Midnight Webs

by George Manville Fenn

I got no chance to send my note that day, through people being about; next day, too, nothing came of it; but early the next morning, soon after daybreak, I got my little messenger out, tied the paper to his wing with a bit of worsted out of my kit, and then going on deck, I let him fly, but so as not to take the attention of the chap at the wheel, I started him from up in the main-top, where I made-believe to have gone to have a smoke.

There was a watch of three forward, but they were all half asleep; while as for him taking his trick at the wheel, he kept on nodding over his job, and letting the ship yaw about till she went anyhow.

Bless the pretty little thing! When I first opened my hand, it only sat there looking at me with its bright beady eyes, and then it was so tame, it hopped upon my shoulder, to stay a few seconds, before flitting from rope to sheet and shroud, lower and lower, till it perched upon the cabin skylight, and rattled out a few clear crisp notes, like a challenge to its master, who, I felt sure, would be asleep. My only hope was that the little thing would flit through the big hole I made, and stay in the cabin till Tomtit was up.

But I was wrong, for the bird had no sooner sung its sweet note, putting one in mind of old boyish days when we used to go bird-nesting, than I saw a hand thrust up through the broken light, and after a little fluttering, the bird let itself be caught, when, knowing that my job was done, I came slowly down, and walking aft, stood and talked to the chap at the wheel.

“Hollo!” I says, all at once, “there’s one o’ my birds got loose;” and running forward, and making a good deal of fuss, I captured the little linnet, for it never flew far at a time, having been tamed and petted by Mr Butterwell till it was almost like a little Christian.

That day I watched my chance, and got hold of what powder I could, making a little packet of it in my silk neckercher; and when it was dark, I managed to drop that through the skylight as I went whistling along the deck. Next thing to be done was to get some weepuns, for it seemed strange to me if we six true men couldn’t somehow make one chance and turn the tables on the rascals who had taken the ship. Counting them up, I found there was about seventeen—long odds enough, unless we could trap half of ’em, and fight ’em a part at a time. Then I thought the odds would be fair, for fighting with right on our side, I considered that we were quite as strong as eight of the others.

But the job was to get hold of weepuns, for they never let neither me, nor Sam, nor Bill Smith have neither cutlash nor pistol, only take our turn at the wheel, or trim sails, otherwise we were treated right enough. Some of the chaps grumbled, saying, that now Van had made hisself captain, times were as hard as they were before; but that wasn’t the case, though now he’d got the ship, he didn’t mean to lose her again if he could help it, and seemed to me to be always on the watch for everything. As to trusting either of we three to go down below to the prisoners with rations, that was out of the question, either he or Brassey attending to that, and more than once I heard high words, and Mr Bell talking in a threatening way when Van was below.

Now, if it had been at any other time, we should not have sailed a hundred miles without being boarded by some one; while, if a Queen’s ship would only have overhauled us now, it would have been salvation for us: but no; day after day slipped by, and not a sail came near. All I had managed to drop more into the cabin was only a couple of table-knives; when one dark evening, as I lay under the bulwark, hid by a bit of sail, I saw Van come out of his cabin, go and talk to the chap at the wheel, see to the course of the ship, and then go forward. I heard him talk to the watch for a minute, and then he went below forward, when, running upon all-fours, I was at the cabin-hatch and down below in a jiffy.

As I expected, there were plenty of pistols and cutlashes there, where he had had them put for safety; and if I could have opened the big cabin door, I might have pitched half a score in before any one could have said “Jack Robinson;” but there was something to stop me, for I had crossed the cabin and had my hand on a cutlash before I knew that Brassey was in the cabin with his head down upon the table, and seemingly fast asleep.

I should think I stood there with my hand stretched out for a full minute, not daring to move, expecting every moment that Van would come back, or else that Brassey would wake up.