Twenty-Three to One.
The absence of wind kept the schooner at anchor off Brewster for two
days. During this time Hoppy Mayo avoided a clash with Dunton, though
the latter’s surliness was increased by his enforced inactivity. The
frigate was expected back any moment now and Dunton knew Captain
Raggett would be displeased with the meagre results of the schooner’s
cruise if she were obliged to remain in idleness off Brewster. However,
there was no help for it, and unless a favorable breeze came up the
best the surveying party could do would be to send a small boat as
far eastward as Orleans creek, a distance of about two miles. Further
than this Dunton decided not to risk his men. His naturally suspicious
temperament caused him to imagine all sorts of traps laid for him
by the accursed Yankees who, he well knew, were watching his every
movement from the shore.
On the evening of the second day, the aspect of the sky betokened a
change of weather. The atmosphere was very still and the sun went down
in a blaze of blood-red radiance. Hoppy was tranquilly smoking his pipe
after supper when Dunton approached and said:
“Looks like a change, Mayo? I don’t remember having seen such a sunset
since I came to this coast.”
The American had seen many such sunsets and he knew their meaning.
After a keen look at the steel-blue cloud that was showing up over the
spot where the sun had disappeared, he answered the officer.
“Yes, Mr. Dunton, it certainly looks as if we were in for one of our
summer tempests. I don’t like the look of that cloud.”
“There is not a breath of air at present, Mayo.”
“No, sir; that is one of the signs of a tempest in this locality. It
may not come up until midnight, but we are going to have it before
tomorrow morning.”
“This is not very safe holding ground in case of a blow,” said Dunton
somewhat anxiously.
“That’s so, Mr. Dunton.”
“Well, I’m going below, Mayo, and I want you to remain on deck and
watch for a puff that may enable us to get into a better anchorage.”
“Very good, sir; I shall call you when it comes.”
After Dunton went below Hoppy felt inclined to dance a jig on the deck.
Perhaps, after all, his expectations would be fulfilled? Was not this
tempest the one thing wanting to hasten the success of the scheme which
his wily brain had fashioned during the days of his captivity on the
schooner? Twenty-three to one were the odds against him up to this, but
with a roaring blow from the northwest as an ally he felt as if he had
more than a fighting chance. One blast from the trumpet of the Lord
would open the floodgates of the heavens and the pilot’s unerring eye
had read the message of promise written in the evening sky!
Two junior officers, three seamen and Hoppy made up the watch on deck.
One of the seamen, a chap named Jackson, was especially friendly with
the pilot and had a great contempt for Dunton. Jackson was a typical
old salt; a fine seaman who had spent the greater part of his life in
the navy, but he had reached the limit of promotion when he got his
rating as able seaman. His fondness for grog had kept him back, though
he would not admit the impeachment, preferring to put the blame on his
want of influence with such officers as Dunton who, he confided to
Hoppy, had a man at their mercy if they took a dislike to him. It was
now quite dark and Hoppy, unseen by the officers, managed to have a few
words with Jackson.
“I guess you’re getting about sick of the calm, Jackson? Looks like a
change, though.”
“Yes, mate,” replied Jackson, “I am. I’m sick of the whole d----d
business. There ain’t no glory an’ there ain’t no prize-money in this
here war. Settin’ British sailors to such work as ketchin’ rowboats an’
fishin’ schooners an’ then makin’ headquarters in a town that ain’t got
a decent grogshop ain’t wot we was used to in the navy.”
“’Tis certainly poor work for brave men, Jackson.”
“That it is,” assented Jackson vehemently.
“Well, Jackson, as the commanding officer has ordered me to remain on
deck to watch with you, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be as comfortable
as we can make ourselves. What do you say to this?” Hoppy produced a
flask of rum.
“Wot do I say to it, eh? Wot I say is this: If that son of a gun aft
don’t come on deck an’ ketch us, I’d like to jine you all right!”
“No fear of that, Jackson; he won’t come on deck until I call him. Help
yourself!”
“After you, mate; I ain’t forgot my manners.”
“Here’s luck, Jackson!”
“Same to you, my hearty, an’ many of ’em!”
Then the gallant tar took his turn at the flask. Lovingly he held the
generous liquor to his lips and quenched his thirst with a long drink.
“Blest if it ain’t mighty good of you, mate!” said Jackson gratefully.
“That fellow aft don’t know how to treat men, an’ there’s a lot o’
growlin’ among the crew.”
“That’s a wonder, Jackson, and there’s no reason why he should be
stingy about the grog. There’s enough of it aboard.”
“Then he’s a d----d liar!” hissed Jackson. “He sent word to the focsle
that the supply o’ rum aboard was small an’ that the allowance must be
cut down!”
“Of course, Jackson, it isn’t my place to interfere, and perhaps I was
wrong in mentioning the matter?”
“Oh, don’t you fret about your doin’ wrong, mate. You’ve done right,
an’ by the Lord Harry, when I tell some o’ them about his meanness an’
lyin’, there’ll be hell to pay! There’s old Bill Brown will be hoppin’
about it. Only yesterday, old Bill says to me: ‘Damme,’ says Bill,
‘I’ve been threatenin’ to desert ever since we kem on this here station
but I’ve been held back ’cause I hated to leave the old flag. But,
by G----,’ (Bill’s a orful swearer) ‘if this feller deals out short
allowance o’ grog, I’m finished with King George!’”
