A flicker of light from the dying fire in the stove fell on the face of the alarm-clock ticking tinnily on the shelf. It was quarter to nine.
Percy woke to the need of acting at once. At midnight Filippo would get up to make coffee and warm the baked beans and corn-bread for Spurling and Stevens, who were to start for the hake-grounds not far from one. By that time he must be miles away—too far, at any rate, to be overtaken. Overtaken? He smiled sardonically. Not one of them, he knew, would lift a finger to prevent him from going. He could just as well set out in the daytime. But his pride shrank from the relieved faces and grudging farewells that would signalize his departure. No; it would be far better to slip away by night, without saying anything to anybody. But his going must be unobserved. It would be humiliating to be detected.
Cautiously he crept out of his bunk and pulled on his clothes, stopping apprehensively to listen for the regular breathing of his sleeping mates. But no one woke. The dying embers snapped in the stove. Nemo, slumbering on his canvas, stirred uneasily. Yet, so stealthy were Percy's movements, not even the dog's keen ears telegraphed them to his alert brain.
A few minutes sufficed for the deserter to dress and crowd his more valuable belongings into a suit-case. Noiselessly he lifted the latch and stepped outside.
It was a lovely summer night. A southwest breeze barely rippled the sheet of sapphire under the radiant stars. Tiny wavelets broke crisply on the pebbled beach. From the boulders that fringed the point came the drowsy murmur of the surf. A sheep bleated plaintively high above in the pasture; while far over the ocean to the south floated the faint, weird cry of a gull.
The tide was more than half down, and dory and pea-pod lay high and dry on the shingle. The sloop rode at her mooring in the cove. Percy hesitated. Her engine would take him to Head Harbor in less than two hours, and save him a long, hard row. But no. Her absence would interfere seriously with pulling the trawls and lose Spurling & Company a good many dollars. Bitter though his feelings were, he did not wish to cause financial loss. He decided on the pea-pod.
Ten feet of gravel lay between her stern and the water. Grasping her gunwale, Percy dragged her inch by inch gratingly down over the shingle, every sound magnified to his ears by his dread of discovery. He worked with the caution of an escaping convict. Now and then he glanced nervously toward the cabin, but from its gloomy interior came no sign that he was seen or heard. Apparently Spurling and his mates were sleeping the sleep of the dead. At the end of five minutes the pea-pod was afloat.
Percy tossed in his suit-case and clambered hastily aboard. There was no time to waste. He wished to put as much salt water as possible between himself and Tarpaulin Island before midnight.
Shipping his oars, he began to row, using infinite care lest creaking rowlock or splashing blade betray him. Gradually he drew out of the cove, and there was less need of caution. As he rounded Brimstone Point he cast one last, long look at the cabin, square and black and silent.
The remembrance of his discomforts and indignities of the last three weeks surged over him. He shook his fist at his vanishing prison.