“Yes, cappen. Mudder says she go too. If she stop, dat fellow cut her troat.”
Although Owen would rather have dispensed with the company of the old woman, yet, in common humanity, he felt bound to take her if she wished to go. It showed, also, that she had confidence in their success, and would contrive to obtain the necessary provisions. About this she had been engaged for some time, getting some in one place and some in another, so that no suspicions might be raised as to her object.
The Ouzel Galley had sailed a fortnight or more, when Pompey announced that all was ready. Mammy packed up all the provisions in bundles, and had obtained two small casks of water, besides a number of gourds filled with the precious liquid. Pompey and Dan started as soon as it was dark, carrying loads, which they intended to hide near where the canoe was drawn up.
“We carry all de tings dere first,” he said, “and den you, cappen, and mudder, and Tim, come along, and we shove off widout delay.”
The last trip was made at about an hour before midnight, when Pompey and Dan returned, and Owen, with the old woman and Tim, accompanied them down to the beach. The night was very dark; no human being was stirring. As silently as possible the canoe was launched, when the stores were quickly put on board.
“Now, mudder, we put you ’longside cappen,” whispered Pompey. “Whateber happen, don’t cry out.”
And taking the old woman up in his arms, he waded with her till he plumped her down in the stern of the canoe. She knew no more of the navigation than they did, so she could not be of further use to the adventurers, and they thus had to depend on their own judgment.
Owen took the after paddle. Pompey placing himself in the bows, Dan and Tim gave way, and the canoe noiselessly glided down towards the supposed entrance to the harbour. They hoped that any look-outs who might, under ordinary circumstances, have been stationed on the other side of the channel, would be withdrawn to man the Ouzel Galley. They therefore trusted that they could escape without being questioned. Still the expedition was one to try the best strung nerves. Owen feared that, should they be hailed, Mammy might forget her son’s injunction. He was not aware of the determined character of the old woman.
They soon got into the narrow channel, in the centre of which Owen steered the canoe. It was necessary to proceed slowly, as from the darkness the shore on either side was in some places scarcely visible. The channel was long and intricate, but Owen, of course, knew that there must be considerable depth of water to allow large ships to get up it. They had just got to the end of the cliff, when a light was seen. Whether it proceeded from a hut or from a man with a lantern, it was impossible to say.
“Cease paddling,” whispered Owen; and the canoe glided on with the impulse already given to it.