“Heave ahead, there!” interrupted the mate, again raising the rope. “No back talk allowed here. I’m going to haze you beautiful.”
That was a long and dreary night to Guy, and he scarcely knew how he lived through it. He did not understand a single order that was issued, and of course could lend no hand in the working of the vessel.
He did his best, fearing the rope’s-end, but his clumsy efforts only got him deeper into trouble. The sailors swore at him and pushed him roughly out of the way, and the mate cuffed and kicked him every time he came within reach. Guy really thought he was doomed. He never expected to live to see the sun rise again.
The vessel was kept under way about three hours, and at twelve o’clock came to anchor under the lee of a high, wooded point which jutted out into the sea.
Guy drew a long breath of relief when he heard the cable rattling through the hawse-hole, and told himself that his labors and troubles were over for that night at least. But as usual he was disappointed.
The captain, not caring to go to sea short-handed, had stopped here to wait until his crew should become sober, and to perform some necessary work, such as getting on chafing gear, lashing spars and water-butts and stowing the boats. And Guy, with all the rest, was kept busy until half-past three o’clock, when he was ordered below to sleep until five. But he never once closed his eyes—he was in too much agony, both mentally and physically. He passed the hour and a half in rolling about in his bunk bemoaning his hard fate, and resolving over and over again that if he were spared to put his foot on shore once more he would never, as long as he lived, go within sight of salt water.
As the first gray streaks of dawn were seen in the east two men came down into the forecastle. Guy gave a start of surprise when his eyes rested on them, for he knew them both.
The first was the mate, of whom he had already learned to stand in abject fear, and he knew now what he had all along suspected—that he was the same man whom he had met at the boarding-house. He recognized him in a moment, for his face was not concealed as it had been the night before. Guy wondered what evil genius had sent him aboard the Morning Light.
In regard to the identity of the mate’s companion there was no sort of doubt in the boy’s mind, although he took two good looks at him, and then rubbed his eyes and looked again before he was willing to credit the evidence of his senses. He knew those gray clothes and that mottled face and fur cap. He had seen them all in the court-room the day before. The man to whom they belonged was the robber against whom he had testified, and who had looked at him so savagely while he was giving his evidence.
This man, as the sequel proved, was the first mate of the vessel, who had left his bondsmen in the lurch. He had just come off in a shore boat, not having considered it safe to join the vessel while she was in the harbor, for fear there might be some one on the watch. Guy, of course, knew nothing of this, but having become very suspicious of late, he made a remarkably shrewd guess as to the real facts of the case.