“It’s a shame, Jackson. Don’t tell any of the men that I have given you
a drink. Dunton would be sure to hear of it and that would be the end
of the game. I know where there’s a good supply stowed away and I can
get at it; so, if you keep the matter to yourself, I may be able to let
you have a good drink occasionally.”
“All right, my hearty; you can trust me with a secret. Fact of it is,
mate, the crew don’t think anything the worse o’ you for bein’ a Yank.
They know Dunton’s down on you, but he’s obliged to keep a civil tongue
just now. Old Dick Raggett has given him orders to treat you decent.”
“I thought there was something strange about his civility, Jackson, and
I’m much obliged to you for telling me the reason. What do you say to
another swallow?”
Jackson had no objection at all, so he took a copious draught which put
him in high spirits.
Hoppy again warned him to be silent about the rum and went aft.
The stillness of the atmosphere continued and the night was intensely
dark. From his station Hoppy closely watched the western sky. The
deluge would soon be upon them and already he noticed faint streaks
of lightning near the horizon. Everything seemed to favor him. He had
secured the goodwill of Jackson and would be able to use him when the
right moment arrived. The watch officers, also seeing the lightning,
asked him if he thought it advisable to call Dunton’s attention to it,
but Hoppy replied that his orders were not to call the commander until
there were signs of a breeze.
“It’s no use waking him, Mr. Jenkins. If we’re going to run for better
holding ground we must wait for wind, and we shan’t have any for some
time yet.”
“Very well, Mayo; but if a sudden squall should strike us, Mr. Dunton
won’t be pleased to be below.”
“There will be no sudden squall, Mr. Jenkins. These summer tempests
don’t come up like that. The lightning is far off yet and, anyway, we
can’t get any steerage way on her until we get some wind.”
This appeared to satisfy the young men and they left Hoppy to his
cogitations.
When half an hour had passed, Dunton came on deck. He was evidently ill
at ease and could not remain below. His eye caught the gleaming shafts
of lightning to the westward and he knew that the tempest predicted by
the pilot would be a furious one.
“The wind still seems to be shy, Mayo?”
“Oh, it’s coming, all right, Mr. Dunton, but you won’t feel it for
another hour. The lightning still hugs the horizon.”
“It will mean a night on deck for all hands. I think you had better
turn in for a rest, Mayo; I shall want you when the storm strikes us.”
“Very good, sir, and thank you for your consideration.”
In accordance with Raggett’s orders Hoppy’s berth was in the cabin with
the officers. Dunton dared not object to this though he didn’t like the
idea of having the prisoner established in his quarters.
Hoppy went below but he did not turn in. Sleep was not in his program
that night. Making sure that he was unobserved, he made a cautious but
thorough search of the cabin, paying particular attention to Dunton’s
berth. In the midst of his investigations he heard Dunton calling for
him to come on deck and he knew by the trampling of feet above him that
the longed-for breeze had come. With a smile he obeyed the commander’s
call.
There was bustle everywhere on deck. Dunton was shouting orders and
while some of the men were getting the anchor aboard others were busy
at the sails. A crash of thunder greeted the pilot’s appearance on the
scene. Though the breeze was still gentle, it was gathering strength
every moment and soon the schooner would feel its full force.
“This is your business, pilot,” said Dunton. “I want to get the
schooner into a good anchorage and I depend on you to show me where
that is.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” cried Hoppy; “we must run her under the lee of
Billingsgate Point! That’s about as safe as any place in this
nor’wester.”
Under a storm jib and close-reefed foresail the little craft was headed
for the Point. The lightning was now vivid and the crashing thunder was
deafening. The long rollers from the ocean were breaking into white
crests and the boom of the sea on the sandbars was heard at intervals
through the elemental fury of the heavens. The rain fell in torrents
and the wind increased to a gale which drove the schooner through the
seething waters with tremendous force and would have overwhelmed her
were it not for the splendid seamanship displayed by Hoppy Mayo. There
was then no lighthouse on Billingsgate Point to guide them and the
darkness of the night added to the terrors of the storm, but the pilot
assured Dunton that he could make the anchorage all right, though he
could not even then guarantee that the schooner would be out of danger.
The distance they had to run was about eight miles. When Hoppy’s
calculations led him to believe that they were nearing the Point, he
brought the schooner to the wind and ordered the anchor overboard.
The strain on the stout cable was fearful but it held, and though the
vessel was battered on all sides by the rollers she swung to her anchor
in apparent safety for the moment.
There was not much said during all this time, for the simple reason
that the shrieking gale and the general turmoil made it difficult for
anyone to be heard, and the few orders given had to be shouted from
man to man until the proper person was reached, but Hoppy conveyed to
Dunton that this was the best he could do and that they must take their
chances in this spot as long as the cable held and the gale continued.
The reader may wonder why the Cape Codder took such pains to bring the
schooner to a place of comparative safety, but it must be kept in mind
that Hoppy had no desire to risk his life by leaving the situation
in charge of the British who knew nothing of the dangers of the
locality; and besides, everything was working in favor of a triumphant
conclusion to the scheme which was uppermost in his mind. The storm had
altered his plans in some particulars, but it had improved his chances
wonderfully and, indeed, the hardy pilot inwardly exulted when he felt
assured that there would be no change in the weather until far into the
night.