As he entered, the “old man” looked up from his book inquiringly.
“I’ve come down for a bit of rubber plaster,” said Osmond.
The skipper nodded towards the medicine-chest and resumed his studies, while Osmond cut off a strip of plaster some seven inches by four.
“You haven’t got any thin rope or small-stuff in here, I suppose?” said Osmond.
“There’s a coil of rope-yarn on the peg under those oilskins—those smart yellow ones; those were poor Redford’s. He was too much of a dandy to wear common black oilies like the rest of us. What do you want the stuff for?”
“I want to try a little experiment,” replied Osmond. “But I’ll tell you about it afterwards.,” and he took down the oilskins and the coil of line, the latter of which he carried away with him to the main cabin together with the roll of plaster and the scissors. Here, by the faint starlight that now mitigated the darkness, he cut off a couple of lengths of the line and, having pocketed one and made a bowline-knot or fixed loop in the end of the other, ascended the table and once more looked out on deck. Save for some resonant snoring from forward, all was quiet and the ship seemed to have settled down for the night. The helmsman, however, was still awake, for Osmond heard him yawn wearily; but he had left the wheel with a rope hitched round one of the spokes, and was now leaning over the quarter-rail, apparently contemplating the passing water.
It was an ideal opportunity. Grasping the frame of the skylight, Osmond gave a light spring and came through the opening like a very stealthy harlequin. Then, creeping along the deck in the shelter of the boat and that of the companion-hood, he rose and stole noiselessly on the toes of his rubber-soled shoes towards the preoccupied seaman. Nearer and nearer he crept, grasping an end of the line between the fingers of either hand, and holding the strip of plaster spread out on the palm of the left, until he stood close behind his quarry. Then, as the sailor removed his pipe to emit another enormous yawn, he slipped his left hand round, clapped the plaster over the open mouth, and instantly pinioned the man’s arms by clasping him tightly round the chest. The fellow struggled furiously and would have shouted, but was only able to utter muffled grunts and snorts through his nose. His arms were gripped to his sides as if in a vice and his efforts to kick were all foreseen and adroitly frustrated. He had been taken by surprise by a man who was his superior in mere strength and who was an expert wrestler into the bargain; and he was further handicapped by superstitious terror and lack of breath.
The struggle went on with surprisingly little noise—since the sailor could not cry out—and meanwhile Osmond contrived to pass the end of the line through the loop of the bowline and draw it inch by inch until it was ready for the final pull. Then, with a skilful throw, he let the man down softly, face downwards, on the deck; jerked the line tight and sat on his prisoner’s legs. He was now master of the situation. Taking another turn with the line round the man’s body, he secured it with a knot in the middle of the back, and with the other length of line, which he had in his pocket, he lashed his captive’s ankles together.
The almost noiseless struggle had passed unnoticed by the sleepers forward. No watch or lookout had been set and it had apparently been left to the helmsman to rouse up his relief when he guessed his “trick” at the wheel to have expired. Osmond listened for a few moments, and then, removing the batten with which the doors of the companion had been secured on the outside, opened the hatch, slid his helpless prisoner down the ladder; closed the doors again, replaced the batten, and, creeping through the opening of the sky light, let himself down into the cabin. Here he seized his writhing captive, and, dragging him across the cabin, thrust him head-first through the hole in the bulkhead and followed him into the hold, where he finally deposited him as comfortably as possible on the kernel bags under the main hatch.
“Now, listen,” he said, sternly. “I’m going to take that plaster off your mouth; but if you utter a sound, I shall stick it on again and fix it with a lashing.” He peeled the plaster off, and, as the man drew a long breath, he demanded: “Do you hear what I say?
“Yes,” was the reply; “I hear. You’ve got me, governor, fair on the hop, you have. You won’t hear no more of me. And if you can cop that there Dhoody the same way, there won’t be no more trouble on this ship.”
“I’ll see what can be done,” said Osmond; and with this he returned into the cabin, and, cutting off two fresh lengths of rope-yarn and another piece of plaster, prepared for a fresh capture.
But, at present, there was no one to capture. The wheel jerked to and fro in its lashing, the brigantine walloped along quietly before the soft breeze, the crew slumbered peacefully forward, and Osmond looked out of the skylight on an empty deck, listening impatiently to the chorus of snores and wondering if he would get another chance.
It is impossible to say how long this state of affairs would have lasted if nothing had happened to disturb it. As it was, a sudden accident dispelled the universal repose. The unsteered vessel, yawing from side to side, lifted her stern to a following sea and yawed so far that her mainsail got by the lee. The long boom swung inboard and the big sail jibed over with a slam that shook the entire fabric. The vessel immediately broached to with all her square-sails aback, and heeled over until the water bubbled up through her scupper holes.
The noise and the jar roused some of the sleepers forward and a hoarse voice bawled out angrily: “Now you, Sam! What the devil are you up to? You’ll have the masts overboard if you don’t look out.”
Immediately after, Dhoody came staggering aft along the sloping deck, followed by one or two bewildered sailors. The group stood gazing in muddled surprise at the untended wheel, and Dhoody exclaimed:
“Where’s the beggar gone to? Here, you Sam! Where are you?”
“P’raps he’s gone down to the cabin,” one of the men suggested.
“No, he ain’t,” said Dhoody. “The companion’s fastened up.”
“So it is, mate,” agreed the other with a glance at the battened doors; and the party rambled slowly round the poop, peering out into the darkness astern and speculating vaguely on the strange disappearance.
“He’s gone overboard,” said Dhoody; “that’s what he’s done. So you’d better take the wheel now, Bob Simmons; and you just mind yer helm, or you’ll be goin’ overboard, too, with all that lush in yer ’ed.”
Accordingly Simmons, protesting sleepily that it “wasn’t his trick yet,” took his place at the wheel. The vessel was put once more on her course, and the men, with the exception of Dhoody, crawled forward to the shelter of the caboose. The second mate remained awhile, yawning drearily and impressing on the somnolent Simmons the responsibilities of his position. Then, at last, he too went forward, and the ship settled down to its former quiet.
Osmond waited for some time in case Dhoody should return to see that the new helmsman was attending to his instructions; but as he made no reappearance and was now probably asleep, it seemed safe to resume operations. Osmond thrust his head and shoulders out through the opening, but, though he could see that the wheel was already deserted, the unfaithful Simmons was invisible. Presently, however, a soft snore from somewhere close by invited him to further investigation, and as he crept out on deck, the enormity of Simmons’s conduct was revealed. He had not sunk overpowered at his post, but had deliberately seated himself on the deck in a comfortable position with his back against the doors of the companion, where he now reclined at his ease, wrapped in alcoholic slumber. If only Dhoody would keep out of the way, the capture was as good as made.
Osmond stole up to the sleeping seaman and softly encircled his arms with the noose, leaving it slack with the end handy for the final pull. Then he put the man’s feet