PAUL IS MADE A PRISONER.
Before the half hour which the conspirators had indicated as the
favorable time for carrying out their mysterious project had elapsed,
Tom Nettle and Frank Thompson went below to prepare the way for the
execution of their scheme. In the cook room, which occupied the fore
part of the hold of the yacht, Dick was busily engaged in scraping
potatoes. This seemed to be the favorite occupation of the steward, for
he spent a large share of his time between meals in this employment; and
fried potatoes was the standard dish for breakfast, dinner, and supper.
"I'm glad you come down, Tom; I want to use you a few moments," said
Dick, as the two boys entered the cook room.
"Well, what do you want, Dick?"
"I want you to help me move the stove; the pipe is loose; and if you
will just hold it while I slide the stove back two or three inches, it
will make it all right. Just hold the pipe up while I push the stove
back."
"I have just cleaned up, Dick," replied Tom, who never hesitated at a
white lie, and not often at a black one. "Paul is on deck, and in just
the trim to do a job of that kind."
"No matter, then; I will call him," replied Dick; and the two boys
presently returned to the deck.
"Just what we wanted," said Frank.
"Don't say a word, and Dick will call him down in a minute."
But the steward seemed to forget that he intended to make a change in
the position of the stove, for he did not call Paul, as the conspirators
were anxiously waiting for him to do. The tide had turned, and there was
no obstacle in their way except the presence on deck of him to whom they
had not dared to breathe a word of moral treason.
"Paul," said Tom, at last, when his patience was completely exhausted,
"Dick wants to see you down below."
In order to make the request seem like one just made, he had lain down
upon the fore hatch, which opened into the apartment where the steward
was at work, thus seeming to be in communication with him.
"What does he want?" asked Paul, unconscious of the trick which was
about to be played off upon him, and rather pleased than otherwise at
the prospect of some employment to relieve the monotony of his
situation.
"He wants you to help him move the stove."
"Never mind it now, Paul," interposed the steward from below; "any time
before I make the fire to get supper will do."
"I will go now; I have nothing else to do," replied Paul, as he
descended the companion ladder.
"Now is our time!" exclaimed Tom. "You look out for the fore hatch, and
I will take care of the companion way."
"Ay, ay, Tom, and be quick about it."
At a signal from the chief conspirator, the slide was drawn and the fore
hatchway covered up, thus making Paul and the steward prisoners below.
"What does that mean?" said Paul.
"I don't know; some mischief, I suppose," replied Dick. "They are
playing off a trick upon us."
"We are prisoners, anyhow," continued Paul, glancing at the closed
hatchway.
"All the same to me; don't mind them at all, and they will soon get sick
of the fun."
"But what are they about?" added Paul, as he heard the creak of the
windlass on deck. "I'm afraid they are up to some serious mischief."
"Can't help it; 'tain't my fault, and I never meddle with what don't
concern me. All I got to do is to cook the victuals, and take care of
the cabin."
Dick was utterly indifferent in regard to the conspirators, and went on
scraping his potatoes, as though nothing unusual was in progress. As
long as they had not carried off his cooking stove, or separated him
from the ice chest, he was perfectly contented, and undoubtedly would
call all hands to supper at the proper time, precisely as though
everything was proceeding in a proper and regular manner on board the
Flyaway. Dick prided himself upon minding his own business; and if the
yacht had been seized by a gang of West India buccaneers, his culinary
operations would have proceeded with their accustomed order and
promptness.
It was not so with Paul; for the creaking of the windlass, and the
activity that seemed to be manifested on deck, had already suggested to
him a suspicion in regard to the purpose of the crew. He was not long
left in doubt, for the sounds from above soon indicated that a portion
of the conspirators were hoisting the mainsail. But he found it very
difficult to accept the conclusion that these indications forced upon
him. The boys on deck were certainly getting the yacht in readiness to
sail; yet it seemed scarcely credible to him that they intended to run
away with her. A scheme so bold and wicked passed his comprehension, and
he was not prepared to believe that even Tom and Frank had the hardihood
to carry it out. But the evidences were fast increasing; he heard the
voice of Tom Nettle, as he stood at the helm, issuing his orders with as
much assurance as though he had been regularly placed in authority.
Presently he heard the anchor strike against the hawse-hole, and the jib
rattling up the stay. He could no longer cherish a hope that their
purpose was less criminal than he had feared. He almost cried with
sorrow and vexation when he considered that his brother John was one of
the mutineers.
"They are running away with the yacht," said he to his fellow-prisoner.
"That's none of my business," replied Dick, with his accustomed
stoicism. "All I got to say is, that supper will be ready at six
o'clock; because why--that's the time Captain Gordon told me to have
supper."
"But do you mean to let them run away with the yacht?"
"Don't see that I can help myself;" and the steward suspended his labors
for a moment, glancing at Paul as though he had a vague suspicion that
he might be in some degree responsible for his inactivity.
