“I wish you would keep a lookout aft there,” said he, “I’m going below and turn in a bit, and I want to be called when the old man comes aboard. Get your supper from Heligoland, and then lay aft until the gig comes alongside.”
On reaching the forecastle, I noticed Heligoland eye me sharply, then he brought forth a piece of paper folded squarely and sealed on the corners in very fine style.
I wondered at this, for I had not received a note from any one for a long time. Looking askance at the Norwegian, I slowly tore it open, and spread it forth under the forecastle lamp. At first I could make little out of it, for it was a scrawl and somewhat blotted. Then I finally made out the name Richards at the bottom of it, and started in to read it afresh.
“My dear friend Heywood,” it went, “when you get this note, I will be off the ship. There won’t be any use looking for me until I choose to turn up, but you will see me again before long. I wanted you to go with me, but it couldn’t be fixed. If you take care not to get killed, maybe I can help you live a bit longer.
Peter Richards.”
The letter was somewhat ambiguous, but Richards was something of a scholar, having been a mate and an officer on a man-of-war, so I thought that it was perhaps simply a way he had of saying good-bye. I knew he intended to jump the ship, and supposed, of course, he would not think of such a thing without taking me in his confidence. Here he had gone, and he made no excuse, save that it could not be fixed. I swore at him for fully a minute, and then Heligoland asked what it was. As he could not read any language, let alone English, it was safe to tell him the first thing that happened not to bear in any way upon the case. He seemed satisfied.
At eight bells I had eaten a bad meal cooked by the Norwegian sailor left in charge, and betook myself aft to the quarter-deck. The night was quite dark, and the lights on the shore twinkled brightly, sending their reflection streaming seaward over the oily swell that rolled in gently upon the sand. There was little wind, barely enough to feel, and I lounged over the taffrail until I found myself dozing.
It was close to two bells when I was roused by a peculiar sound in the lazarette beneath me. There was a noise as of some one sawing gently, and this was followed by a scraping like that caused by dragging something heavy across the deck.
While I rested half upon the rail, with my eyes fixed upon the lazarette hatch, I became aware of the sound of voices in the water astern, coming from seaward. Soon I distinguished the gentle rippling of water from a boat’s stem, and heard Mr. Gull’s voice tell his men to take in their sail.
“Don’t seem to be any one on deck,” he growled, surlily, as the boat came under the counter directly beneath me.