When Anthony awoke he lay still for a space and listened. The
river-water washed under the schooner's foot; he could hear the creak
of the blocks and that flapping of sail that tells of little wind. A
dim gray picked its way through the darkness, for the dawn had entered
at the companionway.
Anthony stood up; the sleep had done him a deal of good; his head was
steady, and the pain had all but gone. He took a draft of the brandy
and stretched himself with wide-flung arms; then he stood frowning and
considering. _Le Mousquet_ was a schooner. He knew schooners; he had
both stowed and sailed them; and he knew what was possible and likely
aboard one. _Le Mousquet_ was private-armed, and manned more than
likely by a reckless, insubordinate company, not to be trusted with
arms, save in the presence of an enemy. The officers would possibly
carry pistols when on duty. At this hour there was hardly more than one
on deck; the others would be snoring in their beds.
Anthony stepped across a man who lay asleep outside the door, and
went quietly on deck. The river looked cold and quiet: the sails were
drawing but little; the watch were muffled in heavy coats to keep out
the chill touch of the mist. Anthony moved the length of the deck
unnoticed, and down at the after hatch. Here on this side was the
captain's room. This, on this hand, would be the room shared by the
lieutenants; and here would be the room where the small arms would
likely be stored. He examined the lock on this door; it was stout, but
the woodwork was worn, and the door loose, and he shoved back the
bolt with the blade of his knife. Muskets were racked against the wall
at one side; the other bristled with pistols and cutlasses, and a low
door opened into the magazine. Methodically, Anthony put three brace of
pistols aside; then, one by one, he slipped the remainder noiselessly
through the low port-hole into the river; and the muskets, to the
number of three dozen, followed them. With powder and ball taken from
the magazine, he loaded the pistols he had kept; then he stowed them
about his person and went out of the room.
From the other side of the lieutenants' door came the grumbling of a
man half asleep, and Anthony went in. The officer was sitting up in his
bed yawning and scratching his unshaven jaws; he stared at Anthony,
surprised; then out of the bed he came with a leap and reached for a
pistol that hung from a hook by the trigger-guard. Anthony also grasped
at it, and as they struggled the weapon roared thunderously in the
narrow space. Desperate at the sound, Anthony tore the pistol from the
man's hand and struck him with it shrewdly, and he fell; then the young
man whirled about to meet the master of the schooner entering at the
door. In trying to avoid the blow that curved toward him, the one-eyed
man fell; and as he did so he set up a roaring.
"On deck! Help! Drive a knife through this devil!"
But Anthony wasted no time; in the captain's cabin he threw open the
cupboard doors and saw a brace of silver-mounted pistols upon a shelf.
One of these, together with the lieutenant's empty one, he threw from
a stern window; then with the other he turned to face the officer of
the watch whose boots were clumping down the short ladder. At sight of
Anthony this man fired; but the young man flattened himself against
the wall and his return shot sent the privateersman writhing to the
deck with a broken shoulder. Snatching up the man's weapon, Anthony ran
up the ladder to the main-deck. The watch was hurrying aft; he could
see the black face of the cook above the edge of the forward hatch.
Pitching the two empty pistols over the rail, he drew out one of those
he had loaded himself.
"Keep your places!" he growled. The blood had started to ooze from his
wounds once more and stained the bandages about his head; and as he
stood with hunched shoulders menacing them with the pistol the sailors
halted. "Close the forward hatch," directed Anthony, "and fasten it
down!" They hesitated; he sent a shot rattling among them, and then
they leaped to obey. Again an empty pistol went over the side, and a
fresh one appeared in his hand. To the man at the wheel he said, "Stand
away!"
The man did as he was bidden; and under Anthony's hand the bow of the
schooner began to creep around toward the shore. While it was still
turning, Mademoiselle Lafargue appeared on deck; her quick glances took
in the sullen group of seamen amidships and the grim figure at the
wheel.
"In five minutes," she said quietly, "the ship will be aground."
"I had reasoned it at a trifle more than that," said Anthony, giving
eye by turns to the schooner's course and the muttering watch. "But a
few minutes more or less makes no odds."
She regarded him coldly.
"The two men below are desperately hurt," she said.
"I note that the captain is in no hurry to make a third," said Anthony,
cocking his eye toward the after hatch. Almost as the words left him
the master of the schooner popped his head above its edge; instantly
the long pistol lifted and exploded; the ball tore away the combing,
within a foot of the head, and it disappeared like magic. There was
silence after this, and with a fresh pistol Anthony casually menaced
the watch. The warm, thick smell of a marshy shore came from the
nearing bank; birds were whistling; beyond the trees a plowman was
heard calling to his horses. The bottom of the schooner scraped, and a
shudder ran through her to the tips of her masts. Then she struck; the
sails flapped uselessly, and the stern swung about to the tide.
"Lower away a boat," directed Anthony, his frowning eyes on the watch.
"And make haste. There are some among you whom I have to thank for the
hurts I got last night; which struck the blows, I don't know, but a few
leaden slugs may pick them out." He handled the pistol with a readiness
that carried fright into their hearts. "Lower a boat."
A small boat was swung over the side and rested upon the water.
"I shall need two men," said Anthony. "You will answer, and you,"
nodding to two of the seamen. "Get in." The men did so readily enough;
and then he turned his eyes upon Mademoiselle Lafargue. "If you
please," said he, and waved his hand toward the boat. She reared her
head, her eyes darting scorn and resentment; but she did not move from
where she stood. "I am going ashore," he said, "and as this ship is no
place for you it is a good chance to leave her."
"I shall not leave her in your company, at all events," she said coldly.
"I expected you to say something like that," said Anthony. "And I would
like to reason the matter out with you. But it is best that there be no
delay. I beg of you to step into the boat."
But she would not; and she defied him with her eyes. He motioned to the
watching seamen.
"Put her into the boat."
"You would not dare!" she said, her coldness flaming into anger.
"Put her into the boat," said Anthony.
In a few minutes she was handed into the waiting boat; she made no
protest, no resistance, but sat in the bow and covered her face with
her hands.
"Now, my bullies," said Anthony, as he stepped to the rail, "stand well
back. If I see a head of one of you until I get ashore, I'll speak to
you with this," and he motioned with the pistol.
The two seamen pushed off and fell to the oars; Anthony sat athwart
the stern, the pistol between his knees, the rudder handle in his
left hand; he watched the schooner, the men pulling the boat, and
also the landing-place which he had selected. Within ten minutes they
had reached a platform built upon spiles, and used by river sloops
in taking in the produce of the farms. Anthony was the first out; he
helped Mademoiselle Lafargue ashore, and then they both stood silent
upon the little wharf and watched the boat pull back to _Le Mousquet_.
[Illustration: "... WATCHED THE BOAT PULL BACK TO LE MOUSQUET."]