“Did you see the Britisher?”
“Ay, and she’s staggering under the same canvas as we. It doesn’t seem possible either craft can stand up very long under such a press of sail. It is blowing a full gale; our decks are awash, and the ship is burying herself to such an extent that every third or fourth wave sweeps over her from stem to stern. It’s enough to make a fellow turn pale with fear, to stand there five minutes watching the surge towering on either hand, ahead and astern, even above the mastheads. Twice, while trying to make my way aft, I was like to being washed overboard. Some of the men say that my father is doing his best to make good the words spoken by the ghost last night, for it surely seems as if the cruise would be ended very shortly.”
Simon’s courage was no better than mine, and verily we were an unhappy pair.
At that moment there came before my eyes a picture of the home in Salem where my mother awaited the return of her son, and I wondered why I should have been such a fool as ever to leave her when there was no real need for so doing.
Then I bethought me of our own immediate trouble, and asked, angrily:
“Did you learn why we have been left here so long? Are we to be starved?”
“I question much if those aft remember that we were left in charge of the prisoners, or, remembering it, if they suppose that we have not been relieved.”
“If both watches have been kept on deck since daylight, who could have taken our places?” I cried, angrily.
“With a veritable mutiny on hand, a gale of wind, and a Britisher to be caught, we two lads don’t cut any great figure on board just at present,” Simon replied, with a faint smile, and then I understood that his heart was even more sore than mine, because of having been denied the privilege of going aft, particularly since he had seldom made the attempt.
Tim Stubbs discovered about this time that he should be on the gun-deck, and would have left us hurriedly but that I clutched at his arm, holding him sufficiently long to ask: