CHAPTER III
THE TWO CLOCKS
It was already beginning to grow dark. She sat, and she sat; she waited,and she waited; and at last she wept, but very quietly. Her father didnot come; Ben Greenway was not there; and even that Charter boy hadgone. A man came aft to her; a mild-faced, elderly man, with furtheroffers of refreshment and an invitation to go below out of the nightair. But she would have nothing; and as she sadly waited and gentlywept, it began to grow truly dark. Presently, as she sat, one armleaning on the rail, she heard a voice close to her ear, and she gave agreat start.
"It is only Dickory," whispered the voice.
Then she put her head near him and was glad enough to have put her armsaround his neck.
"I have heard a great deal more," whispered Dickory; "these men aredreadful. They do not know what keeps your father, although they havesuspicions which I could not make out; but if he does not come on boardby ten o'clock they will sail without him, and without his cash-box."
"And what of me?" she almost cried, "what of me?"
"They will take you with them," said he; "that's the only thing for themto do. But don't be frightened, don't tremble. You must leave thisvessel."
"But how?" she said.
"Oh! I will attend to that," he answered, "if you will listen to me anddo everything I tell you. We can't go until it is dark, but while it islight enough for you to see things I will show you what you must do.Now, look down over the side of the vessel."
She leaned over and looked down. He was apparently clinging to the sidewith his head barely reaching the top of the rail.
"Do you see this bit of ledge I am standing on?" he asked. "Could youget out and stand on this, holding to this piece of rope as I do?"
"Yes," said she, "I could do that."
"Then, still holding to the rope, could you lower yourself down from theledge and hang to it with your hands?"
"And drop into your boat?" said she. "Yes, I could do that."
"No," said he, "not drop into my boat. It would kill you if you fellinto the boat. You must drop into the water."
She shuddered, and felt like screaming.
"But it will be easy to drop into the water; you can't hurt yourself,and I shall be there. My boat will be anchored close by, and we caneasily reach it."
"Drop into the water!" said poor Kate.
"But I will be there, you know," said Dickory.
She looked down upon the ledge, and then she looked below it to thewater, which was idly flapping against the side of the vessel.
"Is it the only way?" said she.
"It is the only way," he answered, speaking very earnestly. "You mustnot wait for your father; from what I hear, I fear he has been detainedagainst his will. By nine o'clock it will be dark enough."
"And what must I do?" she said, feeling cold as she spoke.
"Listen to every word," he answered. "This is what you must do. You knowthe sound of the bell in the tower of the new church?"
"Oh, yes," said she, "I hear it often."
"And you will not confound it with the bell in the old church?"
"Oh, no!" said she; "it is very different, and generally they strike farapart."
"Yes," said he, "the old one strikes first; and when you hear it, itwill be quite dark, and you can slip over the rail and stand on thisledge, as I am doing; then keep fast hold of this rope and you can slipfarther down and sit on the ledge and wait until the clock of the newchurch begins to strike nine. Then you must get off the ledge and hangby your two hands. When you hear the last stroke of nine, you must letgo and drop. I shall be there."
"But if you shouldn't be there, Dickory? Couldn't you whistle, couldn'tyou call gently?"
"No," said Dickory; "if I did that, their sharp ears would hear andlanterns would be flashed on us, and perhaps things would be cast downupon us. That would be the quickest way of getting rid of you."
"But, Dickory," she said, after a moment's silence, "it is terribleabout my father and Ben Greenway. Why don't they come back? What's thematter with them?"
He hesitated a little before answering.
"From what I heard, I think there is some trouble on shore, and that'sthe reason why your father has not come for you as soon as he expected.But he thinks you safe with Ben Greenway. Now what we have to do is toget away from this vessel; and then if she sails and leaves your fatherand Ben Greenway, it will be a good thing. These fellows are rascals,and no honest person should have to do with them. But now I must getout of sight, or somebody will come and spoil everything."
Big Sam did come aft and told Kate he thought she would come to injurysitting out in the night air. But she would not listen to him, and onlyasked him what time of night it was. He told her that it was not farfrom nine, and that she would see her father very soon, and then he lefther.
"It would have been a terrible thing if he had come at nine," she saidto herself. Then she sat very still waiting for the sound of the oldclock.
Dickory Charter had not told Miss Kate Bonnet all that he had heard whenhe was stealthily wandering about the ship. He had slipped down into thechains near a port-hole, on the other side of which Big Sam and theblack-haired man were taking supper, and he heard a great deal of talk.Among other things he heard a bit of conversation which, when expurgatedof its oaths and unpleasant expressions, was like this:
"You are sure you can trust the men?" said Black-hair.
"Oh, yes!" replied the other, "they're all right."
"Then why don't you go now? At any time officers may be rowing out hereto search the vessel."
"And well they might. For what needs an old farmer with an emptyvessel, a crew of seventy men, and ten guns? He is in trouble, you maywager your life on that, or he would be coming to see about his girl."
"And what will you do about her?"
