and any attempt at speaking would be put an end to most likely with a bullet.
I rubbed that thought about no end, and next morning I goes to one particular cage where there was a linnet that I had seen Mr Butterwell play all sorts of tricks with; and instead of feeding it, I quietly took out the panting little thing, carried it on deck, got up in a corner under the bulwarks, and waited my time, watching the while to see if any one had an eye on me. Then I let the bird go; and it flitted here and flitted there with a tiny bit of paper fastened under its wing, till, as I had hoped, there came from out of the cabin skylight a particular sort of chirrup, when the bird settled on the glass for a moment, and then dropped through the opening where it had been broken.
Now, on that bit of paper I had printed what I knew wouldn’t hurt me if the bird was seen by the mutineers, for I was afraid to say much the first time; and as I had written on it, “Let him go again,” so sure enough up he came ten minutes after, and watching my chance, I followed him about till I caught him, and took him back to his cage, and gave him plenty of seed.
Van had taken possession of the cabin next to where his prisoners were, and the skylight being partly over his place, a word with Mr Ward was out of the question; while such a little messenger as I had found would go to his master when called, perhaps without calling, specially after him being fortunate enough to catch sight of the bird the first time I tried.
All that day matters went on as usual, a strict watch being kept over the prisoners, and more than one as I fancied having an eye to me. On and on we sailed due south, and the weather kept wonderful all the time; but there seemed no sign of starting the rest of the passengers off in a boat, and I began to feel worried and troubled about their fate, and more anxious to get on with the plans I was contriving.