Harper's Round Table, February 23, 1897

by Various

s I stood there, not knowing what to do, I saw the fingers of a man come over the edge of the cabin window; then a face appeared, and, seeing who it was, I leaned forward and laid hold of the carpenter by the back of his shirt to help him. He murmured something inarticulate, and I saw the reason why he could not get in through the window. He had his cutlass in his teeth, and I had to relieve him of it and do some powerful hauling before I had him inside lying on his back on the cabin deck. I closed my hand over his mouth, and bending my head close to his, whispered: "Hush for your life! There's a sleeping man within touch of us!"

But now the hilt of another cutlass appeared at the window. I took it, and enjoining silence on those below in the boat, the carpenter and I hauled in another man. We must have made some noise, but the deep breathing went on undisturbed until every man jack of us had come in through that window. But it was no place to hold a consultation. With my finger to my lips, I stepped to the passageway, took down the lantern from its hook, and came back with it. The sleeper was snoring, and we saw that he was in a bunk behind a half-closed curtain. And now the reason for his sound rest was apparent; as we pulled aside the cloth, ready to jump on him if he made a sound, we smelt the strong odor of rum, and perceived that the man had clasped in his arms a big black bottle, much in the way a child in a cradle might fall asleep with a doll.

"You can't wake him," said the carpenter, who was called "Chips" by the crew, and if I had not stopped him, I think he would have tweaked the sleeper's nose.

"One of you stay down here and guard him," I said. "Mr. Chips, you and those three men close the forward hatch. I and these five men will take care of the man at the wheel and the watch. Now, steady! Make no noise!"

They followed me out to the little passageway that led to the foot of the ladder, and I went up it softly. I saw but two moving figures on deck—a man forward leaning with both elbows on the rail, and aft, the binnacle light reflecting on the face of an old sailor with a growth of long white whiskers; his eyes were half closed, and his fingers were grasped tightly around the spokes. Followed by the three men I had detailed, I jumped up on deck. The old seaman at the wheel made no outcry, for danger was probably the last thing he had in his mind. (He took us for some of the crew, I found out afterwards.) When he looked at the pistol that I pointed at his head, however, his jaw dropped, and without a word his legs gave way and he sat down backwards on the deck.

In the mean time the carpenter had clapped a pistol to the head of the man leaning over the rail, two others found sleeping on the forward deck were held quiet in the same manner, and I heard the slam of the hatch with satisfaction.

I had command of the brig, without a word having been spoken above a breath.

I say I had command of the brig right enough, but there was to be a little trouble, after all, which came near to putting me out of the game altogether; but of that later.

In obedience to the plan, the side lights had been extinguished, the yards swung about, the helm put down, and we were steering northeast by east according to the compass.

I was standing by the man at the wheel, trembling with the agitation of pent self-congratulation. I would have given a great deal to have relieved my feelings by a cheer.