We saw the enemy, as he was called by all, pacing up and down the poop-deck hastily, and scanning the offing with a spy-glass, as if in search of approaching vessels or of clouds that promised wind, but neither came, dark night fell once more, and Mr Brymer ordered the oars out and we were rowed round to the other side of the ship, from which position we could see a light faintly shining from the little round cabin-window where we knew Miss Denning to be.
Mr Frewen had been carefully attending Walters; Dumlow had declared he was “quite well, thank ye,” and the captain was lying patiently waiting for better days, too weak to stir, but in no danger of losing his life; and now Mr Brymer and the two gentlemen sat together talking in a low voice, and at the same time treating me as one of themselves, by bringing me into the conversation.
It was a weird experience there in the darkness, with the only sounds heard the shouts and songs of the ship’s crew, for they were evidently feasting and drinking.
“And thinking nothing of to-morrow,” said Mr Preddle, sadly.
“No, sir, and that is our opportunity,” said Mr Brymer. “Let them drink; they have plenty of opportunity, with the cases of wine and the quantity of spirits on board. We could soon deal with them after one of their drinking bouts; but the mischief is that Jarette is a cool, calculating man, and sober to a degree. He lets the men drink to keep them in a good humour, and to make them more manageable. He touches very little himself.”
“What do you propose doing?” said Mr Frewen, suddenly. “We must act at once.”
“Yes; I feel that, sir,” replied Mr Brymer, “but can either of you suggest a plan?”
They both answered “No.”
Then Mr Frewen spoke out—
“There is only one plan. We must wait till toward morning, and then quietly row close to the ship, climb on board, and make a brave attack, and hope to succeed.”