They said little and were glad to row briskly out to the ship. Action is ever welcome at the time when a man desires most of all to get away from memory and thought.
That night, when they were all asleep, Martin leaped out on the deck and woke them by shrieking like a lunatic, until it seemed they were all transported into Bedlam. He then himself awoke, but he would say only, "My God, what a dream! Oh, what a dream!" And he would rub his hands across his eyes.
The grumblers continued quietly to grumble, for that is a joy no power on earth can take away, but there was no more talk of another captain. Some said that now the luck would change and told of prizes they had taken and would take, and recalled to mind the strong liquors of Bideford and the pasties that Mother Taylor would make for them. Others, although they said little, shook their heads and appeared to wish themselves far away. But whether a man felt thus or otherwise, there was small profit of their talking.
For another day and night they lay at anchor and ate and drank and sprawled out in the sun. The Rose of Devon, as they had earlier had occasion to remark, was richly found, and they had still no need to bestir themselves for food and drink. But any man with a head on his shoulders must perceive that with old Jacob, who had gone so wisely about his duties and had so well held his own counsel in many things, the ship had lost something of stability and firm purpose even in her lawless pursuits.
And Will Canty, too, was gone! As the old writer has it, "One is choked with a fly, another with a hair, a third pushing his foot against the trestle, another against the threshold, falls down dead: So many kind of ways are chalked out for man, to draw towards his last home, and wean him from the love of earth." Though Will Canty had died a hard death, he had escaped worse; and as Priam, numbering more days than Troilus, shed more tears, so Philip Marsham, outliving his friend, faced such times as the other was spared knowing.
Of all this he thought at length, and fearing his own conscience more than all the familiars of the Inquisition, in which he was singularly heartened by remembering the stout old knight in the scarlet cloak, he contrived a plan and bode his time.
In the darkness of the second night, when the Old One had somewhat relaxed his watchfulness, Boatswain Marsham slipped over the bow and lowered himself silently on a rope he had procured for the purpose, and very carefully, lest the noise be heard on board the ship, seated himself in Tom Jordan's boat and rowed for shore. An honest man can go so far in a company of rogues and no farther.
Reaching the land and hauling the boat up on the beach in plain sight of those left in the Rose of Devon, where they might swim for it if they would, he set off across the hills and under the palms. Upon reaching the height he looked back and for a moment watched the old ship as she swung with the tide on the still, clear water. He hoped he should never see her again. Then he looked down at the tremulous and shimmering bay where Will Canty lay dead, and was glad to plunge over the hill and leave the bay behind him.