A NEW PLAN OF ESCAPE
Nothing occurred during the afternoon to disturb the routine work
aboard, or to cause me any uneasiness. The swift slaver made excellent
progress in spite of light winds, and proved easy to handle. Watkins
found enough to occupy the crew on deck and aloft, and they seemed
contented, although I noticed the fellows gathered together in groups
whenever idle, and discussed the situation earnestly. While they might
not be entirely satisfied, and, no doubt, some fear lingered in their
minds, the fellows lacked leadership for any revolt, and would remain
quiet for the present at least. I made one more trip into the desolate
cabin, returning with pipes and tobacco, which I took forward and
distributed, an ample supply for all the crew. As the men smoked,
Watkins and I leaned over the rail, and discussed the situation.
Sunset brought clouds, and, by the time it was really dark, the entire
sky was overcast, but the sea remained comparatively calm, and the
wind steady. I judged we were making in the neighborhood of nine
knots, and carefully pricked my chart to assure myself of our
position. Even at that I was not entirely satisfied, although I kept
this lack of faith hidden from the others. Dorothy, however, who kept
close beside me much of the time, must have sensed my doubt to some
extent, for once she questioned me curiously.
"Are you not sure of your figures?" she asked, glancing from the chart
into my face. "That is three times you have measured the distance."
"It is not the figures; it is the accuracy of the chart," I explained.
"It is not new, for the schooner evidently seldom made this coast, and
it was probably only by chance that they had such a map aboard. Even
the best of the charts, are not absolutely correct, and this one may
be entirely wrong. I shall rely more on keeping a careful watch
tonight than on the map; you see this cape? For all I know it may jut
out fifty miles east of where it appears to be and we might run into
shoal water at any minute."
She wrinkled her brows over the lines on the map, and then stared out
across the darkening sea, without speaking.
It was a pleasant night in spite of the darkness, the air soft, and
refreshing. We divided the men into watches, Watkins selecting the
more capable for lookouts. I explained to these the danger, and posted
them on the forecastle heads, ready to respond instantly to any call.
I could see the glow of their pipes for some time, but finally these
went out, one by one, and the growl of voices ceased. The schooner was
in darkness, except for a faint reflection from the binnacle light
aft, revealing the dim figure of the helmsman. Overhead the canvas
disappeared into the gloom of the sky.
The locker was filled with flags, representing almost every nation on
earth. Evidently the _Santa Marie_ was willing to fly any colors,
which would insure safety, or allay suspicion in her nefarious trade.
I dragged these out, and spread them on the deck abaft the cabin, thus
forming a very comfortable bed, and at last induced the girl to lie
down, wrapping her in a blanket. But, although she reclined there, and
rested, she was in no mood for sleep, and, whenever my restless
wandering brought me near I was made aware of her wakefulness. Finally
I found a seat beside her on a coil of rope, and we fell into
conversation, which must have lasted for an hour or more.
I shall never forget that dark ship's deck, with no sound breaking the
silence except the soft swirl of water alongside, the occasional flap
of canvas aloft, and the creak of the wheel. Dorothy was but a
shrouded figure, as she sat wrapped in her blanket, and the only other
object visible was the dim outline of the helmsman. We seemed to be
completely shut in between sea and sky, lost and forgotten. Yet the
memory of the tragedy this vessel had witnessed remained with me--the
helpless slaves who had suffered and died between decks; the dead
sailors in the forecastle, their ghastly faces staring up at the beams
above, and the horrible figure of Paradilla outstretched on the cabin
divan. I was a sailor and could not feel that any good fortune would
come to us from such a death ship. The memory brought to me a
depression hard to throw off; yet, for her sake I pretended a
cheerfulness I was far from feeling, and our conversation drifted idly
into many channels.
This was the first opportunity we had enjoyed to actually talk with
each other alone, and gradually our thoughts veered from the
happenings of the strange voyage, and our present predicament, to
those personal matters in which we were peculiarly interested. I know
not how it occurred, for what had passed between us in the open boat
seemed more like a dream than a reality, yet my hand found her own
beneath the blanket, and I dared to whisper the words my lips could no
longer restrain.
