I went back to the deck to get my bearings. From one and another, so
far as the tumult which was on the ship permitted, I made out that the
taking of the _Charles the Second_ was in this wise:
Mr. Every, using the common grief about the wages to serve his turn,
made fellow-plotters of some score of men, both in the _Charles the
Second_ and the _James_. The night having been picked out on the
calendar, it was agreed that at a given time by the clock one from the
_Charles the Second_ should go to the _James_ and say that the _Charles
the Second_ was being run off. The officers of the _James_, it was
expected, would order out the pinnace in pursuit, when the friends
of Mr. Every were to crowd forward, fill the boat, and make for the
_Charles the Second_, where instead of arresting her they would turn
to and haul together with their companion miscreants of the _Charles
the Second_, who in the meantime would have seized the ordnance and
ammunitions aboard our ship. The cables of the _Charles the Second_
were to be cut, all but two of her boats turned adrift, and her sails
shaken out loose.
Things went smoothly according to plan. At nine o’clock one went from
the _Charles the Second_ to the _James_. At the head of the gangway of
that ship he found Mr. Druit, mate, on watch. Says he to Mr. Druit--
“Have you seen the drunken boatswain of ours aboard your ship?”
“No,” says Mr. Druit. “Isn’t he aboard of you?”
“Nay,” said the villain conspirator; “he’s not aboard, but mischief is.”