I could scent the coming dawn in the fresh morning air the moment I arose through the hatch opening, yet there was no sign of it in the sky; indeed I felt there must be fog in the atmosphere, it rendered it so thick, although not sufficiently heavy to drip in moisture. It required only a moment to locate all life present along the forward deck, and I became convinced few wakeful eyes remained among them at this sleepiest of all hours of the night. Trusting to this, as well as the garb I wore for concealment, I walked boldly back as far as the mainmast, meeting no one. Then, fearful of observation from the officer still pacing the poop, I skulked stealthily along in the black shadow of the cook's galley, until I reached the cuddy door, quaking with fear lest it fail me. It opened instantly to the touch of the hand, and with heart throbbing wildly, for now all that had been accomplished hung in the balance of this last experiment, I groped about within seeking to solve the mystery of that gloomy interior. The place had the feel of a big, square box; by stretching out across the edge I could barely reach the farther side, but could touch no bottom, nor did I feel the rungs of any ladder leading down. It resembled a well, and the thought immediately took possession of me that the crew hauled up their provisions by use of ropes, yet I could discover no hoisting apparatus of any kind. With head projected far below the deck level I ventured a soft whisper into the darkness:
"Are you there, Chevalier?"
There was a slight movement beneath, as if he drew closer to where I was.
"Yes, it is all right," he returned, his voice so modulated as to be barely audible. "But I discover nothing in this darkness to aid in reaching the deck. Know you where a rope can be secured?"
"Ay; lie quiet until I return."
It was a bit ticklish, yet required doing. A trip to the foremast put in my possession quite a section of line sliced from off the rope's end previously left dangling from the upper yard. Incidentally as I passed back and forth I revisited Father Cassati, still resting easily in his bonds, but now peacefully sleeping off his earlier potations undiscovered upon the hard deck. Returning with my treasure, I payed it out into the intense blackness of the cuddy hole, and anxiously awaited developments below.
Nor had I long to wait—there came a touch on the line followed by a firmer pull, as if the party below tested its strength. For a moment the cord wiggled about as if the man was working with his end to some purpose, then there followed three sharp jerks which I interpreted to mean to hoist away. I promptly put my full strength to it, bracing both feet firmly against a heavy cross-piece of timber, evidently nailed there for that very purpose. The rope ran over a small roller set close against the coaming, which I had failed to observe in my hasty search, so I found the strain less than expected, although a heavy weight was evidently attached to the other end. But I uplifted this, for I was vain of my strength in those days, and the distance was not so great but that shortly his hands managed to grip hold upon the deck planks, and a moment later he stood beside me, complacent and debonair as ever, in the dense shadows of the galley.
"Sacre! 'tis a most scurvy trick we are playing on the Dons, friend Benteen," he murmured smiling easily, while peering about him in the darkness. "And now, what is the next act in this midnight melodrama, most cautious youth?"
"The keeping of a still tongue until we are both overboard," I replied somewhat roughly. "Follow me closely, and keep quiet about it, if you retain the slightest care for your life."
It was not much of a trick, the rest of it, and within five minutes we were silently floating down the great river, through the darkness, seeking after some quiet landing-place below the fleet.