"Dorothy," I said humbly, "you were frightened last night. I cannot
hold you to what you said to me then."
"You mean you do not wish to? But I was not frightened."
"They were honest words? You have not regretted them since?"
"No, Geoffry. Perhaps they were not maidenly, yet were they honest;
why should I not have told you the truth? I have long known my own
heart, and yours, as well."
"And you still repeat what you said then?"
"Perhaps I do not remember all I said."
"I can never forget--you said, 'I love you.'"
She drew a quick breath, and for an instant remained silent; then her
courage conquered.
"Yes, I can repeat that--I love you."
"Those are dear, dear words; but I ought not to listen to them, or
believe. I am not free to ask a pledge of you, or to beg you to trust
me in marriage."
"Is not that rather for me to decide?" she questioned archly. "I give
you my faith, Geoffry, and surely no girl ever had more reason to know
the heart of a man than I. You have risked all to serve me, and I
would be ungrateful indeed were I insensible of the sacrifice. Yet do
not think that is all--gratitude for what you have done. I did not
need that to teach me your nature. I make a confession now. You
remember the night I met you on deck, when you were a prisoner, and
told you that you had become the property of Roger Fairfax?"
"I could never forget."
"Nor I. I loved you then, although I scarcely acknowledged the truth
even to myself. I went back to my berth to lie awake, and think until
morning. A new world had come to me, and when the dawn broke, I knew
what it all meant--that my heart was yours. I cared nothing because
you were a prisoner, a bound slave under sentence. We are all alike,
we Fairfax's; we choose for ourselves, and laugh at the world. That is
my answer, Geoffry Carlyle; I give you love for love."
"'Tis a strange place for such a pledge, with only hope before us."
"A fit place to my mind in memory of our life together thus far, for
all the way it has been stress and danger. And what more can we ask
than hope?"
"I would ask an opportunity denied me--to stand once more in honor
among men. I would not be shamed before Dorothy Fairfax."
"Nor need you be," she exclaimed impetuously, her hands pressing mine.
"You wrong yourself, even as you have been wronged. You have already
done that which shall win you freedom, if it be properly presented to
those in power. I mean that it shall be, once I am safely back in
Virginia. Tell me, what are your plans with--with this schooner?"
"To beach it somewhere along shore, and leave it there a wreck, while
we escape."
"I suspected as much--yet, is that the best way?"
"The only way which has occurred to me. The men insist on it with good
reason. They have been pirates, and might be hung if caught."
"And yet to my mind," she insisted earnestly, "that choice is most
dangerous. I am a girl, but if I commanded here, do you know what I
would do?"
"I shall be glad to hear."
"I would sail this vessel straight to the Chesapeake, and surrender it
to the authorities. The men have nothing to fear with me aboard, and
ready to testify in their behalf. The Governor will accept my word
without a question. These men are not pirates, but honest seamen
compelled to serve in order to save their lives; they mutinied and
captured the bark, but were later overcome, and compelled to take the
boats. The same plea can be made for you, Geoffry, only you were there
in an effort to save me. It is a service which ought to win you
freedom."
"But if it does not?"
"I pledge you my word it shall. If the Governor fail me, I will bear
my story to the feet of the King. I am a Fairfax, and we have friends
in England, strong, powerful friends. They will listen, and aid me."
"I am convinced," I admitted, after a pause, "that this course is the
wiser one, but fear the opposition of the men. They will never go
willingly."
"There is an argument which will overcome their fear."
"You mean force?" "No; although I doubt not that might suffice. I
mean cupidity. Each sailor, aboard has an interest in the salvage of
this vessel under the English law. You tell me the schooner was a
slaver, driven out to sea by storm immediately after discharging a
cargo of slaves. There must be gold aboard--perhaps treasure also, for
I cannot think a slaver above piracy if chance arose. Let the crew
dream that dream, and you will need no whip to drive them into an
English port."
