ON BOARD THE MARJORIE.
Jim had a restless night. He was sadly disappointed with himself, that
he should have so carelessly allowed his enemies to triumph over him. He
could not imagine for what purpose he was now detained, and he was very
determined upon seeking an early opportunity to escape.
In the circumscribed quarters of the brig in which he was confined, he
could move about but little. There was a small porthole, but far too
small for any possibility for escape through the opening.
The night was hot and little air astir. He gazed purposelessly through
the porthole, dozing anon till far after the middle of the night, he was
aroused to active interest by seeing the lights of another ship. From
his viewpoint, the harbor's opening toward the sea was visible.
There was commotion now over his head, the running about of sailors,
calling the captain to the deck. The mate and others of the crew all
assembled on the deck above, and very near Jim's compartment.
The first exultant thought in Jim's mind was that the professor with the
Storm King had come to his rescue. The more logical reasoning determined
that it would have been quite impossible to have accomplished any such
result in so short a time. Furthermore such a move would have been
foolhardy and impractical. No, there must be some other explanation to
be sought.
The mysterious arrival was puzzling Captain Beauchamp and his company,
who, indeed, took the new arrival to be the Storm King. This Jim readily
determined by the talk of those leaning against the deck rail.
"Are you sure that no lights are showing below?" It was Beauchamp's soft
voice.
"There are no lights lit on board, sir. Your orders were that none
should show in this harbor."
"Then they can't locate us in the dark. Before dawn have all the guns
looked over and everything made in readiness for an attack."
"Is that young fellow worth fighting for?" asked the mate.
"I thought to keep him while we looked for the cave, and his party
don't know that we have got him."
"But they will soon find out. Any one of those Frontier Boys can follow
even a rabbit trail."
"So? I never thought of that. Well, we will make a dicker with them. If
they find the treasure, and divide fairly, we will----. Say, it's
beginning to rain. Let's get under cover. When it rains here it's a
deluge."
Jim had listened interestedly to the conversation, and was cognizant now
of the heavy downpour.
"It will make the atmosphere a little cooler," he mused, "but it will
also wash out the trail."
With the first gleam of light, the storm having ceased, the deck was
again peopled with interested spectators, and Jim, listening, was
treated to a surprise that, figuratively speaking, nearly took his
breath away.
"Say, it looks like--what do you make it out to be, Marion?"
"It looks like--it is, the Sea Eagle."
"The Sea Eagle," gasped Jim, in a barely suppressed voice. "Say, but
what queer things do happen," and once more a breath of exultant joy
possessed him. Then the misery of his situation reasserted itself. Here
was his own ship near at hand, and he a helpless prisoner, and he fairly
raged and struck the cabin door with impotent fury.
Later on, as the light increased, he was able to see his beloved ship
clearly outlined against the sky, and, closely observant of all that
transpired, he saw Broome himself, giving directions from the bridge.
Signals were evidently exchanged between the two ships, for later,
Broome was seen to enter a small boat which was rowed toward the
Marjorie.
Jim had nothing to do for a while. He surveyed the surface of the bay
for signs of breaking fish, or the splash of a vagrant water bird,
dreaming of the possibilities built on the hope of repossessing himself
of the Sea Eagle.
Then again came the sound of voices on deck. The two captains were in
conference.
"A big storm," Jim heard Captain Broome say. "We weathered it well, but
the Swedish bark which we had sighted had been for some time in
distress, could not stand the strain and had to be abandoned."
"Then you have all the crew of the lost ship aboard?"
"What could we do but lend a hand?" said Captain Broome in an apologetic
tone, as if deploring the necessity for an ordinary humanitarian act.
"How large a crew, and who is their commander?"
"A dozen of the beggars and blessed with appetites that are insatiable.
Captain ter Tofte Luhrensen was in command. He was also the owner of the
lost vessel."
"And what do you propose to do with them?"
"Why do you ask?" was Broome's diplomatic response.
"I just thought you might have in mind the leaving of the crowd on this
island."
"Well, I might, if you wish me to."
"And I just don't wish it. I have got trouble enough with the
professor's crew."
"So Featheringstone is here? Has he located the treasure?"
"Not yet. Well, there's lots of things to talk over, my dear Broome.
Let's have a spread, a feast. Get your sister and her husband, and we
will discuss the situation over a bowl of punch."
"I'm with you, and send your crew over to the Sea Eagle. Let them have a
jollification."
Jim could but faintly hear their voices now, for the speakers had moved
aft. He had noticed one point in particular. Beauchamp had never
referred to the fact that a prisoner was confined on the deck beneath
him.
Now, to Jim's mind came the insistent need to escape, and very carefully
he examined every surface, angle and crevice of his prison. All this was
unavailing, however. Surely it was a hard fate that he must sit there so
helplessly. His only dependency evidently was upon help to come from the
outside. One thing he determined to do, however. When the door of his
cabin was opened for any purpose he would make a break for liberty, and
fight his way, if need be, single-handed.
But if breakfast was to be brought to him to afford this needed
opportunity, it was long deferred. Three hours, he estimated, had passed
thus. During this time he had seen Red Annie and her husband rowed to
the Marjorie. The Swedes in a long boat were busily occupied in bringing
fresh water in casks from the shore to the Sea Eagle, and on board the
latter the jollification was decidedly in progress as he could both see
and hear.
On board the Marjorie, all was quiet. He could occasionally hear the
murmur of voices, but nothing more. Looking just now toward the Sea
Eagle he saw that the combined crews of the two ships were manning the
long boat.
There was scarcely a man among them now who could be regarded as
moderately sober. The majority were immoderately intoxicated. They were
singing ribald songs and the recitative, between the melodies was
composed of oaths such as Jim had never heard. The men in the long boat
did not succeed in getting clear of the Sea Eagle without some violent
altercations, first with the Swedes and then among themselves. The
jovial songs were quickly abandoned in favor of yells and shouts and
threats, oars were freely and indiscriminately used, and there seemed to
be a breaking of heads all around.
"There seems to be a regular melee," thought Jim, as he stood by the
porthole, observing the lively scene. He watched the men leap from
thwart to thwart of the boat and make for one another like bulldogs. He
thought he knew exactly how the fight would end, and it did end
precisely as he anticipated.
More than a dozen men cannot carry on a naval engagement of that sort
for a long time without an accident of some kind, and no one had reason
to be surprised when an unsteady man, balancing himself on an unsteady
gunwhale, to strike at a particular "friend" with a heavy oar, failed
in his aim, and went headlong into the water; nor was it in any way
unnatural or contrary to the laws of gravitation that the bow of
the boat on being released of his weight, should jump up, thereby
interfering with the man who was balancing himself astern and sending
him overboard with equal dispatch.
Just at that moment, Jim was startled by a voice close beside him, for
he had had no intimation that anyone was about. Turning quickly, he
discovered that a small panel in his door had been slid aside and a
plate of food was pushed through and into his extended hands.
Needless to say, the food was welcome, but the method of serving dashed
away the hope and plan of escape he had had, and so ardently counted
upon. But the voice! That he recognized as familiar, although he did not
at once remember to whom it belonged. Suddenly he knew. It was the
steward, Pedro, come probably to mock him in his captivity. He never had
liked the man. His unvarying servilitude, and now the full knowledge of
his treachery to his employer thoroughly awakened all his ire.
"I have brought you this food."
Jim could not refrain from hissing from between his clenched teeth, "You
traitor!"