CHAPTER XI.

GOOD-BY TO OLD BILL.

The light shining from the cabin window made a fine mark for the battery, and I lost no time in blowing it out. Our prisoner was lying where we had left him, but as he was gagged he naturally did not speak to me, and I was in too much of a hurry to speak to him, for there was no one at the wheel. When I returned to the deck Bill and Tom were hoisting the top-gallant yard, and when they had mast-headed it they came aft to where I was standing.

The battery had not fired but once. This surprised me, for I knew that in a very few minutes the brig would be clear of the inlet and out of range. We waited rather anxiously for another shot, but it did not come; and when we had edged around a point of land at the entrance to the inlet and felt perfectly safe I expressed my wonder that they had not sunk us.

“It was only one or two chaps that fired that gun,” replied Bill. “S’pose now, that two fellows did happen to sight us under sail. Well, as they couldn’t man a boat and board us alone, they jest jumped into the battery and fired a shot so as to bring down the whole gang. But we can’t stop here, for we must trim them yards a bit.”

When the yards were trimmed—for we now had the wind a little on the starboard quarter—Bill dropped on the deck to rest. He seemed to be completely exhausted. But he had only rested a very few minutes when he got on his feet again and said he would loose the foretop-gallant sail. He seemed to stagger as he walked along the deck, and I called to him, begging him to wait and rest. He only answered, “There’s got to be more sail on her if we’re goin’ to get clear of the schooner,” and climbed slowly up the rigging.

From where Tom and I were standing—for, as I have said, I was at the wheel—we could not see the old man on the foretop-gallant yard, and we waited a long while for him to make his appearance on deck. He did not appear, however, and at last we got so uneasy that Tom, after hailing him and receiving no answer, went aloft to look for him. In a few minutes Tom came to me with a scared face and said that Bill was nowhere to be found.

I told Tom to take the wheel while I searched the deck fore and aft for the old man, but without success. The sail that he had gone aloft to loose was hanging in the brails, and it was evident that Bill had either fallen overboard in a fit, or that he had missed his footing. Of course it was idle to think of searching for him, for even if we had been strong-handed enough to put the brig about, I had heard Bill say that he could not swim a stroke, and we knew that he must have gone to the bottom long before we missed him.

What with grief for the loss of the old man—for Tom and I had come to feel a strong attachment for him—and the certainty that we two lads could not work the brig without help, I felt more discouragement than I had yet experienced even when Bill and I were lost in the cave. It was Tom who put heart into me by reminding me that we were not alone, but that we had a man in the cabin who was at least as strong as poor Bill. “Why shouldn’t we make him work his passage?” asked Tom.

Why indeed? The idea was an excellent one, and taking my gun I went down into the cabin, lit a candle, put it where it could not light up the stern windows, and then took the gag out of Mr. March’s mouth, and asked him if he was hungry.

“Thankee, my lad,” he answered very cheerfully. “I could make shift to eat a bit of cheese which you’ll find in the pantry, and I’m as thirsty as a bucket of sand.”

I found the cheese and some water, and gave the mate as much as he wanted. I did not venture to set his hands free, so I had to feed him as if he was a baby. This seemed to amuse him very much, and when he had finished his supper he asked me to get his pipe and tobacco out of his pocket and give him a smoke.

“You’ve captured this brig very handsome,” he said after his pipe was lit. “It was well done considerin’ there were only three of you—an old man and two boys.”

“How do you know how many of us there are?” said I.

“Because, young gentleman, I’ve got a pair of ears and you forgot to gag ’em. I’ve heard your voice and your brother’s voice and Bill’s voice on deck, and never another voice. I don’t say but what you may have a gang of deaf and dumb chaps with you, but it don’t look probable.”

I did not say anything, and Mr. March presently said, “I suppose you know your own business, but my advice to you is to get all the sail you can on her, for before daylight the schooner will be in chase of you, and she is faster than the Swansea, unless it blows a livin’ gale.”

I told him that the brig was doing very well, and that we knew how to sail her.

“But you don’t know how to navigate her,” he rejoined. “Bill, I know, can’t read, and couldn’t work up observations even if he knew how to take ’em. It’s mighty lucky for you that you found me here, instead of some ignorant, lazy fellow who would only have been a trouble to you.”

“So you are ready to join with us, are you?” I asked.

“Am I a natural born fool?” he replied. “Why, what else could I do? I joined the men when they mutinied because I’d rather be captain of the brig than walk the plank. All the same they didn’t keep their word, and after I had navigated them to the island they made another chap from the schooner captain of the Swansea. Now if I join you and navigates this ship into port, I expect you’ll stand by me, and get the owners to allow me salvage. Whereas, if I don’t join you, I’ll have to lie here till you run up against the land somewhere, and then I’ll either be drowned or hanged, accordin’ as I get ashore or don’t.”

“But how can we trust you, Mr. March?” I asked. “You helped seize this brig; you’re a pirate, and you naturally want to get the brig in your hands and deliver her to the pirates again.”

“I don’t naturally want to do any such thing,” he answered. “They’d shoot me even if I brought the brig back to them, because they’d say you couldn’t have captured her if I’d kept a good lookout; and they’d be right about it, too. I’ve as much reason to want to get away from the island as you have, and you need me a great sight more than I need you. So do as you choose. Take me or leave me. Only you’ll make a mistake if you lose the services of an able navigator.”

“Very well, Mr. March,” I said, “we’ll trust you. Come on deck at once and help us make sail. I might as well tell you that Tom and I are alone. Old Bill has fallen overboard from aloft.”