"Oh, she'll not be in the way," answered Big Sam with a laugh. "If hedoesn't take her off before I sail, that's his business. If I am obligedto leave port without his cash-box, I will marry his daughter and becomehis son-in-law--I don't doubt we can find a parson among all the rascalson board--then, perhaps, he will think it his duty to send me drafts tothe different ports I touch at."
At this good joke, both of them laughed.
"But I don't want to go without his cash-box," continued Big Sam, "and Iwill wait until high-tide, which will be about ten o'clock. It would beunsafe to miss that, for I must not be here to-morrow morning. But thelong-boat will be here soon. I told Roger to wait until half-past nine,and then to come aboard with old Bonnet or without him, if he didn'tshow himself by that time."
"But, after all," said the black-haired man, "the main thing is, willthe men stand by you?"
"You needn't fear them," said the other with an aggravated oath, "I knowevery rascal of them."
"Now, then," said Dickory Charter to himself as he slipped out of thechains, "she goes overboard, if I have to pitch her over."
Nothing had he heard about Ben Greenway. He did not believe that theScotchman had deserted his young mistress; even had he been sent for togo on shore in haste, would he leave without speaking to her. More thanthat, he would most likely have taken her with him.
But Dickory could not afford to give much thought to Ben Greenway.Although a good friend to both himself and his mother, he was not to beconsidered when the safety of Mistress Kate Bonnet was in question.
The minutes moved slowly, very slowly indeed, as Kate sat, listening forthe sound of the old clock, and at the same time listening for the soundof approaching footsteps.
It was now so dark that she could not have seen anybody without a light,but she could hear as if she had possessed the ears of a cat.
She had ceased to expect her father. She was sure he had been detainedon shore; how, she knew not. But she did know he was not coming.
Presently the old clock struck, one, two--In a moment she was climbingover the rail. In the darkness she missed the heavy bit of rope whichDickory had showed her, but feeling about she clutc
hed it and letherself down to the ledge below. Her nerves were quite firm now. It wasnecessary to be so very particular to follow Dickory's directions tothe letter, that her nerves were obliged to be firm. She slipped stillfarther down and sat sideways upon the narrow ledge. So narrow that ifthe vessel had rolled she could not have remained upon it.
There she waited.
Then there came, sharper and clearer out of the darkness in thedirection of the town, the first stroke of nine o'clock from the towerof the new church. Before the second stroke had sounded she was hangingby her two hands from the ledge. She hung at her full length; she puther feet together; she hoped that she would go down smoothly and make nosplash. Three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--and she let herfingers slip from the ledge. Down she went, into the darkness and intothe water, not knowing where one ended and the other began. Her eyeswere closed, but they might as well have been open; there was nothingfor her to see in all that blackness. Down she went, as if it were tothe very bottom of black air and black water. And then, suddenly shefelt an arm around her.
Dickory was there!
She felt herself rising, and Dickory was rising, still with his armaround her. In a moment her head was in the air, and she could breathe.Now she felt that he was swimming, with one arm and both legs.Instinctively she tried to help him, for she had learned to swim. Theywent on a dozen strokes or more, with much labour, until they touchedsomething hard.
"My boat," said Dickory, in the lowest of whispers; "take hold of it."
Kate did so, and he moved from her. She knew that he was clambering intothe boat, although she could not see or hear him. Soon he took hold ofher under her arms, and he lifted with the strength of a young lion, yetso slowly, so warily, that not a drop of water could be heard drippingfrom her garments. And when she was drawn up high enough to helpherself, he pulled her in, still warily and slowly. Then he slipped tothe bow and cast off the rope with which the canoe had been anchored. Itwas his only rope, but he could not risk the danger of pulling up thebit of rock to which the other end of it was fastened. Then, with apaddle, worked as silently as if it had been handled by an Indian, thecanoe moved away, farther and farther, into the darkness.
"Is all well with you?" said Dickory, thinking he might now safelymurmur a few words.
"All well," she murmured back, "except that this is the mostuncomfortable boat I ever sat in!"
"I expect you are on my orange basket," he said; "perhaps you can moveit a little."
Now he paddled more strongly, and then he stopped.
"Where shall I take you, Mistress Bonnet?" he asked, a little louderthan he had dared to speak before.
Kate heaved a sigh before she answered; she had been saying her prayers.
"I don't know, you brave Dickory," she answered, "but it seems to methat you can't see to take me anywhere. Everything is just as black aspitch, one way or another."
"But I know the river," he said, "with light or without it. I have gonehome on nights as black as this. Will you go to the town?"
"I would not know where to go to there," she answered, "and in such aplight."
"Then to your home," said he. "But that will be a long row, and you mustbe very cold."
She shuddered, but not with cold. If her father had been at home itwould have been all right, but her step-mother would be there, and thatwould not be all right. She would not know what to say to her.
"Oh, Dickory," she said, "I don't know where to go."
"I know where you can go," he said, beginning to paddle vigorously, "Iwill take you to my mother. She will take care of you to-night and giveyou dry clothes, and to-morrow you may go where you will."
Kate Bonnet: The Romance of a Pirate's Daughter Page 3