"Full pardon, and possibly wealth with it," I laughed. "A beautiful
scheme, Dorothy, yet it might work. Still, if I know sailormen, they
would doubt the truth, if it came direct from me, for I am not really
one of them."
"But Watkins is, and he has intelligence. Explain it all to him; tell
him who I am, the influence I can wield in the Colony, and then let
him whisper the news to the others. Will you not do this--for my
sake?"
"Yes," I answered, "I believe you have found the right course. If you
will promise to lie down, and sleep, I will talk with Watkins now."
"I promise. But are you not going to rest?"
"Very little tonight. I may catch some catnaps before morning, but
most of the time shall be prowling about deck. You see I have no
officers to rely upon. But don't worry about me--this sort of life is
not new. Good night, dear girl."
She extended her arms, and drew me down until our lips met.
"You are actually afraid of me still," she said wonderingly, "why
should you be?"
"I cannot tell; I have never known what it was before. Somehow
Dorothy, you have always seemed so far away from me, I have never
been able to forget. But now the touch of your lips has----"
"Broken down the last barrier?"
"Yes, forever."
"Are you sure? Would you not feel still less doubt if you kissed me
again?"
I held her closely, gazing down into the dimly revealed outline of her
face, and this time felt myself the master.
"Now I am sure, sweetheart," I whispered, the note of joy ringing in
the words, "that I have won the most precious gift in the world; yet
your safety, and those of all on board is in my hands tonight. I must
not forget that. I am going now to find Watkins, and you have promised
to lie down and sleep."
"To lie down," she corrected, "but whether to sleep, I cannot tell."
I left her there, lying hidden and shapeless on the deck beneath the
cover of the blanket, her head pillowed on the flags, and groped my
own way forward, pausing a moment to gaze into the binnacle, and
exchange a word with the man at the wheel. I found Watkins awake,
seated on the forecastle steps, where I joined him, lighting my own
pipe for companionship, our conversation gradually drifting toward the
point I came to make. He listened gravely to what I had to say, with
little comment, and was evidently weighing every argument in his mind.
"I've bin in Virginia, and Maryland, sir," he said at last seriously,
"and if the young woman is a Fairfax, she'll likely have influence
enough ter do just whut she says. They ain't over-kind ter pirates in
them provinces o' late, I've bin told--but the savin' o' her life wud
make a heap o' difference with the Governor. Yer know she's a
Fairfax?"
"Absolutely. I told you the story that night in the forecastle, and I
take more risk than any of you in giving myself up. I was bound in
servitude to her uncle, Roger Fairfax, and am therefore a runaway
slave."
"Well," he agreed, "I'll talk it over with the lads. It's a good
story, an' I'd be ready ter take chances, but I ain't so sure, sir, on
makin' 'em feel the same way. All most of 'em think about is ter
escape bein' hanged. If they wus only sure thar wus treasure aboard,
like you suspicion there may be, I guess most of 'em would face hell
ter git their hands on a share of it."
"Then why not search, and see?"
He shook his head obstinately, and his face, showing in the dull glow
of the pipe, proved that he, sturdy, intelligent seaman as he was,
shared to no small extent the fears of the others.
"Not me, sir; I don't prowl around in no cholera ship, loaded with
dead men--not if I never git rich."
"Then I will," and I got to my feet in sudden determination. "You keep
the deck while I go below. Have you seen a lantern on board anywhere?"
"Ay, sir, there's one hangin' in the cook's galley. I hope yer don't
think I'm a damn coward, Mr. Carlyle?"
"Oh, no, Tom. I know how you feel exactly; we're both of us sailors.
But you see I've got to make this crew take the _Santa Marie_ into the
Chesapeake, and it's an easier job if I can find gold aboard."
"Yer've got to, sir?"
"Yes, I've given my promise to the girl. Light the lantern, and bring
it here. Then we'll go aft together; if there is any specie hidden
aboard this hooker, it will be either in the cabin, or lazaret. And,
whether there is, or not, my man, the _Santa Marie_ turns north
tomorrow, if I have to fight every sea wolf on board single-handed."