When the gang of buccaneers had tumbled down the hatch after Jeremy's
cry of warning, Job Howland, barely awake, had leaped to the narrow
angle that made the forward end of the fo'c's'le, seizing a pistol as he
went. Intrenching himself behind a chest, with the bulkhead behind him
and on both sides, he had kept the maddened crew at bay for several
moments. The pistol, covering the only path of attack, made them wary of
approaching too close. When, finally, a half-dozen jumped forward at
once, he pulled the trigger only to find that the weapon had not been
loaded. In desperation he grasped the muzzle in his hand and struck out
fiercely with the heavy butt, beating off his assailants time after
time. This was well enough at first, but the buccaneers, who cared much
less for a broken crown than for a bullet wound, pressed in closer and
closer, striking with fists and marline-spikes. It was soon over. They
jammed him so far into the corner than his tireless arm no longer had
free play, and then bore him down under sheer weight of numbers. When he
ceased to struggle they seized him fast and carried him to the deck.
Job was out of breath and much bruised but had suffered no lasting hurt.
He saw Jeremy led forward, heard the men's cries and realized that the
torture was in store for them both.
Unbound, but helpless to interfere, he saw the boy stretched on the deck
and the rope attached to his arms and legs. He suffered greater agony
than did Jeremy as the crew made ready to begin their awful work, for he
had seen keelhauling before. And then suddenly Stede Bonnet was standing
by the companion and the ringing shout that saved the boy's life struck
on Job's ears. He could hardly keep from cheering the Captain then and
there, but relief at Jeremy's delivery brought with it a return of his
quick wits. He himself was in as great danger as ever.
He was facing aft, and his eye, roving the deck for a means of escape,
lit on the brig's boat, which the pirates had tied astern after
reboarding the sloop. She was trailing at the end of a painter, her bows
rising and falling on the choppy waves. He waited only long enough to
see that the Captain succeeded in freeing Jeremy, then drew a great
breath and plunged over the side. Swimming under water, he watched for
the towed longboat to come by overhead, and as her dark bulk passed, he
caught her keel with a strong grip of his fingers, worked his way back
and came up gasping, his hands holding to the rudder ring in her stern.
The hot, still days had warmed the surface of the sea to a temperature
far above the normal, or he must certainly have become exhausted in a
short time. As it was, he clung to his ring till near noon, when,
cautiously peering above the gunwale, he saw the sloop's deck empty save
for a steersman, half asleep in the hot sun by the tiller. With a great
wrench of his arms the ex-buccaneer lifted himself over the stern and
slipped as quietly as he was able into the boat's bottom. There he lay
breathless, listening for sounds of alarm aboard the sloop. None came
and after a few moments he wriggled forward and made himself snug under
the bow-thwart. The boat carried a water-beaker and a can of biscuit for
emergency use. After refreshing himself with these and drying out his
thin clothing in the sun, he retreated under the shade of the thwart and
slept the sleep of utter fatigue.
Late the next day he took a brief observation of the horizon. There was
sandy shore to the east and from what he knew of the coast and the
ship's course he judged they must be nearing the entrance to Delaware
Bay. His long rest had restored to him most of his vigor and although he
was sore in many places, he felt perfectly ready to try an escape as
soon as the sloop should approach the land and offer him an
opportunity.
As the night went on the _Royal James_ made good speed up the Bay aided
by a strong tide. A little while before light she came close enough to
the west shore for Job to see the outlines of trees on a bluff. He
figured the distance to be not above a mile at most. There was some
question in his mind whether he should cut the painter and use the boat
in getting away or swim for it. He decided that it would be better for
him in most ways if the pirates still supposed him dead. So, quietly as
an otter, he slipped over the gunwale, paddled away from the boat's side
and set out for the land, ploughing through the water with a long
overarm stroke.
Job had a hard fight with the turning tide before the trees loomed above
his head and his feet scraped gravel under the bank. When at last he
crept gasping out upon dry ground, it was miles to the southward of his
first destination. Dawn had come and the early light silvered the
rippling cross-swells and glinted on the white wings of the gulls. The
big mariner shook the water from his sides like a spaniel, stretched
both long arms to the warm sky, laughed as he thought of his escape and
turning his gaunt face to the northward set out swiftly along the
tree-clad bluffs.