"I think we have a duty to perform," continued Paul.
"What can we do?"
"We must get the vessel away from them and take her back to her
anchorage."
"But we can't do that. We are prisoners here; can you break through that
hatchway?"
"Then you are willing to do something?"
"Certainly I am," replied Dick. "If you can tell me what to do, I will
do it."
Paul seated himself by the side of the steward, and proposed to him
that, at a suitable time, they should make an effort to recover the
yacht, and return her to her lawful commander. Dick consented, but he
was afraid they would have no opportunity to put the plan in execution,
for they could hardly overcome the eleven mutineers. Yet each pledged
himself to the other to do whatever could be done; but it was agreed
that they should not attempt anything without a reasonable prospect of
success.
There was a stiff breeze from the northeast, and the prisoners saw the
yacht lying over upon her side, which gave some indication of the rate
at which she was passing through the water. They knew how dense was the
fog outside, and they had some fears that her reckless managers would
run her upon the rocks, which was not a pleasant prospect to them,
confined as they were in the cabin.
An hour by the clock had elapsed since the yacht got under way, and it
was evident from her motion that she was laboring through a heavy sea.
Paul had begun to be uneasy, for he had very little confidence in the
seamanship of Tom Nettle, who, he judged, was the new master of the
Flyaway, and he was in momentary expectation that she would strike upon
a rock, and the cabin be filled with water.
When the yacht first got under way there had been a great deal of
confusion on deck. Frank had rebelled at the authority of Tom, and
claimed the right to command; but this dispute had been settled, and new
causes of difficulty had appeared every moment. But now the
conspirators were very quiet, and Paul perceived that they had come to
realize the full peril of their position. He could hear their low and
earnest tones, as they consulted together in the standing room. More
than once he had heard his own name mentioned, but he could not hear
enough of the conversation to determine what they intended to do with
him. We will leave Paul and his fellow-prisoner below for a time, and
notice the condition of things on deck.
The weather was decidedly threatening. The wind was increasing in
violence, and there was a heavy sea. In short there was every indication
of a regular northeaster. Tom Nettle had the helm, but his face no
longer wore the confident assurance which had given him the victory over
his rival in the contest for the command, and which had strengthened the
doubting hearts of his more timid followers. His eye was restless, and
his movements uneasy. He was not a stupid boy--only a reckless one; and
he could not help seeing that he was leading those who had trusted in
him into hardship and perils which neither party had foreseen.
The Flyaway was lying close to the wind, under jib and mainsail, and was
completely enveloped in the dense fog that covered the ocean. Her
bowsprit was slapping the waves, and the spray sweeping the entire
length of the deck. Frank Thompson was lying out upon the bowsprit, wet
to the skin, peering through the fog to give timely notice of breakers,
or of any vessel which might lie in the path of the yacht. The rest of
the crew were seated in the standing room, most of them engaged in
watching the anxious face of Tom Nettle, whose boasted seamanship was
now put to the severest test.
The Flyaway dashed on, and the faces of the rebel crew became more and
more anxious every moment. Another hour elapsed, and the wind continued
to freshen, and the sea to rise. Dense volumes of fog rolled by the
vessel, and the mutineers were all wet to the skin. John Duncan was the
only one who seemed to enjoy the scene, and it was evident at times that
even he had some painful misgivings in regard to the future.
"Hard a-lee! hard a-lee!" shouted Frank, suddenly jumping down from the
bowsprit, and making the most violent gestures.
Tom, startled and confused by the frantic movements of Frank,
unfortunately put the helm the wrong way; and the yacht, getting the
wind more a-beam, plunged deeper than ever into the huge waves.
"The other way, you confounded fool!" roared Frank, as he let go of the
jib sheet.
The bewildered helmsman obeyed this order; but the movement had been so
long delayed that the whole crew could hear the roar of the breakers
ahead of the yacht. With the assistance of his companions Tom put the
helm hard-a-lee, and the Flyaway came up into the wind.
But Frank had made a greater blunder, if possible, than the confused
skipper; for when he had cast off the jib sheet, long before he should
have done so, the sail had blown out as far as it could, carrying the
end of the sheet with it.
My young and non-nautical readers must not suppose that a sheet is a
sail; it is a rope. The jib-sheet is the rope attached to the lower part
of the sail, by which it is hauled in or let out, as occasion may
require. On the Flyaway this rope ran through a double block, or tackle.
The sail was now slapping and banging in the fresh wind, so that Frank
could not get hold of it; for the heavy block threatened to knock his
brains out, as it thrashed in every direction.
In consequence of this blunder, when the yacht came up into the wind,
and there was no jib to help her round, she fell off, lost her headway,
and drifted helplessly towards the rocks. Tom was appalled at the danger
that menaced them, and gave all sorts of orders; but none of them were
heeded by the panic-stricken crew.
"Draw the slide, and call up Paul," gasped the disheartened skipper; and
his order was understood and instantly obeyed.