“Then you couldn’t get on without me, even if you wanted to,” said the mate. “Please remember that when you come to see the owners. They’d ought to give me half the value of the brig for salvage. It’s a great pity that there isn’t anything in her but ballast and stores, and mighty little stores, too.”

I unfastened Mr. March’s arms and he stood up and stretched himself. Then he clapped me on the back and said, “Never fear, my lad. We’ll take this brig into Charleston and make all our fortunes. But we’ve got to get every foot of canvas on her that will draw, and we mustn’t lose any time about it, either.”

We went on deck, and as soon as we had set the top-gallant sail Mr. March braced the yards around and changed the course of the brig from due north to due east. By this means he hoped to deceive the pirates, who would naturally suppose that our first attempt would be to run directly before the wind and reach the nearest American port as soon as possible. Besides, the Swansea’s best sailing point was with the wind abeam, as I ought to have remembered, but did not.

We worked hard for hours, and finally succeeded in setting every sail that the Swansea owned, except the studding sails. It was two o’clock by the time we had finished, and then Mr. March insisted that either Tom or I should go below till four o’clock. It was finally agreed that I should have the first rest, so I went below, and in two minutes was fast asleep in the captain’s stateroom.

When Tom called me it was broad daylight, and I noticed that instead of staying below to rest he hurried on deck as soon as he saw that I was awake. I was not long in following him, and as soon as I put my head out of the companion-way, I saw that something was the matter.

A fine fresh breeze was blowing and the Swansea, being lighter than I had ever known her to be, was rushing through the water at the rate of nearly ten knots an hour. Tom was at the wheel, and the compass told me that we were still heading east. The mate was standing near the main rigging, with a telescope in his hand, and away to the westward, so far that I could not make out her rig, I could see a sail.

“That’s the schooner,” he said, as he shut up the glass and came aft. “I know her as well as if she was a cable-length from us.”

“Do you think she sees us?” I asked.

“Sees us! Why, if we can see her, she can’t help but see us.”

“Can you tell how fast she is gaining on us?” asked Tom.

“I can’t, tell yet, but the odds are that she’s running two feet to our one. She’s a much faster boat than we are, and this is just the wind that suits her.”

“Is there anything that we can do that we haven’t done?” I asked anxiously.

“Nothing. The only thing we can do is to overhaul the gun and try to knock a stick out of her when she comes near.”

So saying the mate asked me to come with him and cast loose the long gun, which we did in a few minutes, for he knew all about the handling of big guns. Then we went below to where the pirates had made a magazine on the lower deck, and brought up a dozen rounds of ammunition, which we stowed on deck in the lee of the deck-house. Then Mr. March loaded the gun, and built a fire in the galley so that he could heat a poker to use in firing the gun.

“Now that we’ve got a fire, we’ll have some coffee, and then Master Tom and me will take an hour below, for we need to feel fresh when the pinch comes. The brig is going along as steady as a wagon, and if you want to rouse me out you can pound on the deck with a handspike.”

We had our coffee, and then the mate and Tom left me alone at the wheel with a handspike within ready grasp.

My gun and Tom’s were still loaded, but we had no more ammunition. We had left our ammunition and all our other traps in our boat when we boarded the brig, and Tom must have made her fast carelessly, for when we went to look for her, after we had got clear of the inlet, she was gone. However the guns I knew would be of little use in a fight with the schooner; for if she once should get near enough to board us, it would be useless to resist.

I let my companions sleep as long as I dared, but the schooner gradually gained on us, and in two hours after I came on deck she was so near that I could easily make her out. I therefore pounded on the deck and almost immediately Tom and the mate were with me.

“In an hour more she’ll be near enough for her big gun to reach us. She won’t try to hit us, though, for they don’t want the job of repairing the brig when they get her. She’ll come alongside, and if we don’t surrender she’ll board us.”

“When her gun can reach us, our gun can reach her, can’t it?” asked Tom.

“To be sure it can,” answered Mr. March, “and may be we’ll have the luck to cripple her. Anyway we’ll try.”

It was slow work waiting through the next hour, but by that time the schooner was near enough for us to try a shot. Tom went to the wheel and the mate and I went forward.

I brought the poker from the galley, and Mr. March trained the gun with great care and primed it. Then he took the poker and touched the loose priming, while I watched with the glass to see where the shot would strike.

But Mr. March had been so long in getting ready that the poker was cold, and we could not fire the gun. I had to heat it again, and when after all this preparation we fired and did not touch the schooner I was greatly disappointed.

The mate was not in the least discouraged. “No man ever hits anything the first time, and mostly he misses the second time. Wait till I get a third shot, and perhaps it will do some work.” He was always a cheerful man, and whatever it might be that he was doing, he was better satisfied with himself than any man I ever saw.

Our second shot was as bad as the first one, and it took us so long to load and fire that the schooner kept gaining on us frightfully. We had to bring the brig up pretty close to the wind every time we fired, so as to bring the gun to bear on the schooner, and of course every time we did this we lost headway.

But the third shot went through the schooner’s main topmast, just above the hounds, and took in her topsail for her in a hurry. This brought her speed down to just about ours, and the mate said that he would only fire one more shot, and that then he would go to the wheel and see what close steering would do to help our sailing. This fourth shot made a hole in the schooner’s foresail and evidently put her captain in a rage, for he began firing at us as rapidly as his men could work their long gun. They were much better marksmen than Mr. March, too. Their second shot carried our foretop-mast, and the brig, coming up in the wind, was very nearly taken aback.